ALKIBIADES
Book I
CHAPTER I
‘Whence can we know that which is to be?
Veiled in deep darkness is the life of mortals.’
Anacreon.
In the early morning of a spring day in Greece, under a heaven of such a blue as one can seldom see elsewhere, leaning from a window of one of the noblest houses in Athens, looking sometimes down on the town that lay beneath—awaking to its daily life of work and thought and happiness—or gazing up at the pure sky, with the just finished Parthenon standing out against it, imagine a boy of more than even Grecian beauty. His light and slightly curling hair was blown back from a lofty forehead, his clear-cut, perfect features, and the healthy hue upon his cheeks, resembling the pure white marble of the temple and the glow of the resplendent morning.
He was only a boy, but in his gaze was something more than ordinary childish wonder. An earnest, wistful look, unsatisfied, told of a soul which already sought to penetrate the things to be, the mystery of the life that lay struggling in the city at his feet—a longing for wings with which to rise beyond the arching canopy above him, if he could not find an answer here.
His earliest recollection was of a high-born gentleman, a nobler man than any he met now, a stalwart warrior, his father Kleinias. He could just remember how that father used to tell him they traced their long descent up through a line of heroes—through Ajax, son of Telamon, who went with twelve great ships to the Siege of Troy, and was the strongest, biggest of all the leaders there. How Telamon was son of Aiakos, judge of those dark regions somewhere underground, in which the simple-minded soldier still believed; and Aiakos, as all men knew, was son of Zeus himself. Divine Achilles also, Peleus’s son, was of his blood, for Peleus too was son of Aiakos.
One day his father, dressed in the heavy armour of the Grecian soldier, had come to him, and having prayed the gods, with more than even his usual deep reverence, to watch over and protect his son, and make him worthy of their race, had left him sorrowfully, and the child heard soon afterwards an unwonted stir in the great courtyard, and then the sound as of tramping soldiers in the street, and the women took him to the window, and he saw his father marching at the head of them.