At the farthest end of Polycles’ garden the funeral train stopped on a height which afforded a view of the city, harbor, bay, and country beyond. This had always been Simonides’ favorite spot, and he had often expressed a desire to be laid to rest here.
At the foot of the hill was seen the huge funeral pyre, a heap of logs filled with combustible materials. After it had been adorned with the jars, vases, and dishes brought, and the bier lifted upon it, it was lighted by torches. Amid the sobs and wails of the spectators, the flames flared high into the air and in an instant the smoke and red blaze enveloped the bier, concealing it from every eye. Many an oil jar, many a box of ointment was now flung upon the fire as a last token of affection and, when it was once more possible to see the pyre, the bier had crumbled into a dark, shapeless mass, from which rose a column of black smoke.
The majority of the procession returned to Polycles’ house and there, as the dead man’s guests, partook of a festal banquet. Some few, among them Lycon, remained until the ashes were collected and the bones committed to the bosom of the earth.
Three days after the first, and nine days after the second offering to the dead was brought to the grave. About a week later a marble column was erected upon it, crowned with a capital made of colored acanthus leaves. The thirtieth day after the funeral obsequies Myrtale twined the memorial column with blue and red sacrifice ribbons from which hung small oil jars, after which she poured milk, honey, spring-water, and mixed wine on the ground as a sacrifice to the rich man’s shade, taking careful heed to throw each one of the vessels she had used over her shoulder, so that they were shattered, for none of the articles which had served at a funeral ceremonial could be used by the living.
With this offering the time of mourning ended.
XI.
A few days later Polycles and Myrtale visited Simonides’ country-house to look after a vineyard whose fruit, in Polycles’ opinion, was the best in Thessaly. When they returned home, accompanied by a male and female slave, evening was approaching. The sun was sinking behind some hills, and the atmosphere glowed with orange and crimson hues. The road they were following was only marked by a few deep wheel tracks in the grass; on the right was a clump of gnarled olive trees, whose foliage as usual reflected the color of the sky, so that now in the sunset radiance they seemed covered with a golden veil; on the left a brook flowed between hedges of flowering laurel. A light mist was rising from the meadows, and the whole air was filled with the spicy odor of blossoms. Ever and anon a faint twitter echoed from the bushes; sometimes a bee, apparently bewildered and drowsy, buzzed upward from the grass at their feet, and through the profound stillness of the country a dog’s bark was heard in the distance.
There was something in the peacefulness of the evening which invited familiar conversation. Polycles took Myrtale’s hand.
“Dear child,” he said. “It is time to think of your affairs.”
“What do you mean, Polycles?”