Glory and the Lightning (78 page)

Aspasia wept when Pericles told her of Anaxagoras’ departure.

“Who will replace him?” she asked.

“No one. A good man can never be replaced.”

“We have that to console us, Pericles. Bad men die and no one sorrows for them.”

Now Pericles spoke to her impatiently, he who was rarely impatient with her. “But their evil endures after them. Have you forgotten history? The good descend into their graves, lamented only by their friends, or, if history does record them, it is only briefly. But the memory of evil men is too often glorified. How many statues are erected to good men? But forests of statues are erected to ruthless conquerors.”

“That is a sad commentary on human nature.”

Pericles shrugged. “But a true one.” He paused. “That one such as Anaxagoras was finally forced to flee is enough of a commentary.”

The friends of Anaxagoras were broken-hearted. Only Socrates kept his composure. “At least they did not murder him,” he said. He smiled. “He has escaped that honor.” He laughed, his high whinnying laughter. “But I feel that I shall receive that honor one day, for which I am already grateful.”

They all tried to console themselves that Anaxagoras had probably found the peace he so deeply desired. But his absence tortured them. A vital element had departed from their lives, and it would never return. They were poorer. A golden coin had been forever lost from their purses; the light of their existence had darkened in a profound measure. The sun would never shine for them as once it had shined, and their hope had lessened.

They never saw Anaxagoras again nor did they receive any message which might have consoled them, nor did they know where he was nor when he died. But one day Socrates said to Pericles, “Our dearest old friend, Anaxagoras, left this world yesterday or the day before.”

“How do you know?”

Socrates’ satyr eyes were sorrowful. “How do I know? I do not know. Did I dream it and have I forgotten the dream? Or did his spirit pause beside me one night to bid me farewell? I do not know. I only know that I know.”

Pericles did not doubt him. Acrid tears came to his eyes and Socrates looked at him in commiseration. “But does not death come to all of us? I say to you now, as I have said it before, a good man needs not fear death, for if it be eternal sleep is not sleep pleasant? If he lives beyond his grave, then God will surely receive him with love, and embrace him.”

When Pericles’ despairing face did not lighten, Socrates said, “Let us compare death with a ship full of passengers. The ship leaves its harbor and we weep and say, ‘She departs, and never shall we see our friends again.’ But perhaps in another harbor a glad shout is raised, and the waiting ones say, ‘Here she arrives, and our friends with her!’”

It was then that Pericles could not restrain himself and he broke down and wept, weeping as he had not wept since his father had died.

Socrates thought, When a great man is moved to tears the world should so be moved also. Alas, it never is. We save our tears for mountebanks and liars and oppressors, when they die, and we hail them as saviors and heroes.

CHAPTER 13

Thucydides, son of Melesias, was called the Old Oligarch because of his insistent and querulous dogmatism and pursuit of those he hated. Had not Pericles had him once or twice prosecuted for usurious practices he still would have hated the Head of State. Pericles was all he despised. The character of Pericles infuriated him. Among his friends he mocked Pericles’ stateliness, his composure, his aversion for the mean and petty, his intense patriotism, his patronage of artists and philosophers, his Aspasia, and the illegitimacy of his son. Avaricious though Thucydides was, he spent his money almost lavishly to inspire outbreaks among the rabble against Pericles, cunningly aware that there was almost nothing the populace loved more than the ridicule of the prominent and the powerful, and especially the noble. Well-knowing that mobs were naturally hysterical and believed any vicious rumors, he accused Pericles of not only prolonging the hostility between Sparta and Athens but of using that hostility to “hide his derelictions and the depletion of our treasury.” The ignorant masses, Thucydides knew, were womanishly excitable and always solicitous for themselves, and that no matter what ill came to Athens they were eager to believe the fault was in their leader. Thucydides bribed comic poets and orators to blame Athenian troubles on Pericles’ alleged indifference to the gods, “which remains unpunished.” Was he not known to neglect them? Had he not been heard to say that “there is only God,” when it was obvious there were many gods and goddesses? His patronage of Pheidias and his approval of the enormous gold and ivory statue of Athene Parthenos on the acropolis was not the result of piety, for though it was complete it had not yet been dedicated. Moreover, it was shamefully expensive.

“Look at all those other statues and extravagant temples and gardens and terraces on the acropolis!” Thucydides would complain. “No, it is not piety. It is self-aggrandisement on the part of Pericles. He also wished to enrich his sculptor friends, particularly Pheidias. Pericles’ association with such pestilential ragamuffins like Socrates is a disgrace to Athens. Where is our former sobriety in financial matters, and our prudence and responsibility? Pericles has corrupted them all with his vanity and his desire to be known as the leader of culture and philosophy in Athens. Let us return to his sacrilege: He permitted Pheidias to represent him, and Pheidias, on the shield of Athene Parthenos, bold enough for any eye to discern! If Athene does not destroy Athens with an earthquake such as afflicted Sparta years ago it is only because she is merciful, or she is waiting for Athenians to avenge the insult to her.”

The envious rabble, who were already persuaded that Pericles should have spent the gold in the treasury “on your abject needs and laudable aspirations for a better life,” were daily becoming more mutinous. Pericles lived in luxury. Why should they not, too, be more adequately sheltered and given other sustenance? To them Pericles embodied all the wealthy and the aristocratic. He, and he alone, was accused of delighting in “the suffering of the poor,” and in instigating it. He was selfish; he was too ambitious; he detested the lowly; he was a dictator; he was endlessly greedy; doubtless he had misappropriated funds from the treasury—to which they had never contributed through taxes—for his own enrichment. The jewels of Aspasia were famous. From what lowly pockets had the money come for these? He had plundered Athens for the adornment of a harlot, whose habits were shameful, and who was known for her own impiety. He was attempting to divert the attention of the outraged citizenry from his crimes against it by goading Sparta to outright war. “It is well known,” said Thucydides, “that this has often been, in the history of nations, a tactic used by tyrants.” As an investor in various enterprises engaged in the manufacture of war material, and from which he, Thucydides, had enriched himself, Thucydides was careful never to attack those enterprises or his wealthy friends who were also invested in them.

As the masses do not think, they were easily persuaded that Pericles had a personal treasury of his own, gained by war and investments in war. They lusted for this imaginary treasure. That there were many men in Athens far richer than Pericles they did not consider, for did not several of them agree sadly with Thucydides and also accuse Pericles of the same crimes and were they not always loudly proclaiming their love “for the meek and exploited?” Where was the hero who would rescue them from this cruel and merciless man?

On the death of his uncle, Daedalus, Pericles had permitted his sons, Xanthippus and Paralus, to attend the funeral of their grandfather. Moreover, he had encouraged them. He had sent the kindest of regards and condolences to Dejanira, which had caused her to weep more copiously than she had over her father’s death. She had then written to Pericles imploring him to have her son, Callias, recalled from exile, unaware that on several occasions he had been so invited through the agents of Pericles on the latter’s orders. Callias, for many years, had revelled in his exile, for he had escaped his reputation in Athens and there were no disapproving faces to annoy him. But he pretended, to his mother, in tearful letters, that he was languishing in exile. In some manner he had come across the information that Pericles, out of pity for Dejanira, had kept her ignorant of her son’s refusal to return to Athens. This had made him gleeful.

But now he had learned of the more virulent attacks on the hated Pericles, his mistress and his friends, and Callias’ vengefulness increased. He allowed himself to be persuaded to return to Athens. His mother, very fat and gray, and cumbersome in all her movements, greeted him with incoherent joy and embraces. “I have been so lonely, so sorrowful!” she cried, covering his rough face with kisses. “Yes,” he replied, “that I know. I will not tell you of my own sufferings, dearest of mothers, and how I longed to return to this house, and my midnight tears. But behold: I am here, and I will never leave you—unless I am again forced into exile.”

Within a few days of his return to Athens he went to the house of Thucydides, which was almost as frugal as the house of Daedalus, and he offered his own money, and his talents, in the plot to ruin Pericles or at least drive him into exile “with his harlot.” He was elated that the hatred of Thucydides and the latter’s friends almost surpassed his own. The rich aristocrats in the plot thought him personally loathsome and obnoxious and disreputable, but they pretended to be overjoyed and grateful to him for joining them. He preened over their protestations of admiration for him, and their enthusiastic friendship, and became more conceited than ever, for when he had been young these patricians had avoided him, had publicly shown their contempt for him, and had openly held their noses when they had encountered him. Never had he been admitted to their houses or sat at any table with them. Even his riches had not been enough for any of them to offer him their daughters in marriage.

“He caused the death of my beloved grandfather,” he said to them, with meretricious tears in his eyes, and they nodded solemnly while they laughed inwardly. “He exiled me, kept me from the affection of my dearest of mothers,” he would continue, and again they would nod with commiseration and sympathy. “I will be avenged for the crimes against my house, and the crimes against my city,” he said, and they were intensely interested. What suggestions had he to offer? One must remember that Pericles had saved Anaxagoras.

“Who is now dead,” said Callias, “after he was forced to flee Athens.”

“Pericles is more powerful than ever among his detestable middle class,” said his new friends.

Callias had a suggestion which at first revolted his friends with its crudity. Then when Callias was absent one observed, “Its very bold uncouthness might make it possible of success. The old King Archon is dead, and the new King Archon hates Pericles as much as we do. Pericles is absent at this time at one of his villas with his concubine, for is it not high summer? Let us give the matter thought and move with circumspection so that he will not suspect us. Callias is stupid as well as cunning. If anything goes wrong we will arrange for him to bear the whole guilt.”

They chose the most influential of their members to bring charges of peculation against Pheidias, who was now the closest friend of Pericles since the flight and death of his beloved Anaxagoras. Added to this was his blasphemy in depicting himself and Pericles on the shield of the sacred Athene Parthenos. They well knew that Pericles had insisted that the image of Pheidias be carved on the shield, and they knew that the shy sculptor had refused—unless Pericles, “for are you not greater than I?”—also permitted his profile on the shield. So Pericles, with a jest, had allowed it for all his reluctance.

The matter of the alleged peculations of Pheidias was somewhat more difficult. Then two of the aristocrats went to the head-keeper of the public records of the treasury and under duress and a large bribe—from Callias—he agreed to forge several of the records so that they would reveal that Pheidias had not only received enormous stipends for his work on the acropolis, and the work of his students—stipends that were unbelievable—but had frequently, and arrogantly, demanded even more, saying that the Head of State, himself, had approved of this, and had presented proof in various letters.

“Can we not also prove that Pericles has enriched himself through similar peculations?” asked Callias.

Though the aristocrats and Thucydides had more than hinted of this to the rabble they knew that an open accusation of criminality against Pericles would only rebound on themselves and lay themselves open to punishment. They were well acquainted with the cold and relentless wrath of Pericles. They knew he was ruthless in pursuit of those who had unpardonably offended him. So they persuaded Callias that this would be impolitic, at least at this time. Attacks on Pericles’ friends were one thing; attacks on him personally were quite a dangerous other. “As yet,” they told Callias, who was disappointed.

They consulted among themselves. The stipends paid to Pheidias and his students had been very small, on his own gentle insistence. How, apart from the forged records, could it be proved that he had literally stolen the people’s gold? Where had he hidden it? That was a great problem, for all knew how humbly the sculptor lived.

Callias had another suggestion, which made them catch their breath. They pondered on it, and finally agreed that it had more than a small merit.

So, while the weary Pericles rested in the happy company of his Aspasia and their son, and Paralus, on one of his more remote farms, Pheidias was arrested for peculation and thrown into prison, after the forged records had been presented to the King Archon, who was a cousin to Daedalus, and so a relative of Pericles, himself, the nephew of Daedalus. An intelligent if a gloomy and rigid and proud man, he had never forgotten Pericles’ “attack on my house, and even on his own.” Worse still, he had tried to induce Dejanira to marry him, for she was very rich, and she had rejected him through her kyrios, crying that none could replace Pericles in her affections.