PERICLES AND ASPASIA. I. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. CLEONE! I write from Athens. I hasten to meet your reproaches, and to stifle them in my embrace. It was wrong to have left Miletus at all: it was wrong to have parted from you without entrusting you with my secret. No, no, neither was wrong. I have withstood many tears, my sweet Cleone, but never your's; you could always do what you would with me; and I should have been wind bound by you on the Mæander, as surely and inexorably as the fleet at Aulis by Diana. Ionia is far more beautiful than Attica, Miletus than Athens; for about Athens there is no verdure, no spacious and full and flowing river, few gardens, many olive-trees, so many indeed that we seem to be in an eternal cloud of dust. However, when the sea-breezes blow, this tree itself looks beautiful; it looks, in its pliable and undulating branches, irresolute as Ariadne when she was urged to fly, and pale as Orithyia when she was borne away. II. CLEONE TO ASPASIA. Come out, Aspasia, from among those olives. You would never have said a word about any such things, at such a time, unless you had met with an adventure. When you want to hide somewhat, you always run into the thickets of poetry. Pray leave Ariadne with Bacchus, she can not be safer; and Orithyia with Boreas, if you have any reverence for the mysteries of the gods. Now I have almost a mind to say, tell me nothing at all of what has happened to you since you left us. This would punish you as you deserve, for you know that you are dying to tell it. The venerable and good-natured old widow, Epimedea, will have trouble enough, I foresee, with her visitor from Asia. The Milesian kid will overleap her gardenwall, and browse and butt everywhere. I take it as a matter of certainty that you are with her, for I never heard you mention any other relative in Athens, and she was, I remember, the guest of your house. How she loved you, dear good woman! She would have given your father Axiochus all her wealth for you. But when you were seven years old you were worth seven times over what you are now. I loved you then myself. Well, I am resolved to relieve you of your secret. Prodigal scatterer of precious hopes, and of smiles that seem to rise from the interest you feel, and not from the interest you excite, what victim have you crowned with flowers, and selected to fall at your altar? III. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. out? And how dared you accuse me of poetizing? Spirit of divination! how dared you find me You who poetize more extravagantly yourself. Mine, I do insist upon it, is no worse than we girls in general are apt to write: "and no better," you will reply, "than we now and then are condemned to listen to, or disposed to read." Poetry is the weightless integument that our butterflies always shed in our path, ere they wing their way toward us. It is precisely of the same form, colour, and substance, for the whole generation. Are all mine well? and all yours? I shall be very angry to hear that mine are. If they do not weep, and look wan, and sicken, why then I must, out of very spite. But may the Gods in their wisdom keep not only their hearts, but their persons too, just where they are! I intend to be in love here at Athens. It is true, I do assure you, when I have time, and idleness, and courage for it. Ay, ay, now your eyes are running over all the rest of the letter. Well, what have you found? where is the place? I will keep you in suspense no longer. As soon as there was any light at all, we discovered, on the hill above the city, crowds of people and busy preparations. You are come to it. IV. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. I was determined to elose my letter when your curiosity was at the highest, that you might flutter and fall from the clouds like Icarus. I wanted two things; first, that you should bite your lip, an attitude in which you alone look pretty; and secondly, that you should say half-angrily, "This now is exactly like Aspasia." I will be remem bered; and I will make you look just as I would now you really write it well, you have overcome have you. How fortunate to have arrived at Athens at dawn on the twelfth of Elaphebolion. On this day begin the festivals of Bacchus, and the theatre is thrown open at sunrise. What a theatre! what an elevation! what a prospect of city and port, of land and water, of porticoes and temples, of men and heroes, of demi-gods and gods! It was indeed my wish and intention, when I left Ionia, to be present at the first of the Dionysiacs; but how rarely are wishes and intentions so accomplished, even when winds and waters do not interfere! me. I will now tell you all. No time was to be lost: so I hastened on shore in the dress of an Athenian boy who came over with his mother from Lemnos. In the giddiness of youth he forgot to tell me that, not being yet eighteen years old, he could not be admitted; and he left me on the steps. My heart sank within me; so many young men stared and whispered; yet never was stranger treated with more civility. Crowded as the theatre was (for the tragedy had begun) every one made room for When they were seated, and I too, I looked toward the stage; and behold there lay before me, but afar off, bound upon a rock, a more majestic form, and bearing a countenance more heroic, I should rather say more divine, than ever my imagination had conceived! I know not how long it was before I discovered that as many eyes were directed toward me as toward the competitor of the gods. I was neither flattered by it nor abashed. Every wish, hope, sigh, sensation, was successively with the champion of the human race, with his antagonist Zeus, and his creator Eschylus. How often, O Cleone, have we throbbed with his injuries! how often hath his vulture torn our breasts! how often have we thrown our arms around each other's neck, and half-renounced the religion of our fathers! Even your image, inseparable at other times, came not across me then; Prometheus stood between us. He had resisted in silence and disdain the cruellest tortures that Almightiness could inflict; and now arose the Nymphs of ocean, which heaved its vast waves before us; and now they descended with open arms and sweet benign countenances, and spake with pity; and the insurgent heart was mollified and quelled. I sobbed; I dropt. V. CLEONE TO ASPASIA. Is this telling me all? you faithless creature! There is much to be told when Aspasia faints in a theatre and Aspasia in disguise! My sweet and dear Aspasia! with all your beauty, of which you can not but be conscious, how is it possible you could have hoped to be undetected? Certainly there never was any woman, or even any man, so little vain as you are. For merly you were rather so about your poetry: but : this weakness; nay, you doubt whether your best verses are tolerable. You have told me this several times and you always say what you think, unless when anyone might be hurt or displeased. I am glad the observation comes across me, for I must warn you upon it. Take care then, Aspasia ! do not leave off entirely all dissimulation. It is as feminine a virtue, and as necessary to a woman, as religion. If you are without it, you will have a grace the less, and (what you could worse spare) a sigh the more. VI. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. I was not quite well when I wrote to you. When I am not quite well I must always write to you; I am better after it. I have learnt your Where did I leave off? Ah Cleone! Cleone! lesson; I am dissembling; it must not be with you. My tears are falling. I acted unworthily. And are these tears indeed for my fault against you? I can not tell; if I could, I would candidly. Everything that has happened, everything that shall happen hereafter, I will lay upon your knees. Counsel me; direct me. Even were I as sensible as you are, I should not be able to discover my own faults. The clearest eyes do not see the cheeks below, nor the brow above them. To proceed then in my narrative. Everything appeared to me an illusion but the tragedy. What was divine seemed human, and what was human seemed divine. An apparition of resplendent and unearthly beauty threw aside, with his slender arms, the youths, philosophers, magistrates, and generals, that surrounded me, with a countenance as confident, a motion as rapid, and a command as unresisted as a god. "Stranger!" said he, "I come from Pericles, to offer you my assistance." I looked in his face; it was a child's. "We have attendants here who shall conduct you from the crowd," said he. "Venus and Cupid!" cried one. 66 "We are dogs," growled another. "Worse!" rejoined a third, "we are slaves." "Happy man! happy man! if thou art theirs," whispered the next in his ear, and followed us close behind. I have since been informed that Pericles, who sate below us on the first seat, was the only man who did not rise. No matter; why should he? why did the rest? But it was very kind in him to send his cousin; I mean it was very kind for so proud a man. Epimedea wept over me when I entered her house, and burnt incense before the Gods, and led me into my chamber. "I have a great deal to say to you, my dear Aspasia; but you must go to sleep: your bath shall be ready at noon: but be sure you sleep till then," said she. I did indeed sleep, and (will you believe it?) instantly and soundly. Never was bath more refreshing, never was reproof more gentle, than Epimedea's. I found her at my pillow when I awoke, and she led me to the marble conch. "Dear child!" said she when I had stept in, 'you do not know our customs. You should have come at once to my house; you never should have worn men's clothes: indeed you should not have gone to the theatre at all; but, being there, and moreover in men's habiliments, you should have taken care not to have fainted, as they say you did. My husband Thessalus would never hear of fainting; he used to tell me it was a bad example. But he fainted at last, poor man! and . . I minded his admonition. Why! what a lovely child you are grown, my little Aspasia! Is the bath too hot? Aspasia ! can it be? why, you are no child at all!" I really do believe that this idle discourse of Epimedea, which will tire you perhaps, was the only one that would not have wearied out my spirits. It neither made me think nor answer. What a privilege! what a blessing! how seldom to be enjoyed in our conferences with the silly! Ah! do not let me wrong the kind Epimedea! Those are not silly who have found the way to our hearts; and far other names do they deserve who open to us theirs. VII. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. The boy about whom I wrote to you in my letter of yesterday, is called Alcibiades. He lisps and blushes at it. His cousin Pericles, you may have heard, enjoys the greatest power and reputation, both as an orator and a general, of any man in Athens. Early this morning the beautiful child came to visit me, and told me that when his cousin had finished his studies, which he usually had done about three hours after sunrise, he would desire him to come also. I replied, "By no means do it, my beautiful and brave protector! Surely, on considering the matter, you will think you are taking too great a liberty with a person so distinguished." "I take no liberties with any other," said he. When I expressed in my countenance a little surprise at his impetuosity, he came forward and kissed my brow. Then said he, more submissively, "Pardon my rudeness. I like very well to be told what to do by those who are fond of me; but never to be told what not to do; and the more fond they are of me the less I like it. Because when they tell me what to do, they give me an opportunity of pleasing them; but when * He had no right to be at the theatre; but he might have taken the liberty, for there was nobody in Athens whom he feared, even in his childhood. Thucydides calls him a youth in the twelfth year of the Peloponnesian war. He was, on the mother's side, grandson of Megacles, whose grand-daughter Isodoce married Cimon: her father Euryp tolemus was cousin-german to Pericles. | they tell me what not to do, it is a sign that I have displeased, or am likely to displease them. Beside . . I believe there are some other reasons, but they have quite escaped me. "It is time I should return," said he, "or I shall forget all about the hour of his studies (I mean Pericles) and mine too." I would not let him go however, but inquired who were his teachers, and repeated to him many things from Sappho and Alcæus and Pindar and Simonides. He was amazed, and told me he preferred them to Fate and Necessity, Pytho and Pythonissa. I would now have kissed him in my turn, but he drew back, thinking (no doubt) that I was treating him like a child; that a kiss is never given but as the price of pardon; and that I had pardoned him before for his captiousness. VIII. CLEONE TO ASPASIA. Aspasia ! I foresee that henceforward you will admire the tragedy of Prometheus more than ever. But do not tell anyone, excepting so fond a friend as Cleone, that you prefer the author to Homer. I agree with you that the conception of such a drama is in itself a stupendous effort of genius; that the execution is equal to the conception; that the character of Prometheus is more heroic than any in heroic poetry; and that no production of the same extent is so magnificent and so exalted. But the Iliad is not a region; it is a continent; and you might as well compare this prodigy to it as the cataract of the Nile to the Ocean. In the one we are overpowered by the compression and burst of the element: in the other we are carried over an immensity of space, bounding the earth, not bounded by her, and having nothing above but the heavens. Let us enjoy, whenever we have an opportunity, the delight of admiration, and perform the duties of reverence. May others hate what is admirable! We will hate likewise, O my Aspasia ! when we can do no better. I am unable to foretell the time when this shall happen it lies, I think, beyond the calculations of Meton. : I am happy to understand that the Athenians have such a philosopher among them. Hitherto we have been inclined to suppose that philosophy, at Athens, is partly an intricate tissue of subtile questions and illusory theories, knotted with syllogisms, and partly an indigested mass of unexamined assertions and conflicting dogmas. The Ionians are more silent, contemplative, and recluse. Knowing that Nature will not deliver her oracles in the crowd nor by sound of trumpet, they open their breasts to her in solitude with the simplicity of children, and look earnestly in her face for a reply. Meton and Democritus and Anaxagoras may perhaps lay their hands upon the leapings of your tettinxes, and moderate their chirping, but I apprehend that the genius of the people will always repose upon the wind-skins of the sophists. Comedy might be their corrector; but Comedy seems to think she has two offices to perform; from one side of the stage to explode absurdity, and from the other to introduce indecency. She might, under wise regulations (and these she should impose upon herself) render more service to a state than Philosophy could, in whatsoever other character. And I wonder that Aristophanes, strong in the poetical faculty, and unrivalled in critical acuteness, should not perceive that a dominion is within his reach which is within the reach of no mortal beside; a dominion whereby he may reform the manners, dictate the pursuits, and regulate the affections of his countrymen. Perhaps he never could have done it so effectually, had he been better and begun otherwise; but having, however unworthy might have been the means and methods, seized upon their humours, they now are as pliable to him as waxen images to Thessalian witches. He keeps them before the fire he has kindled, and he has only to sing the right song. Beware, my dear Aspasia, never to offend him: for he holds more terrors at his command than Eschylus. The tragic poet rolls the thunder that frightens, the comic wields the lightning that kills. Aristophanes has the power of tossing you among the populace of a thousand cities for a thousand years. A great poet is more powerful than Sesostris, and a wicked one more formidable than Phalaris. IX. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. when she said, "Do not leave me an odd ear-ring: put the other in the hair." "Epimedea," said I, "I have made a vow never to wear on the head anything but one single flower, a single wheat-ear, green or yellow, and ivy or vine-leaves: the number of these are not mentioned in the vow." "Rash child!" said Epimedea, shaking her head: "I never made but two vows; one was when I took a husband." "And the other? Epimedea!" "No matter," said she; "it might be, for what I know, never to do the like again." X. ASPASIA TO CLEONE. Pericles has visited me. After many grave and gentle inquiries, often suspended, all relating to my health; and after praises of Miletus, and pity for my friends left behind, he told me that, when he was quite assured of my recovery from the fatigues of the voyage, he hoped I would allow him to collect from me, at my leisure hours, the information he wanted on the literature of Ionia. Simple-hearted man! in praising the authors of our country, he showed me that he knew them perfectly, from first to last. And now indeed his energy was displayed: I thought he had none at all. With how sonorous and modulated a voice did he repeat the more poetical passages of our elder historians! and how his whole soul did lean upon Herodotus! Happily for me, he observed not my enthusiasm. And now he brought me Epimedea has been with me in my cham-into the presence of Homer. "We claim him,” ber. She asked me whether the women of said he; "but he is yours. Observe with what Ionia had left off wearing ear-rings. I answered partiality he always dwells on Asia! How infithat I believe they always had worn them, and nitely more civilised are Glaucus and Sarpedon that they were introduced by the Persians, who than any of the Grecians he was called upon to received them from nations more remote. celebrate! Priam, Paris, Hector, what polished men! Civilisation has never made a step in advance, and never will, on those countries; she had gone so far in the days of Homer. He keeps Helen pretty rigorously out of sight, but he opens his heart to the virtues of Andromache. What a barbarian is the son of a goddess! Pallas must seize him by the hair to avert the murder of his leader; but at the eloquence of the Phrygian king the storm of the intractable homicide bursts in tears." "And do you think yourself too young" said she "for such an ornament?" producing at the same instant a massy pair, inlaid with the largest emeralds. "Alas! alas!" said she, "your mother neglected you strangely. There is no hole in the ear, right or left! We can mend that, however; I know a woman who will bring us the prettiest little pan of charcoal, with the prettiest little steel rod in it; and, before you can cry out, one ear lets light through. These are yours," said she, "and so shall everything be when I am gone.. house, garden, quails, leveret." "Generous Epimedea!" said I, "do not say things that pain me. I will accept a part of the present; I will wear these beautiful emeralds on one arm. Thinking of nailing them in my ears, you resolve to make me steady; but I am unwilling they should become dependencies of Attica." "All our young women wear them; the Goddesses too." "And Eschylus," said I, but could not continue blushes rose into my cheek, and pained me at the recollection of my weakness. "He has left us,” said Pericles, who pretended not to have perceived it; I am grieved that my prayers were inadequate to detain him. But what prayers or what expostulations can influence the lofty mind, labouring and heaving under injustice and indignity? Eschylus knew he merited, by his genius and his services, the gratitude and admiration of the Athenians. He saw others preferred before him, and hoisted sail. At the ru mour of his departure such was the consternation as if the shield of Pallas in the Parthenon had dropt I had taken one, and was about to kiss her, from her breast upon the pavement. That glory "The Goddesses are in the right," said I; "their ears are marble; but I do not believe any one of them would tell us that women were made to be the settings of pearls and emeralds." shines now upon the crown of Hiero which has sunk for Athens." "You have still great treasures left," said I; for he was moved. "True," replied he, "but will not everyone remark who hears the observation, that we know not how to keep them, and have never weighed them?" I sate silent; he resumed his serenity. "We ought to change places," said he, " at the feet of the poets. Eschylus, I see, is yours; Homer is mine. Aspasia should be a Pallas to Achilles; and Pericles a subordinate power, comforting and consoling the afflicted demi-god. Impetuosity, impatience, resentment, revenge itself, are pardonable sins in the very softest of your sex on brave endurance rises our admiration." "I love those better who endure with constancy," said I. XIV. CLEONE TO ASPASIA. I must and will fear for you, and the more because I perceive you are attracted as the bees are, by an empty sound, the fame of your admirer. You love Pericles for that very quality which ought to have set you on your guard against him. In contentions for power, the philosophy and the poetry of life are dropt and trodden down. Domestic affections can no more bloom and flourish in the hardened race-course of politics, than flowers can find nourishment in the pavement of the streets. In the politician the whole creature is factitious; if ever he speaks as before, he speaks either from memory or invention. But such is your beauty, such your genius, it may alter the nature of things. Endowed with the power of Circe, you will exert it oppositely, and restore to the most selfish and most voracious of animals the uprightness and dignity of man. XV. PERICLES TO ASPASIA. It is not wisdom in itself, O Aspasia ! it is the manner of imparting it that affects the soul, and alone deserves the name of eloquence. I have never been moved by any but yours. Is it the beauty that shines over it, is it the I told you I would love, O Cleone! but I am so voice that ripens it, giving it those lovely colours, near it that I dare not. Tell me what I am to do; I can do anything but write and think. Pericles has not returned. O what long days are these of Elaphebolion ! that delicious freshness; is it the modesty and ing for nothing but support? diffidence with which you present it to us, lookSufficient were anyone of them singly; but all united have come forward to subdue me, and have deprived me of my courage, my self-possession, and my repose. I dare not hope to be beloved, Aspasia ! I did hope it once in my life, and have been disappointed. Where I sought for happiness none is offered to me: I have neither the sunshine nor the shade. So unfortunate in earlier days, ought I, ten years later, to believe that she, to whom the earth, with whatever is beautiful and graceful in it, bows prostrate, will listen to me as her lover? I dare not; too much have I dared already. But if, O Aspasia ! I should sometimes seem heavy and dull in conversation, when happier men surround you, pardon my infirmity. I have only one wish; I may not utter it: I have only one fear; this at least is not irrational, and I will own it; the fear that Aspasia could never be sufficiently happy with me. XVI. ASPASIA TO PERICLES. Do you doubt, O Pericles, that I shall be sufficiently happy with you? This doubt of yours assures me that I shall be. I throw aside my pen to crown the Gods. And I worship thee first, O Pallas! who protectest the If he loves me the merit is not mine; the fault life, enlightenest the mind, establishest the power, will be if he ceases. and exaltest the glory, of Pericles. |