One of the most remarkable tombs is that surmounted by a colossal bull in the act of charging. This statue has undergone a good deal of restoration, but it is a singularly effective piece of work when seen relieved against the sky in such a climate as that of Athens. Between this tomb and the tall shaft (stelé) surmounted by an acroterion we get a view of the Parthenon, with a storm approaching from the East.
The Academy was about three-quarters of a mile from the gate. No remains of the ancient buildings have been found, but there are still trees to remind us of—
the olive grove of Academe
Plato’s retirement, where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbl’d notes the summer long.
Its name had originally no flavour of learning, being derived from an early owner, Academus, whose greatness was of a vague and mythical character. The place was of considerable extent. It was first enclosed by Hipparchus, the son of Peisistratus, and was afterwards planted and laid out by Cimon. It was famous for its great plane-trees, and Aristophanes speaks of “the plane-tree whispering to the elm.” But there were twelve ancient olive-trees which were still more highly prized. They were called Moriai, in allusion to some legend connected with them, and were believed to be offshoots from the sacred olive in the Acropolis. It was at one time a capital offence to injure these olive-trees in any way; and the oil derived from them was preserved in the Acropolis, and jars of it given to the victors in the Pan-Athenaic games. In the neighbourhood there was an altar of Prometheus—that much-enduring Titan, who suffered for his sin in stealing fire from heaven for the material welfare of the human race. This altar, with its sacred fire, was the starting-point for one of the most famous contests in the Athenian games, namely, the torch race. It was a race that was sometimes run by individual competitors, sometimes by companies. In the former case the prize was won by the man who first reached the goal with his torch still burning. When it was a contest of parties, the object was to pass the lighted torch from one member of the party to another, till at length it reached the man stationed farthest ahead, who carried it forward to the goal, the prize being awarded not to the individual who came in first but to the company to which he belonged. No doubt it is this form of the game that has given rise to the popular metaphor about handing on the torch of truth. Funeral games were also held in the Academy in honour of the soldiers buried in the neighbourhood, and there was a sacrificial pit, at which worship was offered to them as heroes. There was also a gymnasium, and so much open ground that a cavalry parade was occasionally held in it. Plato dedicated a shrine to the Muses in it, and it was his favourite haunt for about forty years, though he was advised to quit it on account of its low and unhealthy situation; it also continued to be the headquarters of his school for several generations. He was buried in it, or very near it, by the Athenians with great pomp, and the following was said to be his epitaph: “Apollo created the two—Asclepios and Plato: Asclepios, that he might save the body; Plato, that he might save the soul.”
A few hundred yards off, rather more to the east, lies Colonus, a knoll some fifty feet high. There is little about it to remind one of the description of it
