The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great. Fuller Robert Higginson
was even more keen than that between the orators, and each had his school of partisans and defenders.
"Honesty is truth," said Porphyry, a young follower of Xenocrates, who had succeeded Plato in the Academy. "But what is truth? Have you Peripatetics discovered it yet?"
"We are seeking, at least," Aristotle replied dryly, feeling that an attempt was being made to entrap him.
"Democritus holds that truth does not exist," Porphyry ventured, unabashed.
"Yes, and Protagoras maintains that we are the measure of all things and that everything is true or false, as we will," the Stagirite rejoined. "They are unfortunate, for if there were no truth, there would be no world. As for the Sceptics, they have not the courage of their doctrines; for which of them, being in Libya and conceiving himself to be in Athens, would think of trying to walk into the Odeum? And when they fall sick, do they not summon a physician instead of trusting to some person who is ignorant of healing to cure them? Those who search for truth with their eyes and hands only shall never find it, for there are truths which are none the less true because we cannot see nor feel them, and these are the greatest of all."
"We might know the truth at last if we could find out what animates nature," Clearchus said. "Why do flowers grow and bloom? Why do birds fly and fishes swim?"
"The marble statues of the Parthenon would have remained blocks of stone forever had not Phidias cut them out," Aristotle responded. "It was Empedocles who taught us that earth, air, fire, and water must form the limits of our knowledge; but who believes him now?"
"Do you hold, then, with Anaxagoras of Clazomene, that all things are directed by a divine mind?" Porphyry asked.
This question was followed by a sudden hush while Aristotle considered his answer. All present had heard whispers that the Stagirite in his teaching was introducing new Gods and denying the power of the old divinities. This was the crime for which Socrates had been put to death and Pericles himself had found it difficult to save Aspasia from the same fate when a similar charge was preferred against her. Aristotle felt his danger, for he knew that the jealous and powerful priesthood would be glad to catch him tripping, as indeed it did in later years.
"It was Hermotimus, I think, who first proposed that doctrine," he said slowly, "and I have noticed that Anaxagoras employs it only when no other explanation of what he sees is left him."
There was a murmur of applause at this reply, which suggested the necessity for supposing the existence of an overruling intelligence without committing the philosopher to such a belief. The young Academician seemed crestfallen, but by common consent the topic was abandoned as too dangerous and the conversation became more general.
Clearchus could not wholly conceal the anxiety that filled his mind. He started at every unexpected sound and turned his face toward the entrance, where he had posted a slave with orders to bring him word instantly should any message for him arrive. His mood did not escape his friends, who, without knowing the reason for it, urged wine upon him in the hope of raising his spirits and for the same reason themselves drank more freely than usual.
Chares had promised something new in the way of amusement, but he refused to tell what it was to be. Consequently there was a flutter of expectation when the attendants removed the last course, washing the hands of the guests for the seventh time, and leaving only wine and sweetmeats before them.
First came a Scythian with a trained bear, which performed a series of familiar tricks. Aristotle watched the animal with the most minute attention, directing notice to several of its characteristics and explaining their meaning. The music then struck into a louder and livelier air and six young girls, in floating garments of brilliant hue, performed a graceful dance of intricate figure. There was no novelty in this and Chares became the target for good-natured reproaches, which he received smilingly. The dancing girls gave place to a swarthy Indian juggler, whose feats of magic delighted the spectators and evoked cries of wonder and admiration.
As the juggler retired gravely, it was noticed that Aristotle, unused to so much wine, had dropped quietly off to sleep. By command of Clearchus, two stalwart slaves carried him away to bed, while his companions at the board drank his health.
"All this is very well, Chares," Porphyry complained, "but I thought you were going to show us something new."
"Pour a libation to Aphrodite!" the Theban replied, sprinkling a few drops from his goblet and draining what remained.
The others followed his example, nothing loath.
From behind a mass of blossoms came a young woman and stood before the sparkling fountain with her chin slightly raised and a smile upon her lips. She wore a chiton of shimmering, transparent fabric from the looms of Amorgos. The coils of her tawny hair were held in place by jewelled pins which were her only adornment. There was a confident expression of sensuous content on her face and a slight smile parted her lips as she saw the involuntary admiration that she inspired.
Through the golden cobweb that covered without hiding it, her firm flesh glowed warmly. The curves of her shoulders and breast and the rounded fulness of her lithe limbs were as perfect as a statue. As Clearchus gazed upon her with the delight in pure beauty which was so strong in him, he was beset by an elusive sense of familiarity for which he tried in vain to find some explanation. He was certain that he had never seen the girl before. Had there been nothing else to assure him of this, he knew that he never would have forgotten her eyes. Like the eyes of a predatory animal, they shot back the light in reflected gleams of fleeting topaz.
Crouched at her side lay a leopard, his body pressed flat against the rich carpet in which her white feet were buried. He wore a golden collar with a slender chain, the end of which she held between her fingers. The beast glanced restlessly from side to side in his strange surroundings, twitching his tail with nervous uneasiness.
In the light that bathed her from head to foot, the young woman posed for a moment to allow the spectators to feel the full effect of her beauty.
"Thais! Thais!" cried several of the guests, in accents of intense astonishment.
"Is it really Thais?" Clearchus asked, turning to Chares. "How did you ever persuade her to come?"
The Theban smiled, but made no reply. Thais had only recently begun to attract attention, but her fame had already eclipsed that of other popular favorites in Athens. Sculptors and painters had declared her the most beautiful woman in all Hellas. Poets had made verses in her honor, likening her to Hebe and Aphrodite. Her house was thronged daily with the youth of fashion. She had become the latest sensation in a city greedy for all that was new.
Little was known of her beyond the fact that she had been reared and educated in all the accomplishments of her profession by old Eunomus, one of the most skilful of all the Athenian dealers in flesh and blood. Where he had found her he refused to tell. Everybody had heard that Alcmæon had purchased her freedom a short time before his death, paying Eunomus half her weight in gold, and that he had made comfortable provision for her when his last illness seized him and he knew that he must die. The only regret that he had expressed was that he must leave her behind him.
Left in an independent position, Thais had shown herself capricious. None of the young men who hung about her could boast of any successes. A few had ruined themselves in their efforts to gain her favor, and one had even drunk hemlock and crept to her door to die. Clearchus, although he had never before seen her, had heard enough of her to feel astonished at her presence. He could not understand how Chares had been able to induce her to come, like a mere dancing girl, for their amusement, unless he had offered her an enormous sum of money. Knowing the reckless character of his friend, the thought alarmed him.
"You have ruined yourself!" he whispered to the Theban. "What did you promise the woman?"
"Not an obol, on my honor, O youth of simple heart!" Chares replied, laughing.
"Then how did you get her to come?" Clearchus asked. "You do not know her."
"I invited her," Chares replied; "and she accepted. I suppose it was a woman's whim. I did not ask her."
Slaves ran forward with a number of sword blades set in blocks of wood in such a manner as to enable them to stand upright. These they arranged symmetrically