A turning-point in Megacles' life had now come, for he left the school to take up with special masters the study of rhetoric and general culture, and to train his body on the gymnasium. And in stepping from childhood, as it were, over the threshold of youth, he began work again guided by the familiar legend (this time cut over the doorway of the gymnasium), "Know thyself." Earnestly Megacles set to work to train every part of himself to be as strong and perfect as possible, for in addition to the Greek's usual love of clean, vigorous manhood he had before him a growing hope, a hope only a little less dear to him than his other ambition of becoming a sculptor. For already while in the boys' wrestling schools he had twice, once when ten years old and again when he was fourteen, won the boys' boxing match in the great games at Olympia. These were the games in which the whole of Greece shared, and his opponents had been the best boy-boxers of Argos and Thebes. And if at the next festival, just before he became an ephebus  and left boyhood behind, he could win the boys' boxing match again, he would be victor of all Greece, his name would ring through the whole land, statues and poems would be made in his honor, and he could bring glory to his family and city. So he worked with a will.

This is a Greek painting on a large drinking-cup. The boy holds in his hands jumping weights. (Photograph furnished by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

He was sixteen, and a boy of great beauty. "See him!" "There he goes!" "Ah! a new one!" "How beautiful!" so the older men cried, as they came daily to the gymnasium and watched him among the other boys at their training. And because to an unusual degree he was beautiful as well as strong, and because his fellows and the men of the city too began to look forward to the contest at Olympia, he became a great favorite. Men after their dinners, as they drank their wine mixed with water, raised their kylixes and toasted him. But Megacles was not spoiled, for his life was too much taken up by work and drill and routine, by the slow, hard building up of endurance and courage. And as he felt his chest broaden and saw his muscles strengthen and grow firm and supple, as he watched the swift, clean sweep of his arm when he hurled the discus, something of the reverence that he had felt as a child for his father's statues came to him now for his own body. And so, in shaping his body in all modesty to become as fit as possible, he tasted beforehand something of the joy of the sculptor who makes bodies of marble, and over and over he promised himself, "What I make now in my own body in flesh and sinew, I shall yet some day make come true in bronze and marble." So his two ambitions went hand in hand as he grew to manhood.

At last the midsummer came which brought the Olympic games, and Megacles with the other competitors went ahead to receive from the trainers at Olympia their last lessons. Then through all Greece went three heralds announcing the truce of Zeus, bidding the people everywhere drop their wars and quarrels and come to the sacred festival of the god. On every road the crowds came surging; hucksters with their wares, men and boys on foot, citizens of importance in chariots and officers from the different cities in gorgeous dress. But just before they reached Olympia, Megacles with the other athletes had left the town to go to the sacred fountain of Piera to offer a sacrifice and to purify themselves; at least all had gone who like Megacles could answer to the solemn charge of the trainers: "If you have exercised yourself in a manner worthy of the Olympic festival, if you have been guilty of no slothful or ignoble act, go on with a good courage. You who have not so practiced, go whither you will."

The great day came, the day that Megacles had been looking forward to for so long, the day of the boys' games. Though the sun was hot and there were no seats and though dust and thirst beset them, the spectators, eager and expectant, were ready and willing to stand for hours. Under the blue skies, surrounded by the temples and statues of the gods, the crowds gathered in the stadium. Then the procession entered: first came the trainers, splendid in their purple robes and with garlands on their heads, and then the athletes followed. The boys had already taken their oath to use no unfair means against each other to gain victory. Before each event a herald stepped out to proclaim the contestants.

This is a Greek painting on a bowl. The boxers have wound around their hands heavy leather thongs. (Photograph furnished by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

"Megacles," he announced, "son of Simonides, from the noble city of Athens, age, seventeen, contest, boxing; against him, Astylus, the son of Callippus, from the mighty city of Sparta, age, seventeen." The boys stepped into the ring, and each wound on his hands the leather thongs of the boxer—Megacles, lithe, straight and alert, Astylus, heavy and strong. The trumpet blew; the time was come. Astylus rushed forward, strong and sure, ready to strike with both his hands, but Megacles dodged and dealt him a quick blow on the chin; then, head down, Astylus drove into him, but again Megacles parried his thrust and hit him on the ear and cheek. Back and forth the blows fell; there was to be no easy victory. Now with his great strength Astylus seemed sure to crush Megacles; then Megacles, agile and unwearied, hit fast and clean, until the baffled Astylus caught Megacles' left hand in his and held him securely, while with his powerful right fist he swung upward, this time to give a final blow. A rush of anger blinded Megacles; this was against the rule, the unfair thing that each had sworn not to do. In a flash he struck out, hit Astylus on the head, snatched himself free, and saw Astylus drop. For a moment the Spartan lay still, while the crowd waited breathless; then his hand was held up in the signal of defeat. Megacles was victor.

The blare of the herald's trumpet told it, and the onlookers cheered and shouted, and Megacles decked his head with fillets of wool. But the unconscious Astylus had to be carried from the field. Then the chief trainer crowned Megacles with a wreath of sacred olive, and the crowds showered him with flowers as they cheered. For Megacles was now three times a winner. A statue would be raised in his honor in the street of the victors, and the great Pindar himself promised an ode to his name. But that evening at the banquet as the songs were being sung, whispers passed from mouth to mouth, and Megacles heard them too. Astylus was still lying unconscious, ill either from the blow which Megacles had given him or from overexerting himself, because he had been bound to win at any cost. With the crowd it did not matter, for it was one of the chances of the games; worse things than that had happened before and would doubtless happen again. But for Megacles the feast was done. He hurried from the room distressed to think that he might have injured another boy even in fair play; and though he knew that no blame rested upon him, the truth remained that Astylus was hurt and for the time being unable to take his part with the other boys, while he himself was well and free.

There was no time left him for thought, however, for in a few days he would be eighteen, and with other boys of his age he must go back to Athens to start upon his military training and to give himself for two years to the service of the state. As if in a dream he poured his libation at the temple to Heracles, put on his military dress, and took the oath not to disgrace his arms or to desert his comrades. Now for two years he was the servant of the state, one year serving at garrison duty in the city, and the next defending the frontiers. He did his duties like the others, but wherever he went a shadow seemed to have fallen upon his spirits. His companions noticed it and questioned what was the matter with Megacles, the pride of them all. While they joked, he sat silent. For he was seeing before him Astylus' white face, or he was hearing in his ears the wailing of the chorus in the Œdipus tragedy, and remembering again his uncle's words: "Only if Œdipus—suffered too . . ." Megacles was no longer light of heart like the other boys, but he was working on hard problems, problems too big for a boy of his age to settle, problems of right and wrong, of what was the will of the gods and what work was worthy of a man's devotion.

When the end of the two years came and the other ephebi  went back to Athens to taste their freedom and revel and feast, he could not, for a time, bring himself to go with them. But as Heracles and Œdipus had done, he took himself off to the mountains. He understood now why they had wanted to be by themselves. He too wanted to think over quietly what were the things he cared about and what he should do. Among the mountains he wandered with the shepherds and his lyre and his thoughts for company. And soon the animals were not afraid as he passed, and the trees and flowers seemed to speak to him. Sometimes as he played his lyre under a tree, it seemed as if a new music answered him,—a music, wild and strange, sad and sweet; and Megacles peered behind the tree, half expecting to see a goat's hoof or hear an elfish laugh, for surely such music could come only from the pipes of Pan. For living in the midst of superstitious shepherds, it was easy to see in the swaying trees and singing brooks fauns and dryads and the old woodland gods. Mystery was about him everywhere, too deep and too sweet to be questioned; until here mystery and the unknown ways of the gods began to seem a natural part of life, and as peace came to his mind, the love of beauty and of people filled his heart and brought back stronger than ever his old longing to carve a statue and become a sculptor. So he went to work on logs and blocks of wood, until at last he had succeeded in turning a fallen tree trunk into the likeness of man; and from that he went on making satyrs or shepherds out of tree trunks.

This painting on an oil-jug shows the wide hat, the cloak and high boots, worn by a man hunting or traveling. (Photograph furnished by the Musuem of Fine Arts, Boston)

One day, as he was at work modeling a shepherd boy, a hunter passed by and stood behind a tree watching him. Under Megacles' loving touch the wood was taking on form and beauty, and into the face of the figure which he was making he brought the look of the shepherd boy,—the look of one who lives face to face with the great mountains, who hears the woods whispering Nature's secrets and loves both the silence and the music of it all. It was not an ordinary piece of work, and the hunter, who happened to be an Athenian, recognized the rare quality of it. After talking with Megacles he was determined that Athens should not lose the promise of such a sculptor, and he went back to Pericles, the ruler of the state, to tell him what he had seen. So it was that Pericles sent a summons for Megacles to come to Athens, saying to him that there at home he must serve the state and the gods with his gift of sculpture.

This is a restoration to show as nearly as possible how this famous hill looked after the age of Pericles

Just at the time of the Panathenaic festival, Megacles entered the city and came home. At once his old friends seized upon him and made him join the great procession that was even then forming in honor of Athena. Up the slopes of the Acropolis wound the procession: the cavalry in gay-colored coats, the victors in the Panathenaic games with wreaths on their heads, the city fathers, the stately maidens, and borne ahead of them all a ship on rollers, whose sail was the gorgeous embroidered yellow robe of the goddess. So in a scene of rejoicing and of honor to the gods, Megacles came back to his own, free now to set himself to making the sculpture which he loved.