Buried Cities, Volume 2: Olympia. Jennie Hall
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Buried Cities, Volume 2: Olympia
BURIED CITIES
BY
JENNIE HALL
The publishers are grateful to the estate of Miss Jennie Hall and to her many friends for assistance in planning the publication of this book. Especial thanks are due to Miss Nell C. Curtis of the Lincoln School, New York City, for helping to finish Miss Hall's work of choosing the pictures, and to Miss Irene I. Cleaves of the Francis Parker School, Chicago, who wrote the captions. It was Miss Katharine Taylor, now of the Shady Hill School, Cambridge, who brought these stories to our attention.
FOREWORD: TO BOYS AND GIRLS
Do you like to dig for hidden treasure? Have you ever found Indian arrowheads or Indian pottery? I knew a boy who was digging a cave in a sandy place, and he found an Indian grave. With his own hands he uncovered the bones and skull of some brave warrior. That brown skull was more precious to him than a mint of money. Another boy I knew was making a cave of his own. Suddenly he dug into an older one made years before. He crawled into it with a leaping heart and began to explore. He found an old carpet and a bit of burned candle. They proved that some one had lived there. What kind of a man had he been and what kind of life had he lived—black or white or red, robber or beggar or adventurer? Some of us were walking in the woods one day when we saw a bone sticking out of the ground. Luckily we had a spade, and we set to work digging. Not one moment was the tool idle. First one bone and then another came to light and among them a perfect horse's skull. We felt as though we had rescued Captain Kidd's treasure, and we went home draped in bones.
Suppose that instead of finding the bones of a horse we had uncovered a gold-wrapped king. Suppose that instead of a deserted cave that boy had dug into a whole buried city with theaters and mills and shops and beautiful houses. Suppose that instead of picking up an Indian arrowhead you could find old golden vases and crowns and bronze swords lying in the earth. If you could be a digger and a finder and could choose your find, would you choose a marble statue or a buried bakeshop with bread two thousand years old still in the oven or a king's grave filled with golden gifts? It is of such digging and such finding that this book tells.
OLYMPIA
TWO WINNERS OF CROWNS
The July sun was blazing over the country of Greece. Dust from the dry plain hung in the air. But what cared the happy travelers for dust or heat? They were on their way to Olympia to see the games. Every road teemed with a chattering crowd of men and boys afoot and on horses. They wound down from the high mountains to the north. They came along the valley from the east and out from among the hills to the south. Up from the sea led the sacred road, the busiest of all. A little caravan of men and horses was trying to hurry ahead through the throng. The master rode in front looking anxiously before him as though he did not see the crowd. After him rode a lad. His eyes were flashing eagerly here and there over the strange throng. A man walked beside the horse and watched the boy smilingly. Behind them came a string of pack horses with slaves to guard the loads of wine and food and tents and blankets for their master's camp.
"What a strange-looking man, Glaucon!" said the boy. "He has a dark skin."
The boy's own skin was fair, and under his hat his hair was golden. As he spoke he pointed to a man on the road who was also riding at the head of a little caravan. His skin was dark. Shining black hair covered his ears. His garment was gay with colored stripes.
"He is a merchant from Egypt," answered the man. "He will have curious things to sell—vases of glass, beads of amber, carved ivory, and scrolls gay with painted figures. You must see them, Charmides."
But already the boy had forgotten the Egyptian.
"See the chariot!" he cried.
It was slowly rolling along the stony road. A grave, handsome man stood in it holding the reins. Beside him stood another man with a staff in his hand. Behind the chariot walked two bowmen. After them followed a long line of pack horses led by slaves. "They are the delegates from Athens," explained Glaucon. "There are, doubtless, rich gifts for Zeus on the horses and perhaps some stone tablets engraved with new laws."
But the boy was not listening.
"Jugglers! Jugglers!" he cried.
And there they were at the side of the road, showing their tricks and begging for coins. One man was walking on his hands and tossing a ball about with his feet. Another was swallowing a sword.
"Stop, Glaucon!" cried Charmides, "I must see him. He will kill himself."
"No, my little master," replied the slave. "You shall see him again at Olympia. See your father. He would be vexed if we waited."
And there was the master ahead, pushing forward rapidly, looking neither to the right hand nor the left. The boy sighed.
"He is hurrying to see Creon. He forgets me!" he thought.
But immediately his eyes were caught by some new thing, and his face was gay again. So the little company traveled up the sloping road amid interesting sights. For here were people from all the corners of the known world—Greeks from Asia in trailing robes, Arabs in white turbans, black men from Egypt, kings from Sicily, Persians with their curled beards, half civilized men from the north in garments of skin. "See!" said Glaucon at last as they reached a hilltop, "the temple!"
He pointed ahead. There shone the tip of the roof and its gold ornament. Hovering above was a marble statue with spread wings.
"And there is Victory!" whispered Charmides. "She is waiting for Creon. She will never wait for me," and he sighed.
The crowd broke into a shout when they saw the temple. A company of young men flew by, singing a song. Charmides passed a sick man. The slaves had set down his litter, and he had stretched out his hands toward the temple and was praying. For the sick were sometimes cured by a visit to Olympia. The boy's father had struck his heels into his horse's sides and was galloping forward, calling to his followers to hasten.
In a few moments they reached higher land. Then they saw the sacred place spread out before them. There was the wall all around it. Inside it shone a few buildings and a thousand statues. Along one side stretched a row of little marble treasure houses. At the far corner lay the stadion with its rows of stone seats. Nearer and outside the wall was the gymnasium. Even from a distance Charmides could see men running about in the court.
"There are the athletes!" he thought. "Creon is with them."
Behind all these buildings rose a great hill, dark green with trees. Down from the hill poured a little stream. It met a wide river that wound far through the valley. In the angle of these rivers lay Olympia. The temple and walls and gymnasium were all of stone and looked as though they had been there forever. But in the meadow all around the sacred place was a city of winged tents. There were little shapeless ones of skins lying over sticks. There were round huts woven of rushes. There were sheds of poles with green boughs laid upon them. There were tall tents of gaily striped canvas. Farther off were horses tethered. And everywhere were gaily robed men moving about. Menon, Charmides' father, looking ahead from the high place, turned to a slave.
"Run on quickly," he said. "Save a camping place for us there on Mount Kronion, under the trees."
The man was off. Menon spoke to the other servants. "Push forward and make camp. I will visit the gymnasium. Come, Charmides, we will go to see Creon."
They rode down the slope toward Olympia. As they passed among the tents they saw friends and exchanged kind greetings.
"Ah, Menon!" called one. "There is good news of Creon. Every one expects great things of him."
"I have kept room for your camp next my tent, Menon," said another.
"Here are sights for you, Charmides," said a kind old man.
Charmides caught a glimpse of gleaming marble among the crowd and guessed that some sculptor was showing his statues for sale. Yonder was a barber's tent. Gentlemen were sitting in chairs and men were cutting their hair or rubbing their faces