erous nature,--that you were worthy of my Sappho. This justified me in
allowing you to eat the quince with her; this induces me now to entrust
to you, without fear, what I have always looked upon as a sacred pledge
committed to my keeping. Look upon her too only as a loan. Nothing is
more dangerous to love, than a comfortable assurance of exclusive
possession--I have been blamed for allowing such an inexperienced child
to go forth into your distant country, where custom is so unfavorable to
women; but I know what love is;--I know that a girl who loves, knows no
home but the heart of her husband;--the woman whose heart has been
touched by Eros no misfortune but that of separation from him whom she
has chosen. And besides, I would ask you, Kallias and Theopompus, is the
position of your own wives so superior to that of the Persian women? Are
not the women of Ionia and Attica forced to pass their lives in their own
apartments, thankful if they are allowed to cross the street accompanied
by suspicious and distrustful slaves? As to the custom which prevails in
Persia of taking many wives, I have no fear either for Bartja or Sappho.
He will be more faithful to his wife than are many Greeks, for he will
find in her what you are obliged to seek, on the one hand in marriage, on
the other in the houses of the cultivated Hetaere:--in the former,
housewives and mothers, in the latter, animated and enlivening
intellectual society. Take her, my son. I give her to you as an old
warrior gives his sword, his best possession, to his stalwart son:--he
gives it gladly and with confidence. Whithersoever she may go she will
always remain a Greek, and it comforts me to think that in her new home
she will bring honor to the Greek name and friends to our nation, Child,
I thank thee for those tears. I can command my own, but fate has made me
pay an immeasurable price for the power of doing so. The gods have heard
your oath, my noble Bartja. Never forget it, but take her as your own,
your friend, your wife. Take her away as soon as your friends return; it
is not the will of the gods that the Hymenaeus should be sung at Sappho's
nuptial rites."

As she said these words she laid Sappho's hand in Bartja's, embraced her
with passionate tenderness, and breathed a light kiss on the forehead of
the young Persian. Then turning to her Greek friends, who stood by, much
affected:

"That was a quiet nuptial ceremony," she said; "no songs, no torch-light!
Ma