“there is but one such spot; from heaven apollo
beheld; and chose it for his earthly shrine!”
aubrey de vere.
instead of returning immediately to athens, following the expulsion of the persians, zopyrus and his new-found friend, cimon, turned their faces northward. tempted by the beauty of the starry nights and the absence of wayfarers, the two usually journeyed after the golden orb of the sun had disappeared beyond the watery horizon of the corinthian gulf. along this road that skirted the gulf, the hordes of xerxes had marched.
the contrast between his journey southward and northward filled zopyrus’ heart with stirring emotions, and in the dewy silence of the nights that followed their departure from platæa, zopyrus revealed to cimon his peculiar identity and laid bare to this sympathetic friend the emotions that had at first stirred and finally swayed his soul from the time that he had left his native sardis up to the present moment.
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cimon was a sympathetic and wondering listener. this young man’s experiences were so antipodal to his own that they interested him exceedingly. a week passed in this pleasant exchange of ideas and confidences until toward sundown of the eighth day, the purple crown of mt. helicon loomed in the distance and the two knew that in another day their journey would be completed.
“i do not believe that melpomene sits alone on mt. parnassus now,” remarked zopyrus meditatively, more to himself than to his companion, as the two caught their first glimpse of the lofty dwelling place of the muses.
“what did you say?” asked cimon, puzzled.
“oh,” replied the other with a short laugh to cover his confusion, “i was just giving expression to an extremely fanciful idea that occurred to me when i passed through this gorge on my way to athens. i imagined that surely in the face of an invading foe, no muse but the sorrowful melpomene could occupy yonder height.”
“you were surely mistaken, friend zopyrus,” said the other with a seriousness that proved how highly he esteemed this young man’s opinions. “would not clio, for instance, have been there to record events that will go down in history, and surely you can not imagine that callio was in hiding when aeschylus wrote his inspired verse so soon after the victory of salamis! aye, and thalia too, had a vision of the future and knew that ere a year had passed, two friends, one who had helped in his infinitesimal way to swell the ranks of xerxes, and one who, insignificant as compared with the many heroes of hellas, would pass together in the bond of a lasting friendship beneath her very abode! i do not believe that any of the muses or any of the gods ever desert mortals, but we finite beings are incapable of comprehending their plan for us in the process of its unfolding.”
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zopyrus thought of the monotheistic belief of the hellenic maiden whose act of supplication he had witnessed on the promontory overlooking the bay of salamis, but he said nothing, for he had an inner feeling that the stalwart, aristocratic greek who walked beside him was as yet unready for a belief in but one ruling divinity. that he loved the deities of greece was evident from the rapt gaze which he now turned to the lofty summit of mt. parnassus. was he aware that there were greeks of the purest blood who were turning from the ancient gods and exalting zeus apparently out of all due proportion? strange emotions filled zopyrus’ heart, for he too marveled at the thought that belief in the gods might no longer sway the destinies of the greeks.
the two young men perceived that the road turned away from the water-side and zig-zagged across a picturesque ridge. it was now broad daylight and they met occasional pedestrians who were returning from consultations with the oracle of apollo. what sorrows and ambitions, what joys or what despair were locked in the heart of each one? very likely these travelers had sought the oracle upon personal matters since their national crisis had so recently passed to their great advantage. here an old man with slow and feeble steps probably wished to know the time yet allotted to him upon earth; there a mother with anxious care-worn countenance whose boy had not yet returned from platæa, and beside her a young wife whose husband might have perished on the field of battle.
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cimon and zopyrus did not stop to converse with any of the wayfarers for they desired to return to athens as quickly as possible after their interview with the pythoness. presently they found themselves in a rugged and romantic glen, closed on the north by the wall-like cliffs of mt. parnassus, on the east by a ridge similar to the one they had just crossed, and on the south by the irregular heights of mt. kirphis, and in this glen stood a simple ionic temple surrounded by many smaller buildings; the treasuries of various cities and islands of greece. their outlines were softened by vines and shrubbery in abundance. the tall trees and towering crags of the mount of the muses allowed the entrance of only such sunlight as filtered through the less leafy trees. the air was cool and laden with the dank odor of growing things.
the two suppliants at the shrine of apollo, after passing by the treasury of thebes, approached that of athens which was a beautiful little doric temple of parian marble, containing and partly built from the spoils of the battle of marathon. cimon paused to read an inscription engraved on a low parapet that supported armor captured from the persians in that great battle. his heart swelled with pride at the consciousness that it was his father who had so successfully routed the persians on the plain of marathon. he ventured a glance at zopyrus and was convinced that a loyal greek stood by his side.
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the long low edifice just beyond the treasury of the athenians was the bouleuterion above which rose a rough mass of rock, the rock of the sibyl. a priest of apollo at the entrance of the bouleuterion gave each of the young men a wax tablet and stylus with which it was intended that he write the question that he wished answered by the sibyl whose duty it was to make known the will of the god whose organ of inspiration she was. the question that appeared on the tablet of each was the same; “shall i win the maiden i love?” the priest took the tablets and withdrew to the rock where the priestess, a virgin clad in white, having chewed the leaves of the sacred laurel and drunk from the prophetic underground stream, kassotis, sat upon a tripod above a fissure in the rock from which a mystic vapor arose by which she soon became inspired. her mutterings and ravings were interpreted by the priest who wrote them below the questions in verse.
as was customary the men did not remain near during the trance of the medium, but sought the castalian fountain which was east of the sacred precinct at the head of a wild and picturesque gorge. the fountain was in front of a smooth face of rock, the water issuing from a rock at the right and being carried through a channel to an opening at the extreme left.
cimon and zopyrus seated themselves beneath a plane tree and surveyed with delight their romantic surroundings. it was no wonder apollo had here chosen a location for one of his shrines! the very breeze which brushed against their cheeks was like the breath of unseen spirits. the leaves of the plane trees whispered unintelligible secrets and the mountain stream murmured of mysteries as it moved majestically onward.
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suddenly the two became aware of a figure seated near the edge of the fountain nearly within touch of its cooling spray. it proved upon closer observation to be that of an old man with wrinkled countenance and long flowing beard. from under his shaggy brows he had surveyed the new-comers with searching eyes. his hands were folded across the head of a knotty walking-stick. cimon, the true greek, to whom goodness and purity were synonymous with outward beauty, turned away from the unlovely figure of the old man with an exclamation of annoyance, signifying that he disliked having the loveliness of the scene marred by the presence of the elderly stranger. but zopyrus was differently affected by the sight of the aged one. something vaguely familiar in the type of features held his gaze.
the old man continued to survey the two new-comers with a penetrating gaze till cimon stood up abruptly and said to zopyrus: “our answers must be ready. let us return to the rock of the sibyl.”
he walked away from the fountain keeping his face averted, for he would not deign to glance again toward the aged stranger. but zopyrus’ heart was filled with pity toward this old man whose eyes like living coals burned forth their last lustre from the ashy gray of his withered face.
“you are a stranger in greece?” zopyrus asked kindly.
the old man gave an affirmative nod and said, his tones seeming to issue from the recesses of a cavern, “you too, my young friend, are a stranger to greece, but not so your companion,” with a nod toward cimon, who now hesitated to leave the fountain side and lingered uncertainly to hear the discourse.
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“you are right, father,” replied zopyrus, bestowing upon him a look of mingled wonder and approbation, “i came over with king xerxes, but am not intending to return to persia. my companion here knows that though once half a greek, i am now entirely won over to the cause of hellas.”
“it is easy to turn over to the victorious side! tell me did you fight for greece before taking this step?”
“that he did,” cried cimon who could no longer maintain his attitude of aloofness. “next to pausanias himself, there was no braver in the ranks of the greeks!”
the stranger’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm and he bent upon zopyrus a look of deep admiration. suddenly he stood up and though he leaned on his cane, the young men were surprised at his lofty stature.
“do you intend to worship the gods of greece? i see you have made a start by journeying here to this shrine of pagan idolatry.” he looked about him, his sharp features expressive of scorn and disapproval.
cimon took an aggressive step toward the two, but zopyrus stretched forth his hand deterringly.
“tell me what you mean,” zopyrus asked, a suspicion of the truth beginning to dawn upon him.
the ancient pilgrim dropped his staff, and raising his arms toward the heavens, cried, “and the lord shall be king over all the earth; in that day shall there be one lord, and his name one. for the idols have spoken vanity, and the diviners have seen a lie, and have told false dreams; they comfort in vain.”
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he turned and pointed with one outstretched arm in the direction of the oracle, and with the other extended heavenward he continued: “thus saith the lord of hosts: ‘in those days it shall come to pass that ten men shall take hold out of all the languages of the nation, even shall take hold of the skirt of him that is a jew, saying, “we will go with you; for we have heard that god is with you.”’”
the last words trembled into a silence that neither of the men dared to break. the awful solemnity and stern conviction of this prophet of a foreign race filled them with indescribable fear. they stood in reverent attitude before this worthy seer whose inspired words caused the possible utterances of the demented pythoness to sink into utter insignificance. when the young men ventured to look up, the aged one was disappearing around the edge of the fountain in the opposite direction from which the two had come.
“wait a moment,” called zopyrus. “who are you, worthy sir, who have only strengthened convictions which i already possessed?”
the prophet smiled and his face seemed alight with an inner radiance as he replied, “they call me zechariah.”
