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At this place Mount Olympus rises in height more than ten furlongs, as appears by the epigram made by the man that measured it: The summit of Olympus, at the site Where stands Apollo's temple, has a height Of full ten furlongs by the line, and more, Ten furlongs, and one hundred feet, less four. Eumelus' son Xenagoras, reached the place. Adieu, O king, and do thy pilgrim grace.
It is allowed, say the geometricians, that no mountain in height or sea in depth exceeds ten furlongs, and yet it seems probable that Xenagoras did not take his admeasurement carelessly, but according to the rules of art, and with instruments for the purpose. Here it was that Nasica passed the night.
Men sat in helpless silence, while many a soul, as the gaze wandered up to the temple-crowned Acropolis, asked once, yes twice, “Is not the yoke of Persia preferable to that?” Then after the silence broke the clamour of voices. “The other seers! Do all agree with Xenagoras? Stand forth! stand forth!” Hegias, the “King Archon,” chief of the state religion, took the Bema.
His speech was brief and to the point. “All the priests and seers of Attica have consulted. Xenagoras speaks for them all save Hermippus of the house of Eumolpus, who denies the others’ interpretation.” Confusion followed. Men rose, swung their arms, harangued madly from where they stood. The chairman in vain ordered “Silence!” and was fain to bid the Scythian constables restore order.
With such a past, only a madman as well as traitor would dream of submitting to Xerxes now. But as for the admonition of Xenagoras to quit Attica and never strike a blow, Themistocles would have none of it. With a clearness that appealed to every home-loving Hellene he pictured the fate of wanderers as only one step better than that of slaves. What, then, was left?
It was Xenagoras, the son of Eumelus, who discovered its height. King Apollo, hail to thee; be thou propitious to us." However, Xenophanes did not take its altitude conjecturally, but by a proper method with instruments. XVI. Here then Nasica halted.
The demand had clearly been anticipated by the president of the Council. “Xenagoras the Cerycid is present. He is the oldest seer. Let us hearken to his opinion.” The head of the greatest priestly family in Athens arose. He was a venerable man, wearing his ribbon-decked robes of office. The president passed him the myrtle crown, as token that he had the Bema.
Xenagoras paused with the smile of him who performs a sad but necessary duty, removed the wreath, and descended the Bema. “Quit Attica without a blow! Our fathers’ fathers’ sepulchres, the shrines of our gods, the pleasant farmsteads, the land where our Attic race have dwelt from dimmest time!” The thought shot chill through the thousands.
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