Penelope's Secret

by Nicolas Ségur

  “I have no slaves, Socrates,” Theodota replied, again.

  “Where, then, do you find what you need in order to live so abundantly?”

  “Friends, who come to me and wish me well, furnish what is necessary to me.”

  “By Juno, Theodota, you have something better than slaves and flocks! But how, then, do you attract that prey? Do you wait for the friends to come to you, or do you employ some artifice in order to attract them?”

  “How do you expect me attract them by artifice, Socrates?”

  “I thought that you would act in that as one does for any other game. Spiders employ ruses to catch flies, and hunters to catch hares.”

  “But what means can I use to hunt friends?” asked Theodota, coming to sit down next to Socrates, feline and laughing, on the low bed.

  “Instead of the dogs that flush out hares, why should you not have someone who sniffs out appreciators of beauty, in order to lead them into your nets?”

  “My nets? What nets do I have then, friend?”

  “One alone, but the most inextricable: your body; and in the body, a soul that initiates you so effectively in the charms of your gaze, and educates you in the seduction of words, and teaches you to give a good welcome to the man who seeks you out, to send away the one you disdain, to visit a proven friend courteously and to be grateful for the cares that are rendered to you. For I cannot doubt that you inspire in your lovers as much benevolence as tenderness; your words certainly charm them no less than your gaze.”

  “By Jupiter!” said Theodota, looking at Socrates. “I am not conscious of any of those means.”

  “However, Theodota, you understand that it is not indifferent to act in harmony with the character of lovers, since it is not by force that one keeps them, but by the gentle attraction of pleasure and contentment.”

  “That’s true,” murmured the courtesan, thoughtfully.

  “It’s necessary, then, that you appear generous with them, giving them more than you receive, consenting, when they are in need, to share with them what you have and to seek to attach them to you solidly, rather than inspiring a caprice in them. And as the contrary of desire is satiety, it is necessary, too, that you know how to refuse yourself as well as to give yourself, sharpening appetites as well as fulfilling them, and above all, to accord your favors at the most propitious moment. Uncertainty stimulates lust and renders it exquisite, and the pleasure that one obtains with difficulty is the most precious. For that, Theodota, do not hesitate to make a free and voluntary gift of your presence and conversation.”

  “Well, Socrates,” exclaimed Theodota, dazzled, catching hold of his mantle as he got up to leave, “would you like to help me hunt for friends?”

  Smiling, he replied: “By Jupiter, I would if you can persuade me to do it.”

  “By what means can I do that?” asked Theodota, innocently.

  “Seek and you will find, if you really have need of me.”

  “At least come to see me often!”

  “Alas, I have other things to do, Theodota, and numerous clients who harass me day and night, some asking me for philters and others for charms and enchantments.”

  “What, Socrates?” said Theodota, increasingly amazed. “You know how to compose philters, then, like the women of Thessaly?”

  “Naturally. Do you not know that Phaedo and Apollodorus never quit me, and that Cebes and Simias come from Thebes expressly to converse with me? I can only attract them in that fashion, be sure of it, by means of philters, and above all with the aid of songbirds that I train to sing erotic verses.”

  Theodota looked Socrates in the eyes then, and the ugliness of the man seemed pleasant to her. Seriously, she said to him: “Since you don’t want to give me a songbird to attract you to me, I’ll come to your house, and I hope that you’ll receive me.”

  “Certainly I will, if I do not have another person in my house who is even dearer to me,” Socrates replied, gently detaching the courtesan’s hand, which was clutching his mantle, and leaving immediately, following his companions.

  The sun was setting. Young men clad in white tunics could be seen going toward the banks of the Cephise, followed by their slaves.

  “The city is preparing for the Eleusinian mysteries,” said Plato, “and it’s becoming difficult to move through the streets.”

  “Let’s head toward the gardens of Academus. There, it will be possible to discourse in tranquility,” proposed the master.

  “I’ll return to my shop,” said Simon. “Theodota is beautiful, but I wouldn’t want to drink passion from her cup, fearful of going as far as drunkenness.”

  “You’re wise, Simon, and prudent,” Socrates replied. “Go, and may your sleep be light.”

  At the entrance to the gardens, Critias and Simias departed, leaving Socrates alone with Plato, who was still very young and had scarcely begun to frequent the master.

  At first they walked in silence, but then the ephebe, who appeared to be obsessed by grave thoughts, turned toward Socrates and said: “I’m surprised by your conduct, master. You deliberately go to the home of a courtesan, and you even appear to take pleasure in it. Either I’m much mistaken, or that is in opposition to your irreproachable mores.”

  “Don’t believe anything of the sort,” replied the son of Sophroniscus, nonchalantly.

  “You’ll agree, however,” the ephebe went on, “that courtesans are a source of frivolity and disorder, and that we ought to nourish toward them the disdain of Solon, who expelled them from the city.”

  “He was soon obliged to recall them, Plato. You appear to be forgetting that. But come and sit under this plane tree. The hour is mild and invites repose.”

  They had passed the venerable olive tree that was the second to grow in Attica and climbed a gentle slope. Socrates sat down with his disciple near a stone Hermes, on a little scarcely mossy hill, where scarce plane trees were nurtured.

  The light was colored by vesperal tints. Hymettus seemed to be slowly being consumed by mystic violet flames. An ardent silvery gleam illuminated Salamis, while streaks of crimson cloud, scarcely formed, were wandering slowly, impregnating the Attic sky with an ineffable melancholy.

  “Did you notice just now,” Socrates began by saying, “the fine subject that Parrhasius took it into his head to paint? Venus, scarcely emerged from the water, appeasing the invincible Mars by the strength of her beauty alone. She dominates the one whom no one can subdue. The elements of discord, the impetuous anger, and the tumultuous spirits that animate the god of war are moderated and ordered by the mere appearance of Cypris. I beg to you see there a perfect symbol of the amorous force that, superior to wisdom and superior to virtue, leads the destinies of the world.”

  “Does something exist for Socrates that is superior to wisdom, then?”

  “I’ve just told you that there is: beauty and the desire to which it gives birth. For beauty concentrates all gifts within it, as in a divine amphora. It inspires poets, inflames sages, incites men to virtue, engenders sacrifice, and suggests great thoughts and courageous actions. It is the dominatrix. Everything that we can try to find by dint of meditation, all the treasures painfully extracted by study, what we know and what we divine, are rendered tangible and concrete by the appearance of a beautiful woman, of a beautiful body.

  “You can be sure, Plato, that the gods are only distinguished from humans by the greater perfection of their forms. And if humans existed as beautiful as the gods, we would accord them for their worship an absolute obedience. That is why our ancestors, in their wisdom, made of Cosmic Venus a goddess born of the sky, a primordial and mysterious divinity. And I repeat that I hold beauty to be the ultimate gift, the sole realization of the ideal on earth.”

  “But even admitting, Socrates, that beauty has the force that you attribute to it, why should courtesans pretend to it more than other women?”

  “They are the sacred emblem of it, as you ought to confess, Plato. But tell me first, what government do you think
worthy of free men?”

  “I don’t understand what connection...”

  “Answer my question anyway.”

  “But by Jupiter, Socrates, it’s republican government.”

  “You’re right. Now, you’ll grant me that republican government reposes on the equality of all and the uniform distribution of earthly goods, Athens has become the foremost city in Greece because she has been able to make the enjoyment of art, the attribution of justice and the agreeable and redoubtable responsibility of governance, privileges common to all her citizens. Now, since you admit, Plato, that beauty is the ultimate good, why should it remain, without injustice, the property of one person alone and not the indivisible property of all? Are you not revolted by the thought that a beautiful woman, who inspires poets and of whom sculptors make use in order to depict divinity, might remain jealousy locked up in the gynaeceum of a single man, who enjoys it to the detriment of others?

  “Think, however, what a concurrence of fortunate circumstances, what a complicity of multiple hazards, the appearance of a beauty as perfect as that of Helen, Aspasia or Theodota presupposes. Nature seems to expend more effort in that than in the formation of a genius. Now, while we are all invited to hear a play by Sophocles and all have the right to enjoy a marble by Phidias or a fresco by Polygnotus, while the verses of Homer and the fables of Aesop are the joy and delight of the entire city, the beauty of Helen must remain the exclusive prerogative of Menelaus and that of Penelope the jealous property of Ulysses! Confess, Plato that that is an inconceivable restriction!”

  “However, Socrates, I know grave reasons that oblige us to it.”

  “I know that,” said Socrates. “It is at the price of that great iniquity that we have founded the family. The common enjoyment of beauty would, in fact, have provoked social difficulties the legislators would judge insurmountable. That is why they have instituted virtue and modesty. However, the world has never submitted entirely to the absurd yoke. The exclusive possession of beautiful women, on the contrary, has provoked struggles and devastations in all times, causing hatred and bloodshed, sowing discord and death.

  “The beauty of Penelope cost the lives of a host of suitors, and that of Helen scythed down the flower of the elite youth of the Trojans and Greeks. My friend Herodotus, who visited many cities of the Greeks and barbarians, claims justly that a beautiful woman is at the origin of all the wars that have bloodied history. On the other hand, if one goes back to the primitive ages, one sees that men then savored freely and in common all the sublime joys of Venus.

  “Moreover, certain nations, less presumptuous than that of the Greeks, still retain the memory of that distant custom. In Babylon, once a year, all the women without exception restore the ancient equality by offering themselves to whomever wants to take them. Thus once a year, out there, beauty becomes public again and appeases all desire.

  “Do you not see, now, that it is thanks to courtesans that the order of nature is slightly reestablished? By their sacrifice, they permit other women to remain virtuous and men to support virtue. Prodigal with their beauty, in making it a common prerogative, they become our educators. They accord to all the usufruct of the perfection of forms, and in their sublime forbearance they slake the thirst of avid mouths in the mystic well of sensuality.

  “Thus, the métier of courtesans ought to be considered as sacred and beneficent. It can truly serve as an emblem and symbol of Democracy. If Theodota bears the august name of hetaera, which means ‘companion’ and was once attributed to Venus, it is because she represents the goddess on earth and sows sensuality and amour. Each of her kisses is an emanation of the daughter of Uranus, the mother of the Muses.

  “Think rather of the ills from which courtesans preserve us, and how we ought to be grateful to them for having chosen that métier. Beautiful as she is, Theodota could have drowned Athens in blood and provoked great rivalries if, like Penelope, she had given evidence of preferences and grim repugnance. But, far from displaying an inhuman virtue, she devotes her body to natural worship. Renewing in her bed every evening the sacrifice of Iphigenia, she saves the city and becomes the sacred fountain of pleasure.

  “And certainly, you must understand now, Plato, why our ancestors confounded courtesans with priestesses in making them the allies and the commensals of the divinity.”

  “If I understand correctly, you are sustaining that courtesans are reestablishing the primitive worship that elevated Venus above all other gods, as the cosmic and universal power, the unique source of all life and all desire.”

  “That’s correct. And you will find it just henceforth to honor courtesans and to wish that the most beautiful women choose that métier. On the other hand, it would be revolting if an ugly woman could pretend to it, for an ugly woman, in becoming a courtesan, would not only be failing in her humble duty to procreate, but simultaneously corrupting the taste of citizens by erecting her body as an altar and believing herself worthy of inspiring amour. Maternity is reserved to virtue; but as for pleasure and sensuality, they are the inappreciable fruits of perfect forms.”

  Suddenly, a curious question came to Plato’s lips.

  “Tell me, Socrates, what is amour? It inflames hearts and transforms beings, but no one seems to have fathomed its essence and scrutinized its mystery.”

  And Socrates replied: “Plato, that sentiment, which you easily inspire by your perfect face and body, cannot be translated into words. Rather seek to experience it. Amour is a natural initiation. It enters the breast like a mysterious arrow. Don’t ask me such a question, then, and let me depart. The sun is setting and Xanthippe is waiting for me. Now, as you now, her anger is quick to ignite.”

  And without wanting to say any more, Socrates threw the flap of his mantle over his shoulder and drew away rapidly, leaving the young man in perplexity.

  III. The Bed of Nicareta

  The disciple remained under the moving shadow of the plane tree for a few moments longer.

  What is this power of amour, then, which enchains people more powerfully than iron and wine, almost equaling in violence the divine virtue of lightning?

  That is what the son of Ariston thought; and suddenly, he became anxious, for he recognized that it was not only his mind but his entire troubled being that was interested in that problem.

  Plato looked around, and for the first time, he sensed with anguish that spring was triumphing throughout the area, that beings seemed to be awaiting their blossoming, and that nature entire was leading the enthusiastic dance of the Corybantes.

  How can I fathom the essence of amour and initiate myself into its mysteries?

  He got up and began to march at random, fully absorbed in his thoughts. He scarcely glanced at the women who were going to draw water from the only fountain near the Odeon, the slaves in tunics split down one side who were returning from mills crying burdens on their shoulders, and the ephebes with naked and agile legs who were emerging from the gymnasium clad in short mantles. He only raised his eyes from time to time toward the Attic sky, appeased by light clouds; and the amenable sun that was already touching the western hills above Eleusis poured a kind of gentle clarity into his mind.

  Having chanced to engage upon the road that led to the Poecile he arrived in front of the temple of Mars. He was struck by the sight of the image of Minerva associated there with that of the impetuous god. The Attic legend that had given rise to that narrow linkage of the worship of two siblings came to his mind and appeared to him to be a response to the problem that was haunting him.

  It was near Athens that the divine warrior, it was said, encountered his austere and immortal sister, who was flying through the luminous ether. His heart was inflamed by a sudden and impetuous desire for her. He then experienced in his body the intoxication of a Maenad, and all decency and all restraint abandoned him. He fell upon Minerva and enlaced her with such violence that, at the abrupt and fearful sidestep of the virgin, his hasty and ardent semen fell on the Attic soil, engendering Ery
cthoneus.

  Plato was struck now by the recognition of the seal of universal desire that marked that legend. A wave of new thoughts invaded him.

  Did amour consist of the violent attraction, the primordial appetite of the flesh, the profound need that drives humans to unite, to participate for a few moments in the sacred delirium of renewal?

  As he gazed at the verdant hills, all attained by spring, the fields florid with asphodels, and the trees launching upwards young and straight, sucking up new sap, Plato sensed a kind of vague, unlimited and poignant disturbance penetrating his body.

  He thought he was communing with nature, labored by desire. His spirit mingled with the spirits of all things. In the question that he had asked himself, it was the entire universe that now appeared to be taking an interest.

  Nothing, he thought, can escape the blind need to hurl semen profoundly into the profound mold of generations, to enjoy and to create.

  His youth, his long chastity and his ignorance of women now enfevered his thought, and rendered it sharp and vehement.

  The best way to fathom amour would be to know sensuality.

  Those words suddenly emerged in his mind, so precise and so clear that he thought someone had murmured them in his ear, or that his own daemon had dictated them to him.

  To love, know desire!

  And a great tenderness enveloped his soul as he approached the Poecile.

  There, the silence seemed animated by the hum of insects, and the palpitation of their myriad iridescent wings.

  The rare flowers were bursting forth all around, the richness of the new sap was melting the bark of the trees, and greener and more tender grass was enlacing the bases of the columns.

  The inexhaustible thirst to possess and be extinguished, Plato thought, is so imperious, so powerful, that the immortals themselves abandon themselves to it. The inflamed breath of desire reaches Olympus. Jupiter, the supreme god, is also the supreme lover, taking by turns the aspect of humans and birds, animals and natural forces, in order better to love and confound himself with the beloved. A rain of gold, a swan with a muscular neck, a bellowing bull, he exhausts the forms of enjoyment and participates in a thousand varied and delectable fashions in the universal and multiple desire.