Chapter 3

With a slow and thoughtful step, Pausanias passed on to the outer
deck. The moon was up, and the vessel scarcely seemed to stir, so
gently did it glide along the sparkling waters. They were still within
the bay, and the shores rose, white and distinct, to his view. A group
of Spartans, reclining by the side of the ship, were gazing listlessly
on the waters. The Regent paused beside them.

"Ye weary of the ocean, methinks," said he. "We Dorians have not the
merchant tastes of the Ionians."[15]

"Son of Cleombrotus," said one of the group, a Spartan whose rank
and services entitled him to more than ordinary familiarity with the
chief, "it is not the ocean itself that we should dread, it is the
contagion of those who, living on the element, seem to share in its
ebb and flow. The Ionians are never three hours in the same mind."

"For that reason," said Pausanias, fixing his eyes steadfastly on the
Spartan, "for that reason I have judged it advisable to adopt a rough
manner with these innovators, to draw with a broad chalk the line
between them and the Spartans, and to teach those who never knew
discipline the stern duties of obedience. Think you I have done
wisely?"

The Spartan, who had risen when Pausanias addressed him, drew his
chief a little aside from the rest.

"Pausanias," said he, "the hard Naxian stone best tames and tempers
the fine steel;[16] but the steel may break if the workman be not
skilful. These Athenians are grown insolent since Marathon, and their
soft kindred of Asia have relighted the fires they took of old from
the Cecropian Prytaneum. Their sail is more numerous than ours; on the
sea they find the courage they lose on land. Better be gentle with
those wayward allies, for the Spartan greyhound shows not his teeth
but to bite."

"Perhaps you are right. I will consider these things, and appease the
mutineers. But it goes hard with my pride, Thrasyllus, to make equals
of this soft-tongued race. Why, these Ionians, do they not enjoy
themselves in perpetual holidays?--spend days at the banquet?--ransack
earth and sea for dainties and for perfumes?--and shall they be the
equals of us men, who, from the age of seven to that of sixty, are
wisely taught to make life so barren and toilsome, that we may well
have no fear of death? I hate these sleek and merry feast-givers; they
are a perpetual insult to our solemn existence."

There was a strange mixture of irony and passion in the Spartan's
voice as he thus spoke, and Thrasyllus looked at him in grave
surprise.

"There is nothing to envy in the woman-like debaucheries of the
Ionian," said he, after a pause.

"Envy! no; we only hate them, Thrasyllus Yon Eretrian tells me rare
things of the East. Time may come when we shall sup on the black broth
in Susa."

"The Gods forbid! Sparta never invades. Life with us is too precious,
for we are few. Pausanias, I would we were well quit of Byzantium. I
do not suspect you, not I; but there are those who look with vexed
eyes on those garments, and I, who love you, fear the sharp jealousies
of the Ephors, to whose ears the birds carry all tidings."

"My poor Thrasyllus," said Pausanias, laughing scornfully, "think you
that I wear these robes, or mimic the Median manners, for love of the
Mede? No, no! But there are arts which save countries as well as those
of war. This Gongylus is in the confidence of Xerxes. I desire to
establish a peace for Greece upon everlasting foundations. Reflect;
Persia hath millions yet left. Another invasion may find a different
fortune; and even at the best, Sparta gains nothing by these wars.
Athens triumphs, not Lacedaemon. I would, I say, establish a peace
with Persia. I would that Sparta, not Athens, should have that honour.
Hence these flatteries to the Persian--trivial to us who render
them, sweet and powerful to those who receive. Remember these words
hereafter, if the Ephors make question of my discretion. And now,
Thrasyllus, return to our friends, and satisfy them as to the conduct
of Pausanias." Quitting Thrasyllus, the Regent now joined a young
Spartan who stood alone by the prow in a musing attitude.

"Lysander, my friend, my only friend, my best-loved Lysander," said
Pausanias, placing his hand on the Spartan's shoulder. "And why so
sad?"

"How many leagues are we from Sparta?" answered Lysander mournfully.

"And canst thou sigh for the black broth, my friend? Come, how often
hast thou said, 'Where Pausanias is, _there_ is Sparta!'"

"Forgive me, I am ungrateful," said Lysander with warmth. "My
benefactor, my guardian, my hero, forgive me if I have added to your
own countless causes of anxiety. Wherever you are there is life, and
there glory. When I was just born, sickly and feeble, I was exposed
on Taygetus. You, then a boy, heard my faint cry, and took on me that
compassion which my parents had forsworn. You bore me to your father's
roof, you interceded for my life. You prevailed even on your stern
mother. I was saved; and the Gods smiled upon the infant whom the son
of the humane Hercules protected. I grew up strong and hardy, and
belied the signs of my birth. My parents then owned me; but still
you were my fosterer, my saviour, my more than father. As I grew up,
placed under your care, I imbibed my first lessons of war. By your
side I fought, and from your example I won glory. Yes, Pausanias, even
here, amidst luxuries which revolt me more than the Parthian bow and
the Persian sword, even amidst the faces of the stranger, I still feel
thy presence my home, thyself my Sparta."

The proud Pausanias was touched, and his voice trembled as he replied,
"Brother in arms and in love, whatever service fate may have allowed
me to render unto thee, thy high nature and thy cheering affection
have more than paid me back. Often in our lonely rambles amidst the
dark oaks of the sacred Scotitas,[17] or by the wayward waters of
Tiasa,[18] when I have poured into thy faithful breast my impatient
loathing, my ineffable distaste for the iron life, the countless and
wearisome tyrannies of custom which surround the Spartans, often have
I found a consoling refuge in thy divine contentment, thy cheerful
wisdom. Thou lovest Sparta; why is she not worthier of thy love?
Allowed only to be half men, in war we are demigods, in peace, slaves.
Thou wouldst interrupt me. Be silent. I am in a wilful mood; thou
canst not comprehend me, and I often marvel at thee. Still we are
friends, such friends as the Dorian discipline, which makes friendship
necessary in order to endure life, alone can form. Come, take up thy
staff and mantle. Thou shalt be my companion ashore. I seek one whom
alone in the world I love better than thee. To-morrow to stern duties
once more. Alcman shall row us across the bay, and as we glide along,
if thou wilt praise Sparta, I will listen to thee as the Ionians
listen to their tale-tellers. Ho! Alcman, stop the rowers, and lower
the boat."

The orders were obeyed, and a second boat soon darted towards the
same part of the bay as that to which the one that bore Gongylus had
directed its course. Thrasyllus and his companions watched the boat
that bore Pausanias and his two comrades, as it bounded, arrow-like,
over the glassy sea.

"Whither goes Pausanias?" asked one of the Spartans.

"Back to Byzantium on business," replied Thrasyllus.

"And we?"

"Are to cruise in the bay till his return.

"Pausanias is changed."

"Sparta will restore him to what he was. Nothing thrives out of
Sparta. Even man spoils."

"True, sleep is the sole constant friend the same in all climates."

Notes:

[15] No Spartan served as a sailor, or indeed condescended to any trade
or calling, but that of war.

[16] Pind. Isth. v. (vi.) 73.

[17] Paus. Lac. x.

[18] _Ib_., c. xviii.