XXIV.
Hipyllos walked swiftly down the hill. He wanted to be the first to carry the glad tidings to Clytie.
About half way he met Myrmex, who was apparently returning after having performed his errand. As the way was stony and the moon often concealed behind clouds the old man had lighted a torch, but Hipyllos wanted neither him nor his torch—he let the moon light him as best it could and hurried past him, exclaiming:
“Follow me, and put out the torch when you enter the street.”
Then, leaping rather than walking down the hill, he turned into the dark, shaded Limnae, and soon saw the familiar ray of light stream out to meet him from the side-building of Xenocles’ house. Hurrying towards it, he picked up a pebble from the ground and flung it against the wall.
The red curtain was drawn aside and in the opening appeared the object of his longing—Clytie! As the lamp stood back in the room the rays divided and left her almost in darkness, but the youthful figure formed a shadowy outline, which was quite enough to make a lover’s heart throb. Though Hipyllos was unable to distinguish her features, the luxuriant hair, the childish roundness of the cheeks, and the graceful slope of the shoulders possessed bewitching suggestions of youthful beauty, and Hipyllos knew that these signs were no delusions.
Spite of the darkness outside, Clytie recognized him and exclaimed:
“Eternal Gods! What has happened? Good or evil fortune? Speak, speak, I implore you.”
Hipyllos listened in delight. Every word uttered by the young girl’s lips echoed with a silvery cadence upon the silence of the night.
He pushed a log against the wall with his foot, and sprang upon it.
“Dear, lovely Clytie,” he whispered, “give me your hand! What I have to say is surely worth a clasp of the fingers.”
He now told her in a few words the events of the evening; but he was apparently not satisfied with a mere clasp of the hand.
Suddenly the street was illumined by a broad ray of light and, though Hipyllos’ shadow, gigantic and strangely distorted, fell on the wall and the loop-hole it was not difficult for the new-comers to see that he was in the act of pressing his lips upon a dazzlingly white arm, which vainly strove to escape the caress.
“Aha!” cried an angry voice, “a pretty sight, by Heracles....”
Clytie, with a half-stifled shriek, vanished from the loop-hole and Hipyllos, turning, leaped down from the log.
Accompanied by a slave bearing a blazing torch Xenocles, after following a cross-path over the hill, had just emerged from the shrubbery. Hipyllos had not thought that the active little man, spite of his age, was almost as agile in his gait as he himself.
Xenocles seemed furiously enraged, and struck fiercely at the youth with his clenched fists.
“Begone!” he shouted. “Begone from my sight. Do you suppose I will give my daughter to a rake who steals to the maiden’s room in the darkness of night. Be off from here, I say; Clytie shall never be your wife.”
At these words Hipyllos turned deadly pale and his head swam. Now that all obstacles were removed, now that he believed himself at the goal of his wishes, this had happened so unexpectedly that it seemed as though the earth had yawned under his feet.
Throwing himself at Xenocles’ feet, he clasped his knees and with tears in his eyes exclaimed in the most imploring accents: “My father, punish me, let me be scourged by your slaves—I will offer my back to them myself, but forgive me! Your daughter is dearer to me than the light of my eyes.”
A singular twitching convulsed Xenocles’ features; he averted his face, but unable to control himself, burst into a loud laugh.
“Young man,” he said, when he was once more capable of speech, “confess that I gave you a terrible fright. But,” he added, raising his voice, “you both deserved it—she not less than you. Now I understand the whole affair—had she not been accompanied by you, she would never have dared to fly from her father’s house at night.”
Hipyllos scarcely knew himself how he took leave of Xenocles. Now that everything had resulted happily he was fairly intoxicated with joy. Attended by Myrmex he wandered about, revelling in his delight, through the moon-lit night. What cared he for the rough rioters he met, or the muffled thieves who watched behind the altars on the cross-roads.
Did not everything seem to smile upon him? He had come into the “Gardens,” the loveliest part of Athens. In the centre of the ground sloping towards the river towered a tall plane-tree at whose foot a fountain rippled; around it stretched thickets of Agnus castus trees, against whose dark background white statues were clearly relieved. Of the nine sanctuaries in this quarter the marble temple of Aphrodite gleamed through dark, towering cypresses; below it the waves of the Ilissus, consecrated to the Muses, sparkled in their deep channel, and from a path along the bank of the stream gay conversation echoed upon the silence of the night. Suddenly a youthful voice, which seemed the embodiment of light-heartedness, began the following song:
“Wherefore, prithee, need I learn
Justice, law, and oratory?
Wherefore must I my thoughts turn
To things valueless to me?
Let me rather gaily seek
With my friends for mirth and joy,
Teach me tender words to speak
And with fair Aphrodite toy.”
Hipyllos softly repeated the last words of the song. He felt as though, like the gods themselves, he was walking on the clouds. Just at that moment repeated groans happened to attract his attention, and turning he saw that his old slave could scarcely keep up with him.
“What is the matter, Myrmex?” he asked good-naturedly. “Don’t you see that I am as happy as a god—and here you are growing worse than Sisyphus himself.”
“Don’t be angry,” whined the old man. “It is growing late. Haven’t we walked far enough to-day?”
“Well then—home!” replied Hipyllos laughing, “but to-morrow....”
“What are you going to do?” asked Myrmex rather anxiously.
“To-morrow I shall go to the Lyceium to listen to the wise teachings of Hippias from Elis. He who can boast of being able to answer any question must surely be a man of varied knowledge.”
“And what do you want him to teach you?”
“First to make happiness a household goddess.”
“And next?”
“To bind her wings.”
“So that she can always stay with you?”
“Even so, wise Myrmex.”
TOO HAPPY.
THIRD YEAR OF THE 98TH OLYMPIAD (386 B.C.)
