The Praise Singer (28 page)

“I’d have enjoyed Ionia, I know that. But it’s gone, now. In those days Athens was just one city; but now it’s the center of the earth.”

In no time, I thought, he will be a man, and I’d best remember it. “That’s the root of the matter. Solon and Pisistratos brought the Muses to Athens. But only one man keeps them here. Without him, they’d fly away like birds scared out of a field. It takes more than gold to whistle them to your hand; more, even, than being a gracious giver. To keep them, you must understand their song.”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “You’re his friend; you really know him, and I’ve only seen him when he’s been making a fool of himself. ?Plenty of other men do it too, over boys who just make fun of them.”

“But they can afford it better. Well, only the gods are without a flaw. All one dares ask of any man is that he does more good than evil. And that he does no evil of free choice.”

I could see him getting that by heart, like a song. From loving the boy, I was beginning to love the man.

Presently he said, as he finished his watered wine, “It’s the Great Year. It will soon be the Panathenaia. I’ve only seen one. What hymn will you be doing?”

“Two, as it’s a Great Year. Men and girls. The men for a choral ode to Poseidon at the holy spring.”

“You’ll have to think of something new about Theseus, won’t you? Is there anything?”

“Certainly. He’s not yet been down to the underworld, to carry off Persephone.”

“That’s a dark tale, Uncle Sim. Do you think the Archons will like it?”

“That’s with the god, who sent the song to me.” I had asked myself the same question, but only as if asking whether it would rain tomorrow. This tale of the hero’s hubris and nemesis had seized my mind, and I had no time for anything else. “Herakles shall rescue him at the end.”

“And what about the girls?”

“That hymn is always joyful. It’s for the maidens, who bring the offerings to Athene. Yes, I shall be busy. Hipparchos, too. He’s been planning a full year for the Great Year. That will take his mind off his little folly.”

A thought came to me then, and I said, “I don’t think, this year, the city would grudge me the privilege of having my pupil carry my kithara. Just for the Presentation of the Maidens.”

Before he found his voice, he looked almost beautiful. Never mind, I thought; he is in no danger now, and if he were he can well look after himself. I took him to a robe-maker to have something made up, a short tunic proper to his age, and a red shoulder-cloak.

A few days later, Hipparchos sent for me to discuss the festival. Of course I was one of many: high priests and generals, the engineers who had charge of the Sacred Ship, and that year were making a new one; the other poets, and the musicians. The heralds were there, to learn their stations and cries. The eldest of them plied back and forth with messages to the High Priestess of Athene, who was too holy to appear among men at all. Both Archons were present; Thessalos too, who was to lead the youths’ cavalcade, by reason of rank, for he was past the age. Hipparchos, as usual, did almost all the business of the rite, and had a good deal to say to me; but all day I never had speech with him alone.

That I had expected; but I kept my eye on him, and what I saw disturbed me. In the last few years he had been thickening a little, till it threatened to spoil his looks; now he was lean. He had lost flesh so quickly, I wondered if he could have a wasting sickness. Men with a phthisis have this burned-up look, till one day they cough blood and die. But he did a great deal of talking that afternoon, and did not cough even once.

When all the business was over, he did beckon me up. I wondered if he wanted a private word, and didn’t know if I feared or wished it; it was a long time now since I had known his mind. But it was only to say he would be sending for me shortly, to discuss the Maidens’ Hymn.

Anakreon left with me, and we walked down the steps together. I said, “Is Hipparchos sick, or has he had too many late nights? The man looks raveled.”

“Something has happened. I don’t know what; nor does anyone else-except one, maybe. A few days back he passed me in the city within a yard, and never saw me or heard me greet him. No, it wasn’t meant; he might have been alone upon Mount Parnes. He looked as if the Furies were after him.”

I remembered Bacchylides; but I had given him good advice and meant to keep it myself. “Can it be love? I thought he’d be cured by this time.”

“He did not name his daimon. But it looked more like hate to me.”

“Or the terrible face of Eros, when he changes shape.”

He gave me his sweet smile; like a wise young boy’s, though by then he? was over fifty. “My dear, there is no terrible face of Eros. There is just the one charming one, which he may decide to turn away. The Furies who follow him are all begotten by men.”

That was his truth; and even in sad old age, when his smiling god had turned away forever, he did not renounce it. Happy Anakreon!

Next day, Hipparchos sent for me about the maidens’ procession. I took my kithara to let him hear the hymn. This time, maybe I would be alone with him. But once more, no; Thessalos was sitting by him.

He at least was his usual self; a saffron robe, blue-bordered, gold clasps and studs on his sandals, an Egyptian girdle worked with ibises. His dark hair was cut to the nape in the very latest fashion, with an embroidered headband. He looked in high health and spirits. They waved me to sit at their writing-table. No clerk was there; Hipparchos wrote a very good hand himself.

Once again I wondered if he was sick. Beside his brother, glossy as a well-groomed horse, his lack of condition showed up. He was dressed with less than his usual care; his hair looked dull, and for the first time I was aware of grey in it; his cheeks were mottled, with broken veins, and when he held his stylos, I saw that he had a tremor. He spoke to me very civilly, but with only half his mind on me. It was Thessalos who saw my kithara, and jogged him into asking to hear the hymn.

I gave it, my own mind partly upon Thessalos himself. His concern with the maiden rite was something new. He was now about thirty, and might well be thinking of marriage. He was far from sharing his brother’s dislike of women; and the great festivals are good times for choosing brides. Men can look the girls well over, before getting caught up with matchmakers and kinfolk. Wellborn girls are hard to get a sight of at other times.

Hipparchos roused himself when my noise had stopped, and praised it as warmly as any man can who has not listened. Thessalos, who was missing nothing today, picked out one or two images for compliment. We went quickly over the rite, which had only to be remembered from one Great Year to the next. Thessalos said, “Was there anything else? Oh, yes, we never finished choosing the girls.”

He sounded too careless, and I was sure I had guessed right. If so, his choice would be on the list already. As usual, Hipparchos showed it me; sometimes I would ask for some girl of middle station, whom I’d marked down at a wedding or a feast, for her fine presence or sweet voice. I had no one in mind today; he rolled it up, saying, “We can finish it presently. Won’t you take some wine before you go?” I left the brothers with their heads together. He had one friend at least, it seemed, in whom he could still confide.

The maids were duly brought to the temple precinct, to be taught the hymn and the order of the procession. Their mothers led them proudly, dressed in their second best, their new ones saved for the day; their hair just loosened from the crimping-plaits, solemn-faced, too overawed even to catch one another’s eyes. Their mothers sat down on the seats along the wall, appraising each other’s daughters, and looking at me to be sure I valued their own.

I have never desired young maids, preferring ripe fruit to green; maybe it is because I feared their laughter when I was a boy. But at the rites they always moved me: those sure of their beauty, so ignorant of what Aphrodite may send them when they have served Athene; the shy ones, sure of nothing, except that this is their own Great Year, which they will have to remember forever. They give no trouble, as boys often do, who know they will find their fates elsewhere and would sooner impress each other than their teacher. The girls seek perfection before unknown eyes they have only seen in dreams.

It was the mother I noticed first, fanning herself, and condescending to the lady beside her. The girls stood in a clump, waiting for me to arrange them. There in the middle was the silver-gold hair of the young Delias.

I thought, Her name was not on the list; but it w?as not finished. He added her later, ashamed that I should see. And Anakreon says there is no terrible face of love! As surely as Dionysos, he can strike men mad. This poor wretch, who has had every gift he offered thrown back in his face, still hopes that by flattering the family he can buy his treasure. The girl is too young, hardly more than a child. Well, at least it will give her pleasure.

I felt a moment’s surprise that she had been allowed to accept. But how not? It was her right by birth. Her mother would rejoice that the orphan had not been forgotten. Harmodios could not interfere, unless he told them everything; and why, after all, oppose it? It would bring her the chance of a better marriage. She had some of his beauty; indeed was becoming not unlike him. Young though she was, she was one of the tallest there. Like enough she would catch some young noble’s eye.

With fifty girls to train, I had not much time to notice her. She was quiet and grave, and did not need to be told things twice. Though there were two or three girls more beautiful, she had the virgin candor of the young Athene herself, and the grace of a willow wand. The mother wafted her fan without a care. It was clear that Harmodios had kept his counsel.

I did not trouble the girls at first with their offering-baskets; highborn girls learn as young as peasants to balance loads on the head, ready for these occasions, and they could practice at home. But I had them pacing the precinct as they sang, to get the beat in their blood. There is the little ceremony some days before the great one, when the chosen girls are presented to the goddess and bring her offerings. I would have them ready for that.

Soon after this, I saw Aristogeiton walking across the Agora; and watched him with curiosity, after all I’d heard. I had lately seen one man scorching his soul to a crisp; here, by the look of him, went another. Since he was younger and much fitter, his sleepless nights had made him fine-drawn and handsome. But what would he know of that? An implacable god!

Just then he stopped a passing man, and they walked on talking. Soon he drew him out of the crowd, towards the stall of a pot-seller. She started pointing to her wares, and showing the price on her fingers. She was deaf and dumb.

They paid her no heed, and after talking there awhile went off together. I did not know the second man; he had a sharp discontented face, and did not look cheerful company. As they walked my way, I saw approaching a certain Charias, whom I did know; one of the lesser Alkmaionid clansmen, not of enough consequence to have been exiled. He used to say, rather too often, that he took no part in politics. He and Aristogeiton just lifted a hand in greeting as they passed; after which the young man spoke with great earnestness to his companion. When I came near, they became as dumb as the pot-seller.

I did not think much about it. Men with a grievance will go about getting sympathy from their friends; and if their complaint is against the great, everyone concerned will show a certain discretion.

As I walked on, I was wishing that I knew him as a friend, to quiet his fears; for, if Bacchylides had been right about them, they were quite absurd. Ah well, I thought, next year the boy will be a man with a stubble on his chin; and to both these poor fools, Archon and commoner, all this anguish will seem like a dream gone by. We are all children of Time, however much we may wish to kill our father. I walked on smiling, thinking how Anakreon could have contained it all in one short bitter-sweet song.

I rehearsed my girls each morning. The temple guard is there to keep out men, but some will always watch from beyond the walls. Bacchylides came most days. He had learned all his schoolmaster could teach him, and I’d let him leave; it was time he should study music as a man. The Maiden’s Hymn, he had by heart the first day; as he still appeared, I took it he had begun to notice girls. Afterwards at our meal he would pass judgment on them, rather severely lest I ?should suspect him of it, but fairly on the whole.

“You can see at once which is Harmodios’ sister, she’s so like him. She gets everything right. He came to watch her today.”

“He should be pleased with her. She holds herself very well. They must use their baskets tomorrow; the Presentation is in three days’ time.”

“Glaukos, Leagros’ son, was standing next me. He hardly took his eyes off her. I think he’s serious.”

“That would be a good match,” I said. It was an old house with wealth and reputation; Glaukos was the eldest son, an athlete of some distinction. It was just the marriage a family needed, so shorn of menfolk by death. I wished the girl luck with it.

Next day they carried their baskets. One girl had been too lazy to practice, and let hers wobble. I threatened that if she was not perfect by next day, I’d turn her out. It was only to scare her, for of course I could not do it; everyone would have thought her maidenhood was in question, and the scandal would have followed her for life. However, the silly girl was duly terrified, and performed without fault thereafter.

I was pleased with them all, on the day of the Presentation. The sky was bright; so were the girls, each in her festal dress, the peplos damp-pleated into tiny clinging folds, and fastened on the shoulders with gold brooches; the himation draped across, often an heirloom, with borders of six months’ work; hair freshly washed and waved, combed down over back and breasts. Some had brushed their lips with the juice of geranium petals, but their faces needed no heightening. Rosy or pale, their light came from within.

They gathered in their order, on the terrace below the crowded precinct, looking up at the temple porch with the priests’ and archons’ thrones. Hipparchos was there, with Thessalos beside him. Hippias seldom came to these minor rites.