ALCIBIADES THE MAN.

SCENES XIX-XXIII.

CONCLUSION.

Φοβηθέντες γὰρ αὐτοῦ οἱ πολλοὶ τὸ μέγεθος τῆς τε κατὰ τὸ ἑαυτοῦ σῶμα παρανομίας ἐς τὴν δίαιταν, καὶ τῆς διανοίας ὧν καθ ̓ ἕν ἕκαστον, ἐν ὅτῳ γίγνοιτο, ἔπρασσεν, ὡς τυραννίδος ἐπιθυμοῦντι πολέμιοι καθέστασαν, καὶ δημοσίᾳ κράτιστα διαθέντα τὰ τοῦ πολέμου, ἰδίᾳ ἕκαστοι τοῖς ἐπιτηδεύμασιν αὐτοῦ ἀχθεσθέντες, καὶ ἄλλοις ἐπιτρέψαντες, οὐ διὰ μακροῦ ἔσφηλαν τὴν πόλιν.

THUCYD. VI. 15.

"For most men, alarmed by the extravagance of his personal expenditure, and by the greatness of spirit he displayed in every thing in which he bore a part, became hostile to him, as one that aimed at tyranny. And though, in his public capacity, he managed the war excellently, yet being individually disgusted with his pursuits in private, and so committing the conduct of affairs to others, IN NO LONG

TIME THEY OVERTURNED THE STATE."

Not HOBBES.

PARDON, for once, an Attic quotation-duly rendered for the sake of rural gentlemen-at the head of our last Alcibiades!

Our last-melancholy category! Except it be shaving, tooth-drawing, speaking at public dinners, being roasted by Lynch Law, and a very few et ceteras, there is nothing we should much like to do, to be, or to suffer, for the last time. But the last of any thing superlatively good-the last pirouette of Taglioni-the last morsel of green fat in our second plate of turtle-the last page of Captain Marryatt's last sea-novel-the last sentence in a Nox Ambrosiana (O noctes cœnæque Deum !)—the last drop of that imperial Tokay, which cost us just a guinea per glass at the sale of old Q's. drinkables-such last things as these are nothing else than so much purgatorial agony. Imagine, then, our predicament as, with pensive grace-a drooping head-a twinkling tear an unsteady hand—and a pre-eminently bad pen-we sit down to copy the finishing strokes of a picture that has gained, and merited, universal admi

ration.

Farewell, Son of Clinias ! —foremost of Athenian names-essence, thricedistilled, of the Grecian idiosyncrasy-magnanimous voluptuary-loveable hero! Freshly hast thou lived and moved upon these speaking pages. In the multitude of thy thoughts-as thou flittest from shore to shore of the boundless Invisible-has a pleasing consciousness of renovated fame warmed thee once again with something like a human sensation?

Farewell, Timandra—“ tender and true!" Faith unchangeable was thine! "Love strong as death" sustained thee. The instinct of a self-devoting heart was thy guide. Beautiful Pagan!—we know nothing of thy errors-but here is a garland for thine urn!

:

Farewell, image of Meissner-" shape or shade! whate'er thou art,"-evoked by us from the dark gulf of oblivion! Strong has been the breath of thy inspiration mighty the effect of that mysterious afflatus. Like the Pythoness when her hour was come, we have reeled beneath it—powerless, at some moments, to distinguish between our own effusion and the dictates of the god. But no farewell to thee, Christopher, Cock of the North!

"Fortunate senex, ergo tua rura manebunt!"

i. e. "Lucky old Boy, thou shalt still retain thy country contributor!" Ever since anno Domini 1818, when our first anonymous offering, a Night in the Catacombs, graced thy columns, we have had the highest opinion of thy taste. Various, throughout the intervening years, have been thy moods towards us. Sometimes that benevolent smile, which melts the souls of prudes-sometimes that lion-like knitting of the brows, whereat bull-dogs go into hysterics—once the awful crutch was half-uplifted-out lo! when the shuddering public thought

to see us crumble into dust-a victim-we started up, brisker than ever, a confederate!

Without farther preface, we will rush into the bowels of our plot.

Ninety-six moons had waxed and waned since Alcibiades sailed from the Peiræus. Often had his inmost soul sickened with the longing to revisit the land of his fathers. Often had his friends implored him to return—were it only for a day. And yet he had not returned. Partly he trusted not yet his loving countrymen. The general, with an army to back him, they might laud at a distance: the citizen, once more within their grasp, they might bring to a reckoning at home. Partly too, to his mounting spirit, a restoration without noise and splendour seemed out of proportion to his long banishment, and the manifest injustice he had suffered. But now-at last-there was such a clustering of bright stars in his horoscope, such a combination of favourable circumstances, that his doubts disappeared, and even his vanity felt satisfied.

The reduction of BYZANTIUM-We might have touched up some grand scenes out of that business, had it so pleased us-had crowned a series of brilliant exploits, thronging on each other's heels, since he relieved Tissaphernes from the anxiety of looking after his safe custody. Even the frigid Mr Mitford warms in summing up the proud catalogue of his services. "When the forces first placed him at their head, Athens scarcely commanded more territory than its walls enclosed; revenue was gone, and the commonwealth depended for existence upon its fleet, which was at the same time dispirited and mutinous. He had restored loyalty to the fleet; he had restored dominion to the commonwealth; he had destroyed the enemy's fleet; and, under his conduct, the navy of Athens again commanded the seas: and, what was not least among the services, his successes and his reputation, without solicitation or intrigue, had conciliated the adverse satrap Pharnabazus, and opened probable means for checking those sources of supply to the enemy, the failure of which would restore to Athens certain superiority in the war.'

Moreover, the sovereign People had now confirmed him, with Conon and Thrasybulus as his colleagues, in his post of general. "Enough!" cried Alcibiades," for Athens, ho!" There was a trifle of some 24,000 pounds, or thereabouts, collected by him in Caria, after quitting Byzantium, which would not, he thought, make him the less welcome.

Thucydides, son of Olorus, again we devote thee to the infernal gods for leaving an unfinished history! What cramp of hand, what costiveness of soul, forced thee to stick fast in the twenty-first year of the Great War? You, who have dashed off, in four breathing and burning sentences, the SAILING FOR SICILY-you, in whose living words we yet hear the "warning trumpet blown" -the herald's leading voice-the universal prayer-the vows on shore-the pæan on the waves-you, in whose vivid tints we yet behold the teeming goblets the golden and the silver cups-the poured libation-the galleys "racing to Ægina"-why, in the name of Pluto and of Proserpine, did you not paint, on another canvass, the LANDING OF ALCIBIADES AT ATHENS? To be sure we have Xenophon-the Attic bee-as a substitute; but 'tis too true that neither "as a political reasoner"-according to the judgment passed by a very lenient Rhadamanthus-nor as any thing else, we will take the liberty of adding-" "do the masculine energy and weight of Thucydides revive in the parallel passages of Xenophon." He has made marvellously little of the landing. He tells us more of what was said than of what was done. There is a certain Duris of Samos-with the blood of Clinias in his veins-who gets up a better show for the occasion; but he is generally supposed to lie like a Yankee skipper. So we must give up "the oars keeping time to the flute of Chrysogonus, who had been victorious in the Pythian games "-" Callipides, the tragedian, attired in his buskins, magnificent robes, and other theatrical ornaments," and "the admiral-galley entering the harbour with a purple sail"— must dispense with all this tissue of glittering embroidery, and be content with what we can spin for ourselves out of the raw material-duty paid-in Plutarch.

-we

With captured shields, with trophies of Persian armour, with the spoils of

continent and islands, was every ship refulgent. In the rear of the Athenian galleys came the vessels taken from the enemy; the figure-heads of others, whose less precious fragments were weltering on the deep, were displayed in triumph; two hundred in all might be counted by eager eyes upon the shore. Shouts of jubilee resounded from the conquerors. Garlands fluttered. Music pealed. Old Ocean seemed oppressed beneath his burden, yet proud to bear it. The crowd on land-row behind row-were beckoning, exclaiming, hurraing. Look at those impatient fools-splash they go into the water-depth six fathoms neat-spluttering and puffing away to greet friends and kinsmen, for the sake of pressing them to lip and bosom-some ten seconds sooner than their neighbours.

But still-in this general rejoicing the Son of Clinias took as yet no part. He was standing, with a serious air, on the deck of his own galley. Leaning on his staff, he threw observant glances all around him. Slowly he steered for the Peiræus; appeared undetermined whether to disembark or not; and when Antiochus exultingly pointed to the cheering multitude, he coldly shrugged his shoulders and replied: " Not the first time that the blush of a fair morning has heralded the coming storm."

But now came flying from all sides the wreaths of flowers and of laurel towards his ship; now rose from every quarter of heaven the cry: Welcome, noblest Alcibiades! welcome, thou greater than great Pericles ! Now among

the groups on shore he espied his cousin Euryptolemus, and many a staunch friend besides, their hands stretched out, inviting him—their voices distinctly heard above the din of a whole people-their strength at his service-if need should be. "To hesitate longer were a scandal for the son of Clinias!" he said; and sprung to land.

And from that moment he seemed to be the only one who had landed. Upon him alone all eyes were riveted. Him alone did the thousands of his fellowcitizens surround. Brothers, fathers, husbands-who could think of their return, when there was ALCIBIADES to gaze at? He passed on through crowded streets, detained every moment by embraces. To kiss the very hem of his mantle was something worth fighting for. Those near him were covering his person and his path with flowers: the distant could at least make use of their voices. The seniors pointed him out to their children. The matrons, with a sigh, remembered their youth; the virgins, with a smile, bethought them of theirs. The striplings were praying to die early-so they might but resemble him. The men devoured him with admiring glances. Tears of ecstasy were streaming from a myriad of eyes.

What followed on that memorable day-the council the assembly—the speech--we leave to your quick conceptions. Our reporter was present as usual; but at this instant we are not in the vein to extend his abominable hieroglyphics. Suffice to remind you that things went well. The people's most gracious majesty, says Xenophon, would not have borne any opposition to their favourite. Nothing would content them but a new title for the nonce; and Alcibiades went forth from the Pnyx, hailed by 20,000 mouths-smelling strongly of garlic-PLENIPOTENTIARY-GENERALISSIMO. And yet there was

one drawback.

If we have a weakness-a hypothesis not altogether nugatory-it is to be, as the once redoubtable Daniel O'Connell used to tell us of himself, slightly superstitious. Should we see a magpie, spit we must, though the lady of our love were hanging on one arm and the ghost of an ancient Persian on the other. Sooner than get out of bed without left leg foremost, on a winter morning, we would lie there-three hours beyond our indispensable allowance. And if we did once cut our nails upon a Friday, do we not recollect, with a shiver, that the worst news we ever heard reached us by express that evening? No wonder, then, that when we first read an English Plutarchimmediately after the Footstep, Shakspeare's historical plays, Robinson Crusoe, and Pope's Iliad our ingenuous little heart, already fondly attached to Alcibiades, used to throb strangely at the following expressions:-" Amidst this glory and prosperity of Alcibiades, some people were still uneasy, looking upon the time of his return as ominous, for on that very day was kept the Plynteria, or purification of the goddess Minerva. It was the 25th of

Thargelion, when the Praxiergida perform those ceremonies which are not to be revealed, disrobing the image and covering it up. Hence it is that the Athenians of all days reckon this the most unlucky, and take the greatest care not to transact business on it. And it seemed that the goddess did not receive him graciously, but rather with aversion, since she hid her face from him." You may believe it or not, as you please, but there were some of these sentences that always made us blubber.

"We knew

That the dark presage must be true!"

Alcibiades himself, when Anytus-as some confoundedly good-natured friend or other is sure in such cases to do-pointed out to him that evening the unfortunate coincidence, did not half like it. "It was shame," he said, "shame that made the goddess hide her countenance-shame for having exiled her dearest son so long-shame for her children's fickleness, which alone prevented me from coming back seven years ago, laden with the spoils of Syracuse." But there was a nervousness in the impatience wherewith he hurried Anytus away, to spread abroad this explanation of the matter, that showed how he was affected by the omen. And, though Timandra, as beautiful as ever, rejoined him at that evening's banquet, he could not drive it from his mind. It haunted his dreams.

Let us dispel them! Imagine the glorious sunshine of a morning in Athens. Those beams, whose naked effulgence would glare too fiercely on luxurious eyes, are tempered by hangings of a roseate hue. But they give light enough to discover the interior of a superb apartment. Mark that richly decorated couch. One of its occupants has been for some time in a waking trance. And now he saws the air with an angry gesture, as if waving off some invisible intruder on his privacy. Hush! he has startled the beautiful being that lies beside him.

SCENE XIX.

ALCIBIADES TIMANDRA.

Tim. May I know it?

Alc. Nay, 'tis but idle tattle, I could have wished hidden from myself. To think that my levity should have forgotten this Plynteria! To think that Anytus had better grounds for his solicitude than I allowed him to suppose!

Tim. Canst thou possibly be serious? Concern thyself about such a piece of superstition! Thou that scarce believest in gods, alarm thyself at the wrath of a goddess!

Alc. (gravely). Timandra! Thou heardest yesterday my prayer to Minerva, and wouldst have me doubt of her existence!

Tim. 'Twas because others heard it thou spak'st so! Do I need teaching to penetrate the sense of your Eleusinian secrets? or to read the language of thy heart, which likes as few superiors as may be? By Juno, Socrates

And so, as Xenophon tells us in less than a score of words, the first exploit of the new Plenipotentiary was to celebrate the Eleusinian Mysteries with all their ancient pomp and land-procession, instead of sneaking along the coast by sea, as the Athenians had been hitherto forced to do, ever since Agis and the Spartans had hung over them at Deceleia. Nor was the spectacle, we dare say, a whit the worse for the turn-out of the whole Attic forces to protect it. It was a classical crusade-valour championing religion. Better device there could not be for stopping envious mouths, and putting the Plynteria out of heads that seldom carried two ideas at a time.

Now is Alcibiades more popular than ever. Polite requests are made to him-according to Plutarch" that he will at once abolish the privileges of the people and the laws, and quell those busy spirits who would otherwise be

We will give him credit for declining this policy on patriotic principles. It looks at least very like it, that, within three months of his appointment to autocracy, he sailed once more from the Peiræus against the revolted isle and city of Andros. Here the Lacedemonians had a force to aid the rebels. They waited under arms to encounter the Athenian chief, It was his last victory, and this his last appeal to soldiers who adored him.