Glory and the Lightning (79 page)

Pheidias had been openly arrested in the very midst of his students and assistants, while he had been planning the marble pediments for the statues he was designing. He had gazed silently and incredulously at the police, and then, still stunned, he gave the architectural plans to one of his students and had gone away with the police without uttering a single word, his bald and rosy head suddenly sallow, his face slack with shock, his broad old shoulders sagging. His sandaled feet had been dusted, as with flour, with the dust of marble, and his rough clothing also, and crowds stood aside, wondering, and staring at each other questioningly. Theft? Peculations? Never had anyone possessed less of the aspect of a thief.

One of the students, who was a young man with considerable money of his own, selected a horse from his fine stable and rode away at once to Pericles’ farm, though it was sunset and the hot night was approaching without a moon. It was almost the first dawn when he reached the farm, but he awoke the slaves and insisted on seeing Pericles at once, and even the soldiers who guarded the villa were impressed by his despair and his urgent pleas.

Pericles, awakened and pale, his face lined with chronic worry, threw on a tunic, rose from Aspasia’s bed where she was sleeping peacefully, and went into the small atrium of the house. The student, overcome, fell on his knees before Pericles, whom he adored, and burst into tears and could hardly speak. It was some moments before Pericles could understand, and when he did, he was disbelieving.

“I was standing beside my master, Pheidias, when they arrested him,” cried the young man, seizing the hem of Pericles’ tunic. “Before God, I tell you the truth!”

Pericles turned aside, his pallid face twitching. Who could be guilty of this enormity? He rubbed his eyes, still incapable of accepting this dire news. Anaxagoras’ case had been bad enough. This was much worse, for Pheidias had not thrown any doubt privately or publicly on any dogma. In truth, he was the most pious and devoted of men, the least controversial, the least apt to provoke hostility. He was most shy and retiring, and never had been known to utter an impatient word. All his ways were gentle, and compassionate. He could not pass even the most scurvy of beggars without giving him a coin from his little purse. The beggars had known it and he had only to appear to have them crowd about him, whining, thrusting out their hands. That such a man, such a stupendous genius, could be accused of blasphemy and theft was not to be believed. It was accepted widely that he was the glory of Athens, above all others, and multitudes openly reverenced him and foreign and distinguished visitors insisted on meeting him and speaking with him. All had been impressed by his modesty, his tenderness of character, his shining and gleaming eyes in which there was no malevolence but only charity.

I am a calamity to those I love, thought Pericles. He said to Iphis, who almost always accompanied him these days, “If blasphemy has indeed been committed, it has been committed by those who have accused Pheidias. I will go to him at once, and arrange to defend him.” He added, with a grimness even Iphis had never seen before, “This time the vile accusers will be dealt with, and I swear this, before God, and I will never rest until they are brought to justice.”

He rode away with Iphis and two of his soldiers and the student, just as the dawn was throwing pale purple shadows on the quiet countryside. He had a premonition of disaster beyond anything he had ever felt before, and so he uttered not a word, not even when the company entered Athens. He went to his house and bathed, for he was silvery with dust, and he was sweating, and dressed himself in his official robes, forced himself to eat a small breakfast and then went at once to his offices.

There he summoned his cousin, the King Archon, Polybius, to him. His head was throbbing under the heated helmet; it seemed to him that his heart would burst from his chest. He had no doubt that he could save Pheidias and have him exonerated; all but the rabble and a few aristocrats loved him for the virtue not only of his genius but for his kindness and lack of ostentation.

The crime, to Pericles, was in the accusations and the calumnies and not in the actual imprisonment of his friend. Pheidias was in no danger. Tomorrow his accusers would be the laughter of Athens. They would also suffer the vengeance of the Head of State for the insult to Pheidias.

The old King Archon had been over ninety-five years old when he had died. The present King Archon, Polybius, was less than sixty, a small slight man with a parched pale face, small dull eyes, a large nose and a tight wide mouth and thin gray hair. His hands were dry and cold, his manner precise and formal and unbending. He shook hands with Pericles who courteously invited him to sit down and asked him if he desired wine and refreshments. “No,” said the King Archon shortly. “You summoned me, Pericles, son of Xanthippus. What is your wish?”

Pericles recalled him in his own youth; they had never liked each other. Pericles’ handsomeness had offended Polybius. Too, his father had desired to marry Pericles’ mother, Agariste, after the death of Xanthippus, and she had refused firmly. Both he and his father, then, had been repudiated by the women of their family and for some obscure reason, totally irrational, Polybius felt that Pericles was guilty.

Pericles said, “I have been informed that my friend, the glorious artist, Pheidias, has been arrested on charges so absurd that the very dogs on the streets laugh in wonderment.”

Polybius drew a rasping breath and he fixed Pericles with a granite stare. “The charges, lord, are not absurd. They are based on evidence.”

Pericles leaned back in his chair with a negligent smile while he raged inwardly. “What evidence, Polybius?”

The older man shook his head. “You, of a certainty, know the law, Pericles. Evidence is not shown or revealed until the criminal appears before the judge and jury. So, I cannot tell you. I can tell you this, however, I am convinced of the truth of the charges. I have seen the evidence myself.”

Polybius might be unlovable as a person, at least to Pericles, but he was known for his integrity, and if his judgment was severe it was at least just. Pericles’ incredulity was not pretended.

“You truly believe that Pheidias is guilty of peculation and blasphemy?”

“I do, lord.”

Pericles said, “I know exactly how ridiculously modest were the fees Pheidias received. He set them, himself, though I urged him to accept more. Many of his students and associates accepted nothing at all. It was enough for them to be helping the master.” He tried to control his wrath.

“I have seen the evidence, myself,” Polybius insisted.

“Then it was forged evidence, and the scoundrels who did it will be discovered and punished. I can promise you that.”

Even the King Archon was intimidated by the daunting blind look directed at him, and he moved uneasily in his chair. “Are you threatening me, Pericles?”

“No, not you. I know your character too well. But, you have been appallingly deceived by fraudulent evidence, presented by men of no scruples. This, I shall prove, and let them beware for nothing will halt me in bringing them to justice.”

“If you can prove it I shall give the matter my closest attention.”

“I have no doubt of that, Polybius. The only amazing thing to me is that you could believe, on forged evidence, that Pheidias is guilty of anything but possessing the sweetest of natures. You are an intelligent and educated man; you are not a fool who can be persuaded by inconceivable lies. Hence my amazement.”

Polybius carefully examined his gray hands, and did not speak for a moment or two. Then he said, with obvious reluctance, “If I had not seen the evidence for myself, and listened to the oath of the man who best knew that the evidence was true, I should not have believed it myself. I confess I was aghast until finally convinced. I have no love for your Pheidias, I confess, but the evidence is against him and I was forced to order his imprisonment. There is also the matter of his blasphemy.”

“Of what does that consist?”

Polybius regarded Pericles with open animosity. “He put his face, and yours, on the shield of Athene Parthenos.”

Pericles smiled. “At my insistence.” He paused. “Are you accusing me of blasphemy also, Polybius?”

“I am not sitting in judgment on you, lord.”

“Ah, you are evasive. Judges are famous for that so I will not reproach you. But does not such an artist as Pheidias deserve to have his face or name in an inconspicuous place on the shield? It is there for future ages to reverence.”

“Your face is also there.”

Now, in spite of his emotions, Pericles laughed. “Pheidias insisted. If you think it best I will have it obliterated, for future ages will not remember me but they will remember Pheidias and give him honor.”

When Polybius did not speak, Pericles continued: “You must admit that the statue is the most exalted and prodigious creation.”

“It was very expensive.” The older man’s tone was obstinate.

Pericles remembered that Polybius was as penurious, if not more, than had been his cousin, Daedalus. He said, in a soft voice, “My dear Polybius, is not our patron goddess worthy of any cost?”

The desiccated face of Polybius flushed. “She would not wish Athens to bankrupt herself.”

“The cost of the statue was like a mean copper in comparison with what we have spent, and are spending, on these dreary little wars and skirmishes with Sparta and her allies.”

The King Archon had heard much of the rumor that Pericles had created diversions with those wars, in order to direct attention of the market rabble and others from his own derelictions. This, the King Archon did not believe, though he would have liked to do so. Moreover, there was the honor of their mutual house to consider. “Still,” he said, “in these dolorous and costly times it was folly to spend so much on the statue—even if it is in honor of our patron goddess. The gods do not like extravagance in men.”

“If Athene is aware of the statue raised to her, which,” said Pericles very soberly, “no doubt she is, she will be so gratified that we have sacrificed so much for her that she will bring us peace, or at least chastise Sparta.”

“That is a sophistry to excuse extravagance, of which you, yourself, Pericles, are guilty.” Now the small dull eyes glittered under their lids.

“Oh, I am a very reckless man!” said Pericles. “I desire only the best and the most beautiful for our goddess! So, indeed, I plead guilty to too much piety.”

“If so, I have not heard of that piety,” said the King Archon, with a tight little smile, and Pericles smiled also.

The King Archon said, “There is no love between us, Pericles, but I can assure you that Pheidias will be given a just trial before me.”

“You need not have said that, Polybius. I know it without any declaration from you. I do not fear the jury. My anger is not based on anxiety or apprehension for Pheidias. It is based on the cruel absurdity of the charges against him, the monstrous calumnies.”

The King Archon was silent. Pericles refilled his own goblet.

“You will not tell me who brought the charges?”

“No. That will be revealed at the trial.”

Pericles studied him thoughtfully. “You know who the men are?”

The King Archon did not reply. Pericles’ eyes narrowed. “Can you tell me, at least, if they are honorable men?”

“Of that I can assure you.”

For the first time Pericles felt a thrill of alarm. The men, then, were his powerful enemies and they would stop at nothing to injure him through his friends. He ran their names through his mind. Then, all at once, for no reason he could discern, his thoughts stopped at the name of Callias, the despicable, the swinelike, the brutish. He told himself that Callias, though malign, did not possess the intelligence to deceive such as Polybius, whom Polybius disdained, himself. Whatever else Polybius was, and Pericles disliked him intensely, he could never have been suborned, though he would not flinch at causing Pericles pain under unimpeachable circumstances. Therefore, he had been, without his knowledge, completely deceived, not only by the men who had brought charges against Pheidias but by their lofty station, which, in the mind of Polybius, would render them incapable of lies and perjury.

Pericles did not know what made him say, “Is Dejanira’s son, Callias, part of the plot against Pheidias?”

“I have not seen Callias since his return from exile.”

“You have not answered my question, Polybius,” said Pericles with much sternness.

“Do you think honorable men would associate with Callias?” asked the King Archon, and his voice was indignant. “Do you believe that I, though his kinsman, would believe a word that rascal said?” His indignation increased and he pushed himself to his feet and his face was as angry as Pericles’ own. It was as if he had been mortally insulted.

Pericles said, “No, you would never believe him. But still, there is something nebulous that flutters in my mind about him, in this matter.”

“No man of integrity or family would receive Callias.”

“With that, I agree. But a man will pick up even the dirtiest stone to hurl, if it serves his purpose.”

The King Archon bowed stiffly. “If you will permit me, lord, I shall leave, for there are three cases waiting to be tried before me this morning, and I am late.”

Pericles dismissed him. Then he called for his guard and rode with them to the prison, where he found Pheidias in a reasonably clean cell. The sculptor received him with affection but said, “You have endangered yourself in coming here, my best of friends.”

“Nonsense. I am going to defend you, and make your enemies, and mine, the hilarity of all of Greece.”

Pheidias was not afraid. He only wrinkled his brow and mused, “There are moments when I laugh, myself, but better men than I have been murdered by lies, Pericles. How have I offended the people of Athens?” His look was ingenuous and bewildered, and Pericles was much moved and again powerfully angered.

“You have done nothing but devote your life to Athens. So do not fear, Pheidias.”

“I do not fear.” Pheidias sat down on his bench and bent his head. “I do not understand. There is some error.”