by Karen Essex
“You realize that no one would ever prosecute a man on these charges?” I said.
“Of course no one would. All sorts of men have posed for sculptors, provoking no outrage,” Sokrates replied.
“And that men invite whomever they please to their homes and are not held responsible for the behavior of their guests?”
“That is so, Aspasia, but entirely irrelevant to the matter at hand.”
“Your strategy makes sense, Sokrates, but I am baffled as to how I might carry off this charade of being a good and obedient woman.”
“Personally, I am always guided by an inner daimon, which tells me how to behave at all times. I am convinced that all human beings have a spirit of this sort who resides in them, and who will direct words and actions to the highest possible outcome. I encourage you to find yours, and allow it to carry you through the trial.”
THE TRIAL COULD NOT be held in any of the usual courts. Nosy men had awakened long before dawn to stand in line to serve on the jury or to attend the proceedings. Athens was widely known for its “court-o-philes,” those old men who were addicted to observing litigation and serving on juries. But the case against me seemed to turn the entire city into that caricature. Two thousand potential jurors showed up and insisted upon being selected for the trial. No one wished to be denied the privilege of seeing me tried for my alleged crimes, and no official wished to be the person who denied the citizens. Even the Odeion was too small to accommodate the hordes of spectators. The Pnyx, where the Assembly tried its cases, was rejected in favor of the Theater of Dionysus, perhaps to give the good citizens of Athens the theatrical production they anticipated and hoped for.
Here the prosecutor, Hermippus, the nasty, one-eyed, foul-tongued comic poet, would feel most at home, since one of his plays had been produced in the theater earlier in the year. In it, he had created a character named Perikles, who was an inveterate carouser, taking his pleasure while enemies invaded Athens. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but the parody of Athens’s leading citizen did garner quite a few laughs, even from Perikles, who always considered himself to be above redressing such attacks on his character.
Magistrates sat in the row of marble seats decorated with all the symbols of Athens—olive wreaths; the goddess Athena with her owl, the embodiment of wisdom, perched on her shoulder; and the goddess’s impregnable shield. I heard little gasps from the nearby spectators as I was led to my seat. Sokrates had been correct; the presence of a female at her own trial was unprecedented. Yet I saw Elpinike seated with those who had gathered to testify against me. Undoubtedly the prosecution had been informed that I, a woman, would speak in my own defense, so, in the interest of balance, another female could be called to speak against me. The court official pointed to the chair in which I was to sit. Carved upon it was an image of the hero Theseus running his sword through an Amazon.
“How fitting,” I said to my escort. “Another woman being slaughtered.”
I sat down, self-satisfied, allowing the marble warmed by the rising sun to soothe my back, which had been hurting these last weeks—a typical ailment in pregnancy, I was told. In the center of the stage sat a huge altar, common to many theaters in Greece. I imagined myself lying upon it by the day’s end, the sacrificial victim offered up to assuage the anger of Perikles’ enemies. I had sat in this very seat several times, next to Perikles, as we enjoyed theatrical presentations. Would this be my last time here? Though no one thought that I would be executed for my crimes if convicted, some thought that I might be banished from the city. If Perikles were ever ostracized, I would accompany him into exile, and we would remain together, whereas if I were sent away from Athens, he could not possibly follow. The threat of this outcome grieved me the most.
The proceedings were not ceremonious. Hermippus, his one eye squinting in the morning sunlight, repeated the charges for the jury—impiety and procurement. The two witnesses for the prosecution, Alkibiades and Elpinike, sat on the opposite side of the row from me, along with several young men whom I recognized as Pheidias’ apprentices. Alkibiades would not meet my eye, but Elpinike had no problem staring at me like a wolf would stare at wounded prey. But I was not wounded, and she would know it by the time the trial had ended.
I was filled with confidence. Perhaps pregnancy brought with it special powers. Women had to protect their unborn children, and with that responsibility came a feeling of ferocity, at least for me. In the beginning, I had felt vulnerable and ill; now, six months later, I felt full of life—bursting with it, and with love for my unborn baby. I had taken Sokrates’ advice and called upon my inner daimon. I felt that the creature would make itself known to me today and, just as my friend had said, would guide me through the ordeal.
Perikles did not sit next to me, as we did not want it to appear that he was on trial with me. I had only one witness to call in my defense, Diotima, who sat in the usual chair reserved for the High Priestess. None of the men whose wives had attended the party would testify. Anger against them for allowing their wives to commit that grave transgression was running too high, and some of the men said they had been threatened with ostracism. Diotima looked mightily annoyed that she was to spend her morning occupied this way. I only hoped that the sun would not rise too high before the trial was over. She could easily decide that she was getting too warm and get up and leave before giving her testimony.
I was also disquieted by the presence of the Board of Ten, the council responsible for keeping highways open and clear. The board also set the price for streetwalkers and mediated disputes between men who fought over them, or between a girl and her customer. The councilmen had no regard for the girls; in every case, the customer was right—and not least because the councilmen were often customers. Why were they present at my trial? I supposed I would soon find out.
Just as Hermippus was about to call his first witness, Sokrates entered, waving at me as if we were running into one another at the agora. Was he going to make a surprise plea on my behalf? It would be just like him to enter unannounced and make a verbose case for my innocence. He should have asked my permission if he wished to speak on my behalf. Instead, he took a seat next to Elpinike. I felt rattled to the core. I would never have dreamt that Sokrates would betray me and agree to be a witness for my accusers. I hoped I could get past the hurt and the anger I felt over his outlandish treachery in time to defend myself. Wasn’t it he who advised me to eschew emotion when presenting my case? Surely he would have anticipated the anxiety he would cause in appearing thus. My confidence, surging just moments before, began to fizzle into a case of nerves.
Elpinike was the first witness to speak. “Since Aspasia arrived in Athens, she has brought nothing into this city but evil. The blood of Athenian war heroes is on her hands! Everyone knows that Perikles besieged the island of Samos to appease her when she complained of Samian aggression against her native Miletus. As if that were not bad enough, she used her friendship with Pheidias to imprint her own visage upon the face of the Mother Goddess.”
Hermippus nodded his head in agreement. “A council of magistrates has declared the likeness of the statue to Aspasia to be negligible,” he said. “But it is the defendant’s intention that is on trial here. She intended to offend the goddess, and any insult to a deity is an act of impiety, which is punishable by law.
“Athenians, Elpinike is a good woman, known for her patronage of the arts as well as her association with at least one of our finest and most beloved late artists. Let us hear how she discovered that Aspasia had committed this impious act.”
Elpinike straightened her carriage. “Thank you, Hermippus, for acknowledging my status in the artistic community. I like to keep abreast of all that is going on, as any good patron should, and these two young gentlemen who are about to bear witness to Aspasia’s crime brought to my attention the fact that she was positioning herself as the model for the colossal statue of the goddess, a statue paid for with public funds.”
She w
ent on to gloat some more about her insider status with young artists, how they came to her for advice, owing to her special relationship with Polygnotos. Now that the genius painter was no longer in this world, young men regarded her as the closest thing to him left on the earth and sought her company. Undoubtedly, she paid them for information, which was the way with meddling old women, but of course they would not admit to that in court. She went on and on about herself, and, frankly, I was delighted that she was taking the focus off of me and boring the jury with the details of her importance. She yapped until the device that measured speaking time ran out, and Hermippus had to remind her that her time was up. After she sat down, the apprentices took the witness stand and simply confirmed what Elpinike had said—that they saw me sit for Pheidias on several occasions during the time that he was trying to work out the details of Athena’s face.
“We cannot ask Pheidias, now can we, because his accomplice, Perikles, sent him away to Olympia! Very clever, sir!” Hermippus pointed his long, crooked finger in Perikles’ direction. “However, I have three witnesses who worked with the sculptor and who saw with their own eyes Aspasia seated before Pheidias as he drew her face. The last of those will speak now. I call to witness the sculptor Sokrates, son of the respected stonemason Sophroniscus. Sokrates has worked for three years with Pheidias on the Akropolis projects.”
I thought I was going to vomit as I watched my friend stand up and prepare to speak. He had been privy to my innermost thoughts, owing to the easy intimacy we had established in the very beginning of our relationship. Would I hear all of my words used against me now?
Sokrates took the stand and gave the same testimony as the two apprentices—he had seen me on several occasions sitting for Pheidias at the very time that the sculptor was working on Athena’s face. I could not believe that he stood there, testifying against me. I stared at him incredulously, but he did not look my way. Had he come under some threat against himself or his family? Witnesses were sometimes bullied into testifying, but Sokrates was not the sort that would succumb. I was certain that he was here of his own volition.
“May I add a bit of testimony that may help you to uncover the truth?” he asked Hermippus.
I froze, waiting for the ultimate betrayal, my insides turning against me with such vehemence that I worried for my unborn child, who was bathing in that noxious environment.
“I am known on the Akropolis for my love of conversation. Ask anyone, and they will tell you that Pheidias spent many hours in dialogue with me, if only to get me to do my work.”
For the first time, some of the toothless men of the jury smiled. I wanted to smile too, but I was afraid that this humorous introduction was soon to be turned against me.
“In our many hours of talking, Pheidias spent much time extolling the virtues and qualities not only of Aspasia, but of her face. He often declared that Aspasia’s face was the only one he ever saw that embodied the same beauty, courage, and wisdom that we attribute to the goddess. Pheidias did ask Aspasia to pose for him, and Aspasia agreed to sit, yes. But if he intended to use her image for the goddess, she was unaware of it.”
Now the old men began to talk loudly among themselves, and the presiding magistrates had to call for quiet.
“I have spent many hours in dialogue with Aspasia as well. You see, my friends, I live up to my reputation as a talker. I know Aspasia to be a generous woman—agreeable, and of the sort easily absorbed into the plans of powerful men. Of course, she did not wish to model for Pheidias. She did not even think it was a decent thing to do, and she worried over what Perikles would think of such a thing. But she is an obedient woman, loyal to Pheidias, who is a friend and associate of Perikles.”
The jurors began to mumble again among themselves. Alkibiades jumped out of his seat and shook an angry fist at Sokrates. “That is an outright lie! Aspasia is as obedient as a newborn buck. She is known throughout Athens as an outspoken woman who cannot keep her mouth shut under any circumstances!”
“She is keeping her mouth shut now,” Sokrates said calmly.
The jurors laughed out loud at this, but the magistrates pounded the gavels until everyone was silent.
Sokrates continued: “Aspasia is an intelligent woman, yes, but the fact remains that she is but a woman, subject to the higher will of men. When asked to pose by someone as illustrious and important as Pheidias, famed throughout the Greek world for his talents, what was she to do? She could not say no. Everyone knows that an artist of the caliber of Pheidias must be ruthless in pursuit of beauty. I am sure that the good Elpinike, familiar as she is with the mind of genius, would bear witness to that fact.”
Elpinike nodded in agreement, but without abandoning her look of contempt. Sokrates, paying her no attention, turned to the jurors.
“If the face of Aspasia haunted the sculptor’s chisel while he formed the face of the goddess, the lady was not aware of it, and therefore should bear no culpability.”
Hermippus was pacing impatiently, irritated with this turn of events. He looked jittery, wanting to get rid of Sokrates before he caused further harm to the prosecution. Sokrates, on the other hand, was beaming at the jury, stopping just short of taking a bow for his performance. He clearly loved being the fly in the prosecution’s ointment.
“How can you be certain that Aspasia had no idea of Pheidias’ intentions?” Hermippus asked gruffly.
“I have enjoyed the confidence of both Aspasia and Pheidias, and I assure you that this is one of the very few things of which I am absolutely certain.”
Hermippus opened his mouth to dismiss Sokrates, but the sculptor continued: “The men of Athens seek Aspasia’s rational advice on irrational matters such as relations with women. She is known to be expert in logical and rational thinking. No rational person would intentionally commit an act of evil, for everyone knows that it would bring the wrath of the community upon him. Aspasia seeks no one’s wrath, but everyone’s goodwill.” The theatrical setting brought out the actor in him.
“Thank you, Sokrates. Now please leave the stage,” Hermippus said firmly.
Sokrates had done me a great favor by professing my innocence, but some rebellious part of me wanted to prove him wrong, which would give me a tiny iota of momentary satisfaction, but which would undoubtedly put me in worse stead with the jury. Did I want to be right, or happy? I wanted to be right; all my life, I had struggled against being an obedient woman. To save me, he proclaimed me thus before all of Athens, and though this was in my highest interest, still I wished to dispute it. The war was raging inside me, but it was one I knew I would lose. For the sake of my baby, if not my own freedom, I had to compromise. I hoped that when it was my turn to defend myself, my daimon would not betray my passions, but would guide my words to strike the appropriate balance.
The day was getting hotter, and my emotions started to run as high as the temperature. I had been lost in my thoughts, not realizing that we had moved on to the second part of the charges—that I had solicited decent women to become prostitutes.
Alkibiades rose to testify. He looked at me, gloating, and then turned to the jury with his prepared speech. “As shocking as it may seem to decent men, in the home of Perikles, the women’s quarters are not separated from the men’s quarters. Aspasia, an unmarried woman, a courtesan, has run of the entire household. I, of course, prevent my own wife from entering the premises, though this woman is her sister.”
I wanted to jump up and ask if the freedom to move about one’s own house was a crime when I realized that it might be so. I was not so familiar with the laws of Athens that I knew the minute detail of every statute. I was almost certain that the separation of men’s and women’s living quarters was based on custom rather than law, but I could not be sure. In any case, the revelation that Perikles kept no separate quarters for the women of the house hit the jurors’ ears as scandalous, setting off a rumble of conversation among them.
“She must be a witch, with knowledge to make powerful potions,�
� Alkibiades said. “How else would she be able to manipulate an Athenian man into this sort of chaotic arrangement? This sort of leniency? She is breaking all natural laws by her behavior.”
True to character, Alkibiades was ranting just to hear his own words. I could see that Hermippus wanted to get his witness back to the topic of the charges against me.
“Alkibiades, you say that you witnessed Aspasia recruiting the wives of Athenian citizens for the purposes of prostitution. What did you see?”
“I entered the courtyard of the home as the wicked activities organized by Aspasia for the evening were reaching a climax. Fornication between men and women was taking place for all to see. Aspasia had invited the respectable women of Athens for the express purpose of corrupting them and seducing them into her own trade. She had tried to convince me to allow my own wife to attend the party but I wisely refused. I am pleased to say that my wife’s piety remains intact.
“The women at Aspasia’s party, however, had been plied with bowls of undiluted wine. I took it upon myself to sample the offerings. I could not believe what my tongue had discovered.”
This was a complete lie. In fact, the opposite was true. I had ordered the slaves to dilute the women’s wine. Whose wine had he tasted? I could not recall that he had stayed long enough to drink.
“Fellow Athenians, drunkenness could be the only explanation for what I saw. I witnessed the wives of Athenian citizens watching acts of open fornication as if they were at a theatrical performance.”
Now the jurors really had something to talk about. Alkibiades had to raise his voice in order for the rest of his lies to be heard. “My fellow Athenians! Here is the most scandalous part: Under Aspasia’s influence, the women were actually standing in line waiting for their turn with the men! Aspasia turned the home of Perikles into a brothel, and the women of Athens into its workers!”
“And was our own Olympian Perikles present as well?” Hermippus asked sardonically. “Or was he off chatting with the gods again?”
