Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  The coming year, said Kebren, begins in the dying year; and his words producing no response he looked from one son to the other. You remember the early ploughman? he asked. The early ploughman? Rhesos repeated. He who directed us soon after we left Athens, Kebren answered. Yes, I remember, father. Are you, then, heedless of the countryman’s toil, of everything except the placing of a pillar and the carving of a nose? The Parthenon rests on the back of that countryman who drove his plough through the crabbed little field. His labour in the field is not unworthy, Rhesos, inasmuch as it allows thee to labour upon a statue for the adornment of a temple; and the same reproof I administer to thee, Thrasillos. Without the oxen and the plough, and the peasant with the goad behind the oxen, the walls of the Parthenon could not be raised. I cannot accept art as worthy if it shuts out all other comprehension of life. The boys did not answer, thinking silence was the best weapon of defence, and they rode on without speaking till at last Kebren, unable to contain himself any longer, said: Your mother will be pleased to see your faces again, no doubt, but she’ll have a great deal to say about the prank you played on us. Nor is this the first anxiety you have caused her. It may be as well to tell you that her words to me were that she was glad of my homecoming for more reasons than one. Thou’rt thinking now, father, of the journey to Troy. Thou and she were agreed — No, Rhesos, I am not thinking of that journey, but of thy wilfulness in spending whole days in the dangerous woods, nights, too, building a shelter amid the branches of a tree. To escape from the wolves, what else, father? Thou wouldst not have us overtaken and eaten? Better that we should be in the branches with Ajax in our arms — Ajax?

  Kebren asked, astonished. Who is Ajax? A wolf cub that is growing into the handsomest wolf in Greece. The handsomest wolf in Greece! repeated the perplexed Kebren. An affectionate animal, Rhesos continued, that will know thee to be my father and will receive thee joyfully when we visit him in his kennel. And to escape from further misunderstandings he told Kebren that Ajax was stolen by them before he was a month old.

  Three of the cubs ran back into the earth, but Ajax having ventured farther than the others, we picked him up, and each taking his turn to carry him we were within a few yards of the tree in which we had built our shelter when Thrasillos said: She is after us! We had only just time to climb into the branches before the wolf sprang, but fell back, wolves not having claws for the climbing of trees. Thrasillos was for throwing her the cub, but I was for keeping him, saying: If we could only stop his whining she might leave us for the sake of the others awaiting her in the den. But wolves live only in the present, father, and we might have been in the tree all night if a shepherd had not come by with his dogs and blown a signal for help on his pipe; and mother wolf, seeing herself outnumbered —— — Slunk away, Kebren interjected; but didst thou find some complacent bitch to rear Ajax? We searched the town for one, and Ajax would have died if I hadn’t bethought myself of a rag dipped in warm milk. He was stubborn enough, and a hard job it was to get enough milk down his throat to keep him alive, but in the second week a change came over him, and he caught at the cloth eagerly as he would at the dug, and when he had had enough he climbed about me, clasping me with his paws. As soon as he could lap we gave him soup with soft meat in it, but he didn’t begin to thrive till we gave him raw meat. And better than his meat he likes honey cake, said Thrasillos; he knows supper-time, when it will be handed round, and if we delay to give him a piece he reproaches us with his eyes. He won’t snap, but will take his piece quietly into a corner that he may enjoy it the more — And he won’t worry for more when he hath eaten his share, cried Rhesos. He is satisfied always with just treatment — a handsome, shaggy animal with a bushy tail, on good terms with everybody in the house but acknowledging none but me. He comes to me when thou art away, said Thrasillos, but if we were to turn him out into the woods to shift for himself, he’d come round the house after thee. Which is but reasonable, since it was I that mothered him! thou’lt love him as much as we do, father, when thou seest him running up and down in his pen, putting back his ears when we call out his name; he loves his name. How is it that I have never heard of this admirable animal before? Kebren asked. Thou hast been but a fortnight back from the sea, father; and most of the fortnight, Rhesos added, hath been spent in the counting-house with grandfather. He waited for an answer, wondering of what his father was thinking. Thinking of the Parthenon? of Phidias? of Ajax? he inquired. If I was thinking of anything, Kebren replied, it was of the leaves showering about us, without knowledge of their destination, like ourselves; and the remark seeming to Rhesos trite and old-fashioned, he laughed. Laughing at thine old father’s philosophy, Kebren said good-humouredly. Is it not true, Rhesos, that we are as casual as the leaves? But thou’rt too young to philosophise. Still, thou hast thoughts, for to be mortal is to think. Of what art thou thinking? Not of what I am saying to thee, that I can see! My thoughts were not on the witlessness of leaves, father, but on you hound going by bent upon his instinct: he scents a boar, and his stem is wagging in his confidence that he can catch the beast by himself. And thou, Thrasillos, of what art thou thinking? Kebren asked. Of riding on ahead to tell the huntsman that he must cast forward, Thrasillos answered. I would not have the boar escape, he called back. And they pricked on, leaving their father asking himself if Rhesos was a judge of words.

  Of shapes and forms he certainly is, but of his judgment of words we know nothing. He is a sculptor in hand and heart. But a mind is needed for sculpture as much as for philosophy. And his thoughts turning to the eagerness with which both his sons had left him to follow a boar hunt, he defended them against a charge of selfishness, saying: Every youth would have left his father to ride home alone that he might follow a hunt. I do not blame them. But my dream on board the galley, was to return to Aulis to be my sons’ companion, to share their ideas and ambitions — a vain dream, shattered when I stepped on shore to hear that I had done well to return, for my children needed a parent’s admonition. Thrasillos she could still manage, but Rhesos was beyond her. She had all the pleasure there was to be had out of the children, and she welcomed me home again to thwart them, to deny them the right to go to Troy; and seeing that I, too, was against them, they embarked in a fisherman’s boat. But when we met on the steps of the Parthenon and Rhesos opened his box and showed his group to Phidias, I rejoiced, and when Phidias said: — Let them come to Athens to learn their trades, again I rejoiced, although I knew that Athens would separate me from them. I came back for their sakes, looking forward to telling the stories I had fixed in my memory for their delight; but they are young men now, or very nearly, and will leave us in a few days to come back to tell me their stories.

  From far and near the horns sounded, and a great boar, his sow beside him, came galloping down a glade, leading a long string of younglings only just off the dugs. Soon they will be surrounded, said Kebren, the old boar ripping up a hound or two before the hunters come up with their long spears. And so vivid was his foreseeing of the hounds rushing upon their quarry, tearing and snarling and being tossed hither and thither, that he forgot his horse, and the animal grazed, Kebren sitting like a stock upon him. At last the forest was silent, and his thoughts, too, were hushed. Nothing remained but a sense of his unhappiness, an unhappiness from which he could not escape, having root in the very substance of his being; and more than once on his way home he muttered: — An unhappiness which may one day press me to my own destruction.

  CHAPTER X

  AJAX DWELT IN a little paddock enclosed with high railings, and up and down it he ran, laying his ears back when Rhesos called: Ajax! Have a care, Rhesos! cried Kebren. But Ajax had no thought for biting the hand that had fed him from cubhood, only for licking it; and when Rhesos opened the door at the back of the den and closed it behind him, the wolf pounced upon him, laying him flat, and again there was a cry from the anxious father. Rhesos, calling to Ajax to get down, sought in his basket for mutton bones: these beguiled the wolf for a moment, but h
e was soon on his hind-legs again, his front paws about his master’s neck, going away again for a crunch and returning for another romp. His love for thee is very touching, Rhesos, and thou art right — a handsome animal, as handsome as any I have seen, with intelligent, watchful eyes, and ears that lie back with pleasure when he hears his name. And there were further manifestations of affection and another distribution of victuals, which Ajax brought into his den, to return to when he was free from visitors. He’ll miss me terribly, said Rhesos, but every week I’ll try to come to Aulis to make sure that he is not being neglected. But art sure thou’rt leaving us to-night, father? And all the way to the house Rhesos tried to dissuade Kebren, Thrasillos lingering in the rear, running forward when he could stifle his sobs to beg his father to stay with them. We thought thou hadst returned from the seas to tell us stories. Remain a little while longer; leave us, since thou must, by the next ship. Thy grief will be the same, Thrasillos, whether I sail to-night or in a week’s time. Wherefore betake ye to your crafts in Athens, looking forward to my return, which will be when you have learnt them. But when we have learnt them, father, we shall have to start on a long itinerary, journeying from city to city all over the Greek world, building temples and carving statues. Let us forget the misfortunes that lie ahead of us, Kebren answered; those that are nigh are more than enough. I must leave Aulis, for there is no work for me here. The counting-house, father? Every man must have a tryst in the future, Thrasillos. My departure will be broached at the evening meal, and do ye abstain from questions. Should Thrasillos blubber, said Rhesos, I’ll pinch him. And I’ll pinch thee back again! cried Thrasillos. I would have no squabbling, Kebren interjected reprovingly. I’ll plead sleepy-head, father, and we’ll meet thee on the wharves later.... But Biote’s impatience made Rhesos’s plea needless; she bade her sons to their beds when the meal was over, and waited for Otanes to ask Kebren if he might not be dissuaded.

  In the past I have always had to think of others first, Kebren replied, and Biote looked up, surprised by an unwonted firmness in his voice. For long years thou wert happy in Aulis. True, Otanes, but my sons are going to Athens to learn their crafts and there is no work for me here. I smouldered in thy counting-house for ten years, and might have continued to smoulder if thou hadst not bidden me to the Ægean to reorganise thy trade. Thou earnest to us a wanderer, said Biote, and wouldst be a wanderer again. And whilst Kebren considered her words, she added: Thou art like thine own sons, and wouldst prove thyself in some adventure a worthy parent. I will leave you both to settle how long Kebren’s probation shall last. She gathered up her work, and when the door closed the men sat abashed, Otanes breaking silence with the words: The house will be lonely without thee. Without me and without my sons, of whom I have seen little, Biote having got all the pleasure of watching their bodies and their minds pass from boyhood into manhood. She misconceives the purpose of my going, that there is little work for me to do in the counting-house and that I may prove more successful in finding new outlets for our trade in the Euxine than I was in the Ægean; nor have I hope of heroic adventures for myself; my thoughts will be always on the advancement of our business, and the hour that is even now passing swiftly (the Calypso looses for the Hellespont at daybreak) I would apply to learning from thee some part of thy knowledge of the Greek cities, Sinope and Dioscurias and others, all that thou canst call to mind. It is many a year since I traded in the Euxine, replied Otanes, but I’ll tell all that I remember; perchance a word here and there may help thee. And he rambled on pleasantly till Kebren rose to his feet to keep his tryst with his sons on the wharf. We shall meet again two years hence under this roof, he said, moving towards the door. Otanes did not answer, but his face spoke for him, and Kebren read: I may not be here. And to make an end of the constraint of parting, he crossed the threshold abruptly, delaying in the courtyard to hear the bar of the door being put up: but he waited in vain, for Otanes had told Timotheus to leave the door on the jar lest Kebren might rue his departure and return to them.... How still the night is, and how starry. I shall hear doves coo again, but mayhap never in the dove-cote above the gateway; and as he wandered through the familiar streets he scanned every angle as if he were afraid he might forget them. At last the shipping came into view, anchored in midstream, and choosing a seat amid the bales of merchandise ready for loading, he awaited the arrival of his sons, interested in the white stars shining through the rigging and in the black shadow that a great barrel threw across the moonlit wharf, his meditation disturbed by Rhesos’s voice: We escaped from the house as quietly as we did on the night we sailed to Athens, leaving mother and grandfather sleeping in their beds. But how will you get back to the house without your absence being discovered? We shall tap at Timotheus’s window, Rhesos answered. Now to the story of the pyramid, father. Story of the pyramid? Kebren repeated, with a false note of surprise in his voice. From whom did you hear of this story? We’ve not heard the whole story, said Thrasillos, only hints from mother; and when we begged her to describe the pyramid to us, she could only say: — I have never been out of Aulis; you must ask your father. But from whom didst thou hear the story, father? From somebody whilst thou wast there? Yes, Kebren answered; a story well enough for those who have seen the pyramid, but words have little power to help you to see in your thoughts that mountain of stone pointing upwards, black amid the stars. But thou speakest to an architect and a sculptor, said Rhesos, and we can see in our minds a great square of stone sloping into a point. Thou hast sight of it, Kebren replied, and when I tell that twenty thousand slaves were working on it for twenty years, you will know enough of the pyramid to understand the great skill that was needed to rob it. Mother spoke of a secret door, said Thrasillos. A door there was certainly, else the royal corpse of Cheops could not have passed into the funeral chamber. But the door was sought in vain — Till the man thou didst meet in thy walk under the pyramid pointed it out to thee?

  He came upon me one night on footsteps so silent that I was near to screaming, and called out: — Cheops, is it thou? for truly I thought it was the ghost of Cheops. Thy pardon, he said, for breaking in upon thy dream, sir. My dream? I repeated. Thou wert dreaming belike of Cheops lying yonder in his coffin in the central chamber. Tell me, said I, since thou knowest the story, how many years he hath been waiting for his resurrection — the belief of Egypt thou must know, Thrasillos, is that the dead rise to mingle among the Gods, to become Gods, and to return to earth again after thousands of years in the shapes of animals. Among the Gods of Egypt one at least is hawk-headed, and the crocodile is sacred. Wert thou not fearful of such monsters, father? Thrasillos, cease thine interruptions, said Rhesos, or we shall not hear the end of the story. Did the stranger show thee Cheops in his coffin? Cheops hath not been in his pyramid for countless ages, Kebren answered. His pyramid was broken into by robbers soon after his death. And it was from the stranger thou didst hear of the robbery? Thrasillos asked. Yes. But how did he know that the pyramid had been broken into? Did the robbers leave the door open behind them? No, they closed it, and so well did they close it that none hath been able to discover it since. The pyramid was built, said Rhesos, thousands of years before Homer. My very words to the stranger, Kebren replied, and his answer to me was that his own ancestor had raided Africa, bringing back whole tribes to build it. My ancestor, he continued, designed the sheathing of this great heap of stones in slabs closely fitted together, making the task of finding the doorway all but impossible. The climber would have to test every slab in turn. But the builders? cried I. Only a few hundreds knew of the placing of the door, he answered, and there is always a great massacre of slaves at the completion of a royal tomb. But one escaped? I asked. One certainly escaped, said he, for the king was not lying in his tomb many months before it was robbed. Hath any then entered the tomb since that first violation of it? None, the stranger answered. And the secret of the tomb is again lost? Not lost, he replied. The number of the slab behind which is the door is given in a manuscript wri
tten by my ancestor, the trusted confidant of the king. And no suspicion fell upon thy ancestor I asked. None; it was he who discovered the robbers at their work. A sterile secret, I said, is deposited in the manuscript if Cheops hath been robbed of all his riches and his mummy broken up and scattered. Not altogether sterile, the stranger replied, for the robbers could not take all the gold and jewels away in a single night and dared not leave the pyramid open; and their plundering being interrupted, they dared not return to it. But thou’lt be able to judge better how such things came to pass when thou hast heard the story.