him the rights of a Lacedaemonian citizen. He wasappointed to the head-directorship in the entire department of music
in Lacedaemon and succeeded in naturalizing the soft Lydian music.
His language was the Doric-Laconian. After a life devoted to song,
the pleasures of the table and of love, he is said to have died of
a fearful disease. From the frequent choruses of virgins
(Parthenien) said to have been originally introduced by him, his
frequent songs in praise of women, and the friendly relations in
which he stood to the Spartan women (more especially to the fair
Megalostrata), he gained the name of the woman’s poet.]
“Do you think then,” replied Phanes, “that I have no longing for my beloved Athens, for the scenes of our youthful games, for the busy life of the market? Truly, the bread of exile is not less distasteful to my palate than to yours, but, in the society afforded by this house, it loses some of its bitterness, and when the dear melodies of Hellas, so perfectly sung, fall on my ear, my native land rises before me as in a vision, I see its pine and olive groves, its cold, emerald green rivers, its blue sea, the shimmer of its towns, its snowy mountain-tops and marble temples, and a half-sweet, half-bitter tear steals down my cheek as the music ceases, and I awake to remember that I am in Egypt, in this monotonous, hot, eccentric country, which, the gods be praised, I am soon about to quit. But, Aristomachus, would you then avoid the few Oases in the desert, because you must afterwards return to its sands and drought? Would you fly from one happy hour, because days of sadness await you later? But stop, here we are! Show a cheerful countenance, my friend, for it becomes us not to enter the temple of the Charites with sad hearts.”—[The goddesses of grace and beauty, better known by their Roman name of “Graces.”]
As Phanes uttered these words, they landed at the garden wall, washed by the Nile. The Athenian bounded lightly from the boat, the Spartan following with a heavier, firmer tread. Aristomachus had a wooden leg, but his step was so firm, even when compared with that of the light-footed Phanes, that it might have been thought to be his own limb.
The garden of Rhodopis was as full of sound, and scent and blossom as a night in fairy-land. It was one labyrinth of acanthus shrubs, yellow mimosa, the snowy gelder-rose, jasmine and lilac, red roses and laburnums, overshadowed by tall palm-trees, acacias and balsam trees. Large bats hovered softly on their delicate wings over the whole, and sounds of mirth and song echoed from the river.
This garden had been laid out by an Egyptian, and the builders of the Pyramids had already been celebrated for ages for their skill in horticulture. They well understood how to mark out neat flower-beds, plant groups of trees and shrubs in regular order, water the whole by aqueducts and fountains, arrange arbors and summerhouses, and even inclose the walks with artistically clipped hedges, and breed goldfish in stone basins.
At the garden gate Phanes stopped, looked around him carefully and listened; then shaking his head, “I do not understand what this can mean,” he said. “I hear no voices, there is not a single light to be seen, the boats are all gone, and yet the flag is still flying at its gay flag-staff, there, by the obelisks on each side of the gate.”
[Obelisks bearing the name of the owner were sometimes to be seen
near the gates of the Egyptian country-houses. Flags too were not
uncommon, but these were almost exclusively to be found at the gates
of the temples, where to this day the iron sockets for the flagstaff
can still be seen. Neither were flags unknown to the Greeks. It
appears from some inscriptions on the staffs of the Pylons, that if
the former were not actually erected for lightning-rods, it had been
noticed that they attracted the electricity.]
“Rhodopis must surely be from home; can they have forgotten?”—Here a deep voice suddenly interrupted him with the exclamation, “Ha! the commander of the body-guard!”
“A pleasant evening to you, Knakais,” exclaimed Phanes, kindly greeting the old man, who now came up. “But how is it that this garden is as still as an Egyptian tomb, and yet the flag of welcome is fluttering at the gate? How long has that white ensign waved for guests in vain?”
“How long indeed?” echoed the old slave of Rhodopis with a smile. “So long as the Fates graciously spare the life of my mistress, the old flag is sure to waft as many guests hither as the house is able to contain. Rhodopis is not at home now, but she must return shortly. The evening being so fine, she determined on taking a pleasure-trip on the Nile with her guests. They started at sunset, two hours ago, and the evening meal is already prepared; they cannot remain away much longer. I pray you, Phanes, to have patience and follow me into the house. Rhodopis would not easily forgive me, if I allowed such valued guests to depart. You stranger,” he added, turning to the Spartan, “I entreat most heartily to remain; as friend of your friend you will be doubly welcome to my mistress.”
The two Greeks, following the servant, seated themselves in an arbor, and Aristomachus, after gazing on the scene around him now brilliantly lighted by the moon, said, “Explain to me, Phanes, by what good fortune this Rhodopis, formerly only a slave and courtesan can now live as a queen, and receive her guests in this princely manner?”
[The mistresses (Hetaere) of the Greeks must not be compared with
modern women of bad reputation. The better members of this class
represented the intelligence and culture of their sex in Greece, and
more especially in the Ionian provinces. As an instance we need
only recall Aspasia and her well-attested relation to Pericles and
Socrates. Our heroine Rhodopis was a celebrated woman. The
Hetaera, Thargalia of Miletus, became the wife of a Thessalian king.
Ptolemy Lagi married Thais; her daughter was called Irene, and her
sons Leontiskus and Lagus. Finally, statues were erected to many.]
“I have long expected this question,” answered the Athenian. “I shall be delighted to make you acquainted with the past history of this woman before you enter her house. So long as we were on the Nile, I would not intrude my tale upon you; that ancient river has a wonderful power of compelling to silence and quiet contemplation. Even my usually quick tongue was paralyzed like yours, when I took my first night-journey on the Nile.”
“I thank you for this,” replied the Spartan. “When I first saw the aged priest Epimenides, at Knossus in Crete, he was one hundred and fifty years old, and I remember that his age and sanctity filled me with a strange dread; but how far older, how far more sacred, is this hoary river, the ancient stream ‘Aigyptos’! Who would wish to avoid the power of his spells? Now, however, I beg you to give me the history of Rhodopis.”
Phanes began: “When Rhodopis was a little child playing with her companions on the Thracian sea-shore, she was stolen by some Phoenician mariners, carried to Samos, and bought by Iadmon, one of the geomori, or landed aristocracy of the island. The little girl grew day by day more beautiful, graceful and clever, and was soon an object
