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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Who that serves Pausanias ever asks that question, or can foresee from one hour to another what he may be required to do?" returned the self-important messenger, with great contempt. Meanwhile the Mothon, all whose movements were peculiarly silent and rapid, was already on his way to the citadel. The distance was not inconsiderable, but Alcman was swift of foot.
"Home!" muttered one of the Helots, and the word, sounding drearily on his lips, was echoed by many, so that it circled like a groan. "Yet ye have your children as much as if ye were free," said Alcman. "And for that reason it pains us to see them play, unaware of the future," said a Helot of better mien than his comrades.
Behind her, at a little distance, grouped her handmaids, engaged in their womanly work, and occasionally conversing in whispers. At her feet reposed the grand form of Pausanias. Alcman stood not far behind him, his hand, resting on his lyre, his gaze fixed upon the upward jet of the fountain. "Behold," said Cleonice, "how the water soars up to the level of its source!"
And if ever the Helot rose and shouted freedom, would he not say, This is virtue? Would the Spartan call it virtue, too, my foster-brother?" "Son of Cleombrotus," answered Alcman, "it is not for me to vindicate the acts of the master; nor to blame the slave who is of my race. Yet the sage definers of virtue distinguish between the Conscience of a Polity and that of the Individual Man.
Suddenly, in the midst of the confused and uproarious hubbub, the door opened, and Alcman the Mothon entered the chamber. At this sight the clamour ceased in an instant. The party rose, as by a general impulse, and crowded round the new comer.
On the pannier was written 'Friendship, on the sword 'Wrath, and Alcman gave me a scrap of parchment, whereon, with the cursed brief wit of a Spartan, was inscribed 'Choose! Who could doubt which to take? who, by the Gods, would prefer three inches of Spartan iron in his stomach to a basketful of rich stuffs for his shoulders? Wherefore, from that hour, Pausanias comes as he lists.
"An excellent gymnastic invention. But we are now within the citadel. Courage! the Spartan greyhound has long teeth." Pausanias was striding with hasty steps up and down a long and narrow peristyle or colonnade that surrounded the apartments appropriated to his private use, when Alcman joined him.
Pursuing the latter path, the Spartan bounded down the descent and came upon an opening in the foliage, in which Lysander was seated beside the boat that had been drawn partially on the strand. "Alone? Where is Alcman?" "Yonder; you heard his signal?" "I heard it." "Pausanias, they who seek you are Persians. Beware!" "Of what? murder? I am warned." "Murder to your good name.
Alcman had modulated the tones of his voice into a sweetness so plaintive and touching, that, when he paused, the hand-maidens had involuntarily risen and gathered round, hushed and noiseless.
If here the beginning lead to that new development in what we call virtue, it moves to light and joy: if it can only roll on through the grooves it has here made for itself, in what we call vice and crime, its path is darkness and wretchedness." "In what we call virtue what we call vice and crime? Ah," said Pausanias, with a stern sneer, "Spartan virtue, O Alcman, is what a Helot may call crime.
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