“He often goes like that when on guard. He is – ”
“The stonemason, yes. I know about him. He visits parties given by my uncle’s whore.”
They watch the figure on the ridge for a while. The Darling says, “That mason is a fweind of Heavenly Weason.”
“Is any Athenian NOT a friend of heavenly reason?”
“I’m talking about Anaxagoras, the physics expert. We call him Heavenly Weason because he says the world was formed by heavenly…” (with an effort he manages to say) “…reason. And that’s why it’s weasonable.”
“Too abstract,” says the farmer shaking his head. “If the world is a solid ball like some people say then it must have been punched into shape by something tough. A physics expert! Is he one of those who say the sun and stars are made of the same stuff as the ground?”
“Yes,” says The Darling, drinking again.
“That’s idiotic! The ground doesn’t shine. The stars do.”
“What about meteorites?” asks the seated soldier.
“Well, what about them, grocer-boy?”
“My mother gave up the shop years ago,” says the other, standing and stretching his arms, “and how do you explain meteorites? Little lumps of white-hot iron that sometimes fall out of the sky, usually at night. The country folk call them falling stars.”
The farmer frowns. The Darling and other soldier grin at each other. The farmer suddenly snaps his fingers and says, “Criminal little beetles occasionally say something blasphemous about Almighty God so the Eternal Father uses a little tiny thunderbolt to squash them flat. So be very careful, you comedian!”
The comedian laughs, hugs him and reaches for the flask saying, “Give me a swig of that.”
The Darling hands it over, smiling and saying, “No wonder Athens is named after the goddess of wisdom.”
“Yes,” says the farmer cheerfully. “Not every nation has common citizens as wise as the head of state and his nephew!” The Darling stops smiling and a moment later says dryly, “I’ll leave you now. The sun’s coming up.”
All three look eastward. Under the brightening sky a tiny line of piercing golden light is widening along the sea-sill. As if talking to a friend the mason says, “Welcome great Apollo, God of Day, Light of Life, Giver of Harvest and Harmony.” These are the first words of the Greek hymn to the sun. The others recite along with him saying “Thank you for overcoming chaos, the dark and cold in your bright chariot. Give truth to your oracles, peace to your shrines, wealth and grandeur, wisdom and victory to Athens, her people and allies for ever. Amen.”
The mason stretches his arms, skips to exercize his legs, jumps down from the ridge. Taking the last onion from the rock he removes the withered outer skin, sits down and chews it with appetite. The Darling, having paused to watch this, says jauntily, “I thought you experts believed the sun was a ball of white-hot iwon bigger than Peloponnesia.”
The mason looks steadily at the beautiful young man, clears his mouth and says quietly, “When a body gives me warmth and beauty I want to thank him, whatever he’s made of.”
His shyly teasing tone is flirtatious. The Darling sees the farmer and comedian watching with amused interest. He gestures farewell and strides away.
“Hard luck old chap!” says the farmer, chuckling. “You’re too ugly for him.”
He reclaims the flask and rummages again in the satchels.
The stonemason finishes eating the onion. The comedian asks, “What did your demon say this time?”
“I’m to sell the stoneyard.”
“Give up your business? Why?”
“I don’t know. He gives orders, not explanations. He seems to have grown tired of questions that recently fascinated me. What is the essential substance of the universe? Water, as Thales thinks? The fire of Heraclitus? The single solid unchanging globe of Parmenides or the eternal indivisible atoms of our friend Anaxagoras?”
“I prefer the Pythagorean Brotherhood’s idea,” says the comedian, grinning. “They say numbers make the shape and sound of everything from the globe of the earth to the strings of the harp, twing twang twong.”
“How do such things influence our conduct?”
“They don’t. Only gods do that.”
“Not much! Eros, Mars and Dionysus can certainly drive us mad, but they let us act how we want if we respect their shrines and titles like our neighbours do. So if even gods do not teach us to be better men they are as small a part of earthly wisdom – as little earthly use as scientific theories of the universe.”
“Priests and poets need gods and experts need theories.”
“Yes, as a source of income, but the wisdom of the state – the wisdom that keeps us alive and comfortable – is in the skill of labourers and craftsmen, the abilities of weavers, smiths, sailors, merchants…”
“You need my skills most!” says the farmer. He has placed a loaf like a small boulder on the rock, has hacked it with his sword into three equal parts and is moistening them with the last of the Ionian’s wine. The mason nods to him, says, “True. And what unites all people in a healthy state is honesty and mutual trust, things taught by our mothers when we are tiny children, not by priests and experts.”
“Perhaps,” says the comedian, smiling, “ though my mother taught me it was right to cheat customers if they never found out. But why sell the stoneyard if there’s more wisdom, more virtue in being an honest tradesman?”
“I don’t know,” says the mason frowning and picking up his share of the breakfast.
“And how will you live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” says the comedian with a sudden air of great gaiety, “since Pericles introduced payment for parliamentary attendance and jury service it isn’t hard for an unemployed Athenian to scrounge a living.”
The mason twists his mouth as though tasting sourness but again nods agreement.
3: STATE FUNERAL
Nations and single people are only happy when feeling as good as their neighbours or even better. Five centuries before Jesus was born Israel was proud of having the one true God, Egypt of having the oldest history and buildings, Phoenicia the greatest merchant navy, Persia the biggest empire. Though lacking all these things Greece – especially Athenian Greece – had the first people proud of being most modern. Greek historians agreed that everything Grecian except the poetry of Homer and Hesiod had been shared with, or learned from, surrounding nations a century or two earlier, but the Greek states had so improved this borrowed knowledge that their governments, laws, town planning, art, medicine, philosophy, athletic games and ships that these were now the best anywhere. But like all other people, tribal or civilized, nomads or settled, ancient or modern, they knew funeral services make the dead less liable to haunt the living. Battles between Greek states were followed by a truce to let each side retrieve their dead and give them decent funerals.
The bodies of those killed in early warfare between the Athenian and Spartan leagues had been returned to their families for private mourning. The Athenian remains would now be publicly entombed in a cemetery beside the cliff of the Acropolis. Each electoral district had brought the bones of its dead in a single big coffin, and these now lay in a row beside an empty coffin representing bodies that had not been recovered. All would be placed in the mausoleum designed by Phidias, sculptor and master of public works, but first a speech must be made. In Athens no priest had more authority than a minister of state. Pericles, the state’s chief minister, normally avoided public speaking because many Athenians resented conspicuous men so much that they sometimes voted to banish them for that reason only, but today Pericles had to speak because his political programme was in danger. Anti-war speeches were increasingly heard in the marketplace, in parliament and in the comedies of Aristophanes. If he did not speak now, whoever did would be thought a mouthpiece he was hiding behind, or a politician bidding to replace him.
From the shadow of the mausoleum he saw what seemed all Athens assemble. Like every lar
ge Greek gathering outside parliament (which only men attended) it was dividing sexually. On one side were men not abroad on military service, and since many were abroad the wives, daughters and mothers on the other side were a larger crowd. Women could not vote – were supposed to be powerless – but Pericles did not doubt their influence and knew that among them anti-war feelings were strongest. For a moment he envied the leaders of Sparta where mothers were proud of sons who died fighting for their country, ashamed of those defeated in battle. He was relieved to notice the male side being increased by an influx of resident aliens – shipwrights, builders and experts who had found work in Athens since the United National Greek defence fund had been brought there from Delphi. The aliens, like women, could not vote but they certainly supported his war policy. His speech would have to respect every shade of opinion present without verging a fraction from that policy. He sighed, climbed upon a rostrum overlooking the crowd and coffins, then stood patiently until those who saw him fell silent. When silence was complete his firm, even voice reached everyone in his audience without seeming to shout.
“I will start by begging all the gods for help. May potent Zeus, fertile Ceres, earth-shaking Poseidon – may harmonious Apollo, lovely Aphrodite, swift Hermes, chaste Selena – may the wise virgin Athena who names our city and The Kindly Ones who guard it in their cavern under the Acropolis – let all these unite to stop me saying anything false or unsuitable.
“The death of these men we are mourning has deprived this year of its Spring. They have become like the gods – great beings we will never see again, but must never forget while holding them in the greatest honour and respect. But I cannot praise them without also praising the city that bred them. This Athens they died defending is unique.
“We call ourselves a democracy because we are not ruled by a king, or by the rich, or by a political clique elected every year or two. We rule ourselves, all the free men of Athens meeting daily or weekly to discuss and vote upon the business of the state. We make our own laws, gladly obeying the will of the majority. When a leader must be elected to do a special piece of business, what counts is not wealth but ability – nobody with great abilities is denied power because he is poor. And our private lives are as free and open as our politics! If our neighbour wants to enjoy himself in a way that is not our own we do not sneer or throw him black looks – we are tolerant, and friendly. Our homes and public buildings are comfortable and beautiful, but that has not made us soft. Our Empire brings us goods from all over the world, but that has not made us extravagant. In civilized living Athens is recognized as the teacher of the world. Our Spartan enemies are taught to fight from infancy. They do without all the good things of life, in order not to be afraid of death. Yet we, who enjoy every reasonable pleasure, fight just as well as they! We know that happiness depends on freedom, and freedom depends on courage. Which is why these men died. Their death has not made them greater men than you here who fought and still live. But let their bones remind us that this war must not end before we win it.
“Many grief-stricken folk are understandably angry with me. In arguing for war I voiced the will of the majority, but my voice was most outspoken. We knew then that we would lose sons, brothers, fathers, neighbours, yes! perhaps our own lives. And now it is happening and some have forgotten why we went to war. Let me remind you.
“Fifty years ago the Persian king, having conquered Babylon, Arabia and Egypt, decided to add Europe to his empire, beginning (of course) with Greece. He built a bridge of boats over the Hellespont and crossed it with the biggest army the world has ever seen. Greek states collapsed before that army while his mighty fleet accompanied it along our coasts – every Greek state surrendered to him except Athens. We knew that a great city is not made of houses, streets, temples: it is the people! The Athenian citizens went into their ships and fought back while the Persians in futile rage wrecked our buildings. Whereupon the rest of Greece, starting with Sparta, followed our example, and joined us against the invaders. The Gods also joined us – they were tired of Persian successes. They sent a storm that wrecked the enemy fleet. Asia retreated.
“It retreated, but only a strong Greek alliance can stop it returning. Every Greek state once knew that. Only one state is fit to lead that alliance: ours. Sparta did not want the job. The military class who rule it are too busy holding down their serfs to lead the united Greek nations. So the defence of Greece was handed to Athens by every Greek state, whether democratic or not. Ship-owning cities put their vessels under our command. Those without ships, or who do not want the trouble of maintaining a ship, pay us taxes to defend them – except one or two who take us so much for granted that they want us to defend them for nothing! Which is cowardly and unjust. They complain because we use part of the defence fund to rebuild Athens better than it was before the Persians demolished it. Yes, people who kept their own cities intact by surrendering to barbarians resent our magnificence. Are they right to be jealous? These dead men did not think so.
“To those who are not convinced I will put the argument differently. You rightly think our wartime sufferings may grow greater and still not bring us victory. Why should half of Greek civilization fight the other half for the right to tax some coastal cities? Let these cities join the Spartan alliance if they wish! Make peace! But if these small cities are allowed to leave our Empire you can be sure that three or four bigger ones will also abandon us. Making peace now will not end this war, it will lead to a bigger war on a larger front, a war we would lose. Making peace now means giving up our Empire. Some people, in a mood of political apathy or sudden panic think this a fine and noble thing to do. But it is now impossible to give up our Empire. It may have been wrong to establish it. It would be suicide to let it go. We have roused too much hatred in the states we are – ”(he pondered for a moment) “ – protecting. Which is also why these men died.
“It remains for me to say what the wise among you already know: we need not dread the warfare ahead while we, the free citizens, stay brave, cautious and united. Look at the hills surrounding us on three sides – see those rocky summits and well-farmed slopes planted with vines, olives and fig trees. Yes, they send our market delicious produce. But if Spartan armies were camped on every one of these hills our democracy could not be defeated, even if they camped there for years. Impregnable walls now join Athens to the harbour and the ships bringing us everything necessary to life and enjoyment. Athens still rules the sea as we did when ours was the solitary state that, with the help of the gods, saved European civilization from Asiatic barbarism. The courage and unity of our fathers made that victory. These dead men are their worthy sons. Let us entomb them with all the honours they deserve.”
Applause was not part of the funeral rite but a deep murmur in the crowd showed the speech was widely approved. As he left the rostrum young women pressed forward to clasp his hands, two with flowery wreaths they tried to put on his head. With upraised hands he prevented that, pointing to coffins they should adorn instead.
“A noble speech, Pericles!” shouted a stern voice from a group of older women, relatives of a famous dead patriot. “You deserve crowns of sweet-smelling flowers! My brother fought for Athenian freedom against the Persians and Phoenicians! You have led our brave men to destroy a Greek city that was recently our ally, and gained nothing for Athens but the corpses of our men and the hatred of fellow Greeks!”
“Then why add perfumes to a grey old head Elpenice?” he asked sadly, then hurried into the male crowd at its thickest.
4: DOMESTIC INTERIOR
Socrates, no longer soldier or mason, sat at home mending a sandal. Being skilled with edged tools he neatly sliced off the frayed end of a strap and cut threads binding it to the buckle. With an awl he pierced a line of holes in the strap’s clean new edge and prepared to stitch on the buckle, using a bone needle and strong thread from his wife’s sewing box. He knew the buckle should be both stitched and knotted to the strap, but how tie the knots? The other sandal would
show. Bending to remove it from his foot he came face to face with a small boy playing under the table. The boy stared at him solemnly, a clay model of a little man in one hand, a model of a ship in the other.
“Boo,” said Socrates.
He placed the whole sandal on the table beside the other and studied the knots round its buckle, sighing slightly because they were intricate and because free Athenian males were not used to sewing. His wife, suckling their youngest child across the table from him, had been silent all day. He knew why she was angry, had not broken the silence between them because it would start an argument he could not win. He hoped to leave the house without argument, perhaps going barefoot, as many thrifty yet respected Athenians did. But that would provoke remarks from friends who thought him henpecked and knew he normally wore sandals. He gripped the needle and started stitching.
“You’re going out again,” said his wife.
“Yes, Tippy.”
“To the gymnasium again.”
“Yes, Tippy.”
“Where you will chat to a lot of pretty young men.”
“I talk to any who will listen Tippy, but beauty adds zest to conversations.”
“And from the gymnasium you’ll go to that prostitute’s house and mix with dirty sluts and foreign experts and rich young loungers like The Darling.”
“Yes, Tippy.”
“Get them to give you money!”
She stood, laid the baby in a cradle and put a bone ring between its gums. He murmured, “Surely the larder isn’t empty?”
“It will be tomorrow.”
“But market people trust you.”
“Yes, because I pay what I owe whenever I manage to screw money out of my famous, feckless, useless husband. O I hate being a poor man’s wife. Give me that.”
She sat beside him, seized sandal and needle and deftly worked with them, saying through clenched teeth, “I wish our slave had not died.”
Old Men in Love Page 3