The Twilight of the Gods, and Other Tales | Page 2

From whom save thee, since I closed my father's eyes,
have I heard the tongue of Homer and Plato?"
"Who is Homer? Who is Plato?"
The maiden regarded him with a look of the deepest astonishment.
"Surely," she said, "thy gift has been bestowed upon thee to little
purpose. Say not, at least, that thou usest the speech of the Gods to
blaspheme them. Thou art surely yet a votary of Zeus?"
"I a votary of Zeus!" exclaimed the stranger. "By these fetters, no!"
And, weak as he was, the forest rang with his disdainful laughter.
"Farewell," said the maiden, as with dilating form and kindling eye she
gathered up her robes. "I parley with thee no more. Thou art tenfold
more detestable than the howling mob down yonder, intent on rapine
and destruction. They know no better, and can no other. But thou, apt
in speaking the sacred tongue yet brutally ignorant of its treasures,
knowing the father of the Gods only to revile him! Let me pass."
The stranger, if willing to hinder her, seemed little able. His eyes
closed, his limbs relaxed, and without a cry he sank senseless on the
sward.

In an instant the maiden was kneeling by his side. Hastily undoing a
basket she carried on her arm, she drew forth a leather flask, and,
supporting the sunken head with one hand, poured a stream of wine
through the lips with the other. As the gurgling purple coursed down
his throat the sufferer opened his eyes, and thanked her silently with a
smile of exquisite sweetness. Removing the large leaves which shaded
the contents of the basket, she disclosed ripe figs and pomegranates,
honeycomb and snow-white curd, lying close to each other in tempting
array. The stranger took of each alternately, and the basket was
well-nigh emptied ere his appetite seemed assuaged.
The observant maiden, meanwhile, felt her mood strangely altered.
"So have I imaged Ulysses to myself," she thought as she gazed on the
stranger's goodly form, full of vigour, though not without traces of age,
the massive brow, the kindly mouth, the expression of far-seeing
wisdom. "Such a man ignorant of letters, and a contemner of Zeus!"
The stranger's eloquent thanks roused her from a reverie. The Greek
tongue fell upon her ear like the sweetest music, and she grieved when
its flow was interrupted by a question addressed directly to herself.
"Can a God feel hunger and thirst?"
"Surely no," she rejoined.
"I should have said the same yesterday," returned the stranger.
"Wherefore not to-day?"
"Dear maiden," responded he, with winning voice and manner, "we
must know each other better ere my tale can gain credence with thee.
Do thou rather unfold what thine own speech has left dark to me. Why
the language of the Gods, as should seem, is here understood by thee
and me alone; what foes Zeus has here other than myself; what is the
profane crowd of which thou didst speak; and why, alone and
defenceless, thou ascendest this mountain. Think of me, if thou wilt, as
one fallen from the clouds."

"Strange man," returned the maiden, "who knowest Homer's speech
and not Homer's self, who renouncest Zeus and resemblest him, hear
my tale ere I require thine. Yesterday I should have called myself the
last priestess of Apollo in this fallen land, to-day I have neither shrine
nor altar. Moved by I know not what madness, my countrymen have
long ago forsaken the worship of the Gods. The temples crumbled into
ruin, prayer was no longer offered or sacrifice made as of old, the
priestly revenues were plundered; the sacred vessels carried away; the
voice of oracles became dumb; the divine tongue of Greece was
forgotten, its scrolls of wisdom mouldered unread, and the deluded
people turned to human mechanics and fishermen. One faithful servant
of Apollo remained, my father; but 'tis seven days since he closed his
eyes for ever. It was time, for yesternoon the heralds proclaimed by
order of the King that Zeus and the Olympians should be named no
more in Caucasia."
"Ha!" interrupted the stranger, "I see it all. Said I not so?" he shouted,
gazing into the sky as if his eye could pierce and his voice reach
beyond the drifting clouds. "But to thy own tale," he added, turning
with a gesture of command to the astonished Elenko.
"It is soon told," she said. "I knew that it was death to serve the Gods
any more, yet none the less in my little temple did fire burn upon
Apollo's altar this morning. Scarcely was it kindled ere I became aware
of a ruffianly mob thronging to sack and spoil. I was ready for death,
but not at their hands. I caught up this basket, and escaped up the
mountain. On