by George Moore
Let us forth, Kebren, said Mnasalcas. We have delayed too long. Shearers are wily, and knowing me to have a guest they may be drowsing in the shade. And whilst talking of fleeces he called to a shepherd, saying: — Crook the lamb thou deemest to be at prime. A better lamb thou’lt never eat than this one, the shepherd replied, and the two men continued their walk through the plain, Kebren speaking of the letters he would dispatch by a fast ship to Cnidus. But will thy ship pursue the truants, asked Mnasalcas, if they have left Cnidus? Which is not likely, Kebren answered. A ship starting at daybreak to-morrow will reach Cnidus a day or two later than the Jason, so the Gods themselves could not devise anything happier than what they have sent. I am thankful to the Gods, said Mnasalcas, and this year they have sent me shearers that do not idle in the shade. Listen, Kebren; the clip, clip of the shears is golden music. But all these flocks are not thine, Mnasalcas? It is easy to tell mine if thou hast an eye for sheep, Mnasalcas answered. Of his rivals he had many tales to tell, but the sun being now above their heads the heat of the day withdrew their thoughts from all things except the shade of a plane-tree. But sheep have gathered round it circlewise, said Mnasalcas, and may have littered it with their dung; we must seek elsewhere. And they toiled on through the heat till they came to plane-trees free from the smell of sheep, and lay down, Mnasalcas saying: We could not pass the day pleasanter than here if my wife had not snatched the flagon from me. Thou hast a thought for the unruly snatch it was? Kebren nodded, drawing his cap over his eyes, but he was detained from sleep by Mnasalcas, who, starting suddenly out of a doze, said: — My thoughts are like gnats, fidgeting, keeping me awake. Kebren, who was of all things anxious that Mnasalcas should sleep, asked what his thoughts might be, and was answered: — Of the coming together of my girls and thy boys. Was it in Aulis or in Euboea that it happed? And when Kebren had told that Melissa and Earine, weary of squabbling, swam over from Euboea, determined to leave the judgment of their rumps to the first shepherd they met, Mnasalcas turned over and shook with unseemly laughter. The story smacks of Olympus, he said. And whilst Kebren wondered what the boor could mean, Mnasalcas continued: Do not the poets tell of quarrels between the Gods and the Goddesses? So now he doth believe that the Gods have had a hand in the making of these marriages! Kebren said to himself, and joined Mnasalcas in his vexation that there was not a flagon of wine in the grove wherewith to drink to their very good healths. As babies they were well shapen, Kebren, and we often had them out of their cradles, Leto and I, to admire them and dispute from which of us they got their shapes. And lucky indeed are the men that have got them; fine sport there will be under the quilts at Cnidus! Kebren would have liked to rise to his feet and leave this unruly fellow, but sleep darkened in his eyes and he passed away into dreams — dreams that began to fade out of his mind when he awoke. Thou hast been dreaming? Mnasalcas asked. I have indeed, Kebren answered, and he stared into the darkening leaves of the plane-trees, the life he had been living for many hours flying from him, leaving no recollection behind. The day is done, Kebren; it must be time to go home to supper. And they returned through the warm evening, Mnasalcas with his eyes upon Dirphys — Already losing his snow-cap, he said; and as the words passed his lips they came into view of Leto standing by the grove of plane-trees.
Ready to scold me for keeping the supper waiting? Not for keeping the supper waiting, she answered, but for keeping Kebren all to thyself the whole afternoon, counting fleeces and admiring sheep, or talking about shepherdesses, mayhap going in pursuit of one — not thou, Kebren, but my husband. We have been asleep in the shade, Kebren replied, the day being too hot for any such pursuits as thou hast in mind — too hot for talk even, for anything but sleep. I have been asleep, too, said Leto, idle as yourselves. Hadst thou any thought for me, Kebren, thou wouldst have brought Biote with thee.
Biote to-day is not the Biote thou knowest, Leto; her father’s death and the loss of her sons have laid her low. Her mind is not changed about the marriages? Leto asked. Not changed, Kebren answered, but she misses her sons. And I miss my daughters; but I am glad for their sakes that they are gone. Thou hearest, Mnasalcas? I hear thee, wife, and was won over before we fell asleep, for I heard the story of their swimming over to Aulis to find out which had the beautifullest bottom — silly things! I needed no shepherd to tell me that, said Leto. I told thee, wife; but I cannot say as much to-day as I did yesterday! An evil retort that may be to a wife who hath laid a pleasant supper before thee, Mnasalcas! said Kebren, and during the meal the talk turned upon which of the girls would give them grandchildren first. Melissa will be the first, said Leto; she looks more like a mother. And the talk flowed on, Mnasalcas withstanding his wife, Earine being his favourite. It is not eating you are, but talking, said Leto; I’d have you eat like wolves that have come across a lamb on a wintry day. But that reminds me of Ajax. How is he? And after a little talk about the wolf the servants were hailed, the table removed, and the pen put into Kebren’s hand; and the twain stood beside him, telling him what they wanted said, till he was fairly crazed. If you tell me any more I shall not be able to write anything! he cried. Leave me for an hour. And when they returned an hour later, he said: — Here is the letter you will send to your daughters; they will be wedded before many days are out.
Wedded and bedded! growled Mnasalcas, and a little exhilarated by the wine he had drunk he began to mutter and to talk incoherently, saying: — A fine prank they played upon me, my word, a fine prank! I have never known a finer, not even in the days gone by when — A fit of hiccupping interrupted his tale, and when he had recovered enough to resume it, he sought vainly in his mind for what he would recall, and asked, still hiccupping, how the girls had contrived their escape. Hast already forgotten that doves were our messengers? And when Leto told that one of their birds had arrived with the advice that Photius would be waiting at the mouth of the Lelantus, Mnasalcas burst out: Well done! Well done! End there is none to the pretty mis — mis — mischiefs of women! For some seconds he was not able to speak, and Leto, fearing to have him on her hands, said: — No more wine for thee to-night; betake thee to the Lelantus. Why to the Lelantus? Mnasalcas asked. Is not Photius’s boat waiting for Kebren, she replied, and is it not thy business to see thy guest to his boat, there being many water-holes and ditches between here and yonder? A mouthful of wine, Mnasalcas pleaded. A pail to souse thy head in is handy! she answered. Thou seest, she is bent on sending me out with thee, Kebren, and she is right in that; I am thy host. We would do well to be starting. And bidding Leto goodnight Kebren walked with Mnasalcas down the grassy plain hardly lighted by the moon.
A dim, cloudy evening often follows a bright morning, said Mnasalcas. Thou shouldst know, Kebren replied, for thou’rt about thy fields early and late. A queer moon, Mnasalcas continued, only a blur of light in the grey sky, yet a hot night, without any air — a night when a man is as well pleased to sleep alone as with his wife. But I’ve heard that thou liest with thy wife every night of the year, Kebren, saving the months thou wert away in the Euxine — suspected by her then, so Leto says. Leto likes babble, Kebren replied, and anything that comes in her way is good enough for babble among friends. But I would say nothing against thy wife, Mnasalcas. Thou hast said nothing but that Leto likes babble, and very pleasant her babble is, so many people think. But what is this? O, thou hast stepped into a water-hole! And thou’rt not going to let me remain in it? cried Kebren. No, no; take my hand, but don’t pull too hard or I shall be down with thee. And putting his foot against a tussock to give him strength to bear Kebren’s weight whilst crawling out of the hole, Mnasalcas said: — I’d forgotten that hole. Clearly thou hadst forgotten it, Mnasalcas! And now I would have thee give thy mind to keeping in the path in which there are no water-holes or ditches. That I will do, Kebren. Thou canst trust me; that little mistake will be my last. The ground is spongy about the river, and in the night a water-hole... Kebren understood Mnasalcas to mean that in the night a water-hole appeared like a mushroom,
and he kept his eyes on the ground, giving no ear to the drunken man, who could not check his memories of shepherdesses. I shall be glad when I am in Photius’s boat, he said to himself. But when they were nigh it Mnasalcas laid his hand on Kebren’s shoulder, detaining him. One word more, Kebren, before we part. After twenty years of marriage a woman begins to think she’d like a bed to herself. Isn’t that so? I have no means of knowing, Kebren answered; I have never been unfaithful to my wife. Sharing her bed as if ye were a young couple newly married! said Mnasalcas. Keep the boat’s head against the river bank, Photius, cried Kebren, and keep it steady. I have been in a water-hole — Not my fault, not mine, Kebren; the water-hole wasn’t there yesterday. Now, Mnasalcas, step back or thou’lt be in the river.... Push off, Photius: if he falls into the Lelantus it will be his own fault. The gaunt figure of Mnasalcas faded, and before they were in mid-stream Kebren was preparing the account he would give Biote of the great help Leto had been to him in soothing Mnasalcas for the loss of his daughters. It was indeed a great feat, he said to himself, to have persuaded Mnasalcas to write to them; and to please Biote I’ll tell her that a ship shall be chartered to bring the good news to Cnidus. The money will be well spent in saving them anxiety; such days as these do not happen twice in a man’s lifetime. I think, said the old boatman, pausing on his oars, that I catch sight of the lady Biote at the wharf’s end. The boat bumped and Kebren sprang forward, taking his wife’s arm.
Kebren, release me, or I shall be as wet as thou, which is to the skin — wet and muddy! Whilst talking of Leto’s good sense and a little shepherdess, Mnasalcas forgot a mud-hole in the path. Had I a forethought of mud-holes, said Biote, I should have ordered a bath to be kept in readiness. But Mnasalcas is reconciled, I guess, from thy manner of speech.
Leto, it is plain, served thee well, crooking her old ram —
It is as thou sayest, Biote; the old ram was crooked; and in his desire to please her, Kebren omitted no incident, not even the words that were spoken under the plane-tree. Yes, but keep off my peplos! All the same, Kebren, the twain pull together. Leto is a born shepherdess, and whosoever she married she’d have by the hind-leg before long. Mnasalcas knows it, said Kebren, and admires his wife for her skill when she puts out the crook, saying: Thou shalt not put that tankard to thy lips again! He bleats, Biote interjected, and is resigned. We have crooked him to our ends, Kebren continued, and he told of Leto’s intervention when Mnasalcas was at his worst, threatening him with the vengeance of the Gods, who would put a murrain on his sheep and cattle if he opposed their will. He’d have liked to unseal another flagon before bedtime, but she put him out of doors, saying: — Thy guest first! and on our way to the boat he explained that after a few years of marriage it is easier to let a wife have her own way, for in return she gives the man his way, which is in ninety-and-nine cases the right to look over the hedge at any little shepherdess that may chance to meet his eye, and if she hears tales told she just laughs at them. Everybody is entitled to his and her own way, he said, and the bed is a great obstacle; we have to get under it or over it if we are to have any life of our own. What sayest thou, Kebren? he asked, and my answer to him was that there are always hitches and hindrances, but these are different in every marriage. A man made curious with wine, said Biote, must needs know something more particular than hitches and hindrances; he pressed thee for a plain answer? He did; and I told him that I lay by my wife’s side every night. Not when thou wast in Egypt and Carthage, he said, detaining me, and we should have been still discussing, my right leg on the bow of the boat and my left on the bank, if Photius had not cried: — I pray thee, sir, to choose between the bank and the boat; thou wert nearly in the river that time. Wherefore I stepped into the boat, and having a few feet of water between myself and Mnasalcas, I called to him, saying: Another time we’ll argue the question out — two pillows or one, bolster or no bolster, mattress and coverlet, Photius laughing heartily, paddling the while into midstream. So Photius enjoyed the wrangle! Biote remarked, and suspecting that he had talked too openly of their bed, Kebren remained silent. As they crossed the threshold his perplexity increased, and he began to relate the story afresh, but Biote snapped in: — I am not concerned to hear more of the common talk between Mnasalcas and thee. I know that men speak of things that should be sacred between husband and wife — A drunken man is aggressive, Biote, and it is often hard to ward off his questions. Any longer delay, Kebren, in thy wet clothes will keep thee restless and sneezing in thy bed. Thou’lt sleep better alone. Good-night. And feeling that he must hold himself forbidden from her bed for that night at least, he retired, and not unwillingly, to a single couch, to fall asleep in the midst of recollections of the day, and to awake missing his wife’s company in the morning. He would have liked to take her in his arms, and considered a visit to her room to ask her if their separation had kept her from sleep; but a message came from his head clerk, and he hastened to his business, remaining in the counting-house until it was time to leave it for the evening meal. At sight of Biote he at once began to speak to the ship he had dispatched to Cnidus bearing the letters he had told her of overnight. And if I had not fallen into that mud-hole, Biote, and returned wet to the skin, I would have asked thee to add a few lines to my letter; in the morning it slipped my memory. But I did not forget to beg them to send us news of their weddings by the first ship that sailed for Aulis, or by one that might be turned out of her course. Did I not do well? for with news of their weddings passes our last anxiety. And of anxieties we have had enough, Biote replied. Years pass and nothing happens, and then disaster falls and is followed by more disasters. The night on the roof belayed to the stack, my dead father and all of us, in view of crooked lightning and the splitting of ships in the Euripos, was bad enough, but worse was my suffering when for the sake of Rhesos I had to attend my father’s burning. All Boeotia was there and Euboea, too, and to all I seemed an indifferent daughter, but I set at naught all rebukes and reproaches, my mind fixed on one end: the getting of Earine for Rhesos. A great silence fell, and at the end of it she rose to her feet, saying: — Good-night, Kebren; I am tired. Thou hast done wonderfully well. He was about to take her in his arms, but she restrained him. Do not ask any more of me, Kebren, for my admission of thy tact. To-morrow we’ll send a message to Leto by one of her birds. Good-night. He let her go, feeling that she needed rest, and needing the same himself he lay down alone, satisfied with himself and with the world. But awaking in the middle of the night he began to see and to think differently, and in a great clearness of mind everything he had said and done was shown to him strangely distorted, and frightened he bewailed the blunder that he had been led into unwittingly. The convention of their lives was always to lie down together, but now the convention was broken. Never will she lie with me again! Never shall I hear her cry: Kebren, art thou coming to bed?... Never again! Never again!
In the morning the fears of the night seemed to him exaggerated; he remembered that they had been separated when he traded up and down the Mediterranean and the Euxine, and how it had often seemed to him that the resumption of their old life was like a new birth. What had happened before would happen again, and in the coming weeks he decided not to prompt Biote but to leave her to settle when he should return to her room. It would be a pity, he thought, to miss the pleasure of the invitation; moreover, he dared not plead with her, for were she to refuse, his plight would be worse than before; the invitation must come from her. And it was during the next three months that he heard from Biote that love is for the young and for the middle-aged. But are we not middle-aged? cried the agonised Kebren. I am but forty-five, and thou’rt a year or two younger. With two grown-up sons, she replied. What matter our sons? he asked. We live for ourselves. She answered that love must pass sooner or later into an affectionate friendship. And that she should hold such beliefs, Kebren said to himself afterwards, means that our married life is over and done, to be spoken of seldom and with faintly disguised contempt. The past is inde
ed past! he often caught himself repeating mechanically, stopping now and then on his way to the counting-house, that he might apprehend better the changes that had come into Biote’s character and temperament. More into her temperament, he said, than her character; and his thoughts running on he came upon the belief that we bring our temperament into the world and take it out of the world with us. The years do not change us; we remain the same, in essentials at least. About himself he could speak confidently; sex had never controlled him as it had Biote; and he started forth again, pondering as he walked on the influence of the bed in marriage.
