Historical Miniatures. August Strindberg

second tanner! It is strange that the destiny of Athens is guided by tanners.”

      “The destiny of Athens! Who knows it?”

      “I, Alcibiades, am the destiny of Athens.”

      “[Greek: Hubris]! Beware of the gods!”

      “I come after Cleon; Cleon is no more; therefore it is my turn.”

      “Here is Anytos!”

      Anytos entered: “I seek Alcibiades.”

      “Here I am.”

      “Must I prepare you. …’

      “No, I know.”

      “Prepare you for the honour. …”

      “Have I waited long enough.”

      “To go at the head. …”

      “That is what I was born for.”

      “To take the lead. …”

      “That is my place.”

      “And conduct the triumphal procession?”

      “What procession?”

      “Ah! you did not know. Cleon’s triumphal procession from the harbour.”

      Alcibiades passed his hand downwards over his face, as though he wished to changed his mask, and it was done in a moment.

      “Yes, certainly, certainly, certainly. I have in fact just come here to—announce his victory.”

      “He lies,” broke in Xantippe.

      “I jested with the pair. There will be a triumphal procession, then, for Cleon! How fine!”

      “Socrates,” continued Anytos, “are you not glad?”

      “I am glad that the enemy is beaten.”

      “But not that Cleon has won a victory?”

      “Yes, it is nearly the same thing.”

      Xantippe seized the opportunity and struck in: “He is not glad, and he does not believe in Cleon.”

      “I know you,” concluded Anytos. “I know you philosophers and quibblers! But take care!—And now, Alcibiades, come and receive the despised Cleon, who has saved the fatherland!”

      Alcibiades took Socrates by the hand, and whispered in his ear. “What a cursed mischance! Well, not yet!—but the next time!”