“All Athens seems our friend!” he said, as close by the Tyrannicides’ statues at the upper end of the plaza a grave councilman bowed and an old bread woman left her stall to bob a courtesy.
“Is your friend,” corrected Hermione, thinking only of her husband, “for I have won no pentathlon.”
“Ah, makaira, dearest and best,” he answered, looking not on the glorious citadel but on her face, “could I have won the parsley wreath had there been no better wreath awaiting me at Eleusis? And to-day I am gladdest of the glad. For the gods have sent me blessings beyond desert, I no longer fear their envy as once. I enjoy honour with all good men. I have no enemy in the world. I have the dearest of friends, Cimon, Themistocles—beyond all, Democrates. I am blessed in love beyond Peleus espoused to Thetis, or Anchises beloved of Aphrodite, for my golden Aphrodite lives not on Olympus, nor Paphos, nor comes on her doves from Cythera, but dwells—”
“Peace.” The hand laid on his mouth was small but firm. “Do not anger the goddess by likening me unto her. It is joy enough for me if I can look up at the sun and say, ‘I keep the love of Glaucon the Fortunate and the Good.’ ”
Walking thus in their golden dream, the two crossed the Agora, turned to the left from the Pnyx, and by crooked lanes went past the craggy rock of Areopagus, till before them rose a wooden palisade and a gate. Through this a steep path led upward to the citadel. Not to the Acropolis of fame. The buildings then upon the Rock in one short year would lie in heaps of fire-scarred ruin. Yet in that hour before Glaucon and Hermione a not unworthy temple rose, the old “House of Athena,” prototype of the later Parthenon. In the morning light it stood in beauty—a hundred Doric columns, a sculptured pediment, flashing with white marble and with tints of scarlet, blue, and gold. Below it, over the irregular plateau of the Rock, spread avenues of votive statues of gods and heroes in stone, bronze, or painted wood. Here [pg 87]and there were numerous shrines and small temples, and a giant altar for burning a hundred oxen. So hand in hand the twain went to the bronze portal of the Temple. The kindly old priest on guard smiled as he sprinkled them with the purifying salt water out of the brazen laver. The door closed behind them. For a moment they seemed to stand in the high temple in utter darkness. Then far above through the marble roof a softened light came creeping toward them. As from unfolding mist, the great calm face of the ancient goddess looked down with its unchanging smile. A red coal glowed on the tripod at her feet. Glaucon shook incense over the brazier. While it smoked, Hermione laid the crown of lilies between the knees of the half-seen image, then her husband lifted his hands and prayed aloud.
“Athena, Virgin, Queen, Deviser of Wisdom,—whatever be the name thou lovest best,—accept this offering and hear. Bless now us both. Give us to strive for the noblest, to speak the wise word, to love one another. Give us prosperity, but not unto pride. Bless all our friends; but if we have enemies, be thou their enemy also. And so shall we praise thee forever.”
This was all the prayer and worship. A little more meditation, then husband and wife went forth from the sacred cella. The panorama—rocks, plain, sea, and bending heavens—opened before them in glory. The light faded upon the purple breasts of the western mountains. Behind the Acropolis, Lycabettus’s pyramid glowed like a furnace. The marble on distant Pentelicus shone dazzlingly.
Glaucon stood on the easternmost pinnacle of the Rock, watching the landscape.
“Joy, makaira, joy,” he cried, “we possess one another. We dwell in ‘violet-crowned Athens’; for what else dare we to pray?”
But Hermione pointed less pleased toward the crest of Pentelicus.