As he spoke, he made a signal to his attendants, who straightway brought from the chariot a silver tripod lined with gold, and a bag containing a hundred golden staters. At the same moment, Milza entered, and in a low voice informed Anaxagoras that Philothea deemed this prolonged interview with the stranger dangerous to his feeble health; and begged that he would suffer himself to be placed on the couch. The invalid replied by a message desiring her presence. As she entered, he said to her, "Philothea, behold your kinsman Chrysippus, son of Basileon."

The ill.u.s.trious guest was received with the same modest and friendly greeting, that would have been bestowed on the son of a worthy peasant.

The prince felt slightly offended that his splendid dress and magnificent equipage produced so little effect on the family of the philosopher; but as the fame of Philothea's beauty had largely mingled with other inducements to make the visit, he endeavoured to conceal his pride, and as he offered the rich gifts, said in a respectful tone, "Daughter of Alcimenes, the tripod is from Heliodora, Priestess at Ephesus. The golden coin is from my own coffers. Accept them for a dowry; and allow me to claim one privilege in return. As I cannot be at the marriage feast, to share the pleasures of other kinsmen, permit the son of Basileon to see you now one moment without your veil."

He waved his hand for his attendants to withdraw; but the maiden hesitated, until Anaxagoras said mildly, "Chrysippus is of your father's kindred; and it is discreet that his request be granted."

Philothea timidly removed her veil, and a modest blush suffused her lovely countenance, as she said, "Thanks, Prince of Clazomenae, for these munificent gifts. May the G.o.ds long preserve you a blessing to your family and people."

"The gifts are all unworthy of her who receives them," replied Chrysippus, gazing so intently that the maiden, with rosy confusion, replaced her veil.

Anaxagoras invited his royal guest to share a philosopher's repast, to which he promised should be added a goblet of wine, lately sent from Lampsacus. The prince courteously accepted his invitation; and the kind old man, wearied with the exertions he had made, was borne to his couch in an inner apartment. When Plato had a.s.sisted Philothea and Milza in arranging his pillows, and folding the robe about his feet, he returned to the portico. Philothea supposed the stranger was about to follow him; and without raising her head, as she bent over her grandfather's couch, she said: "He is feeble, and needs repose. In the days of his, strength, he would not have thus left you to the courtesy of our Athenian guest."

"Would to the G.o.ds that I had sought him sooner!" rejoined Chrysippus.

"While I have gathered foreign jewels, I have been ignorant of the gems in my own family."

Then stooping down, he took Anaxagoras by the hand, and said affectionately, "Have you nothing to ask of your brother's son?"

"Nothing but your prayers for us, and a gentle government for your people," answered the old man. "I thank you for your kindness to this precious orphan. For myself, I am fast going where I shall need less than ever the gifts of princes."

"Would you not like to be buried with regal honour, in your native Clazomenae?" inquired the prince.

The philosopher again pointed upward as he replied, "Nay. The road to heaven would be no shorter from Clazomenae."

"And what monument would you have reared to mark the spot where Anaxagoras sleeps?" said Chrysippus.

"I wish to be buried after the ancient manner, with the least possible trouble and expense," rejoined the invalid. "The money you would expend for a monument may be given to some captive sighing in bondage. Let an almond tree be planted near my grave, that the boys may love to come there, as to a pleasant home."

"The citizens of Lampsacus, hearing of your illness, requested me to ask what they should do in honour of your memory, when it pleased the G.o.ds to call you hence. What response do you give to this message?" inquired the prince.

The philosopher answered, "Say to them that I desire all the children may have a holiday on the anniversary of my death."

Chrysippus remained silent for a few moments; and then continued: "Anaxagoras, I perceive that you are strangely unlike other mortals; and I know not how you will receive the proposal I am about to make.

Philothea has glided from the apartment, as if afraid to remain in my presence. That graceful maiden is too lovely for any destiny meaner than a royal marriage. As a kinsman, I have the best claim to her; and if it be your will, I will divorce my Phoenician Astarte, and make Philothea princess of Clazomenae."

"Thanks, son of Basileon," replied the old man; "but I love the innocent orphan too well to bestow upon her the burden and the dangers of royalty."

"None could dispute your own right to exchange power and wealth for philosophy and poverty," said Chrysippus; "but though you are the lawful guardian of this maiden, I deem it unjust to reject a splendid alliance without her knowledge."

"Philothea gave her affections to Paralus, even in the days of their childhood," replied Anaxagoras; "and she is of a nature too divine to place much value on the splendour that pa.s.ses away."

The prince seemed disturbed and chagrined by this imperturbable spirit of philosophy; and after a few brief remarks retreated to the portico.

Here he entered into conversation with Plato; and after some general discourse, spoke of his wishes with regard to Philothea. "Anaxagoras rejects the alliance," said he, smiling; "but take my word for it, the maiden would not dismiss the matter thus lightly. I have never yet seen a woman who preferred philosophy to princes."

"Kings are less fortunate than philosophers," responded Plato; "I have known several women, who preferred wisdom to gold. Could Chrysippus look into those divine eyes, and yet believe that Philothea's soul would rejoice in the pomp of princes?"

The wealthy son of Basileon still remained incredulous of any exceptions to woman's vanity; and finally obtained a promise from Plato, that he would use his influence with his friend to have the matter left entirely to Philothea's decision.

When the maiden was asked by her grandfather, whether she would be the wife of Paralus, smitten by the hand of disease, or princess of Clazomenae, surrounded by more grandeur than Penelope could boast in her proudest days--her innocent countenance expressed surprise, not unmingled with fear, that the mind of Anaxagoras was wandering. But when a.s.sured that Chrysippus seriously proposed to divorce his wife and marry her, a feeling of humiliation came over her, that a man, ignorant of the qualities of her soul, should be thus captivated by her outward beauty, and regard it as a thing to be bought with gold. But the crimson tint soon subsided from her transparent cheek, and she quietly replied, "Tell the prince of Clazomenae that I have never learned to value riches; nor could I do so, without danger of being exiled far from my divine home."

When these words were repeated to Chrysippus, he exclaimed impatiently, "Curse on the folly which philosophers dignify with the name of wisdom!"

After this, nothing could restore the courtesy he had previously a.s.sumed. He scarcely tasted the offered fruit and wine; bade a cold farewell, and soon rolled away in his splendid chariot, followed by his train of attendants.

This unexpected interview produced a singular excitement in the mind of Anaxagoras. All the occurrences of his youth pa.s.sed vividly before him; and things forgotten for years were remembered like events of the past hour. Plato sat by his side till the evening twilight deepened, listening as he recounted scenes long since witnessed in Athens. When they entreated him to seek repose, he reluctantly a.s.sented, and said to his friend, with a gentle pressure of the hand, "Farewell, son of Aristo. Pray for me before you retire to your couch."

Plato parted the silver hairs, and imprinted a kiss on his forehead; then crowning himself with a garland, he knelt before an altar that stood in the apartment, and prayed aloud: "O thou, who art King of Heaven, life and death are in thy hand! Grant what is good for us, whether we ask it, or ask it not; and refuse that which would be hurtful, even when we ask it most earnestly."

"That contains the spirit of all prayer," said the old philosopher. "And now, Plato, go to thy rest; and I will go to mine. Very pleasant have thy words been to me. Even like the murmuring of fountains in a parched and sandy desert." When left alone with his grandchild and Milza, the invalid still seemed unusually excited, and his eyes shone with unwonted brightness. Again he recurred to his early years, and talked fondly of his wife and children. He dwelt on the childhood of Philothea with peculiar pleasure. "Often, very often," said he, "thy infant smiles and artless speech led my soul to divine things; when, without thee, the link would have been broken, and the communication lost."

He held her hand affectionately in his, and often drew her toward him, that he might kiss her cheek. Late in the night, sleep began to steal over him with gentle influence; and Philothea was afraid to move, lest she should disturb his slumbers.

Milza reposed on a couch close by her side, ready to obey the slightest summons; the small earthen lamp that stood on the floor, shaded by an open tablet, burned dim; and the footsteps of Plato were faintly heard in the stillness of the night, as he softly paced to and fro in the open portico.

Philothea leaned her head upon the couch, and gradually yielded to the drowsy influence.

When she awoke, various objects in the apartment were indistinctly revealed by the dawning light. All was deeply quiet. She remained kneeling by her grandfather's side, and her hand was still clasped in his; but it was chilled beneath his touch. She arose, gently placed his arm on the couch, and looked upon his face. A placid smile rested on his features; and she saw that his spirit had pa.s.sed in peace.

She awoke Milza, and desired that the household might be summoned. As they stood around the couch of that venerable man, Geta and Milza wept bitterly; but Philothea calmly kissed his cold cheek; and Plato looked on him with serene affection, as he said, "So sleep the good."

A lock of grey hair suspended on the door, and a large vase of water at the threshold, early announced to the villagers that the soul of Anaxagoras had pa.s.sed from its earthly tenement. The boys came with garlands to decorate the funeral couch of the beloved old man; and no tribute of respect was wanting; for all that knew him blessed his memory.

He was buried, as he had desired, near the clepsydra in the little brook; a young almond tree was planted on his grave; and for years after, all the children commemorated the anniversary of his death, by a festival called Anaxagoreia.

Pericles had sent two discreet matrons, and four more youthful attendants, to accompany Philothea to Athens, in case she consented to become the wife of Paralus. The morning after the decease of Anaxagoras, Plato sent a messenger to Lampsacus, desiring the presence of these women, accompanied by Euago and his household. As soon as the funeral rites were pa.s.sed, he entreated Philothea to accept the offered protection of Euago, the friend of his youth, and connected by marriage with the house of Pericles. "I urge it the more earnestly," said he, "because I think you have reason to fear the power and resentment of Chrysippus. Princes do not willingly relinquish a pursuit; and his train could easily seize you and your attendants, without resistance from these simple villagers."

Aglaonice, wife of Euago, likewise urged the orphan, in the most affectionate manner, to return with them to Lampsacus, and there await the departure of the galley. Philothea acknowledged the propriety of removal, and felt deeply thankful for the protecting influence of her friends. The simple household furniture was given to Milza; her own wardrobe, with many little things that had become dear to her, were deposited in the chariot of Euago; the weeping villagers had taken an affectionate farewell; and sacrifices to the G.o.ds had been offered on the altar in front of the dwelling.

Still Philothea lingered and gazed on the beautiful scenes where she had pa.s.sed so many tranquil hours. Tears mingled with her smiles, as she said, "O, how hard it is to believe the spirit of Anaxagoras will be as near me in Athens, as it is here, where his bones lie buried!"

CHAPTER XIII.

One day, the muses twined the hands Of infant love with flowery bands, And gave the smiling captive boy To be Celestial Beauty's joy.

ANACREON.

While Philothea remained at Lampsacus, awaiting the arrival of the galley, news came that Chrysippus, with a company of hors.e.m.e.n, had been to her former residence, under the pretext of paying funeral rites to his deceased relative. At the same time, several robes, mantles, and veils, were brought from Heliodora at Ephesus; with the request that they, as well as the silver tripod, should be considered, not as a dowry, but as gifts to be disposed of as she pleased. The priestess mentioned feeble health as a reason for not coming in person to bid the orphan farewell; and promised that sacrifices and prayers for her happines should be duly offered at the shrine of radiant Phoebus.

Philothea smiled to remember how long she had lived in Ionia without attracting the notice of her princely relatives, until her name became connected with the ill.u.s.trious house of Pericles; but she meekly returned thanks and friendly wishes, together with the writings of Simonides, beautifully copied by her own hand.

The day of departure at length arrived. All along the sh.o.r.e might be seen smoke rising from the altars of Poseidon, aeolus, Castor and Polydeuces, and the sea-green Sisters of the Deep. To the usual danger of winds and storms was added the fear of encountering hostile fleets; and every power that presided over the destinies of sailors was invoked by the anxious mariners. But their course seemed more like an excursion in a pleasure barge, than a voyage on the ocean. They rowed along beneath a calm and sunny sky, keeping close to the verdant sh.o.r.es where, ever and anon, temples, altars, and statues, peeped forth amid groves of cypress and cedar; under the shadow of which many a festive train hailed the soft approach of spring, with pipe, and song, and choral dance.

The tenth day saw the good ship Halcyone safely moored in the harbour of Phalerum, chosen in preference to the more crowded and diseased port of the Piraeus. The galley having been perceived at a distance, Pericles and Clinias were waiting, with chariots, in readiness to convey Philothea and her attendants. The first inquiries of Pericles were concerning the health of Anaxagoras; and he seemed deeply affected, when informed that he would behold his face no more. Philothea's heart was touched by the tender solemnity of his manner when he bade her welcome to Athens. Plato antic.i.p.ated the anxious question that trembled on her tongue; and a brief answer indicated that no important change had taken place in Paralus. Clinias kindly urged the claims of himself and wife to be considered the parents of the orphan; and they all accompanied her to his house, attended by boys burning incense, as a protection against the pestilential atmosphere of the marshy grounds.

When they alighted, Philothea timidly, but earnestly, asked to see Paralus without delay. Their long-cherished affection, the full communion of soul they had enjoyed together, and the peculiar visitation which now rested on him, all combined to make her forgetful of ceremony.