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Instructor in History and English in the 
Francis W. Parker School, Chicago 








All rights reserved — no part of this book may be 
reproduced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 

Set up and printed, Published October, 1922. 
Reprinted February, July, 1923; November, 
1924; June, 1926; June, 1929; November, 
1930; November, 1931; November, 1933. 


The publishers are grateful to the estate of Miss 
Jennie Hall and to her many friends for assistance in 
planning the publication of this book. Especial thanks 
are due to Miss Nell C. Curtis of the Lincoln School, 
New York City, for helping to finish Miss Hall's work 
of choosing the pictures, and to Miss Irene I. Cleaves of 
the Francis Parker School, Chicago, who wrote the cap- 
tions. It was Miss Katharine Taylor, now of the Shady 
Hill School, Cambridge, who brought these stories to 
our attention. 


Do you like to dig for hidden treasure ? Have you ever 
found Indian arrowheads or Indian pottery? I knew a boy 
who was digging a cave in a sandy place, and he found an 
Indian grave. With his own hands he uncovered the bones 
and skull of some brave warrior. That brown skull was 
more precious to him than a mint of money. Another boy I 
knew was making a cave of his own. Suddenly he dug into 
an older one made years before. He crawled into it with 
a leaping heart and began to explore. He found an old 
carpet and a bit of burned candle. They proved that some 
one had lived there. What kind of a man had he been and 
what kind of life had he lived — black or white or red, rob- 
ber or beggar or adventurer? Some of us were walking in 
the woods one day when we saw a bone sticking out of the 
ground. Luckily we had a spade, and we set to work dig- 
ging. Not one moment was the tool idle. First one bone 
and then another came to light and among them a perfect 
horse's skull. We felt as though w^e had rescued Captain 
Kidd's treasure, and w^e went home draped in bones. 

Suppose that instead of finding the bones of a horse w^e 
had uncovered a gold-wTapped king. Suppose that instead 
of a deserted cave that boy had dug into a whole buried 


city with theaters and mills and shops and beautiful houses. 
Suppose that instead of picking up an Indian arrowhead 
you could find old golden vases and crowns and bronze 
swords lying in the earth. If you could be a digger and a 
finder and could choose your find, would you choose a mar- 
ble statue or a buried bakeshop with bread two thousand 
years old still in the oven or a king's grave filled with gol- 
den gifts ? It is of such digging and such finding that this 
book tells. 


Foreword: To Boys and Girls . . . . . » » » o « v 


1. The Greek Slave and the Little Roman Boy 1 

2. Vesuvius o . 16 

3. Pompeii Today 25 

Pictures of Pompeii: 

A Roman Boy 47 

The City of "^ Naples 49 

Vesuvius in Eruption 51 

Pompeii from an Airplane 53 

Nola Street; the Stabian Gate 55 

In the Street of Tombs 57 

The Amphitheater; the Baths 59 

Temple of Apollo; School of the Gladiators .... 61 

The Smaller Theater QS 

A Sacrifice 65 

Scene in the Forum; Hairpins; Bath Appliances . . 67 

Peristyle of the House of the Vettii 69 

Lady Playing a Harp 71 

Kitchen of the House of the Vettii 73 

Kitchen Utensils; Centaur Cup 75 

The House of the Tragic Poet 77 

Mosaic of Watch Dog 79 

The House of Diomede 81 

A Bakery; Section of a Mill 83 

Lucius Caecilius Jucundus 85 

Bronze Candleholder 87 

The Dancing Faun 89 


siii C O X T E X T S 


Hermes in Repose 91 

The Arch of Xero 93 


1. Two Winners of Crowns 94 

2. How a City Was Lost 123 

Pictures of Olympia: 

Entrance to Stadion 135 

Gvmnasium 137 

Boys in Gymnasium 139 

Temple of Zeus 141 

The Labors of Herakles 14-2-7 

The Statue of Victory 149 

The Hermes of Praxiteles 151 

The Temple of Hera 153 

Head of an Athlete 155 

A Greek Horseman 157 


1. How a Lost City Was Eound 159 

Pictures of Mycenoe: 

The Circle of Royal Tombs 175 

Doctor and Mrs. Schliemann at Work 177 

The Gate of Lions 179 

Inside the Treasury of Atreus 181 

The Interior of the Palace 183 

Gold Mask; Cow's Head 185 

The Warrior Vase 187 

Bronze Helmets; Gem 189 

Bronze Da^srers 191 

Carved Ivory Head: Bronze Brooches 193 

A Ctip from Vaphio 195 

Gold Plates: Gold Ornament 197 

Mvcenae in the Distance 1&9 




ARISTON, the Greek slave, was busily painting. He 
stood in a little room with three smooth walls. The 
fourth side was open upon a court. A little fountain 
splashed there. Above stretched the brilliant sky of Italy. 
The August sun shone hotly down. It cut sharp shadows 
of the columns on the cement floor. This was the 
master's room. The artist was painting the walls. Two 
were already gay with pictures. They showed the mighty 
deeds of warlike Herakles. Here was Herakles strangling 
the lion, Herakles killing the hideous hydra, Herakles 
carrying the wild boar on his shoulders, Herakles training 
the mad horses. But now the boy was jDainting the best 
deed of all — Herakles saving Alcestis from death. He had 
made the hero big and beautiful. The strong muscles lay 
smooth in the great body. One hand trailed the club. On 
the other arm hung the famous lion skin. With that hand 

Bronze Lamps. The bowl held olive oil. A wick came out at the nozzle. 
These lamps gave a dim and smoky light. 



the god led Alcestis. He turned his head toward her and 
smiled. On the ground lay Death, bruised and bleeding. 
One batlike black wing hung broken. He scowled after 
the hero and the woman. In the sky above him stood 
Apollo, the lord of life, looking down. But the picture of 
the god was only half finished. The figure was sketched 
in outline. Ariston was rapidly laying on paint with his 
little brushes. His eyes glow^ed with Apollo's own fire. 
His lips were open, and his breath came through them 

"O god of beauty, god of Hellas, god of freedom, help 
me!" he half whispered while his brush worked. 

For he had a great plan in his mind. Here he was, a 
slave in- this rich Roman's house. Yet he was a free-born 
son of Athens, from a family of painters. Pirates had 
brought him here to Pompeii, and had sold him as a slave. 
His artist's skill had helped him, even in this cruel land. 
For his master, Tetreius, loved beauty. The Roman had 
soon found that his young Greek slave was a painter. He 
had said to his steward: 

"Let this boy work at the mill no longer. He shall paint 
the walls of my private room." 

So he had talked to Ariston about what the pictures 
should be. The Greek had found that this solemn, frown- 
ing Roman was really a kind man. Then hope had sprung 
up in his breast and had sung of freedom. 

"I will do my best to please him," he had thought. 
"When all the walls are beautiful, perhaps he will smile 


at my work. Then I will clasp his knees. I will tell him 
of my father, of Athens, of how I was stolen. Perhaps he 
will send me home." 

Now the painting was almost done. As he worked, a 
thousand pictures were flashing through his mind. He saw 
his beloved old home in lovely Athens. He felt his father's 
hand on his, teaching him to paint. He gazed again at the 
Parthenon, more beautiful than a dream. Then he saw 
himself playing on the fishing boat on that terrible holiday. 
He saw the pirate ship sail swiftly from behind a rocky 
point and pounce upon them. He saw himself and his 
friends dragged aboard. He felt the tight rope on his 
wrists as they bound him and threw him under the deck. 
He saw himself standing here in the market place of 
Pompeii. He heard himself sold for a slave. At that 
thought he threw down his brush and groaned. 

But soon he grew calmer. Perhaps the sweet drip of 
the fountain cooled his hot thoughts. Perhaps the soft 
touch of the sun soothed his heart. He took up his brushes 
again and set to work. 

"The last figure shall be the most beautiful of all," he 
said to himself. "It is my own god, Apollo." 

So he worked tenderly on the face. With a few little 
strokes he made the mouth smile kindly. He made the 
blue eyes deep and gentle. He lifted the golden curls with 
a little breeze from Olympos. The god's smile cheered 
him. The beautiful colors filled his mind. He forgot his 
sorrows. He forgot everything but his picture. Minute 


by minute it grew under his moving brush. He smiled into 
the god's eyes. 

Meantime a great noise arose in the house. There were 
cries of fear. There was running of feet. 

"A great cloud!" "Earthquake!" "Fire and hail!" 
"Smoke from hell!" "The end of the world!" "Run! 

And men and women, all slaves, ran screaming through 
the house and out of the front door. But the painter only 
half heard the cries. His ears, his eyes, his thoughts were 
full of Apollo. 

For a little the house was still. Only the fountain and 
the shadows and the artist's brush moved there. Then came 
a great noise as though the sky had split open. The low, 
sturdy house trembled. Ariston's brush was shaken and 
blotted Apollo's eye. Then there was a clattering on the 
cement floor as of a million arrows. Ariston ran into the 
court. From the heavens showered a hail of gray, soft 
little pebbles like beans. They burned his upturned face. 
They stung his bare arms. He gave a cry and ran back 
under the porch roof. Then he heard a shrill call above 
all the clattering. It came from the far end of the house. 
Ariston ran back into the private court. There lay Caius, 
his master's little sick son. His couch was under the open 
sky, and the gray hail was pelting down upon him. He was 
covering his head with his arms and wailing. 

"Little master!" called Ariston. "What is it? What has 
happened to us?" 


*'Oh, take me!" cried the little boy. 

*'Where are the others?" asked Ariston. 

"They ran away," answered Caius. "They were afraid. 
Look! 0-o-h!" 

He pointed to the sky and screamed with terror. 

Ariston looked. Behind the city lay a beautiful hill, 
green with trees. But now from the flat top towered a 
huge, black cloud. It rose straight like a pine tree and 
then spread its black branches over the heavens. And 
from that cloud showered these hot, pelting pebbles of 
pumice stone. 

"It is a volcano," cried Ariston. 

He had seen one spouting fire as he had voyaged on the 
pirate ship. 

"I want my father," wailed the little boy. 

Then Ariston remembered that his master was away 
from home. He had gone in a ship to Rome to get a great 
physician for his sick boy. He had left Caius in the charge 
of his nurse, for the boy's mother was dead. But now every 
slave had turned coward and had run away and left the 
little master to die. 

Ariston pulled the couch into one of the rooms. Here 
the roof kept off the hail of stones. 

"Your father is expected home to-day, master Caius," 
said the Greek. "He will come. He never breaks his 
word. We will wait for him here. This strange shower 
will soon be over." 

So he sat on the edge of the couch, and the little 


Roman laid his head in his slave's lap and sobbed. Ariston 
watched the falling pebbles. They were light and full of 
little holes. Every now and then black rocks of the size of 
his head whizzed through the air. Sometimes one fell into 
the open cistern and the water hissed at its heat. The 
pebbles lay piled a foot deep all over the courtyard floor. 
And still they fell thick and fast. 

"Will it never stop?" thought Ariston. 

Several times the ground swayed under him. It felt 
like the moving of a ship in a storm. Once there was 
thunder and a trembling of the house. Ariston was look- 
ing at a little bronze statue that stood on a tall, slender 
column. It tottered to and fro in the earthquake. Then 
it fell, crashing into the piled-up stones. In a few minutes 
the falling shower had covered it. 

Ariston began to be more afraid. He thought of 
Death as he had painted him in his picture. He imagined 
that he saw him hiding behind a column. He thought he 
heard his cruel laugh. He tried to look up toward the 
mountain, but the stones pelted him down. He felt terri- 
bly alone. Was all the rest of the world dead? Or was 
every one else in some safe place? 

"Come, Caius, we must get away," he cried. "We shall 
be buried here." 

He snatched up one of the blankets from the couch. 
He threw the ends over his shoulders and let a loop hang 
at his back. He stood the sick boy in this and wound the 
ends around them both. Caius was tied to his slave's back. 


His heavy little head hung on Ariston's shoulder. Then 
the Greek tied a pillow over his own head. He snatched 
up a staff and ran from the house. He looked at his 
picture as he passed. He thought he saw Death half rise 
from the ground. But Apollo seemed to smile at his 

At the front door Ariston stumbled. He found the 
street piled deep with the gi'ay, soft pebbles. He had to 
scramble up on his hands and knees. From the house op- 
posite ran a man. He looked wild with fear. He was 
clutching a little statue of gold. Ariston called to him, 
"Which way to the gate?" 

But the man did not hear. He rushed madly on. Aris- 
ton followed him. It cheered the boy a little to see that 
somebody else was still alive in the world. But he had a 
hard task. He could not run. The soft pebbles crunched 
under his feet and made him stumble. He leaned far for- 
ward under his heavy burden. The falling shower scorched 
his bare arms and legs. Once a heavy stone struck him on 
his cushioned head, and he fell. But he was up in an in- 
stant. He looked around bewildered. His head was ring- 
ing. The air was hot and choking. The sun was gone. 
The shower was blinding. Whose house was this? The 
door stood open. The court was empty. Where was the 
city gate? Would he never get out? He did not know 
this street. Here on the corner was a wine shop with its 
open sides. But no men stood there drinking. Wine cups 
were tipped over and broken on the marble counter. Aris- 


ton stood in a daze and watched the wine spilling into the 

Then a crowd came rushing past him. It was evi- 
dently a family fleeing for their lives. Their mouths were 
open as though they were crying. But Ariston could not 
hear their voices. His ears shook with the roar of the moun- 
tain. An old man was hugging a chest. Gold coins were 
spilling out as he ran. Another man was dragging a faint- 
ing woman. A young girl ran ahead of them with white 
face and streaming hair. Ariston stumbled on after this 
company. A great black slave came swiftly around a cor- 
ner and ran into him and knocked him over, but fled on 
without looking back. As the Greek boy fell forward, the 
rough little pebbles scoured his face. He lay there moan- 
ing. Then he began to forget his troubles. His aching 
body began to rest. He thought he would sleep. He saw 
Apollo smiling. Then Caius struggled and cried out. He 
pulled at the blanket and tried to free himself. This roused 
Ariston, and he sat up. He felt the hot pebbles again. He 
heard the mountain roar. He dragged himself to his feet 
and started on. Suddenly the street led him out into a 
broad space. Ariston looked around him. All about 
stretched wide porches with their columns. Temple roofs 
rose above them. Statues stood high on their pedestals. 
He was in the forum. The great open square was crowded 
with hurrying people. Under one of the porches Ariston 
saw the money changers locking their boxes. From a wide 
doorway ran several men. They were carrying great bun- 


dies of woolen cloth, richly embroidered and dyed with 
precious purple. Down the great steps of Jupiter's temple 
ran a priest. Under his arms he clutched two large plat- 
ters of gold. Men were running across the forum drag- 
ging bags behind them. 

Every one seemed trying to save his most precious things. 
And every one was hurrying to the gate at the far end. 
Then that was the way out! Ariston picked up his heavy 
feet and ran. Suddenly the earth swayed under him. He 
heard horrible thunder. He thought the mountain was 
falling upon him. He looked behind. He saw the columns 
of the porch tottering. A man was running out from one 
of the buildings. But as he ran, the walls crashed down. 
The gallery above fell cracking. He was buried. Ariston 
saw it all and cried out in horror. Then he prayed: 

"O Lord Poseidon, shaker of the earth, save me! I am 
a Greek!" 

Then he came out of the forum. A steep street sloped 
down to a gate. A river of people was pouring out there. 
The air was full of cries. The great noise of the crowd 
made itself heard even in the noise of the volcano. The 
streets were full of lost treasures. Men pushed and fell 
and were trodden upon. But at last Ariston passed 
through the gateway and was out of the city. He looked 

"It is no better," he sobbed to himself. 

The air was thicker now. The shower had changed to 
hot dust as fine as ashes. It blurred his eyes. It stopped 


his nostrils. It choked his lungs. He tore his chiton from 
top to bottom and wrapped it about his mouth and nose. 
He looked back at Caius and pulled the blanket over his 
head. Behind him a huge cloud was reaching out long 
black arms from the mountain to catch him. Ahead, the 
sun was only a red wafer in the shower of ashes. Around 
him people were running off to hide under rocks or trees 
or in the country houses. Some were running, running 
anywhere to get away. Out of one courtyard dashed a 
chariot. The driver was lashing his horses. He pushed 
them ahead through the crowd. He knocked people over, 
but he did not stop to see what harm he had done. Curses 
flew after him. He drove on down the road. 

Ariston remembered when he himself had been dragged 
up here two years ago from the pirate ship. 

"This leads to the sea," he thought. "I will go there. 
Perhaps I shall meet my master, Tetreius. He will come 
by ship. Surely I shall find him. The gods will send 
him to me. O blessed gods!" 

But what a sea! It roared and tossed and boiled. While 
Ariston looked, a ship was picked up and crushed and 
swallowed. The sea poured up the steep shore for hun- 
dreds of feet. Then it rushed back and left its strange 
fish gasping on the dry land. Great rocks fell from the 
sky, and steam rose up as they splashed into the water. 
The sun was growing fainter. The black cloud was com- 
ing on. Soon it would be dark. And then what? Ariston 
lay down where the last huge wave had cooled the ground. 


"It is all over, Caius," he murmured. "I shall never see 
Athens again." 

For a while there were no more earthquakes. The sea 
grew a little less wild. Then the half-fainting Ariston 
heard shouts. He lifted his head. A small boat had come 
ashore. The rowers had leaped out. They were dragging 
it up out of reach of the weaves. 

"How strange!" thought Ariston. "They are not run- 
ning away. They must be brave. We are all cowards." 

"Wait for me here!" cried a lordly voice to the rowers. 

When he heard that voice Ariston struggled to his feet 
and called. 

"Marcus Tetreius! Master!" 

He saw the man turn and run toward him. Then the 
boy toppled over and lay face down in the ashes. 

When he came to himself he felt a great shower of 
water in his face. The burden was gone from his back. 
He was lying in a row boat, and the boat was falling to the 
bottom of the sea. Then it was flung up to the skies. 
Tetreius was shouting orders. The rowers were streaming 
with sweat and sea water. 

In some way or other they all got up on the waiting 
ship. It always seemed to Ariston as though a wave had 
thrown him there. Or had Poseidon carried him? At any 
rate, the great oars of the galley were flying. He could 
hear every rower groan as he pulled at his oar. The sails, 
too, were spread. The master himself stood at the helm. 
His face was one great frown. The boat was flung up 


and down like a ball. Then fell darkness blacker than 

"Who can steer without sun or stars?" thought the boy. 

Then he remembered the look on his master's face as he 
stood at the tiller. Such a look Ariston had painted on 
Herakles' face as he strangled the lion. 

"He will get us out," thought the slave. 

For an hour the swift ship fought with the waves. The 
oarsmen were rowing for their lives. The master's arm 
was strong, and his heart was not for a minute afraid. The 
wind was helping. At last they reached calm waters. 

"Thanks be to the gods!" cried Tetreius. "We are out 
of that boiling pot." 

At his words fire shot out of the mountain. It glowed 
red in the dusty air. It flung great red arms across the 
sky after the ship. Every man and spar and oar on the 
vessel seemed burning in its light. Then the fire died, and 
thick darkness swallowed everything. Ariston's heart 
seemed smothered in his breast. He heard the slaves on 
the rowers' benches scream with fear. Then he heard their 
leader crying to them. He heard a whip whiz through the 
air and strike on bare shoulders. Then there was a crash 
as though the mountain had clapped its hands. A thicker 
shower of ashes filled the air. But the rowers were at their 
oars again. The ship was flying. 

So for two hours or more Tetreius and his men fought 
for safety. Then they came out into fresher air and calmer 
water. Tetreius left the rudder. 


"Let the men rest and thank the gods," he said to his 
overseer. "We have come up out of the grave." 

When Ariston heard that, he remembered the Death he 
had left painted on his master's walh By that time the 
picture was surely buried under stones and ashes. The boy 
covered his face with his ragged chiton and wept. He 
hardly knew what he was crying for — the slavery, the pic- 
ture, the buried city, the fear of that horrid night, the sor- 
rows of the people left back there, his father, his dear home 
in Athens. At last he fell asleep. The night was horrible 
with dreams — fire, earthquake, strangling ashes, cries, thun- 
der, lightning. But his tired body held him asleep for sev- 
eral hours. Finally he awoke. He was lying on a soft 
mattress. A warm blanket covered him. Clean air filled 
his nostrils. The gentle light of dawn lay upon his eyes. 
A strange face bent over him. 

"It is only weariness," a kind voice was saying. "He 
needs food and rest more than medicine." 

Then Ariston saw Tetreius, also, bending over him. 
The slave leaped to his feet. He was ashamed to be caught 
asleep in his master's presence. He feared a frown for his 

"My picture is finished, master," he cried, still half 

"And so is your slavery," said Tetreius, and his eyes 

"It was not a slave who carried my son out of hell on 
his back. It was a hero." 


He turned around and called, "Come hither, my 

Three Roman gentlemen stepped up. They looked 
kindly upon Ariston. 

"This is the lad who saved my son," said Tetreius. "I 
call you to witness that he is no longer a slave. Ariston, 
I send you from my hand a free man." 

He struck his hand lightly on the Greek's shoulder, as 
all Roman masters did when they freed a slave. Ariston 
cried aloud with joy. He sank to his knees weeping. But 
Tetreius went on. 

"This kind physician says that Caius will live. But he 
needs good air and good nursing. He must go to some 
one of ^sculapius' holy places. He shall sleep in the tem- 
ple and sit in the shady porches, and walk in the sacred 
groves. The wise priests will give him medicines. The god 
will send healing dreams. Do you know of any such place, 

The Greek thought of the temple and garden of 
^sculapius on the sunny side of the Acropolis at home 
in Athens. But he could not speak. He gazed hungrily 
into Tetreius' eyes. The Roman smiled. 

"Ariston, this ship is bound for Athens! All my life I 
have loved her — her statues, her poems, her great deeds. I 
have wished that my son might learn from her wise men. 
The volcano has buried my home, Ariston. But my wealth 
and my friends and my son are aboard this ship. What do 
you say, my friend? Will you be our guide in Athens?" 


Ariston leaped up from his knees. A fire of joy burned 
in his eyes. He stretched his hands to the sky. 

"O blessed Herakles," he cried, "again thou hast con- 
quered Death. Thou didst snatch us from the grave of 
Pompeii. Give health to this Roman boy. O fairest 
Athena, shed new beauty upon our violet crowned Athens. 
For there is coming to visit her the best of men, my master 


SO a living city was buried in a few hours. Wooded 
hills and green fields lay covered under great ash 
heaps. Ever since that terrible eruption Vesuvius has 
been restless. Sometimes she has been quiet for a hun- 
dred years or more and men have almost forgotten that she 
ever thundered and spouted and buried cities. But all at 
once she would move again. She would shoot steam and 
ashes into the sky. At night fire would leap out of her 
top. A few times she sent out dust and lava and destroyed 
houses and fields. A man who lived five hundred years 
after Pompeii was destroyed described Vesuvius as she was 
in his time. He said: 

"This mountain is steep and thick with woods below. 
Above, it is very craggy and wild. At the top is a deep 
cave. It seems to reach the bottom of the mountain. If 
you peep in you can see fire. But this ordinarily keeps in 
and does not trouble the people. But sometimes the moun- 

A Marble Table: The lions' heads were painted yellow. You can see a taJble 
much like this in the garden pictured later. 



tain bellows like an ox. Soon after it casts out huge masses 
of cinders. If these catch a man, he hath no way to save 
his life. If they fall upon houses, the roofs are crushed 
by the weight. If the wind blow stiff, the ashes rise out of 
sight and are carried to far countries. But this bellowing 
comes only every hundred years or thereabout. And the 
air around the mountain is pure. None is more healthy. 
Physicians send thither sick men to get well." 

The ashes that had covered Pompeii changed to rich 
soil. Green vines and shrubs and trees sprang up and cov- 
ered it, and flowers made it gay. Therefore people said to 
themselves : 

"After all, she is a good old mountain. There will never 
be another eruption while we are alive." 

So villages grew up around her feet. Farmers came 
and built little houses and planted crops and were happy 
working the fertile soil. They did not dream that they were 
living above a buried city, that the roots of their vines 
sucked water from an old Roman house, that buried statues 
lay gazing up toward them as they worked. 

About three hundred years ago came another terrible 
eruption. Again there were earthquakes. Again the 
mountain bellowed. Again black clouds turned day into 
night. Lightning flashed from cloud to cloud. Tempests 
of hot rain fell. The sea rushed back and forth on the shore. 
The whole top of the mountain was blown out or sank into 
the melting pot. Seven rivers of red-hot lava poured down 
the slopes. They flowed for five miles and fell into the 


sea. On the way they set fire to forests and covered five 
little villages. Thousands of people were killed. 

Since that time Vesuvius has been very active. Almost 
every year there have been eruptions with thunder and 
earthquakes and showers and lava. A few of these have 
done much damage.* And even on her calmest days a cloud 
has always hung above the mountain top. Sometimes it 
has been thin and white — a cloud of steam. Sometimes it 
has been black and curling — a cloud of dust. 

Vesuvius is a dangerous thing, but very beautiful. It 
stands tall and pointed and graceful against a lovely sky. 
Its little cloud waves from it like a plume. At night the 
mountain is swallowed by the dark. But the red rivers 
down its slopes glare in the sky. It is beautiful and ter- 
rible like a tiger. Thousands of people have loved it. They 
have climbed it and looked down its crater. It is like look- 
ing into the heart of the earth. One of these travelers wrote 
of his visit in 1793. He said: 

"For many days Vesuvius has been in action. I have 
watched it from Naples. It is wonderfully beautiful and 
always changing. On one day huge clouds poured out 
of the top. They hung in the sky far above, white as snow. 
Suddenly a cloud of smoke rushed out of another mouth. 
It was as black as ink. The black column rose tall and curl- 
ing beside the snowy clouds. That was a picture in black 
and white. But at another time I saw one in bright colors. 

* In tliis year, 1922, Vesmdus has been very active for the first time since 
1906. It has been causing considerable alarm in Naples. A new cone, 230 feet 
high, has developed. — Ed. 


"On a certain night there were towers and curls and 
waves and spires of flames leaping from the top of the 
mountain. Millions of red-hot stones were shot into the 
sky. They sailed uj)ward for hundreds of feet, then curved 
and fell like skyrockets. I looked through my telescope 
and saw liquid lava boiling and bubbling over the crater's 
edge. I could see it splash upon the rocks and glide slowly 
down the sides of the cone. The whole top of the moun- 
tain was red with melted rock. And above it waved the 
changing flames of red, orange, yellow, blue. 

"On another night, as I was getting into bed, I felt an 
earthquake. I looked out of my window toward Vesuvius. 
All the top was glowing with red-hot matter. A terrible 
roaring came from the mountain. In an instant fire shot 
high into the air. The red column curved and showered 
the whole cone. In half a minute came another earth- 
quake shock. My doors and windows rattled. Things 
were shaken from my table to the floor. Then came the 
thunder of an explosion from the mountain and another 
shower of fire. After a few seconds there were noises like 
the trampling of horses' hoofs. It was, of course, the noise 
of the shot-out stones falling upon the rocks of the moun- 
tainsides eight miles away. 

"I decided to ascend the volcano and see the crater from 
which all these interesting things came. A few friends went 
with me. For most of the way we traveled on horses. Af- 
ter two or three hours we reached the bottom of the cone 
of rocks and ashes. From there we had to go on foot. We 


went over to the river of red-hot lava. We planned to 
walk up along its edge. But the hot rock was smoking, and 
the wind blew the smoke into our faces. A thick mist of 
fine ashes from the crater almost suffocated us. Sulphur 
fumes blew toward us and choked us. I said, 

" 'We must cross the stream of lava. On the other 
side the wind will not trouble us.' 

" 'Cross that melted rock?' my friends cried out. 'We 
should sink into it and be burned alive.' 

"But as we stood talking great stones were thrown out 
of the volcano. They rolled down the mountainside close 
to us. If they had struck us it would have been death. 
There was only one way to save ourselves. I covered my 
face with my hat and rushed across the stream of lava. 
The melted rock was so thick and heavy that I did not sink 
in. I only burned my boots and scorched my hands. My 
friends followed me. On that side we were safe. We 
climbed for half an hour. Then we came to the head of our 
red river. It did not flow over the edge of the crater. Many 
feet down from the top it had torn a hole through the cone. 
I shall never forget the sight as long as I live. There was 
a vast arch in the black rock. From this arch rushed a 
clear torrent of lava. It flowed smoothly like honey. It 
glowed with all the splendor of the sun. It looked thin 
like golden water. 

" 'I could stir it with a stick,' said one of my friends. 

" 'I doubt it,' I said. 'See how slowly it flows. It must 
be very thick and heavy.' 


"To test it we threw pebbles into it. They did not sink, 
but floated on Hke corks. We rolled in heavier stones of 
seventy or eighty pounds. They only made shallow dents 
in the stream and floated down with the current. A great 
rock of three hundred pounds lay near. I raised it upon 
end and let it fall into the lava. Very slowly it sank and 

"As the stream flowed on it spread out wider over the 
mountain. Farther down the slope it grew darker and 
harder. It started from the arch like melted gold. Then 
it changed to orange, to bright red, to dark red, to brown, 
as it cooled. At the lower end it was black and hard and 
broken like cinders. 

"We cHmbed a little higher above the arch. There was 
a kind of chimney in the rock. Smoke and stream were 
coming out of it. I went close. The fumes of sulphur 
choked me. I reached out and picked some lumps of pure 
sulphur from the edge of the rock. For one moment the 
smoke ceased. I held my breath and looked down the hole. 
I saw the glare of red-hot lava flowing beneath. The moun- 
tain was a pot, full of boiling rock." 

Another man writes of a visit in 1868, a quieter year. 

"At first we climbed gentle slopes through vineyards 
and fields and villages. Sometimes we came suddenly upon 
a black line in a green meadow. A few years before it had 
flowed down red-hot. Further up we reached large 
stretches of rock. Here wild vines and lupines were grow- 
ing in patches where the lava had decayed into soil. Then 


came bare slopes with dark hollow and sharp ridges. We 
walked on old stiff lava-streams. Sometimes we had to 
plod through piles of coarse, porous cinders. Sometimes 
we climbed over tangled, lumpy beds of twisted, shiny rock. 
Sometimes we looked into dark arched tunnels. Red 
streams had once flowed out of them. A few times we 
jjassed near fresh cracks in the mountain. Here steam 
puffed out. 

"At last we reached a broad, hot piece of ground. Here 
were smoking holes. The night before I had looked at 
them with a telescope from the foot of the mountain. I 
had seen red rivers flowing from them. Now they were 
empty. Last night's lava lay on the slope, cooled and black. 
I was standing on it. My feet grew hot. I had to keep 
moving. The air I breathed was warm and smelled like 
that of an iron foundry. I pushed my pole into a crack 
in the rock. The wood caught fire. I was standing on a 
thin crust. What was below? I broke out a piece of the 
hard lava. A red spot glared up at me. Under the crust 
red-hot lava was still flowing. I knew that it would be 
several years before it would be perfectly cool." 

So for three centuries people have watched Vesuvius 
at work. But she is much older than that — thousands of 
years older — older than any city or country or people in the 
world. In all that time she has poured out millions of tons 
of matter — lava, huge glassy boulders, little pebbles of 
pumice stone, long shining hairs, fine dust or ashes. All 
these things are different forms of melted rock. Some- 
times the steam blows the liquid into fine dust; sometimes 


it breaks it into little pieces and fills them with bubbles. At 
another time the steam is not so strong and only pushes the 
stuff out gently over the crater's edge, ^lany different 
minerals are found in these rocks — iron, copper, lead, mica, 
zinc, sulphur. Some pieces are beautiful in color — blue, 
green, red, yellow. Precious stones have sometimes been 
found — garnets, topaz, quartz, tourmaline, lapis lazuli. 
But most of the stone is dull black or brown or gray. 

All this heavy matter drops close to the mountain. And 
on calm days the ashes, also, fall near at home. Indeed, 
the volcano has built up its own mountain. But a heavy 
wind often carries the fine dust for hundreds of miles. 
Once it was blown as far as Constantinople and it dark- 
ened the sun and frightened people there. Some of the 
ashes fall into the sea. For years the currents carry them 
about from shore to shore. At last they settle to the bot- 
tom and make clay or sand or mud. The material lies 
there for thousands of j^ears and is hard packed into a soft 
fine grained rock, called tufa. The city of Xaples to-day 
is built of such stone that once lay under the sea. An 
earthquake long ago lifted the ocean bottom and turned 
it into dry land. Xow men live upon it and cut streets in 
it and grow crops on it. 

So for many miles about, Vesuvius has been making 
earth. Her ashes lie hundreds of feet deep. INIen dig wells 
and still find only material that has been thrown out of the 
volcano. When this matter grows old and lies under the 
sun and rain it turns to good soil. The acids of water and 
air and plants eat into it. Rain wears it away. Plant 


roots crack the rocks open. The top layer becomes pow- 
dered and rotted and mixed with vegetable loam and is 
fertile soil. So the country all around the volcano is a rich 
garden. Tomatoes, melons, grapes, olives, figs, cover the 

But Vesuvius alone has not made all this ground. She 
is in a nest of volcanoes. They have all been at work like 
her, spouting ashes and pumice and rocks and lava. Ten 
miles away is a wide stretch of country where there are 
more than a dozen old craters. Twenty miles out in the 
blue bay a volcano stands up out of the water. A hundred 
miles south is a group of small volcanic islands. They have 
hot springs. One has a volcano that spouts every five or 
six minutes. At night it is like a lighthouse for sailors. 
One of these Islands is only two thousand years old. The 
men of Pompeii saw it pushed up out of the sea during 
an earthquake. A little farther south is JNIt. ^tna in 
Sicily. It is a greater mountain than Vesuvius and has 
done more work than she has done. So all the southern 
part of Italy seems to be the home of volcanoes and earth- 

There are many other such places scattered over the 
world — Iceland, JMexico, South America, Japan, the Sand- 
wich Islands. Here the same terrible play is going on — 
thunder, clouds, falling ashes, scalding rain, flowing lava. 
The earth is being turned inside out, and men are learning 
what she is made of. 


YEARS came and went and changed the world. The 
old gods died, and the new religion of Christ grew 
strong. The old temples fell into ruins, and new churches 
were built in their places. Instead of the old Roman in 
his white toga came merchants in crimson velvet and knights 
in steel armor and gentlemen in ruffles and modern men in 
plain clothes. 

Among all these changes, Pompeii was almost for- 
gotten. But after a long while people began to be much 
interested in ancient Italy. They read old Roman books, 
and learned of her wonderful cities. They began to dig 
here and there and find beautiful statues and vases and 

Bronze lampholder : Five lamps hung from the branches of this bronze tree. 
It was twenty inches high. 



jewels. They read the story of Pompeii in an old Roman 
book — a whole city suddenly buried just as her people had 
left her! 

"There we should find treasures!" they said. "We 
should see houses, temples, shops, streets, as they were 
seventeen hundred years ago. We should find them full 
of statues and rich things. Perhaps we should find some 
of the people who lived in ancient days. But where to 

Their question was answered by accident. At that 
time certain men were making a tunnel to carry spring 
water from the hills across the country to a little town 
near Naples. The tunnel happened to pass over buried 
Pompeii. They dug up some blocks of stone with Latin 
inscriptions carved on them. After that other people found 
little ancient relics near the same place. 

"This must be where Pompeii lies buried," the wise 
men said. 

They began to excavate. That was about two hun- 
dred years ago. Ever since that time the work has gone 
on. Sometimes people have been discouraged and have 
given up. At other times six hundred men have been 
working busily. Kings have given money. Emperors 
and princes and queens have visited the excavations. Ar- 
tists have made pictures of the ruins, and scholars have 
written books about them. But it is a great task to un- 
cover a whole city that is buried ten or twelve feet deep. 
The excavation is not yet finished. Perhaps when you 


are old men and women the work will be completed, and 
a whole Roman city will be open to your eyes. 

But even as it is to-day, that ^host of a city is among 
the world's wonders. There is the thick stone wall that goes 
all about the town. On its wide top the soldiers used to 
stand to fight in ancient days. Now the stones are fallen; 
its towers are broken; its gates are open. Yet there the 
battered little giant stands at its task of protecting the 
town. Out of its eight gates stretch the paved streets. 

Perhaps some day you will cross the ocean to visit this 
"dead city." It lies on a slope at the foot of Vesuvius. 
Behind stands the tall, graceful volcano with its floating 
feather of steam and smoke. In front lies a little plain, 
and beyond it a long ridge of steep mountains. Off at the 
side shines the dark blue sea with island peaks rising out 
of it. On hillsides and plain are green vineyards and 
dark forests dotted with white farmhouses. 

In some places there are high mounds of dirt outside 
the city wall. They are made by the ashes that have been 
dug out by the excavators and piled here. If you climb 
one of them you will be able to look over the city. You 
will find it a little place — less than a mile long and half a 
mile wide inside its ragged wall. And yet many thousand 
people used to live here. So the houses had to be crowded 
together. You will see no grassy lawns nor vacant lots nor 
playgrounds nor parks with pleasant trees. Many nar- 
row streets cross one another and cut the city into solid 
blocks of buildings. You will be confused because you 


will see thousands of broken walls standing up, but no 
roofs. They are gone — crushed by the piling ashes long 

At last you will come down and go in at one of the gates 
through the rough, thick wall, past the empty watch tow- 
ers. You will tread the very paving stones that men's feet 
trampled nineteen hundred years ago as they fled from the 
v^olcano. You will climb a steep, narrow street. This 
is the street the fishermen and sailors used in olden times 
H^hen they came in from the river or sea, carrying baskets 
of fish or leading mules loaded with goods from their 
ships. This is the street where people poured out to the 
sea on that terrible day of the eruption. 

You will pass a ruined temple of Apollo with standing 
columns and lonely altar and steps that lead to a room that 
is gone. A little farther on you will come out into a large 
open paved space. It is the forum. This used to be the 
busiest place in all Pompeii. At certain hours of the day 
it was filled with little tables and with merchants calling 
out and with gentlemen and slaves buying goods. But 
now it is empty and very still. Around the sides a few 
beautiful columns are yet standing with carved marble at 
the top connecting them. But others lie broken, and most 
of them are gone entirely. This is all that is left of the 
porches where men used to walk and talk of business and 
war and politics and gossip. 

At one end of the forum is a high stone platform and 
wide stone steps leading up to a row of broken columns 


in front of a fallen wall. This is the ruin of the temple of 
Jupiter, the great Roman god. Daily, men used to come 
here to pray before a statue in a dim room. Here, in the 
ruins, the excavators found the head of that statue — a beau- 
tiful marble thing with long curling hair and beard, and 
calm face. They found, too, a great broken body of marble. 
And in that large body a smaller statue was partly carved. 
This was a puzzling thing, but the excavators studied it out 
at last. They said: 

"Old Roman books tell us that sixteen years before 
the great eruption there had been another earthquake. It 
had shaken down many buildings and had cracked many 
walls. But the people loved their city, and when the earth- 
quake was over, they began to rebuild and to make their 
houses and temples better than ever. We have found many 
signs of that earthquake. We have found uncarved blocks 
of marble in the forum. Evidently masons were at work 
there when the eruption stopped them. We have found 
rebuilt walls in some of the houses. And here is the temple 
of Jupiter being used as a marble shop. Probably the 
early earthquake had shaken down and broken the statue 
of the god. A sculptor was set to work to carve a new 
one from the ruin. But suddenly the volcano l)urst 
forth, the artist dropped his chisel and mallet, and here 
we have found his unfinished work — a statue within a 

Behind the roofless porches of the forum are other 
ruined buildings — where the officers of the city did busi- 


ness, where the citizens met to vote, where tailors spread 
out their cloth and sold robes and cloaks. One large mar- 
ket building is particularly interesting. You will enter a 
courtyard with walls all around it and signs of lost porches. 
Broken partitions show where little stalls used to open upon 
the court. Other stalls opened upon the street. In some 
of these the excavators found, buried in the ashes and 
charred by the fire, figs, chestnuts, plums, grapes, glass 
dishes of fruit, loaves of bread, and little cakes. Were cus- 
tomers buying the night's dessert when Vesuvius fright- 
ened them away? In a cool corner of the building is a fish 
market with sloping marble counter. Near it in the middle 
of the courtyard are the bases of columns arranged in a 
circle around a deep basin in the floor. In the bottom of 
this basin the excavators found a thick layer of fish scales. 
Evidently the masters used to buy their fish from the mar- 
ket in the corner. Then the slaves carried them here to 
the shaded pool of water and cleaned them and scaled 
them and washed them. In another corner the excavators 
found skeletons of sheep. Here w^as a pen for live ani- 
mals which a man might buy for his banquet or for a 
sacrifice to his gods. His slave would lead the sheep away 
through the crowds. But on that terrible day when the vol- 
cano belched, the poor bleating animals were deserted. 
Their pen held them and the ashes covered them and to-day 
we can see their skeletons. 

The walls around the market are still standing, though 
the top is broken and the roof is fallen. They are still 


covered with paintings. If you will look at them you can 
guess what used to be for sale here. There are game birds 
and fish and wine jars all pictured here in beautiful colors. 
There are cupids playing about a flour mill and cupids weav- 
ing garlands. There are also pictures of the gods and 
heroes and the deeds they did. Imagine this painted market 
full of chattering people, the little shops gay with piles 
of beautiful fruit and vegetables, the graceful columns and 
dark porches adding beauty. Imagine these people cry- 
ing out and running and these columns swaying and fall- 
ing when Vesuvius bellowed and shook the earth. And 
yet we can see the very fruits that men were buying and 
the pictures they were enjoying. 

The forum with its markets and shops and offices and 
temples and statues was the very heart of the city. Many 
streets led into it. Perhaps you will walk down one of 
them, between broken walls, past open doorways. After 
several street corners you will come to a large building 
with high walls still standing and with tall, arched entrance. 
This also was one of the gay places in Pompeii, for it was 
a bathhouse. Every day all the ladies and gentlemen of the 
town came strolling toward it down the streets. The men 
went in at the wide doorway. The women turned and en- 
tered their own apartments around the corner. And 
as they walked toward the entrance they passed little 
shops built into the walls of the bathhouse. At every 
stall stood the shopkeeper, bowing, smiling, begging, 


"Perfumes, sweet lady!" 

"Rings, rings, beautiful madam, for your beautiful 
fingers !" 

*'Oil for your body, sir, after the bath!" 

"A taste of sweets, madam, before you enter! Honey 
cakes of my own making!" 

"Don't forget to buy my dressing for your hair before 
you go in ! You'll get nothing like it in there." 

So they chattered and called and coaxed. Some of the 
people bought, and some went laughing by and entered 
the bathhouse. As the gentlemen went in, a large court 
opened before them. Here were men bowling or jump- 
ing or running or punching the bag or playing ball or 
taking some other kind of exercise before the bath. Others 
were resting in the shade of the porches. A poet sat in 
a cool corner reading his verses to a few listeners. Some 
men, after their games, were scraping their sweating bodies 
with the strigil. Others were splashing in the marble swim- 
ming tank. Here and there barbers were working over 
handsome gentlemen — smoothing their faces, perfuming 
their hair, polishing their nails. There was talk and laugh- 
ter everywhere. Men were lazily coming and going through 
a door that led into the baths. There were large rooms 
with high ceilings and painted walls. In one we can still 
see the round marble basin. The walls are painted with 
trees and birds and swimming fish and statues. It was 
like bathing in a beautiful garden to bathe here. Another 
room was for the hot bath, with double walls and hot air 


circulating between to make the whole room warm. The 
bathhouse was a great building full of comforts. No won- 
der that all the idle Pompeians came here to bathe, to play, 
to visit, to tell and hear the news. It was a gay and noisy 
place. We have a letter that one of those old Romans 
wrote to a friend. He says : 

"I am living near a bath. Sounds are heard on all sides. 
The men of strong muscle exercise and swing the heavy 
lead weights. I hear their groans as they strain, and the 
whistling of their breath. I hear the massagist slapping 
a lazy fellow who is being rubbed with ointment. A ball 
player begins to play and counts his throws. Perhaps there 
is a sudden quarrel, or a thief is caught, or some one is 
singing in the bath. And the bathers plunge into the swim- 
ming tank with loud splashes. Above all the din you hear 
the calls of the hair puller and the sellers of cakes and 
sweetmeats and sausages." 

After you leave the baths perhaps you will turn down 
Stabian Street. It has narrow sidewalks. The broken 
walls of houses fence it in closely on both sides and cast 
black shadows across it. It is paved with clean blocks of 
lava. You will see wheel ruts worn deep in the hard stone. 
Almost two thousand years old they are, made by the carts 
of the farmers, perhaps, who brought in vegetables for the 
market. At the street crossings you will see three or four 
big stone blocks standing up above the pavement. They 
are stepping-stones for rainy weather. Evidently floods 
used to pour down these sloping streets. You can imagine 


little Roman boys skipping across from block to block and 
trying to keep their sandals dry. 

The street will lead you to the district of good houses 
where the wealthy men lived. Through open doorways 
you will get glimpses into the old ruined courtyards. It 
is hard guessing how the rooms used to look. But when 
you come to the door of the house of Vettius you will cry 
out with wonder. There is a lovely garden in the corner of 
the house. A long passage leads to it straight from the 
street. Around it runs a paved porch with pretty columns. 
Here you will walk in the shade and look out at the gay 
little garden, blooming in the sunshine. In every corner 
tiny streams of water spurt from little statues of bronze 
and marble and trickle into cool basins. Marble tables stand 
among the flowers. You will half expect a slave to bring 
out old drinking cups and wine bowls and set them here for 
his master's pleasure, or tablets and stylus for him to write 
his letters. Everything is in order and beautiful. It was 
not quite so when the excavators uncovered this house. The 
statues were thrown down. The flowers were scorched 
and dead under the piled-up ashes. But it was easy for 
the modern excavators to tell from the ground where the 
flower beds had been and where the gravel paths. Even 
the lead water pipe that carried the stream to the fountain 
needed little repairing. So the excavators set up the 
statues, cleaned the marble tables and benches, planted 
shrubs and flowers, repaired the porch roof, and we have a 


garden such as the old Romans loved and such as many 
houses in Pompeii had. 

Several rooms look out upon this garden. One of them 
is perhaps the most interesting place in all Pompeii. You 
will walk into it and look around and laugh with delight. 
The whole wall is painted with pictures, big and little — 
X)ictures of columns and roofs, of plants and animals, of 
men and gods. They are all framed in with wide spaces of 
beautiful red. And tucked away between them in narrow 
bands of black are the gayest little scenes in the world. 
They are worth going all the way across the ocean to see. 
Psyches — delicate little winged girls like fairies — are pick- 
ing slender flowers and putting them into tall, graceful 
baskets. They are so light and so tiny that they seem to 
be flitting along the wall like bright butterflies. In other 
panels plump little cupids — winged boys — are playing at 
being men. They are picking grapes and working a wine 
press and selling wine. It is big work for tiny creatures, 
and they must kick up their dimpled legs and puff out' 
their chubby cheeks to do it. They are melting gold and 
carrying gold dishes and selling jewelry and swinging a 
blacksmith's hammer with their fat little arms. They are 
carrying roses to market on a ragged goat and weaving rose 
garlands and selling them to an elegant little lady. Every- 
where these gay little creatures are skipping about at their 
play among the beautiful red spaces and large pictures. 
This was surely a charming dining room in the old days. 


The guests must have been merry every time their eyes 
lighted upon the bright wall. And if they looked out at the 
open side, there smiled the garden with its flowers and 
statues and splashing fountains and columns. 

There lived in this house two men by the name of Vet- 
tius. We know this because the excavators found here two 
seals. In those days men fastened their letters and receipts 
and bills with wax. While the wax was soft they stamped 
their names in it with a metal seal. On the stamps that 
were found in this house were carved Aulus Vettius Res- 
titutus and Aulus Vettius Conviva. Perhaps they were 
freedmen who once had been slaves of Aulus Vettius. But 
they must have earned a fortune for themselves, for there 
were two money chests in the house. And they must have 
had slaves of their own to take care of their twenty rooms 
and more. In the tiny kitchen the excavators found a 
good store of charcoal and the ashes of a little fire on top 
of the stone stove. And on its three little legs a bronze dish 
was sitting over the dead fire. A slave must have been 
cooking his master's dinner when the volcano frightened 
him away. 

Vettius' dining room is empty of its wooden tables and 
couches. But some houses had stone ones built in their 
gardens for pleasant summer days. These the ashes did 
not crush, and they are still in place. Columns stood 
about the tables and vines climbed up them and across 
to make cool shade. The tables were always long and nar- 
row and built around three sides of a rectangle. Low 


couches stand along the outside edges. Here guests used 
to lie propped up on their left elbows with pretty cushions 
to make them comfortable. In the open space in the mid- 
dle of the square servants came and went and passed the 
dishes across the narrow tables. Children used to have 
little wooden stools and sit in this middle space opposite 
their elders. But in one old ruined garden dining room 
vou will see a little stone bench for the children, built along" 
the end of the table. It must have been pleasant to have 
supper there with the sunset coloring the sky, behind old 
Vesuvius, the cool breeze shaking the leaves of the gar- 
den shrubs, and the fountain tinkling, and a bird chirping 
in a corner, and the shadows beginning to creep under the 
long porches, and the tiny flames of lamps fluttering in the 
dusky rooms behind. 

After you leave the house of Vettius and walk do^Mi 
the street, you will come to a certain door. In the sidewalk 
before it you will see "Have" spelled with bits of colored 
marble. It is the old Latin word for "Welcome." It is 
too pleasant an invitation to refuse. Go in through the 
high doorway and down the narrow passage to the atrium. 
Every Roman house had this atrium. It is like a large 
reception hall with many rooms opening off it — bedrooms, 
dining rooms, sitting rooms. Beautiful hangings instead 
of doors used to shut these rooms in. The atrium had an 
opening in the roof where the sun shone in and softly lighted 
the big room. Here the master used to receive his guests. 
In the house of A'ettius the two money chests were found 


in the atrium. In this same room in the house of "Wel- 
come," there was found on the floor a little bronze statue, 
a dancing faun, one of the gay friends of Dionysus. It is 
a tiny thing only two feet high, but so pretty that the 
excavators named the house after it — The House of the 
Faun. Evidently the old owner loved beautiful things and 
had money to buy them. Even the floors of some of his 
rooms are made in mosaic pictures. There are doves at 
play, and ducks and fish and shells all laid under your feet 
in bright bits of colored marble. And beyond the pleasant 
court with its porches and garden is a large sitting room. 
In the floor of this the excavators found the most wonder- 
ful mosaic picture of all, a picture of a battle, with waving 
spears and prancing horses and fallen men. Two kings are 
facing each other to fight — Darius, king of Persia, stand- 
ing in his chariot, and Alexander, king of Greece, riding 
his war horse. The bits of stone are so small and of such 
perfect color that the mosaic looks like a beautiful painting. 
Imagine how the excavators' hearts leaped when the spades 
took the gray ashes off this bright picture. It was too pre- 
cious a thing to leave here in the rain and wind. So the 
excavators carefully took it up and put it into the museum 
of Naples where there are other valuable things from 

There are many other houses almost as pleasant and 
beautiful as this House of the Faun. Every one has its 
atrium and its sunny court and its fountains and statues and 
its painted walls. But Pompeii was a city of business, too, 


and had many workshops. There is a dye shop where the 
excavators found large lead pots and glass bottles still full 
of dye. There are cleaners' shops where the slaves used to 
take their masters' robes to be cleaned. Here the excavators 
found vats and white clay for cleaning, and pictures on the 
wall showing men at work. There are tanneries where 
leather was made. The rusted tools were found which the 
men had thrown down so long ago. There is a pottery shop 
with two ovens for baking the vases. On a certain street 
corner you will see an old wine shop. It is a little room 
cut into the corner wall of a great house. Its two sides 
are open upon the street with broad marble counters. Be- 
low the counters are big, deep jars. Their open tops thrust 
themselves through the slab. You can look into their 
mouths where the shopkeeper used to dip out the wine. On 
the walls of the room are marks that show where shelves 
hung in ancient days to hold cups and glasses. In the outer 
edge of the sidewalk before the shop are two round holes 
cut into the stone. Long ago poles were thrust into them 
to hold an awning that shaded the walk in front of the 
counters. We can imagine men stopping in this pleasant 
shade as they passed. The busy slave inside the shop whips 
out a cup and a graceful, long-handled ladle and dips out 
the sweet-smelling wine from the wide-mouthed jar. And 
we can imagine how the cups fell clattering from the men's 
hands when Vesuvius thundered. In one shop, indeed, the 
excavators found an overturned cup on the counter and a 
wine stain on the marble. 


But the most interesting shops are the bakeries. There 
were twenty of them in Pomj)eii. You will see the ovens 
in the courtyard. They are big beehives built of stone or 
brick. The baker made a fire inside and let the walls become 
hot. Then he raked out the coals and cleaned the floor and 
put in his bread. The hot walls baked the loaves. In one 
oven the excavators found a burned loaf eighteen hundred 
years old. When the earthquake shook his house, did the 
baker snatch out the rest of the ovenful to feed his hungry 
family as they groped about for safety in the terrible dark- 
ness ? In several bakeries you will see, also, the mills. They 
are great mortar-shaped things standing taller than a man. 
The heavy stone above turned around upon the stone below. 
A man poured wheat in at the top. It fell down and was 
ground between the two stones and dropped out at the bot- 
tom as flour. A horse or donkey was hitched to the mill to 
turn it. Around and around he walked all day. He was 
blindfolded to prevent his becoming dizzy. You will see 
on the stone floor in one bakery the path that was made 
by years of this walking. In the old days this silent empty 
court must have been an interesting place. The donkey's 
hoofs beat lazy time on the stone floor. Now and then a 
slave lifted up a bag of wheat and poured it into the mill 
or scooped out the white flour from the trough at the bottom. 
Another man sifted the flour and the breeze blew the white 
dust over his bare arms. Some of the ovens were smoking 
and glowing with fresh fire. Others were shut, with the 
browning bread inside, and a good smell hung in the air. 


And out in front was a little shop where the master sold 
the thin loaves and the fancy little cakes. 

In the hundreds of houses and shops of this little town 
the excavators have found bronze tables and lamps and 
lamp stands and wine jars and kitchen pots and pans and 
spoons and glass vases and silver cups and gold hairpins and 
jewelry and ivory combs and bronze strigils and mirrors 
and several statues of bronze and marble. But where they 
had hoped to find thousands of precious things they have 
found only hundreds. Many pedestals are empty of their 
statues. Here and there the very paintings have been cut 
from the walls. Those are the pictures we should most like 
to see. How beautiful could they have been? 

"Evidently men came back soon after the eruption," say 
the excavators. "The tops of their ruined houses must have 
Stood up above the ashes. They dug down and rescued 
their most precious things. We have even found broken 
places in walls where we think men dug tunnels from one 
house to another. That is why the temple and market 
place have so few statues. That is why we find so little 
jewelry and money and dishes. But we have enough. The 
city is our treasure." 

One rich find they did make, however. There was a 
pleasant farmhouse out of town on the slope of Vesuvius. 
Evidently the man who owned it had a vineyard and an 
olive grove and grain fields. For there are olive presses and 
wine presses and a great court full of vats for making wine 
and a floor for threshing wheat and a mill for grinding flour 


and a stable and a wide courtyard that must have held many 
carts. And there are bathrooms and many pleasant rooms 
besides. In the room with the wine presses was a stone 
cistern for storing the fresh grape juice. Here the exca- 
vators found a treasure and a mystery. In this cistern lay 
the skeleton of a man. With him were a thousand pieces of 
gold money, some gold jewelry, and a wonderful dinner 
set of silver dishes. There are a hundred and three pieces 
— plates, platters, cups, bowls. And every one has beaten 
up from it beautiful designs of flowers and people. An 
artist must have made them, and a rich man must have 
bought them. How did they come here in this farmhouse? 
They must have been meant for a nobleman's table. Had 
some thief stolen them and hidden here, only to be caught 
by the volcano? Did some rich lady of the city have this 
farm for her country place ? And had she sent her treasure 
here to escape when the volcano burst forth? At any rate 
here it lay for eighteen hundred years. And now it is in 
a museum in Paris, far from its old owner's home. 

In this buried city we find the houses in which men lived, 
the pictures they loved, the food they ate, the jewels they 
wore, the cups they drank from. But what of the people 
themselves? Were they real men and women? How did 
they look? Did they all escape? Not all, for many skele- 
tons have been found here and there through the city — in 
the market place, in the streets, in the houses. And some- 
times the excavators have found still stranger, sadder 
things. Often as a man has been digging in the hard-packed 


ashes, his spade has struck into a hole. Then he has called 
the chief excavator. 

"Let us see what it is," the excavator has said, "Per- 
haps it will be something interesting." 

So they have mixed plaster and poured it into the hole. 
They have given it a little time to harden and then have 
dug away the ashes from around it. In that way they have 
made a plaster cast just the shape of the hole. And several 
times when they have uncovered their cast they have found 
it to be the form of a man or woman or child. Perhaps the 
person had been hurrying through the street and had 
stumbled and fallen. The gases had choked him, the ashes 
had slowly covered him. Under the moistening rain and 
the pressure of all the hundreds of years the ashes had 
hardened almost to stone. Meantime the body had decayed 
and had sunk down into a handful of dust. But the 
hardened ashes still stood firm around the space where the 
body had been. When this hole was filled with plaster, the 
cast took just the form of the one who had been buried 
there so long ago — the folds of his clothes, the ring on his 
finger, the girl's knot of hair, the negro slave's woolly head. 
So we can really look upon the faces of some of the ancient 
people of Pompeii. And in another way we can learn the 
names of many of them. 

One of the streets that leads out from the wall is called 
the "Street of Tombs." It is the ancient burying ground. 
You will walk along the paved street between rows of monu- 
ments. Some will be like great square altars of marble 


beautifully carved. Some will be tall platforms with steps 
leading up. There wall be marble benches where you may 
sit and think of the old Pompeians who were twice buried 
in their beautiful tombs. And there on the marble monu- 
ment you will see their names carved in old Latin letters, 
and kind things that their friends said about them. There 

Marcus Cerrinius Restitutus; Aulus Veius, who was 
several times an officer of the city; Mamia, a priestess; 
Marcus Porcius; Xumerius Istacidius and his wife and 
daughter and others of his family, all in a great tomb stand- 
ing on a high platform ; Titus Terentius Felix, whose wife, 
Fabia Sabina, built his tomb; Tyche, a slave; Aulus Umbri- 
cius Scaurus, whose statue was set up in the market place to 
do him honor; Gains Calventius Quietus, who was given a 
seat of honor at the theater on account of his generosity; 
Naevoleia Tyche, w^ho had once been a slave, but who had 
been freed, had married, and grown wealthy and had slaves 
of her own; Gnseus Yibius Saturninus, whose freedman built 
his tomb; Marcus Arrius Diomedes, a freedman; Xumerius 
Velasius Gratus, twelve years old; Salvinus, six years old; 
and many another. 

After seeing the tombs and houses and shops you will 
leave that little city, I think, feeling that the people of 
ancient times were much like us, that men and mountains 
have dore w^onderful things in this old world, that it is good 
to know how people of other times lived and worked and 



This statue, now in the Metropolitan Museum, was found at 
Pompeii. Probably Caius was dressed just like this, and carried 
such a stick when he played in his father's courtyard. 





-jictru/juiUan Museum 




Nowadays men know from history what may happen when Ve- 
suvius wakes. But in 79 A.D., when Pompeii was buried^ the 
mountain had slept for hundreds of years_, and no man knew that 
an eruption might bury a city. 


-1 international 


The roofs are all gone and all the partitions inside the houses 
show. That is why it all looks so crowded and confused. But 
if you study it carefully you can see some interesting things. 
The big open space is the forum. It is about five hundred feet 
long, running northeast and southwest. South of it is the tem- 
ple of Apollo. North of it, where you see the bases of columns 
in a circle, was the market. Next to the market is the place 
where the gods of the city were worshipped. The broad street 
beside the forum running southeast is the one down which Aris- 
ton fled. Then he turned into the forum, ran out the gate near 
the lower end into the steep street that runs southwest and ends 
at a city gate near the sea. 



You must imagine this temple with an altar in front, a broad 
flight of steps, and a portico of beautiful columns. You can see 
the street paved with blocks of lava, the deep wheel ruts, and 
the stepping stones for rainy weather. 


Pompeii was surrounded by two high walls fifteen feet apart, 
with earth between. An embankment of earth was piled up in- 
side also. This is one of the eight gates in tlie wall. 



On the tomb of Naevoleia Tyche was a carving of a ship gliding 
into port, the sailors furling the sails. Within this tomb is a 
chamber where funeral urns stand, containing the ashes of Tyche 
and her husband, and of the slaves they had freed. Pompeians 
always burned the bodies of the dead. 



Like other Roman towns^ Pompeii had an amphitheater. Here 
twenty thousand people could come and watch the gladiators 
fight in pairs till one was killed. Then the dead body was 
dragged off, and another pair appeared and fought. Sometimes 
the gladiators were prisoners captured in war, like the famous 
Spartacus; sometimes they were slaves; sometimes criminals con- 
demned to death. Sometimes a man w^as pitted against a wild 
beast; sometimes two wild beasts fought each other. The amphi- 
theater had no roof. Vesuvius, with its column of smoke, was in 
plain view from the seats. There was a great awning to protect 
the spectators. The lower seats were for officials and distin- 
guished people; for the middle rows there was an admission fee; 
all the upper seats were free. 


A few large houses had baths of their own, but most people 
went every day to a great public bath which was a very gay 
place. This open court which you see, was for games. 



The temple was built on a high foundation. A broad flight of 
steps led up to it^ with an altar at the foot. There was a porch 
all round it held up by a row of columns. Some of the columns 
have stood up through all the earthquakes and eruptions of two 
thousand years. Inside the porch was a small room for the 
statue of Apollo. In the paved court around this temple were 
many altars and statues of the gods. This was at one time the 
most important temple in Pompeii. 


In this large open court the gladiators had their training and 
practice. In small cells around the court they lived. They were 
kept under close guard, for they were dangerous men. Sixty- 
three skeletons were found herC; many of them in irons. 




Pompeii had two theaters lor plays and music, besides the amphi- 
theater where the gladiators fought. The smaller theater, un- 
like the others, had a roof. It seated fifteen hundred people. 
We think perhaps contests in music were held here. 


A boar^ a ram, and a bull are to be killed, and a part of the 
flesh is to be burned on the altar to please the gods. 



On the walls of a room in a house in Pompeii men found this 
picture^ showing how interesting the life of the forum was. At 
the left is a table where a man has kitchen utensils for sale. 
But he is dreaming and does not see a customer coming. So his 
friend is waking him up. Near him is a shoemaker selling 
sandals to some women. 


Underneath are two ivory toilet boxes. One was probably for 
perfumed oil. 


These were found hanging in a ring in one of the great public 
baths. You see a flask for oil, a saucer to pour the oil into, and 
four scrapers to scrape oif the oil and dirt before a plunge. 


— From Man's "Pompeii' 



With the columns and tables and statues that were found, this 
court has been built on the site of an old ruined villa. Flowers 
bloom and the fountain plays in it to-day just as they did over 
two thousand years ago. There are wall paintings in the 
shadows at the back. The little boys holding the ducks must 
look very much like Caius when he was a little boy. When he 
went to the farm in the hills for a hot summer^ he had ducks to 
play with; here are statues to remind him, in the winter time, of 
what fun that was. 

A garden like this, not generally so large, was laid out inside 
every important house in Pompeii. The family rooms sur- 
rounded it. These rooms received most of their light and air 
from this garden. Caius was lying on a couch in a garden like 
this, when the shower of pebbles suddenly began. Ariston was 
painting the walls of a room that overlooked the garden. 



This is part of a beautiful wall painting in a Pompeian house, 
the sort of painting that Ariston was making when the volcano 
burst forth. See how much the little boy looks like his mother, 
and what beautiful bands they both have in their hair. Chairs 
like this one have been found in the ruins, and the same design 
is on many other pieces of furniture. 

The Metropolitan Museum owns the complete wall paintings for 
a Pompeian room. They are put up just as they were in 
Pompeii. There is even an iron window grating. A beautiful 
table from Pompeii stands in the center. The room is one of the 
gayest in the whole museum, with its rich reds and bright yel- 
lows, greens, and blues. 




In this house the cook must have been in the kitchen, just ready 
to go to work when he had to flee. He left the pot on a tripod 
on a bed of coals, ready for use. You can see an arched open- 
ing underneath the fireplace. This was where the cook kept his 
fuel. The small size of the kitchens shows that the Pompeians 
were not great gluttons. 




These kettles and frying pans and ladles are made of bronze, 
an alloy of copper and tin. They look very much like our kitchen 


Some rich Pompeian had a pair of beautiful silver cups with 
graceful handles. The design was made in hammered silver, and 
showed centaurs talking to cupids that are sitting on their backs. 
A centaur was half man, half horse. 


— From Mau's ^'Pompeii' 

— From Man's '^Pompeii'* 



From the ruins and from ancient books, men know almost all 
the rooms of a Pompeian house. So they have pictured this one 
as it \vas before the disaster, with its many beautiful wall paint- 
ings, its mosaic floors, its tiled roofs. If you can imagine these 
two halves fitted together, and yourself inside, you can visit one 
of the most attractive houses in Pompeii. Do you see how the 
tiled roof slants downward from four sides to a rectangular 
opening in the highest part of the house? Below this opening 
was a shallow basin into which the rainwater fell. This basin 
was in the center of the atrium, the most important room in the 
house. The walls of this room were painted with scenes from 
the Trojan war. This is the liouse which has the mosaic picture 
of a dog on the floor of the long entrance hall (see next page). 
On each side of the hall, facing the street, are large rooms for 
shops, where, doubtless, the owner conducted his business. He 
was not a "Tragic Poet." Some people think he was a goldsmith. 
On each side of the atrium were sleeping rooms. Can you see 
that the doors are very high with a grating at the top to let in 
light and air.^ Windows were few and small, and generally the 
rooms took light and air from the inside courts rather than from 
outside. Back of the atrium was a large reception room with 
bedrooms on each side. And back of this was a large open 
court, or garden, with a colonnade on three sides and a solid wall 
at the back. Opening on this garden was a large dining room 
"vvith beautiful wall paintings, a tiny kitchen, and some sleeping 
rooms. This house had stairways and second story rooms over 
the shops. This seems to us a very comfortable homelike house. 

THE HOUSE OF THE TRAGIC POET (as it looks to-day). 

Here you see the shallow basin in the floor of the atrium. This 
basin had two outlets. You can see the round cistern mouth 
near the pool. There was also an outlet to the street to carry 
off the overflow. At the back of the garden you can see a shrine 
to the household gods. At every meal a portion was set aside 
in little dishes for the gods. 



From the vestibule of the House of the Tragic Poet. It says 
loudly, "Beware the dog!" Pictures and patterns made of little 
pieces of polished stone like this are called mosaic. Sometimes 
American vestibules are tiled in a simple mosaic. Wouldn't it 
be fun if they had such exciting pictures as this? A real dog, 
or two or three, probably was standing inside the door, chained, 
D>r held by slaves. 



There was a wine cellar under the colonnade. Here were twenty 
skeletons; two, children. Near the door were found skeletons of 
two men. One had a large key, doubtless the key of this door. 
He wore a gold ring and was carrying a good deal of money. He 
was probably the master of the house. Evidently the family 
thought at first that the wine cellar would be a safe place, but 
when they found that it was not so, the master took one slave 
and started out to find a way to escape. But they all perished. 




If one of the mills that were found in the bakery were sawed 
in two^ it w^ould look like this. You can see where the baker's 
man poured in the wheats and where the flour dropped down^ 
and the heavy timbers fastened to the upper millstone to turn 
it by. 




-From Mau's "Pompeii^ 

Portrait of lucius c^cilius jucundus. 

This Lucius was an auctioneer who had set free one of his 
slaves^ Felix. Felix, in gratitude, had this portrait of his master 
cast in bronze. It stood on a marble pillar in the atrium of the 


-From Mail's '■PompeW 



It is the figure of the Roman God Silenus. He was the son of 
Pan, and the oldest of the satyrs, who were supposed to be half 
goat. Can you find the goat's horns among his curls ? He was a 
rollicking old satyr, very fond of wine, always getting into 
mischief. The grape design at the base of the little statue, and 
the snake supporting the candleholder, both are symbols of the 




In one of the largest and most elegant houses in Pompeii, on 
the floor of the atrium, or principal room of the house, men 
found in the ashes this bronze statue of a dancing faun. Doesn't 
he look as if he loved to dance, snapping his fingers to keep 
time? Although this great house contained on the floor of one 
room the most famous of ancient mosaic pictures, representing 
Alexander the Great in battle, and although it contains many 
other fine mosaics, it was named from this statue, the House of 
the Faun, Casa del Fauno. 




This bronze statue was found in Herculaneum, the city on the 
other slope of Vesuvius which was buried in liquid mud. This 
mud has become solid rock, from sixty to one hundred feet deep 
so that excavation is very difficult, and the city is still for the 
most part buried. 




The visitors to-day are walking where Caius walked so long ago, 
on the same paving stones. The three stones were set up to 
keep chariots out of the foruir*- 


— International 

A Vase Store 



THE July sun was blazing over the country of Greece. 
Dust from the dry plain hung in the air. But what 
cared the happy travelers for dust or heat? They were 
on their way to Olympia to see the games. Every road 
teemed with a chattering crowd of men and boys afoot 
and on horses. They wound down from the high 
mountains to the north. They came along the valley from 
the east and out from among the hills to the south. Up 
from the sea led the sacred road, the busiest of all. A 


O L Y M P I A 95 

little caravan of men and horses was trying to hurry ahead 
through the throng. The master rode in front looking 
anxiously before him as though he did not see the crowd. 
After him rode a lad. His eyes were flashing eagerly here 
and there over the strange throng. A man walked beside 
the horse and watched the boy smilingly. Behind them 
came a string of pack horses with slaves to guard the loads 
of wine and food and tents and blankets for their master's 

"What a strange-looking man, Glaucon!" said the boy. 
"He has a dark skin." 

The boy's own skin was fair, and under his hat his hair 
was golden. As he spoke he pointed to a man on the road 
who was also riding at the head of a little caravan. His skin 
was dark. Shining black hair covered his ears. His gar- 
ment was gay with colored stripes. 

"He is a merchant from Egypt," answered the man. 
"He will have curious things to sell — vases of glass, beads 
of amber, carved ivory, and scrolls gay with painted figures. 
You must see them, Charmides." 

But already the boy had forgotten the Egyptian. 

"See the chariot!" he cried. 

It was slowly rolling along the stony road. A grave, 
handsome man stood in it holding the reins. Beside him 
stood another man with a staff in his hand. Behind the 
chariot walked two bowmen. After them followed a long 
line of pack horses led by slaves. 


"Thejr are the delegates from Athens/' explained 
Glaucon. "There are, doubtless, rich gifts for Zeus on 
the horses and perhaps some stone tablets engraved with 
new laws." 

But the boy was not listening. 

''Jugglers! Jugglers!" he cried. 

And there they were at the side of the road, showing 
their tricks and begging for coins. One man was walking 
on his hands and tossing a ball about with his feet. Another 
was swallowing a sword. 

"Stop, Glaucon!" cried Charmides, "I must see him. 
He will kill himself." 

"No, my little master," replied the slave. "You shall 
see him again at Olympia. See your father. He would be 
vexed if we waited." 

And there was the master ahead, pushing forward 
rapidly, looking neither to the right hand nor the left. The 
boy sighed. 

"He is hurrying to see Creon. He forgets me!" he 

But immediately his eyes were caught by some new 
thing, and his face was gay again. So the little company 
traveled up the sloping road amid interesting sights. For 
here were people from all the corners of the known world 
— Greeks from Asia in trailing robes, Arabs in white tur- 
bans, black men from Egypt, kings from Sicily, Persians 
with tiieir curled beards, half civilized men from the north 
in garments of skin. 

O L Y M P I A 97 

"See!" said Glaucon at last as they reached a hilltop, 
"the temple!" 

He pointed ahead. There shone the tip of the roof and 
its gold ornament. Hovering above was a marble statue 
with spread wings. 

"And there is Victory!" w^hispered Charmides. "She 
is waiting for Creon. She will never wait for me," and he 

The crowd broke into a shout when they saw the temple. 
A company of young men flew by, singing a song. Char- 
mides passed a sick man. The slaves had set down his 
litter, and he had stretched out his hands toward the temple 
and was praying. For the sick were sometimes cured by a 
visit to Olympia. The boy's father had struck his heels 
into his horse's sides and was galloping forward, calling to 
his followers to hasten. 

In a few moments they reached higher land. Then 
they saw the sacred place spread out before them. There 
was the wall all around it. Inside it shone a few buildings 
and a thousand statues. Along one side stretched a row 
of little marble treasure houses. At the far corner lay 
the stadion with its rows of stone seats. Nearer and out- 
side the wall was the gymnasium. Even from a distance 
Charmides could see men running about in the court. 

"There are the athletes!" he thought. "Creon is with 

Behind all these buildings rose a great hill, dark green 
with trees. Down from the hill poured a little stream. It 


met a wide river that wound far through the valley. In 
the angle of these rivers lay Olympia. The temple and 
walls and gymnasium were all of stone and looked as 
though they had been there forever. But in the meadow 
all around the sacred place was a city of winged tents. 
There were little shapeless ones of skins lying over sticks. 
There were round huts woven of rushes. There were sheds 
of poles with green boughs laid upon them. There were 
tall tents of gaily striped canvas. Farther off were horses 
tethered. And everywhere were gaily robed men moving 
about. ]Menon, Charmides' father, looking ahead from the 
high place, turned to a slave. 

"Run on quickly," he said. "Save a camping place for 
us there on Mount Kronion, under the trees." 

The man was off. JNIenon spoke to the other servants. 

"Push forward and make camp. I will visit the gym- 
nasium. Come, Charmides, we will go to see Creon." 

They rode down the slope toward Olympia. As they 
passed among the tents they saw friends and exchanged 
kind greetings. 

"Ah, Menon!" called one. "There is good news of 
Creon. Every one expects great things of him." 

"I have kept room for your camp next my tent, Menon," 
said another. 

"Here are sights for you, Charmides," said a kind old 

Charmides caught a glimpse of gleaming marble among 
the crowd and guessed that some sculptor w^as showing his 

L Y M P I A 99 

statues for sale. Yonder was a barber's tent. Gentlemen 
were sitting in chairs and men were cutting their hair or 
rubbing their faces smooth with stone. In one place a man 
was standing on a little platform. A crowd was gathered 
about him listening, while he read from a scroll in his hands. 

But the boy had only a glimpse of these things, for his 
father was hurrying on. In a moment they crossed a bridge 
over a river and stopped before a low, wide building. Glau- 
con helped Charmides off his horse. Menon spoke a few 
words to the porter at the gate. The man opened the door 
and led the visitors in. Charmides limped along beside his 
father, for he was lame. That was what had made him 
sigh when he had seen Victory hovering over Olympia. She 
would never give him the olive branch. But now he did not 
think of that. His heart was beating fast. His eyes were 
big. For before him lay a great open court baking in the 
sun. jNIore than a hundred boys were at work there, leap- 
ing, wrestling, hurling the disk, throwing spears. During 
the past months they had been living here, training for the 
games. The sun had browned their bare bodies. Xow 
their smooth skins were shining with sweat and oil. As 
they bent and twisted they looked like beautiful statues 
turned brown and come alive. Among them walked men 
in long purple robes. They seemed to be giving commands. 

"They are the judges," whispered Glaucon. "They train 
the boys." 

All around the hot court ran a deep, shady portico. 
Here boys lay on the tiled floor or on stone benches, resting 


from their exercise. Xear Charmides stood one with his 
back turned. He was scraping the oil and dust from his 
body with a strigil. Charmides' eyes danced with joy at the 
beauty of the firm, round legs and the muscles moving 
in the shoulders. Then the athlete turned toward the 
visitors and Charmides cried out, '"Creon!" and ran and 
threw his arms around him. 

Then there was gay talk. Creon asked about the home 
and mother and sisters in Athens, for he had been here in 
training for almost ten months. ]Menon and Charmides had 
a thousand questions about the games. 

"I know I shall win, father," said Creon softly. "Four 
nights ago Hermes appeared to me in my sleep and smiled 
upon me. I awoke suddenly and there was a strange, sweet 
perfume in the air." 

Tears sprang into his father's eyes. "Xow blessed be 
the gods!" he cried, "and most blessed Hermes, the god of 
the gy mna sium ! ' ' 

After a little ]Menon and Charmides said farewell and 
went away through the chattering crowd and up under 
the cool trees on ]Mount Kronion to their camp. The slaves 
had cut poles and set them up and thrown a wide linen 
cover over them. Under it they had put a little table hold- 
ing lumps of brown cheese, a flat loaf of bread, a basket of 
figs, a pile of crisp lettuce. Just outside the tent grazed a 
few goats. A man in a soiled tunic was squatted milking 
one. ]Menon's slave stood waiting and, as his master came 
up, he took the big red bowl of foaming milk and carried 

O L Y M P I A 101 

it to the table. The goatherd picked up his long crook and 
started his flock on, calling, "Milk! ]\Iilk to sell!" 

Menon was gay now. His worries were over. His 
camp was pitched in a pleasant place. His son was well 
and sure of victory. 

"Come, little son." he called to Charmides. "You must 
be as hungry as a wolf. But first our thanks to the gods." 

A slave had poured a little wine into a flat cup and 
stood now offering it to his master. ]Menon took it and 
held it high, looking up into the blue heavens. 

"O gracious Hermes!" he cried aloud, "fulfill thy omen! 
And to Zeus, the father, and to all the immortals be thanks." 

As he prayed he turned the cup and spilled the wine 
upon the ground. That was the god's portion. A slave 
spread down a rug for his master to lie upon and put 
cushions under his elbow. Glaucon did the same for 
Charmides, and the meal began. ]\Ienon talked gaily about 
their journey, the games to-morrow, Creon's training. But 
Charmides was silent. At last his father said: 

"Well, little wolf, you surely are gulping! Are you 
so starved?" 

"Xo," said Charmides with full mouth. "I'm in a hurry. 
I want to see things." 

His father laughed and leaped to his feet. 

"Just like me, lad. Come on!" 

Charmides snatched a handful of figs and rolled out 
of the tent squealing with joy. ^lenon came after him. 
laughing, and Glaucon followed to care for them. 


"The sun is setting," said Menon. "It will soon be 
dark, and to-morrow are the games. They will keep us 
busy when they begin, so you must use your eyes to-day 
if you want to see the fair." 

He stopped on the hillside and looked down into the 
sacred place. 

"It is wonderful!" he said, half to himself. "The home 
of glory! I love every stone of it. I have not been here 
since I myself won the single race. And now my son is 
to win it. That was when you were a baby, Charmides." 

"I know, father," whispered the boy with shining eyes. 
"I have kissed your olive wreath, where it hangs above our 
altar at home." 

The father put his hand lovingly on the boy's yellow 

"By the help of Hermes there soon will be a green one 
there for you to kiss, lad. The gods are very good to crown 
our family twice." 

"I wish there were crowns for lame boys to win," said 
Charmides. "I would win one!" 

He said that fiercely and clenched his fist. His father 
looked kindly into his eyes and spoke solemnly, 

"I think you w^ould, my son. Perhaps there are such 

They started on thoughtfully and soon were among the 
crowd. There were a hundred interesting sights. They 
passed an outdoor oven like a little round hill of stones 
and clay. The baker was just raking the fire out of the 


little door on the side. Charmides waited to see him put 
the loaves into the hot cave. But before it was done a 
horn blew and called him away to a little table covered with 

"Honey cakes! Almond cakes! Fig cakes!" sang the 
man. "Come buy!" 

There they lay — stars and fish and ships and temples. 
Charmides picked up one in the shape of a lyre. 

"I will take this one," he said, and solemnly ate it. 

"Why are you so solemn, son?" laughed Menon. 

The boy did not answer. He only looked up at his 
father with deep eyes and said nothing. But in a moment 
he was racing off to see some rope dancers. 

"Glaucon," said the master to the slave, "take care of 
the boy. Give him a good time. Buy him what he wants. 
Take him back to camp when he is tired. I have business 
to do." 

Then he turned to talk with a friend, who had come up, 
and Glaucon followed his little master. 

What a good time the boy had ! The rope dancers, the 
sword swallowers, the Egyptian with his painted scroll, a 
trained bear that wrestled with a wild-looking man dressed 
in skins, a cooking tent where whole sheep wxre roasting and 
turning over a fire, another where tiny fish were boiling in 
a great pot of oil and jumping as if alive — he saw them all. 
He stood under the sculptors' awning and gazed at the 
marble people more beautiful than life. And when he 
came upon Apollo striking his lyre, his heart leaped into 


his mouth. He stood quiet for a long time gazing at this 
god of song. Then he walked out of the tent with shining 

At last it grew dark, and torches began to blaze in front 
of the booths. 

"Shall we go home, Chanuides?" said Glaucon. 

"Oh, no!" cried the boy. "I haven't seen it all. I am 
not tired. It is gayer now than ever w^ith the torches. See 
all those shining flames." 

And he ran to a booth where a hundred little bronze 
lamps hung, each with its tongue of clear light. It was an 
imagemaker's booth. The table stood full of little clay 
statues of the gods. Charmides took up one. It was a 
young man leaning against a tree trunk. On his arm he 
held a baby. 

"It is a model of the great marble Hermes in the temple 
of Hera, my little master," said the image maker. "Great 
Praxiteles made that one, poor Philo made this one." 

"It is beautiful," said Charmides and turned away, hold- 
ing it tenderly in his hand. 

Glaucon waited a moment to pay for the figure. Then 
he followed Charmides who had walked on. He was stand- 
ing on the bridge gazing at the water. 

"Glaucon," he said, "I must see that statue of Hermes." 

They stood there talking about the wonderful works 
of Praxiteles and of many another artist. Glaucon pointed 
to a little wooden shed lying in the meadow. 

"That," he said, "is the workshop of Phidias. There he 

O L Y M P I A 105 

made the gold and ivory statue of Zeus that you shall see 
in Zeus's temple. That workshop will stay there many a 
year, I think, for people to love because so great a thing 
was done there." 

"Is it so wonderful?" asked Charmides. 

"When it was finished," Glaucon answered solemnly, 
"Phidias stood before it and prayed to Zeus to tell him 
whether it pleased the god. Great Zeus heard the prayer, 
and in his joy at the beautiful thing he hurled a blazing 
thunderbolt and smote the floor before the statue as if to 
say, 'This image is Zeus himself.' But I have never seen it, 
for a slave may not pass the sacred wall." 

Now the full moon had risen, and the world was swim- 
ming in silver light. The statue of Victory hung over the 
sacred place on spread wings. Many another great form 
on its high pillar seemed standing in the deep sky above 
the world. The little pool in the pebbly river had stars 
in the bottom. 

"This Kladeos is a savage little river in the spring," said 
Glaucon. "It tries to tear away our Olympia or drown it or 
cover it with sand. You see, men have had to fence it in 
with stone w^alls." 

But Charmides was looking at the sacred place and its 
soft shining statues in the sky. 

"Let us walk around the wall," he said. 

So they left the river and passed the gymnasium and 
the gate. Along this side the wall cast a wide shadow. Here 
they walked in silence. Here there were no tents, no 


torches, no noisy people. Everything was quiet in the 
evening air. The far-off sounds of the fair were a gentle 
hum. A hundred pictures were floating in Charmides' 
mind — Phidias, Zeus, Creon with the strigil, his own little 
Hermes, the strange people in the fair, the marble Apollo 
under the sculptor's tent. In a few moments they turned 
a corner and came out into the soft moonlight. A little 
beyond gleamed a broad river, the Alphseus. Charmides 
and the slave went over and strolled along its banks. Here 
they were again in the crowd and among tents. They saw 
a group of people and went toward them. A man sat on 
a low knoll a little above the crowd. His hair hung about 
his shoulders and his long robe lay in glistening folds about 
his feet. A lyre rested on his knees, and he was striking 
the strings softly. The sweet notes floated high in the 
moonlit air. At last he lifted his voice and sang: 

When the swan spreadeth out his wings to alight 
On the whirling pools of the foaming stream_, 

He sendeth to thee, Apollo, a note. 
When the sweet-voiced minstrel lifteth his lyre 
And stretcheth his hand on the singing strings 

He sendeth to thee, Apollo, a prayer. 
Even so do I now, a worshiping bard, 
With my heart lifted up to begin my lay. 

Cry aloud to Apollo, the lord of song. 

Then he sang of that lordliest of all minstrels, Orpheus 
— how the trees swung circling about to his music ; how the 
savage beasts lay down at his feet to listen; how the rocks 
rose up at his bidding and followed him, dancing, to build 

O L Y M P I A 107 

a town without hands ; how he went to the dismal land of the 
dead to seek his wife and with his clear lyre and sweet voice 
drew tears from the iron heart of the king of hell and won 
back his loved Eurydice and lost her again the same hour. 

The boy, sitting there in the moonlight, went floating 
away on the song until he felt himself straying through 
that fair garden of the dead with singing lyre or riding with 
Artemis through the sky in her moon chariot. 

When the song was ended, Glaucon said, "Come, little 
master, you have fallen asleep. Let us go home." 

And Charmides rose and went, still clutching his image 
of Hermes in his hand and still holding the song fast in 
his heart. 

In the morning the whole great camp was awake and 
moving long before daylight. Every man and boy was in 
his fairest clothes. On every head was a fresh fillet. Every 
hand bore some beautiful gift for the gods — a vase, a plate 
of gold, an embroidered robe, a basket of silver. All were 
pouring to the open gate in the sacred wall. Here a proces- 
sion formed. Young men led cattle with gilded horns and 
swinging garlands, or sheep with clean, combed wool. 
Stately priests in long chitons paced to the music of flutes. 
The judges glowed in their purple robes. Then walked 
the athletes, their eyes burning with excitement. And last 
came all the visitors with gift-laden hands. The slaves and 
foreigners crowded at the gate to see the procession pass, 
for on this first holy day only freedmen and Greeks of 
pure blood might visit the sacred shrines. 


When Charmides passed through, his heart leaped. 
Here was no empty field with a few altars. He had never 
seen a greater crowd in the busy market place at home in 
Athens. But here the people were even more beautiful 
than the Athenians. Their limbs were round and perfect. 
They stood always gracefully. Their garments hung in 
delicate folds, for they were people made by great artists — - 
people of marble and of bronze. All the gods of Olympos 
were there, and athletes of years gone by, wrestling, run- 
ning, hurling the disc. There were bronze chariots with 
horses of bronze to draw them and men of bronze to hold 
the reins. There were heroes of Troy still fighting. And 
here and there were little altars of marble or stone or earth 
or ashes with an ancient, holy statue. At every one the pro- 
cession halted. The priests poured a libation and chanted 
a prayer. The people sang a hymn. Many left gifts 
piled about the altar. Before Hermes Charmides left 
his little clay image of the god. And while the priests 
prayed aloud, the boy sent up a whispered prayer for his 

Once the procession came before a low, narrow temple. 
It was of sun-dried bricks coated with plaster. Its columns 
were all different from one another. Some were slender, 
others thick ; some fluted, others plain : and all were brightly 
painted. Charmides smiled up at his father. 

"It is not so beautiful as the Parthenon," he said. 

*'No," his father answered, "but it is very old and very 
holy. Every generation of man has put a new column 

O L Y M P I A 109 

here. That is why they are not aHke. This is the ancient 
temple of Hera." 

Then they entered the door. Down the long aisle they 
w^alked between small open rooms on either side. Here 
stood statues gazing out — some of marble, some of gold and 
ivory. The priests had moved to the front and stood pray- 
ing before the ancient statues of Zeus and Hera. But sud- 
denly Charmides stopped and would go no farther. For 
here, in a little room all alone, stood his Hermes with the 
baby Dionysus. The boy cried out softly with joy and 
crept toward the lovely thing. He gently touched the 
golden sandal. He gazed into the kind blue eyes and smiled. 
The marble was delicately tinted and glowed like warm 
skin. A frail wreath of golden leaves lay on the curling 
hair. Charmides looked up at the tiny baby and laughed 
at its coaxing arms. 

"Are you smiling at him?" he whispered to Hermes. 
"Or are you dreaming of Olympos? Are you carrying him 
to the nymphs on jMount Xysa?" And then more softly 
still he said, "Do not forget Creon, blessed god." 

When his father came back he found him still gazing 
into the quiet face and smiling tenderly with love of the 
beautiful thing. As Menon led him away, he waved a 
loving farewell to the god. 

The most w^onderful time was after the sacrifice to 
Zeus before the great temple with its deep porches and its 
marble watchers in the gable. The altar was a huge pile 
of ashes. For hundreds of years Greeks had sacrificed 


here. The holy ashes had piled up and piled up until they 
stood as a hill more than twenty feet high. The people 
waited around the foot of it, watching. The priests walked 
up its side. Men led up the sleek cattle to be slain for the 
feast of the gods. And on the very top a fire leaped toward 
heaven. Far up in the sky Charmides could half see the 
beautiful gods leaning down and smiling upon their wor- 
shiping people. 

Then he turned and walked with the crowd under the 
temple porch and into the great, dim room. He trembled 
and grasped his father's hand in awe. For there in the soft 
light towered great Zeus. In embroidered robes of dull 
gold he sat high on his golden throne. His hands held his 
scepter and his messenger eagle. His great yellow curls 
almost touched the ceiling. He bent his divine face down, 
and his deep eyes glowed upon his people. Sweet smoke 
was curling upward, and the room rang with a hymn. 

As Charmides gazed into the solemn face, a strange 
light quivered about it, and the boy's heart shook with 
awe. The words of Homer sprank to his lips: 

"Zeus bowed his head. The divine hair streamed back 
from the kindly brows, and great Olympos quaked." 

After the sacrifices w^ere over there was time to wander 
again among the statues and to sit on the benches under 
the cool porches and watch the moving crowd and the glit- 
tering sun on the gold ornaments of the temple peaks. 
Then there was time to see again the strange sights of the 
fair in the plain. 


The next morning was noisier and gayer than anything 
Charmides had ever known. While it was still twilight his 
father hurried him down the hill and through the gates, on 
through the sacred enclosure to another gate. And all 
about them was a hurrying, noisy crowd. They stumbled up 
some steps and began to wait. As the light grew, Charmides 
saw all about him men and boys, sitting or standing, and 
all gaily talking. Below the crowd he saw a long, narrow 
stretch of ground. He clapped his hands. That was the 
ground Creon's feet would run upon! Up and down both 
sides of the track went long tiers of stone seats. They 
were packed with people who were there to see Creon win. 
The seats curved around one narrow end of the course. 
But across the other end stood a wall with a gate. JMenon 
pointed to a large white board hanging on the wall and 
said, "See! The hst of athletes." 

Here were written names, and among them, "Creon, 
son of the Olympic winner Menon." Charmides' eyes 
glowed with pride. 

Every eye was watching the gate. Soon the purple- 
clad judges entered. Some of them walked the whole length 
of the stadion and took their seats opposite the goal posts. 
Two or three waited at the starting line. There was a blast 
of a trumpet. Then a herald cried something about games 
for boys and about only Greeks of pure blood and about 
the blessing of Hermes of the race course. 

Immediately there entered a crowd of boys, while the 
spectators sent up a rousing cheer. The lads gathered to 


cast lots for places. At last eight of them stepped out and 
stood at the starting line. Creon was not among them. 
A post with a little fluttering flag was between every two. 
The boys threw off their clothes and stood ready. One of 
the judges said to them: 

"The eyes of the world are upon you. Your cities love 
an Olympic winner. From Olympos the gods look down 
upon you. For the glory of your cities, for the joy of your 
fathers, for your own good name, I exhort you to do your 

Then he gave the signal and the runners shot forward. 
Down the long course they went with twinkling legs. The 
spectators cheered, called their names, waved their chlamyses 
and himations. Their friends cried to the gods to help. 
Down they ran, two far ahead, others stringing out behind. 
Every runner's eyes were on the marble goal post with its 
little statue of Victory. In a moment it was over, and Leo- 
tichides had first laid hand upon the post and was winner 
of the first heat. 

Immediately eight other boys took their places at the 
starting line. Charmides snatched his father's hand and 
held it tight, for Creon was one of them. Another signal 
and they were off, with Creon leading by a pace or two. 
So it was all the way, and he gave a glad shout as he touched 
the goal post. 

Charmides heard men all about him say; 

"A beautiful run!" 

"How easily he steps!" 


"We shall see him do something in the last heat." 

"Who is he?" 

And when the herald announced the name of the win- 
ner, the benches buzzed with, 

"Creon, Creon, son of Menon the Athenian." 

Four more groups were called and ran. Then the six 
winners stepped up to the line. This .time the goal was the 
altar at the farther end of the stadion. A wave of excite- 
ment ran around the seats. Everybody leaned forward. 
The signal ! Leotichides sprang a long pace ahead. Next 
came Creon, loping evenly. One boy stumbled and fell 
behind. The other three were running almost side by side. 
Menon was muttering between his teeth: 

"Hermes, be his aid! Great Zeus look upon him! 
Herakles give him wind!" 

Now they were npar the goal, and Leotichides was still 
leading by a stride. Then Creon threw back his head and 
stretched out his legs and with ten great leaj)s he had 
touched the altar a good pace ahead. He had won the 

The crowd went wild with shouting. Menon leaped 
over men's heads and went running down the course calling 
for his son. But the guards caught him and forced him 
back upon the seats. Charmides sat down and wept for joy. 
And nobody saw him, for everybody was cheering and 
watching the victor. 

One of the judges stepped out and gave a torch to 
Creon. The boy touched the flame to the pile on the altar. 


As the fire sprang up, he stretched his hands to the sky 
and cried, 

"O blessed Hermes, Creon will not forget thy help." 

As he turned away the judge gave him a pahii in sign 
of victory. The boy walked back down the course with the 
palm waving over his shoulder. His body was glistening, 
his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were burning with joy. He 
was looking up at the crowd, hoping to see his father and 
brother. And at every step men reached out a hand to him 
or called to him, until at last ]Menon's own loving arms 
pulled him up upon the benches. Then there was such a 
noise that no one heard any one else, but everybody knew 
that everybody was happy. ]Men pushed their heads over 
other men's shoulders, and boys peeped between their 
fathers' legs to see the Olympic winner. And in that circle 
of faces ]Menon stood with his arms about Creon, laughing 
and crying. And Charmides clung to his brother's hand. 
But at last Creon whispered to his father: 

"I must go and make ready. I am entered for the 
pentathlon, also." 

Menon cried out in wonder. 

"I kept that news for a surprise," laughed Creon. 
"Good-by, little one," he said to Charmides, and pushed 
through the crowd. 

]\Ienon sat down trembling. If his boy should win in 
the pentathlon also! That would be too great glory. It 
could not happen. He began to mutter a hundred prayers. 
Another race was called — the double race, twice around the 


course. But INIenon did not stand to see it. He could 
think of nothing but his glorious son. After the race was 
another great shout. Some other boy was carrying a palm. 
Some other father was proud. Then followed wrestling, 
bout after bout, and cheering from the crowd. But ]Menon 
cared little for it all. 

It was now near noon. The sun shone down scorchingly. 
A wind whirled dust up from the race course into people's 

"]My throat needs wetting," cried a man. 

He pulled off a little vase of wine that hung from his 
girdle and passed it to ]Menon, saying: 

'T should be proud if the father of the victor would 
drink from my bottle." 

And ]Menon took it, smiling proudly. Then he him- 
self opened a little cloth bag and drew out figs and nuts. 

"Here is something to munch, lad," he said to Char- 

Other people, also, were eating and drinking. They 
walked about to visit their friends or sat down to rest. 
INIenon's neighbor sank upon his seat with a sigh. 

"This is the first time I have sat down since sunrise," 
he laughed. 

Then the pentathlon was announced. Everyone leaped 
to his feet again. A group of boys stood ready behind a 
line. One of the judges was softening the ground with a 
pick. An umpire made a speech to the lads. Then, at a 
word, a boy took up the lead jumping weights. He swung 


his hands back and forth, swaying his graceful body with 
them. Then a backward jerk! He threw his weights 
behind him and leaped. The judges quickly measured and 
called the distance. Then another boy leaped, and another, 
and another — twenty or more. Last Creon took the weights 
and toed the line. 

"Creon! Creon!" shouted the crowd: "The victor! Creon 

He swung and swayed and then sailed through the air. 

"By Herakles!" shouted a man near Charmides. "He 
alights like a sea-gull." 

There went up a great roar from the benches even before 
the judges called the distance. For any one could see 
that he had passed the farthest mark. The first of the five 
games was over and Creon had won it. 

Now the judges brought a discus. A boy took it and 
stepped behind the line. He fitted the lead plate into the 
crook of his hand. He swung it back and forth, bending his 
knees and turning his body. Then it flew into the air and 
down the course. Where it stopped rolling an umpire 
marked and called the distance. 

"I like this game best of all," said a man behind Char- 
mides. "The whole body is in it. Every movement is grace- 
ful. See the curve of the back, the beautiful bend of the 
legs, the muscles working over the chest ! The body moves 
to and fro as if to music." 

One after another the boys took their turn. But when 
Creon threw, Charmides cried out in sorrow, and Menon 


groaned. His disc fell short of the mark. He was 

"It was gracefully done," Charmides heard some one 
say, "but his arms are not so good as his legs. See the arms 
and chest of that Timon. No one can throw against him." 

After that a judge set up a shield in the middle of the 
course. Every boy snatched a spear from a pile on the 
ground and threw at the central boss of the shield. Again 
Creon was beaten. Phormio of Corinth, son of a famous 
warrior, won. 

Then they paired off for wrestling. Creon and Eudorus 
of iEgina were together. Each boy poured oil into his 
hand from a little vase and rubbed the body of his antagonist 
to limber his muscles. Then he took fine sand from a box 
and dusted it over his skin for the oiled body might slip out 
of his arms in the wrestling match. Then, at a signal, the 
pairs of wrestlers faced each other. 

Creon held his hands out ready, bent his knees, thrust 
forward his head, and stood waiting. Eudorus leaped to 
and fro around him trying to get a hold. At last he rushed 
at him. Creon caught him around the waist and hurled 
him to the ground. Charmides laughed and shouted and 
clapped his hands. That was one throw. There must be 
three. Eudorus was up immediately and was circling 
around and around again. Suddenly Creon leaped low and 
caught him by the leg and threw him. He had won two 
bouts out of three and stood victor without a throw. 

Soon all the pairs had finished. The eight victors stood 


forth and cast lots for new partners. Again they wrestled. 
This time, also, Creon won. Then these four winners 
paired off and wrestled, and at the end Creon and Timon 
were left to try it together. 

In the first bout the Spartan boy lifted Creon off the 
ground and threw him, back down. Then the men on the 
benches began shouting advice. 

"Look out for his arms!" 

"Don't let him grapple you!" 

"Feint, feint!" 

Creon leaped to his feet. He began circling around 
Timon as Eudorus had circled around him. He dodged 
out from under Timon's arms. He wriggled from between 
his hands. The benches rang with cheers and laughs. 

"He is an eel," cried one man. 

Suddenly Creon ducked under Timon's arms, caught 
him by his legs and tripped him. The two boys were 

In the next bout Timon ran at Creon like a wild bull. 
He caught him around the waist in his strong arms to whirl 
him to the ground. But with a crook of his leg Creon 
tripped him and wriggled out of his arms before he fell. 

Menon caught up Charmides and threw him to his 
shoulder laughing and stamping his feet. 

"Do you see, lad?" he cried. "He has won two games. 
Only the race is left, and we know how he can run." 

And how he did run! He threw back his head and 
leaped out like a deer, skimming over the ground in long 


strides and leaving his dust to the others. He had the three 
games out of five and was winner of the pentathlon. 

Then there was no holding the crowd. They poured 
down off the seats and ran to Creon. Some lifted him upon 
their shoulders and carried him out of the stadion, for this 
was the end of the games for that day. And those who 
could not come near Creon and his waving palms crowded 
around ]Menon. So they went, shouting, out of the gate 
and among the statues and on to the river. There they put 
Creon down, and his father and Charmides led him away 
to camp. 

That was the happiest night of Charmides' life. He 
heard his wonderful brother talk for hours of the life in 
the gymnasium. He heard new tales of Creon's favorite 
god, Hermes. He heard of the women's games that were 
held once a year at Olympia in honor of Hera. He heard a 
hundred new names of boys and cities, for there had been 
athletes from every corner of Greece in training here. He 
held the victor's palms in his own hands. He slept beside 
this double winner of Olympic crowns. He dreamed that 
Apollo and Hermes came hand in hand and gazed down at 
him and Creon as they lay sleeping and dropped a great 
garland over them both. It was twined of Olympic olive 
leaves and Apollo's own laurel. 

On the next day there were games for the men, like 
those the boys had played. On the day after that there were 
chariot races in a wide place outside the walls. Every night 
there was still the gay noise of the fair. But instead of 


going to see it, Charmides stretched himself under the 
trees on Mount Kronion and gazed up at the moon and 

Then came the last day, with its great procession again 
and its sacrifices at every altar. The proud victors walked 
with their palm leaves in their hands. In the temple of 
Zeus, under the eyes of the glowing god, the priests put 
the precious olive crowns upon the winners' heads. They 
were made from sacred olive leaves. They were cut with a 
golden sickle from the very tree that godlike Herakles had 
brought out of the far north. That wreath it was which 
should be more dear than a chest of gold to Creon's family 
and Creon's city. That was the crown which poets should 
sing about. When the priest set the crown upon Creon's 
head, Charmides thought he felt a god's hands upon his 
own brow. Menon leaned upon a friend's shoulder and 
burst into tears. 

"I could die happy now," he said. "I have done enough 
for Athens in giving her such a glorious son." 

As the three walked back to camp, Menon said : 

"Who shall write your chorus of triumph, Creon? 
Already my messengers have reached Athens, and the 
dancers are chosen who shall lead you home. But the song 
is not yet made. It must be a glorious one!" 

Then Charmides blushingly whispered, 

"May I sing you something, father? Apollo helped 
me to make it." 

His father smiled down in surprise. 


"So that is why you have been lying so quiet under the 
trees these moonlit nights!" he said. 

Charmides ran ahead and was sitting thrumming a lyre 
when his father and Creon came up. He struck a long, 
ringing chord and raised his clear voice in a dancing song: 

When Creon, son of Menon, bore off the Olympic olive, 

Mount Kronion shook with shouting of Hellas' hosts assembled. 

They praised his manly beauty, his grace and strength of body. 

They praised his eyes' alertness, the smoothness of his muscles. 

They blessed his happy father and wished themselves his brothers. 

Sweet rang the glorious praises in ears of Creon's lovers. 

But I, when upward gazing, beheld a sight more wondrous. 

The gates of high Olympos were open wide and clanging, 

Deserted ev'ry palace, the golden city empty. 

And all the gods w^ere gathered above Olympia's race-course. 

They smiled upon my Creon and gifts upon him showered. 

From golden Aphrodite dropped half a hundred graces. 

Athene made him skillful. Boon Hermes gave him litheness. 

Fierce Ares added courage, Queen Hera happy marriage. 

Diana's blessed fingers into his soul shed quiet. 

Lord Bacchus gave him friendship and graces of the banquet, 

Poseidon luck in travel, and Zeus decreed him victor. 

Apollo, smiling, watched him and saw his thousand blessings. 

"Enough," he said, "for Creon. I'll bless the empty-handed." 

He turned to where I trembled, and stepping downward crowned me. 

"To thee my gift," he whispered, "to sing thy brother's glory." 

"Well done, little poet!" cried Menon. 

"A happy man am I. One son is beloved by Hermes, 
the other by Apollo. Bring wax tablets, Glaucon, and 
write down the song. I will prepare a messenger to hurry 
with it to Athens." 

So it happened that a lame boy won a crown. And 


when Creon stepped ashore at Pirseus, and all Athens stood 
shouting his name, a chorus of boys came dancing toward 
him singing his brother's song. Creon was led home wear- 
ing Zeus' wreath upon his head, and Charmides with 
Apollo's crown in his heart. 


SUCH was Olympia long ago. Every four years such 
games took place. Then the plain was crowded and 
busy and gay. Year after year new statues were set up, 
new gifts were brought, new 'buildings were made. Olympia 
was one of the richest places in the world. Its fame flew to 
every land. At every festival new people came to see its 
beauties. It was the meeting place of the world. 

But meantime the bad fortune of Greece began. Her 
cities quarreled and fought among themselves. A king 
came down from the north and conquered her. After that 
the Romans sailed over from Italy and conquered her again. 
Often Roman emperors carried off some of her statues to 
make Rome beautiful. Shipload after shipload they took. 
The new country was filled with Greek statues. The old 
one was left almost empty. Later, after Christ was born, 
and the Romans and the Greeks had become Christian, the 
emperor said, 

"It is not fitting for Christians to hold a festival in 
honor of a heathen god." 

A Coin of Alexander the Great. It shows Zeus sitting on his throne. 



And he stopped the games. He took away the gold and 
silver gifts from the treasure houses. He carried away the 
gold and ivory statues. Where Phidias' wonderful Zeus 
went nobody knows. Perhaps the gold was melted to make 
money. Olympia sat lonely and deserted by her river banks. 
Summer winds whirled dust under her porches. Rabbits 
made burrows in Zeus' altar. Doors rusted off their hinges. 
Foxes made their dens in Hera's temple. ^len camxC now 
and then to melt up a bronze statue for swords or to haul 
away the stones of her temples for building. The Alpheios 
kept eating away its banks and cutting under statues and 
monuments. Many a beautiful thing crumbled and fell 
into the river and was rolled on down to the sea. Men 
sometimes found a bronze helmet or a marble head in the 
bed of the stream. 

After a long time people came and lived among the 
ruins. On an old temple floor they built a little church. 
Men lived in the temple of Zeus, and women spun and 
gossiped where the golden statue had sat. In the temple 
of Hera people set up a wine press. Did they know that 
the little marble baby in the statue near them was the god 
of the vineyard and had taught men to make wine? Out 
of broken statues and columns and temple stones they built 
a wall around the little town to keep out their enemies. 
Sometimes when they found a bronze warrior or a marble 
god they must have made strange stories about it, for they 
had half forgotten those wonderful old Greeks. But the 
\narble statues they put into a kiln to make lime to plaster 


their houses. The bronze ones they melted up for tools. 
Sometimes they found a piece of gold. They thought them- 
selves lucky then and melted it over into money. 

But an earthquake shook down the buildings and toppled 
over the statues. The columns and walls of the grand old 
temple of Zeus fell in a heap. The marble statues in its 
pediments dropped to the ground and broke. Victory fell 
from her high pillar and shattered into a hundred pieces. 
The roof of Hera's temple fell in, and Hermes stood 
uncovered to the sky. Old Kronion rocked and sent 
a landslide down over the treasure houses. Kladeos 
rushed out of his course and poured sand over the sacred 

That earthquake frightened the people away, and they 
left Olympia alone again. Hermes was still there, but he 
looked out upon ruins. Victory lay in a heap of fragments. 
Apollo w^as there, but broken and buried in earth with the 
other people of the pediments. Zeus and all the hundreds 
of heroes and athletes were gone. So it was for a while. 
Then a new race of people came and built another little 
town upon the earth-covered ruins. They little guessed 
what lay below their poor houses. But for some reason 
this town, also, died and left the ruins alone. Then dusty 
winds and flooding rivers began to cover up what was left. 
Kladeos piled up sand fifteen feet deep. Alpheios swung 
out of its banks and washed away the race-course for 
chariots. Under the rains and floods the sun-dried bricks 
of Hera's w alls melted again into clay and covered the floor, 


Again the earth quaked, and Hermes fell forward on his 
face, and little was left of the beautiful old Olympia. Grass 
and flowers crept in from the sides. Seeds blew in and 
shrubs and trees took the place of columns. Soon the 
flowers and the animals had Olympia to themselves. A few 
gray stones thrust up through the soil. So it was for 
hundreds of years. Greece was conquered by the men 
of Venice and then by the Turks. But Olympia, in its far 
corner, was forgotten and untouched except when a Turkish 
officer or farmer went there to dig a few stones out of 
the ground. And they knew nothing of the ancient gods 
and the ancient festival and the old story of the place, for 
they were foreigners and new people. 

But about a hundred years ago Englishmen and Ger- 
mans and Frenchmen began to visit Greece. They went to 
see, not her new Turkish houses or her Venetian castles or 
the strange dress of her new people, but her old ruins and 
the signs of her old glory. These men had read of Olympia 
in ancient Greek books and they knew what statues and 
buildings had once stood there. They wrote back to their 
friends things like this: 

"I saw a piece of a huge column lying on top of the 
ground. It was seven feet across. It must have belonged 
to the temple of Zeus." 

"To-day I saw a long, low place in the ground where 
I think must have been the stadion in ancient days." 

At last, about thirty years ago, Ernst Curtius and 
several other Germans went there. They were men who 


had studied Greek history and Greek art and they planned 
to excavate Olympia. 

"We will uncover the sacred enclosure again. Men 
shall see again the ancient temples and altars, the stadion, 
the statues." 

Germany had given them money for the work, and at 
last Greece allowed them to begin. In October they started 
their digging. Workmen up-rooted shrubs and dug away 
dirt. Excavators watched every spadeful. They were 
always measuring, making maps, taking notes. They found 
a few vases, terra cotta figures, pieces of bronze statues, 
swords and armor. They cleared off temple floors and were 
able to make out the plans of the old buildings. They found 
the empty pedestals of many statues. Yet they were dis- 
appointed. Olympia had been a beautiful place, a rich 
place. They were finding only the hints of these things. 
The beauty was gone. Of the three thousand statues that 
had been there should they not find one ? 

Then they uncovered the fallen statues of the pediments 
of Zeus' temple. Thirty or more there were — Apollo, Zeus, 
heroes, women, centaurs, horses. Arms were gone, heads 
were broken, legs were lost. The excavators fitted together 
all the pieces and set the mended statues up side by side as 
they had been in the gable. They found, too, the carved 
marble slabs that showed the labors of Herakles. But 
even these were not the lovely things that people had hoped 
to see from Olympia. They were rather stiff and ungrace- 
ful. They had not been made by the greatest artists. 


In the temple of Hera one day men were digging in 
clay. Over all the rest of OljTnpia was only sand. The 
excavators wondered for a long time why this one spot 
should have clay. Where could it have come from? They 
read their old books over and over. They thought and 
studied. At last they said : 

"The walls of the temple must have been made of sun- 
dried brick. In the old days they must have been covered 
with plaster. This and the roof kept them dry. But the 
plaster cracked off, and the roof fell in, and the rain and 
the floods turned the bricks back to clay again." 

Then one INIay morning, when the men were digging in 
the clay, a workman lifted off his spadeful of dirt, and 
white marble gleamed out. After that there was careful 
work, with all the excavators standing about to watch. 
What would it be? They thought over all the statues that 
the ancient books said had stood in Hera's temple. Then 
were slowly uncovered, a smooth back, a carved shoulder, 
a curly head. A white statue of a young man lay face down 
in the gray clay. The legs were gone. The right arm was 
missing. From his left hung carved drapery. On his left 
shoulder lay a tiny marble hand. 

"It is the Hermes of Praxiteles," the excavators whis- 
pered among themselves. 

In his day Praxiteles had been almost as famous as 
Phidias. The old Greek world had rung with his praises. 
Modern men had dreamed of what his statues must have 
been and had longed to see them. How did he shape the 


head? How did his bodies curve? What expression was 
on his faces? All these things they had wished to know. 
But not one of his statues had ever been found. Now here 
lay one before the very eyes of these excavators. They put 
out their hands and lovingly touched the polished marble 
skin. But what would they find when they lifted it? — Per- 
haps the nose would be gone, the face flattened by the fall, 
the ears broken, the beautiful marble chipped. They almost 
feared to lift it. But at last they did so. 

When they saw the face, they were struck dumb by its 
beauty, and I think tears sprang into the eyes of some of 
them. No such perfect piece of marble had ever been 
found before. There was not a scratch. The skin still 
glowed with the polishing that Praxiteles' own hands had 
given it. There was even a hint of color on the lips. The 
soft clay bed had saved the falling statue. Here was a 
statue that the whole world would love. It would make 
the name of Olympia famous again. The excavators were 
proud and happy. That old ruined temple seemed indeed 
a sacred place to them as they gazed upon perhaps the most 
beautiful statue in the world. 

*' Surely we shall find nothing else so perfect," they said. 

Yet they went on with the work. Before long Hermes' 
right foot was found imbedded in the clay. Its sandal still 
shone with the gilding put on two thousand years before. 
Workmen were tearing down one of the houses of the little 
town that had been built on the ancient ruins. Every stone 
in it had some old story. Pieces of fluted columns, carved 


capitals, broken pedestals, blocks from the temple of Zeus 
— all were cemented together to make these walls. The 
workmen pulled and chipped and lifted out piece after 
piece. The excavators studied each scrap to see whether 
it was valuable. And at last they found a baby's body. 
They carefully broke off the mortar. It was of creamy 
marble, beautifully carved. They carried it to Hermes. 
It fitted upon the drapery over his arm. On a rubbish heap 
outside the temple they had found a little marble head. 
They put it upon this baby's shoulders. It was badly 
broken, but they could see that it belonged there. So after 
two thousand years Hermes again smiled into the eyes of 
the baby Dionysus. 

Other things -were found. The shattered Victory was 
uncovered. Carefully the excavators fitted the pieces to- 
gether. But the wide wings could never be made again, 
and the head w^as ruined. Even so, the statue is a beautiful 
thing, with its thin drapery flying in the wind. 

After five years the work was finished. Now again 
hundreds of visitors journey to Olympia every year. They 
see no gleaming roofs and high-lifted statues and joyful 
games. They walk among sad ruins. But they can tread 
the gymnasium floor where Creon and many another victor 
wrestled. They can enter the gate of the grass-grown 
stadion. They can see the fallen columns of the temple 
of Zeus. In the museum they can see the statues of its 
pediments and, at the end of the long hall, they see Victory 
stepping toward them. They can wander on the banks of 


the Kladeos and the Alpheios. They can climb Mount 
Kronion and see the whole little plain and imagine it gay 
with tents and moving people. 

All these things are interesting to those who like the 
old Greek life. But most people make the long journey 
only to see Hermes. In the museum, in a little room all 
alone, he stands, always calm and lovable, always dreaming 
of something beautiful, always half smiling at the coaxing 



This was not the gate where Charmides entered. This entrance 
was reserved for the judges, the competitors, and the heralds. 
Inside there were seats for forty-five thousand people. On one 
side the hill made a natural slope for seats. But on the other 
sides a ridge of earth had to be built up. The track was about 
two hundred yards long. Only the two ends have been excavated. 
The rest still lies deep under the sand. 




Here Creon and the other boys spent a month in training be- 
fore the games. The gymnasium had a covered portico as long 
as the track in the stadion, where the boys could run in bad 
weather. A Greek boy of to-day is playing on his shepherd's 
pipes in the foreground^ and they are the same kind of pipes 
on which the old Greeks played. 



From a vase painting. They are wrestling, jumping with 
weights, throwing the spear, throwing the discus, while their 
teachers watch them. One man is saying, "A beautiful boy. 


— From Baumeister's "Bilder' 



When we see a picture of fallen broken columns lying about a 
field in disorder^ we try to learn how the original building 
looked and to imagine it in all its beauty. This^ men believe, 
is the way the Temple of Zeus looked. The figures in the pedi- 
ment were all of Parian marble. In the center stands Zeus him- 
self. A chariot race is about to be run, and the contestants 
stand on either side of Zeus, Zeus gave the victory to Pelops, 
and Pelops became husband of Hippodameia, and king of 
Pisa, and founded the Olympic Games. These games were held 
every fourth year for more than a thousand years. 

Note: This and the following plates of the Labors of Herakles and the 
statue of Victory, were photographed from Curtius and Adler's "Olympia: 
Die Ergebnisse der von dem Deutschen Reich Veranstalteten Ausgrabung," 
etc. This is one of the most beautiful books ever made for a buried city. Boys 
and girls who can reach the Metropolitan Museum Library should not miss it. 
It is in many volumes, each almost as large as the top of the table, and you 
do not need to read German to appreciate the plates. 



g^l^ S- g l EggE"!!^ ;^ ^ ^^^- • 


Js u^ _. 


Under the porches of the 
Temple of Zeus were twelve 
pictures in marble^ six at 
each end, showing the La- 
bors of Herakles. Herakles 
was highly honored at Olym- 
pia and, according to one 
tale, he, instead of Pelops, 
was the founder of the Olym- 
pic Games. 

herakles and the Xemean lion. 

Herakles and the hvdra. 



— Metropolitan Museum 



KLES {Continued) 





^' \ ,• Herakles giving Athena the 
'^-X Stvmphalian birds. 

Herakles and the bull. 


KLES (Continued) 

Herakles and the stag. 

Herakles taking the girdle of 
the Queen of the Ama- 


KLES (Continued) 

Herakles dragging away Cer^ 

Herakles cleaning the Augean 


KLES (Continued) 

On the way to the "Pillars of 

Herakles winning the apples of 
the Hesperides. 


KLES {Continued) 

Herakles and the boar of Ery- 

\ Herakles stealing the mares of 



In the sand, not far from the Temple of Zeus, the explorers 
found the fragments of this statue. It shows the goddess flying 
down from heaven to bring victory to the men of Messene and 
Naupaktos. So the victors must have erected this statue at 
Olympia in gratitude. 

Something like the picture used as the frontispiece, men believe 
the statue looked originally. It stood upon a base thirty feet 
high so that the goddess really looked as if she were descending 
from heaven. 


-^Metropolitan Museum 


Browit Bros* 


This shows the ruins of the temple where Charmides saw the 
statue of Hermes, perhaps the most beautiful statue in the world. 




The Greek artist who made this statue believed that a beautiful 
body is glorious, as well as a beautiful mind, and a fine spirit. 
Do you think his statue shows all these things : The original 
is now at the Metropolitan Museum. 


— Metropolitan Museum 



The artist had great skill who could chisel out of marble such a 
strong, bold rider, and such a spirited horse. 

This picture and the one before it are not pictures of things found at 
Olympia. They are two of the most beautiful statues of Greek athletes, and we 
give them to remind you of the sort of people who came to the games at 


— Aletropolitaii Museuui 




THIRTY years ago a little group of people stood on a 
hill in Greece. The hilltop was covered with soft soil. 
The summer sun had dried the grass and flowers, but little 
bushes grew thick over the ground. In this way the hill 
was like an ordinary hill, but all around the edge of it ran 
the broken ring of a great wall. In some places it stood 
thirty feet above the earth. Here and there it was twenty 
feet thick. It was built of huge stones. At one place a 
tower stood up. In another two stone lions stood on guard. 
It was these ruined walls that interested the people on the 
hill. One of the men was a Greek. A red fez was on his 
head. He wore an embroidered jacket and loose white 
sleeves. A stiff kilted skirt hung to his knees. He was 
pointing about at the wall and talking in Greek to a lady 
and gentleman. They were visitors, come to see these 
ruins of JNIycense. 

"Once, long, long ago," he was saying, "a great city 
was inside these walls. Giants built the walls. See the 
huge stones. Only giants could hft them. It was a city 
of giants. See their great ovens." 

He pointed down the hill at a doorway in the earth. 



"You cannot see well from here. I will take you down. 
We can look in. A great dome, built of stone, is buried in 
the earth. A passage leads into it, but it is filled with 
dirt. We can look down through the broken top. The 
room inside is bigger than my whole house. There giants 
used to bake their bread. Once a wicked Turk came here. 
He was afraid of nothing. He said, 'The giants' treasure 
lies in this oven. I will have it.' So he sent men down. 
But they found only broken pieces of carved marble — no 

While the guide talked, the gentleman was tramping 
about the walls. He peered into all the dark corners. He 
thrust a stick into every hole. He rubbed the stones with 
his hands. At last he turned to his guide. 

"You are right," he said. "There was once a great city 
inside these walls. Houses were crowded together on this 
hill where we stand. JNIen and women walked the streets 
of a city that is buried under our feet, but they were not 
giants. They were beautiful women and handsome men. 

"It was a famous old city, this Mycense. Poets sang 
songs about her. I have read those old songs. They tell 
of Agamemnon, its king, and his war against Troy. They 
call him the king of men. They tell of his gold-decked 
palace and his rich treasures and the thick walls of his 

"But Agamemnon died, and weak kings sat in his 
palace. The warriors of Mycenge grew few, and after 
hundreds of years, when the city was old and weak, her 

MYCEN^ 161 

enemies conquered her. They broke her walls, they threw 
down her houses, they drove out her people. Mycenae 
became a mass of empty ruins. For two thousand years the 
dry winds of summer blew dust over her palace floors. 
The rains of winter and spring washed down mud from her 
acropolis into her streets and houses. Winged seeds flew 
into the cracks of her walls and into the corners of her 
ruined buildings. There they sprouted and grew, and at 
last flowers and grass covered the ruins. Now only these 
broken walls remain. You feed your sheep in the city of 
Agamemnon. Down there on the hillside farmers have 
planted grain above ancient palaces. But I will uncover 
this wonderful city. You shall see ! You shall see how your 
ancestors lived. 

"Oh! for years I have longed to see this place. When 
I was a little boy in Germany my father told me the old 
stories of Troy, and he told me of how great cities were 
buried. My heart burned to see them. Then, one night, 
I heard a man recite some of the lines of Homer. I loved 
the beautiful Greek words. I made him say them over and 
over. I wept because I was not a Greek. I said to myself, 
T will see Greece! I will study Greek. I will work hard. 
I will make a bankful of money. Then I will go to Greece. 
I will uncover Troy-city and see Priam's palace. I will 
uncover Mycenae and see Agamemnon's grave.' I have 
come. I have uncovered Troy. Now I am here. I will 
come again and bring workmen with me. You shall see 


He walked excitedly around and around the ruins. He 
told stories of the old city. He asked his wife to recite the 
old tales of Homer. She half sang the beautiful Greek 
words. Her husband's eyes grew wet as he listened. 

This man's name was Dr. Henry Schliemann. He kept 
his word. He went away but he came again in a few 
years. He hired men and horse-carts. He rented houses 
in the little village. Mycense was a busy place again after 
three thousand years. More than a hundred men were 
digging on the top of this hill. They wore the fezes and 
kilts of the modern Greek. Little two-wheeled horse-carts 
creaked about, loading and dumping. 

Some of the men were working about the wall near the 
stone lions. 

"This is the great gate of the city," said Dr. Schliemann. 
"Here the king and his warriors used to march through, 
thousands of years ago. But it is filled up with dirt. We 
must clear it out. We must get down to the very stones 
they trod." 

But it was slow work. The men found the earth 
full of great stone blocks. They had to dig around them 
carefully, so that Dr. Schliemann might see what they 

"How did so many great stones come here?" they said 
among themselves. 

Then Dr. Schliemann told them. He pointed to the 
wall above the gate. 

"Once, long, long ago," he said, "the warriors of 

MYCEN^ 165 

Mycenge stood up there. Down here stood an army — the 
men of Argos, their enemies. The men of Argos battered 
at the gate. They shot arrows at the men of Mycenee, and 
the men of ^Mycenee shot at the Argives, and they threw 
down great stones upon thern. See, here is one of those 
broken stones, and here, and here. After a long time the 
people of Mycense had no food left in their city. Their 
warriors fainted from hunger. Then the Argives beat 
down the gate. They rushed into the city and drove out 
the people. They did not want men ever again to live in 
JNIycense, so they took crowbars and tried to tear down the 
wall. A few stones they knocked off. See, here, and here, 
and here they are, where they fell off the wall. But these 
great stones are very heavy. This one must weigh a hun- 
dred twenty tons, — more than all the people of your vil- 
lage. So the Argives gave up the attempt, and there stand 
the walls yet. Then the rain washed down the dirt from 
the hill and covered these great stones, and now we are 
digging them out again." 

The men worked at the gateway for many weeks. At 
last all the dirt and the blocks had been cleared away. The 
tall gateway stood open. A hole was in the stone door- 
casing at top and bottom. Schliemann put his hand 
into it. 

"See!" he cried. "Here turned the wooden hinge of the 

He pointed to another large hole on the side of the 


"Here the gatekeeper thrust in the beam to hold the 
gate shut." 

Just inside the gate he found the little room where the 
keeper had stayed. He found also two little sentry boxes 
high up on the wall. Here guards had stood and looked 
over the country, keeping watch against enemies. From 
the gate the wall bent around the edge of the hilltop, shut- 
ting it in. In two places had been towers for watchmen. 
Inside this great wall the king's palace and a few houses 
had been safe. Outside, other houses had been built. But 
in time of war all the people had flocked into the fortress. 
The gate had been shut. The warriors had stood on the wall 
to defend their city. 

But while some of Dr. Schliemann's men were digging 
at the gateway and the wall, others were working outside 
the city. They were making a great hole, a hundred and 
thirteen feet square. They put the dirt into baskets and 
carried it to the little carts to be hauled away. And always 
Dr. Schliemann and his wife worked with them. From 
morning until dusk every day they were there. It was 
August, and the sun was hot. The wind blew dust into 
their faces and made their eyes sore, and yet they were 
happy. Every day they found some little thing that excited 
them, — a terra cotta goblet, a broken piece of a bone lyre, a 
bronze ax, the ashes of an ancient fire. 

At first Dr. Schliemann and his wife had fingered over 
every spadeful of dirt. There might be something precious 
in it. 

MYCENiE 165 

"Dig carefully, carefully!" Dr. Schliemann had said to 
the workmen. "Nothing must be broken. Nothing must 
be lost. I must see everything. Perhaps a bit of a broken 
vase may tell a wonderful story." 

But during this work of many weeks he had taught his 
workmen how to dig. Now each man looked over every 
spadeful of earth himself, as he dug it up. He took out 
every scrap of stone or wood or pottery or metal and gave 
it to Schliemann or his wife. So the excavators had only 
to study these things and to tell the men where to work. 
When a man struck some new thing with his spade, he 
called out. Then the excavators ran to that place and dug 
with their own hands. When anything was found, Dr. 
Schliemann sent it to the village. There it was kept in 
a house under guard. At night Dr. Schliemann drew plans 
of Mycenee. He read again old Greek books about the city. 
As he read he studied his plans. He wrote and wrote. 

"As soon as possible, I must tell the world about what 
we find," he said to his wife. "People will love my book, 
because they love the stories of Homer." 

There had been four months of hard work. A few 
precious things had been uncovered, — a few of bronze and 
clay, a few of gold, some carved gravestones. But were 
these the wonders Schliemann had promised? Was this to 
be all? They had dug down more than twenty feet. A 
few more days, and they would probably reach the solid 
rock. There could be nothing below that. November was 
rainy and disagreeable. The men had to work in the mud 


and wet. There was much disappointment on the hilltop. 

Then one day a spade grated on gravel. Once before 
that had happened, and they had found gold below. They 
called out to Dr. Schliemann. He and his wife came 
quickly. Fire leaped into Schliemann's eyes. 

"Stop!" he said. "Now I will dig. Spades are too 

So he and his wife dropped upon their knees in the 
mud. They dug with their knives. Carefully, bit by 
bit, they lifted the dirt. All at once there was a glint of 

"Do not touch it!" cried Schliemann, "we must see it all 
at once. What will it be?" 

So they dug on. The men stood about watching. Every 
now and then they shouted out, when some wonderful thing 
was uncovered, and Schliemann would stop work and cry, 

"Did not I tell you? Is it not worth the work?" 

At last they had lifted off all the earth and gravel. 
There was a great mass of golden things — golden hairpins, 
and bracelets, and great golden earrings like wreaths of 
yellow flowers, and necklaces with pictures of warriors 
embossed in the gold, and brooches in the shape of stags' 
heads. There were gold covers for buttons, and every one 
was molded into some beautiful design of crest or circle 
or flower or cuttle-fish. 

And among them lay the bones of three persons. Across 
the forehead of one was a diadem of gold, worked into 
designs of flowers. 

MYCENJ3 167 

"See!" cried Schliemann, "these are queens. See their 
crowns, their scepters." 

For near the hands lay golden scepters, with crystal 

And there were golden boxes with covers. Perhaps long 
ago, one of these queens had kept her jewels in them. There 
was a golden drinking cup with swimming fish on its sides. 
There were vases of bronze and silver and gold. There was 
a pile of gold and amber beads, lying where they had fallen 
when the string had rotted away from the queenly neck. 
And scattered all over the bodies and under them were 
thin flakes of gold in the shapes of flowers, butterflies, grass- 
hoppers, swans, eagles, leaves. It seemed as though a 
golden tree had shed its leaves into the grave. 

"Think! Think! Think!" cried Schliemann. "These 
delicate lovely things have lain buried here for three thou- 
sand years. You have pastured your sheep above them. 
Once queens wore them and walked the streets we are 

The news of the find spread like wildfire over the 
country. Thousands of people came to visit the buried 
city. It was the most wonderful treasure that had ever 
been found. The king of Athens sent soldiers to guard 
the place. They camped on the acropolis. Their fires 
blazed there at night. Schliemann telegraphed to the king : 

"With great joy I announce to your majesty that I 
have discovered the tombs which old stories say are the 
graves of Agamemnon and his followers. I have found 


in them great treasures in the shape of ancient things in 
pure gold. These treasures, alone, are enough to fill a 
great museum. It will be the most wonderful collection 
in the world. During the centuries to come it will draw 
visitors from all over the earth to Greece. I am working 
for the joy of the work, not for money. So I give this 
treasure, with much happiness, to Greece. May it be the 
corner stone of great good fortune for her." 

The work went on, and soon they found another grave, 
even more wonderful. Here lay five people — two of them 
women, three of them warriors. Golden masks covered the 
faces of the men. Two wore golden breastplates. The 
gold clasp of the greave was still around one knee. Near 
one man lay a golden crown and a sceptre, and a sword 
belt of gold. There was a heap of stone arrowheads, and 
a pile of twenty bronze swords and daggers. One had 
a picture of a lion hunt inlaid in gold. The wooden handles 
of the swords and daggers were rotted away, but the gold 
nails that had fastened them lay there, and the gold dust 
that had gilded them. Near the warriors' hands were drink- 
ing cups of heavy gold. There were seal rings with carved 
stones. There was the silver mask of an ox head with golden 
horns, and the golden mask of a lion's head. And scat- 
tered over everything were buttons, and ribbons, and leaves, 
and flowers of gold. 

Schliemann gazed at the swords with burning eyes. 

"The heroes of Troy have used these swords," he said 
to his wife, "Perhaps Achilles himself has handled them " 

MYCEN^ 169 

He looked long at the golden masks of kingly faces. 

*'I believe that one of these masks covered the face of 
Agamemnon. I believe I am kneeling at the side of the 
king of men," he said in a hushed voice. 

Why were all these things there? Thousands of 
years before, when their king had died, the people had 

"He is going to the land of the dead," they had thought. 
"It is a dull place. We will send gifts with him to cheer his 
heart. He must have lions to hunt and swords to kill them. 
He must have cattle to eat. He must have his golden cup 
for wine." 

So they had put these things into the grave, thinking 
that the king could take them with him. They even had 
put in food, for Schliemann found oyster shells buried there. 
And they had thought that a king, even in the land of the 
dead, must have servants to work for him. So they had 
sacrificed slaves, and had sent them with their lord. Schlie- 
mann found their bones above the grave. And besides the 
silver mask of the ox head they had sent real cattle. After 
the king had been laid in his grave, they had killed oxen 
before the altar. Part they had burned in the sacred fire 
for the dead king, and part the people had eaten for the 
funeral feast. These bones and ashes, too, Schliemann 
found. For a long, long time the people had not forgotten 
their dead chiefs. Every year they had sacrificed oxen to 
them. They had set up gravestones for them, and after a 
while they had heaped great mounds over their graves. 


That was a wonderful old world at Mycenge. The 
king's palace sat on a hill. It was not one building, but 
many — a great hall where the warriors ate, the women's 
large room where they worked, two houses of many bed- 
rooms, treasure vaults, a bath, storehouses. Narrow pas- 
sages led from room to room. Flat roofs of thatch and clay 
covered all. And there were open covirts with porches 
about the sides. The floors of the court were of tinted con- 
crete. Sometimes they were inlaid with colored stones. 
The walls of the great hall had a painted frieze running 
about them. And around the whole palace went a thick 
stone wall. 

One such old palace has been uncovered at Tiryns near 
Mycense. To-day a visitor can walk there through the 
house of an ancient king. The watchman is not there, so the 
stranger goes through the strong old gateway. He stands 
in the courtyard, where the young men used to play games. 
He steps on the very floor they trod. He sees the stone 
bases of columns about him. The wooden pillars have 
rotted away, but he imagines them holding a porch roof, and 
he sees the men resting in the shade. He walks into the 
great room where the warriors feasted. He sees the hearth 
in the middle and imagines the fire blazing there. He looks 
into the bathroom with its sloping stone floor and its holes 
to drain off the water. He imagines Greek maidens coming 
to the door with vases of water on their heads. He walks 
through the long, winding passages and into room after 

MYCENiE 171 

"The children of those old days must have had trouble 
finding their way about in this big palace," he thinks. 

Such was the palace of the king. Below it lay many 
poorer houses, inside the walls and out. We can imagine 
men and women walking about this city. We raise the 
warriors from their graves. They carry their golden cups 
in their hands. Their rings glisten on their fingers, and 
their bracelets on their arms. Perhaps, instead of the 
golden armor, they wxar breastplates of bronze of the 
same shape, but these same swords hang at their sides. We 
look at their golden masks and see their straight noses and 
their short beards. We study the carving on their grave- 
stones, and we see their two-wheeled chariots and their 
prancing horses. We look at the carved gems of their seal 
rings and see them fighting or killing lions. We look at 
their embossed drinking cups, and we see them catching the 
wild bulls in nets. We gaze at the great walls of Mycense, 
and wonder what machines they had for lifting such heavy 
stones. We look at a certain silver vase, and see warriors 
fighting before this very wall. We see all the beautiful 
work in gold and silver and gems and ivory, and we think, 
"Those men of old Mycense were artists." 





Digging within this circle, Dr. Schliemann found the famous 
treasure of golden gifts to the dead, which he gave to Greece. 
In the Museum at Athens you can see these wonderful things, 
(From a photograph in the Metropolitan Museum.) 


-Metropolitan Museum 



This picture is taken from Dr. Schliemann's own book on his 



The stone over the gateway is immensely strong. But the wall 
builders were afraid to pile too great a weight upon it. So they 
left a triangular space above it. You can see how they cut the 
big stones with slanting ends to do this. This triangle they 
filled with a thinner stone carvea with two lions. The lions' 
heads are gone. They were made separately ;, perhaps of bronze, 
and stood away from the stone looking out at people approaching 
the gate. 


— Metropolita/n Museum 



No wonder the untaught modern Greeks thought that this was 
a giants' oven, where the giants baked their bread. But learned 
men have shown that it was connected with a tomb, and that in 
this room the men of Mycenae worshipped their dead. It was 
very wonderfully made and beautifully ornamented. The big 
stone over the doorway was nearly thirty feet long, and weighs 
a hundred and twenty tons. Men came to this beehive tomb 
in the old days of Mycenae, down a long passage with a high 
stone wall on either side. The doorway was decorated with 
many-colored marbles and beautiful bronze plates. The inside 
was ornamented^ too, and there was an altar in there. 


-Metropolitan Mtiseum 



From these ruins and relics^ we know much about the art of the 
Mycenseans, something about their government, their trade, their 
religion, tiieir home life, their amusements, and their ways of 
fighting, though they lived three thousand years ago. If a great 
modern city should be buried, and men should dig it up three 
thousand years later, what do you think they will say about us ? 


— Metropolitan Museum 



This mask was still on the face of the dead king. The artist 
tried to make the mask look just as the great king himself had 
looked^ but this was very hard to do. 


The king's people put into his grave this silver mask of an ox 
head with golden horns. It was a symbol of the cattle sacrificed 
for the dead. There is a gold rosette between the eyes. The 
mouthy muzzle, eyes and ears are gilded. In Homer's Iliad, 
which is the story of the Trojan war, Diomede says, "To thee 
will I sacrifice a yearling heifer, broad at brow, unbroken, that 
never yet hath man led beneath the yoke. Her will I sacrifice 
to thee, and gild her horns with gold." 


— Metropolitan Alu^^nnm 

-—From Schliemann's "Mycenw* 


This vase was made of clay and baked. Then the artist painted 
figures on it with colored earth. This was so long ago that men 
had not learned to draw very well, but we like the vase because 
the potter made it such a beautiful shape, and because we learn 
from it how the warriors of early Mycenae dressed. Under their 
armor they wore short chitons with fringe at the bottom, and 
long sleeves, and they carried strangely shaped shields and short 
spears or long lances. Do you think those are knapsacks tied 
to the lances.^ 


-Metropolitan Mustum 

-Metropolitan Museum 


These may have been worn by King Agamemnon, or by the 
Trojan warriors. They are now in the Metropolitan Museum 
in New York. 


Early men made many pictures much like this — a pillar guarded 
by an animal on each side. 


-Metropolitan Museum 




It would take a very skilfull man to-day, a man who was both 
goldsmith and artist, to make such daggers as men found at 
Mycenae. First the blade was made. Then the artist took a 
separate sheet of bronze for his design. This sheet he enamelled, 
and on it he inlaid his design. On one of these daggers we see 
five hunters fighting three lions. Two of the lions are running 
away. One lion is pouncing upon a hunter, but his friends are 
coming to help him. If you could turn this dagger over, you 
would see a lion chasing five gazelles. The artist used pure gold 
for the bodies of the hunters and the lions; he used electron, an 
alloy of gold and silver, for the hunters' shields and their 
trousers; and he made the men's hair, the lions' manes, and the 
rims of the shields, of some black substance. When the picture 
was finished on the plate, he set the plate into the blade, and 
riveted on the handle. On the smaller dagger we see three lions 



It shows the kind of helmet used in Mycenae. Do you think 
the button at the top may have had a socket for a horse hair 
plume ? 


These brooches were like modern safety pins, and were used to 
fasten the chlamys at the shoulder. The chlamys was a heavy 
woolen shawl, red or purple. 



Miti oiJoUt<ni Mus(um, from Tsouritas' ''The Mycencean Age' 



Some people say that these cups are the most wonderful things 
that have been founds made by Mycenaean artists. Some people 
say that no goldsmiths in the world since then^ unless perhaps 
in Italy in the fifteenth century^ have done such lovely work. 
The goldsmith took a plate of gold and hammered his design 
into it from the wrong side. Then he riveted the two ends to- 
gether where the handle was to go^ and lined the cup with a 
smooth gold plate. One cup shows some hunters trying to catch 
wild bulls with a net. One great bull is caught in the net. One 
is leaping clear over it. And a third bull is tossing a hunter on 
his horns. On the other cup the artist shows some bulls quietly 
grazing in the forest^ while another one is being led away to 

The Vaphian cups are now in the National museum in Athens, 
They were found in a "bee-hive" tomb at Vaphio, an ancient 
site in Greece, not far from Sparta. It is thought that they 
were not made there, but in Crete. 


— Broun Bros. 



At Mycenae were found seven hundred and one large round 
plates of gold, decorated with cuttlefish, flowers, butterflies, 
and other designs. 

GOLD ORNAMENT. (Lower right hand corner.) 


^-From Schliemtmrt/s ^'MycewB' 





-Metropolitan Museum 







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