Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  What thou sayest is true enough, Kebren; Aulis is dull. I am depressed and weary, and shall not recover myself till we hoist sail. Tell me, she continued, what wonder shall we see first? The Parthenon, on which thy sons have worked, he answered. And after Athens, whither? she asked. Shall we leave Corinth out and sail direct for Egypt? Why should we leave Corinth out, Biote? One of the great temples to Aphrodite stands in Corinth, on the isthmus, and from all parts of the world visitors come to worship; three hundred priestesses serve the Goddess. A still greater temple is the one in Cyprus — I would sooner see the temples that Thrasillos builds and that Rhesos adorns with statues of different Goddesses. They have left Mitylene and are at Miletus, he answered, and beautiful as the temples are that Thrasillos builds, and the statues that Rhesos carves, there is still Egypt, the most wonderful thing that earth can show. Thou hast a thought, Biote, for the man who told me the story that our children loved to hear? Of the robbery of Cheops’s pyramid, how it was achieved; yes, I remember, she replied. The children climbed on thy knees to hear it again and again. But thou hast been to Egypt so often that there is nothing new left for thee to see. Egypt is always new, Kebren answered, and seeing it with thee will be enough. We might drop anchor at Cos. What wonder is there to be seen at Cos? she asked. Nothing great as the pyramids, Biote; but after all, mountains are greater than pyramids. Size is not everything; indeed, it is very little. At Cos there is a fountain dedicate to the nymphs, who reclining on beds of freshly gathered rushes sing the hours away. We will go thither, Kebren, and pour libations and weave garlands. And taking his arm she added: — Whither shall we go now?

  Anywhither, nowhither, but at least out of this courtyard. And their instincts leading them, they were soon walking through a piece of waste land along the shore of the Euripos — a large untidiness of hemlocks and dying ferns, with a little wood of pine-trees, some dark thickets and a path that led into a dell. A dell, said Biote, that needs little more than a marble seat for us and a fountain for fishes. We shall see many gardens in our wanderings from which to take thy plan, replied Kebren. Not in Thebes, I am sure, Kebren; Egypt is all granite and sand. But at Syracuse we shall find gardens.

  Rhesos and Thrasillos will be working there soon; so said their last letter. And Babylon hath gardens, Biote, but on too vast a plan for imitation.

  The path they were following took them to the end of the long strip of land, and in view of the moon behind some aspen-trees, Biote said: What a pretty night! Kebren did not answer; he was thinking if the word ‘pretty’ was applicable to the night, and whilst seeking for a more suitable adjective he was turned from his search by Biote crying in a wailing voice: — Athens, Corinth and Thebes are but dreams for me! I had forgotten! And turning she flung herself on his shoulder. Ajax hath escaped, Kebren, and I dare not leave Aulis lest Rhesos should return and find him gone. For some time he came snuffing about the house in search of Rhesos, and I hoped he would weary of the fruitless search and of the rough forest, living on rats and rabbits — for a wolf that hath been fed for many years is no longer the hunter that he once was. Tell me, Kebren, what am I to do? We must dig pitfalls, said Kebren. No, I will not have him taken in pitfalls, she replied; Rhesos would not like Ajax to be trapped. And Ajax would mistrust us ever afterwards, and even turn on Rhesos. I am distracted. A moment ago I was sailing through the islands, hearing the chime of the oars in the rowlocks, and now nothing seems to matter, not even the stars, for Ajax is gone. Rhesos will give me a hug on the wharf, but his words will be for Ajax — And thou’lt tell him, Biote, that Ajax is dead; the lie will save thee from all blame. It will be hard, Kebren, to greet Rhesos with a lie upon my lips. The lie cannot be spared to thee, Biote. And if Ajax should return from the forest? she asked. Kebren paused to consider what answer he should make to her question, and not finding one he asked her to tell him of the escape. He dashed past me through the gate and away into the forest, without thought for the breakfast I was bringing him. After a bitch most likely in the neighbourhood, said Kebren; more likely still, he was after Rhesos, and thinking we were keeping Rhesos from him — He is an old wolf now, she interjected.

  Not very old, replied Kebren, still thinking how she might explain her negligence credibly to Rhesos when he returned. At last he said: Their teeth gone, wolves die of hunger; in two years he will be a skeleton, belike is one already. The lie must come piteously from my lips, Kebren. Canst think of no other plan? Rhesos’s eyes will look into mine; I shall quail; and when he seeks a reason for my tears, I shall answer: Ajax. Thou hast never lacked courage, Biote, and never will. I will try to lie bravely, she answered, and he believed her whilst foreseeing her struggle to lie steadfastly, saying with hesitating voice: We found Ajax dead in his paddock one morning. But Rhesos might ask her where she had buried him, and on his way to the counting-house Kebren doubted her courage to accompany her son to an imaginary grave and say: Here. Weeks and months went by, and he often wondered if her dread of meeting Rhesos continued; but he shrank from questioning her; only once did pity compel him to words: Thy strained and tired face, Biote, tells of an evil night. Thou hast dreamed again of Rhesos and his wolf? She answered him with her eyes, and he added: I read thy face. The dread in thy heart is the same as it was in the beginning. And will be, she answered, till Rhesos hears that I lied to him. Thou’lt not be able to keep the secret always from him, Biote? I can tell thee nothing, Kebren. It is strange that the escape of a wolf through a gate should be fraught with so much sorrow for Rhesos and for me. And the long holiday that was projected, Biote, will never come to pass. The years are closing in upon us, she replied, but there is still time for that holiday. And her thoughts wandering a little, she sat before her loom, her hands drifting over her knees, lost in a great bitterness, sensation rather than thought, and when Kebren returned soon after in a great hurry, he was taken aback. Of what art thou thinking? he asked. What unhappiness is this? I do not know, she answered. I know only that I am unhappy and that nobody can help me.

  I can help thee, Biote. A ship hath come in, waiting for the tide to turn. And in the ship? she cried. Are our sons, Biote, their wives, and our grandchildren. Come, we shall not have long to wait on the wharf. O, Kebren, I cannot meet Rhesos among many people! As well meet him on the wharf as afterwards, Kebren replied. Courage, Biote! I have courage enough for everything else, she answered, and Kebren, remembering that he had heard these words from her before, pondered, drawing the last dregs of meaning out of them as they walked to the wharf, where courage was given to Biote to lie with such simplicity that Rhesos did not suspect he was being deceived and began to wonder who could have been so cruel as to poison a wolf that was as tame as a dog and had never taken a kid or a lamb from anybody.

  I had looked forward to seeing the old fellow, mother. We were dear to each other, and no doubt he grieved for me. Biote turned away, dreading the day when some mischance might reveal to Rhesos that she had lied to him; even should this day never come to pass, a secret would divide her from her son. Rhesos! she said suddenly, and she would have told him the truth then had not Kebren, watchful whilst talking and playing with his grandchildren, cried out: Hast not heard enough, Rhesos, of thy wolf’s death from poison? — or if that did not come to pass, from old age? Thou wouldst never have seen him again. Come, tell us of the statues thou hast carved and of the temples Thrasillos hath built. Melissa and Earine, in charge of the children, will precede us by a few paces, escaping from stories old to them. Melissa protested, but the children requiring that many things should be explained to them, the two sisters hastened their steps, leaving Kebren and Biote to hear from their sons that it was at Delphi they were tempted to question the oracle regarding the temple they had left incomplete at Aulis. As the little procession advanced from the wharf into the town the folk ran from their houses, all anxious to tell the great sculptor and the great architect how pleased they were to see them again so that they might thank them for all they had done to make Aulis known and admired by t
he world. Rhesos and Thrasillos replied that Aulis was known to the world already, the fleet that went to Troy having assembled in its bays, to which it was answered that that was long ago, and a forgetful world needs to be reminded. As they passed through the town nearly every house contributed a citizen, moved by the desire to see and hear and also by the hope that they would not be dismissed when they arrived at the house without wine being distributed and cake; a speech, too, was expected from Rhesos. And Rhesos having a sense of all that was passing in their minds, gave a signal to halt, and from the threshold of his father’s house addressed the crowd somewhat as follows:

  Good friends and citizens, before it was our fortune to meet you on our way from the wharf my father and mother were hearing from me and from my brother how it came to pass that we abandoned a journey to Sicily, where we were expected to build a temple. You would like to hear the story of what happened at Delphi to turn us from Sicily to Aulis, and an easy story it will be to tell, for you all remember the great storm that threatened to sweep Aulis into the sea seven years ago. It would be strange if you had forgotten it, for you all lost something in the storm, some a house, or a father or a mother or a brother carried away. During that night we thought our lives were about to come to an end, and next day it seemed to us that although our lives had been spared our ruin was complete. And so convinced were we all of our ruin that my brother abandoned the temple he was building on the knoll at the end of the valley and I the marble out of which I was carving a statue of Aphrodite. Ever since, the disaster that befell Aulis hath been talked of by you; certainly my brother and I have talked of it; and when we heard by letter that all our ships were not lost and that our father hoped his trade would not pass from him and that Aulis would become prosperous again, we remembered the temple and statue abandoned in a moment of terror. And our thoughts passing on from Aulis to Olympus, we began to think of the abandonment of temple and statue as a great insult offered to Aphrodite herself, and wherever we went we prayed in her temples that we might be forgiven, till at last we arrived at Delphi to do some work on the temple of Apollo; and it was there the thought came to us of submitting our conscience and the perplexities thereof to the oracle, and asking for guidance But being poor mortals we resisted the pressing temptation to do what we knew we must do in the end, till at last we could resist no longer, and the answer we got from the oracle was that we must make amends to Aphrodite by completing her temple and setting up in it the statue already begun. But having a temple to build in Sicily, we had to send thither to ask for a delay, which the Sicilians were loth to grant, till perceiving that to refuse our request would be to defy the oracle at Delphi, the priests granted the delay on the condition that it would not be prolonged beyond the three months agreed upon. But the Delphic priests would not allow us to depart until we had completed the work they had entrusted to us; wherefore being beset on both sides I thought it well to send a messenger to one of my fellow-craftsmen in Athens, begging him to help me in my extremity, which he could do by going to Aulis. You know, or you do not know, that measurements and points are taken, and that an inferior craftsman is employed to chip away till the statue begins to show itself in the marble. Corobius is not an inferior craftsman but a devoted friend who hath been in Aulis now for some weeks chipping, always chipping, cutting away the marble to within an eighth of an inch of the statue.

  Wilt lead us to the workshop where thy friend is chipping, Rhesos, for we would see him at work? cried somebody in the crowd, and Rhesos replied: My friend looks forward to showing me the work he hath done, and he would find himself distracted among people — well-wishers certainly, but strangers to him. My workshop is not the place for talk and for ramble, for drinking wine and eating cake. These will be served to you in the central hall, where my brother will take my place and tell you of our adventures, and they are many, amusing and picturesque, with here and there moments of gravity, of doubt and mistrust, which are never far away from him who commits his life to marble or to words or to music; and these will help you to understand, as far as you can understand, an art which you do not practise. For art is for the artist, and stories about art and artists are for the populace. The mission of art, too, hath always been a popular controversy and will be to the end of time. I am not a travelling rhapsodist and know only that art is; but the fact that art is, though enough for me, is not enough for all and sundry. But bear your souls in patience; all and sundry are not so glib in Aulis as in Attica, so, I repeat, bear your souls in patience. The opportunity will come for you to hear all these things in a month or two months, when the temple is dedicated to the Goddess and my representation of her is placed in the cella.

  Rhesos stood nearly as tall as his father, the same blond face and hair and the same gravity, which never moved in the father but which wavered in the son’s face from grave to gay. Whilst speaking his face concentrated, till aglow with vision it fixed the attention of all, and the crowd would have granted him anything he asked; none would have said nay to him, for all felt, if they did not understand, that the man before them was a man who had come into the world to live his own life, to be himself and nothing but himself. As the glow of vision faded from his face another illumination began in it; his eyes sparkled, and the life within him flowing out, drew his audience unto him and cast him forth. The audience was the instrument and he the musician. The unexpected word was eagerly awaited and it always exceeded the anticipation, and Rhesos enjoyed the wonderful effervescence of thought uncalled, himself almost as unconscious of it as the fountain of its showers or the wind of its fragrance.

  We being all friends here, you will allow me some little reservations, and for these I promise you that when the day comes for the dedication of the temple and the placing of the Goddess in the cella, you will hear all that may be said regarding the meaning of art and its relation to nature, of the mission of art in the world and why the world cannot live without art, and a hundred other things that I know not of, And the temple itself will be a trysting-place for strange animals — not lions or tigers or elephants, but small animals, so none need be afraid. There will be spry weasels and squealing rats, ambitious mice and surly badgers. Amphibian creatures will come from the rivers and streams, and embassies from the forest. The cuckoo will be there with his tiresome notes, the raven with hoarse predictions, and the gossiping jackdaw. And a monkey will come down with the birds from the branches, an old grey-headed monkey who will pull the tails of all the birds and beasts; and those whose tails have not yet been pulled will laugh and applaud, though in truth they are very weary of the old grey monkey, having heard all his jokes (which are not jokes at all) for the last fifty or sixty years. I have said that I cannot tell why art was given to mankind. Perhaps it was as an excuse for the assembling of all these strange birds and beasts, each with his beak, his snout, his plumage, his fur, his growl, his squawk, his gait and his flight — all striving after admiration except the beetle, who pursues his way till trodden into the ground. And a fair hearing it will be listening to all these explaining what art is without looking at the statue at all. So it hath always been; so it will always be. A great afternoon I predict for you, watching the capering of the monkeys and hearing the loquacity of the parrots, all talking different languages and knowing nothing of what they are talking. Only a month or two, good friends, and then my brother’s temple and my statue offer this entertainment for your pleasure. Let patience possess your souls, and to help patience on her wav betake yourselves to the tables on which cakes and wine await you. My task is in my workshop, to consider with my old friend and helper, Corobius, some little problems which interest us: whether we can carry the simplification of a knee-cap a little further without losing its vitality. But the knee-cap will be in marble! cried a voice from the crowd....

  Rhesos bade them good-bye with a wave of his hand, and they watched his back shaking with laughter; and crowding round the cakes and wine they drank his health, extolling his genius the while to Thrasillos and Kebren, f
inding inadequate words to express their feelings, but aware dimly, incoherently, that they had perceived something above the natural that afternoon, a man akin, however remotely, to divinity. And after the wine and the cakes they walked down the street delighting in the story of how whilst waiting for Aphrodite to appear to him Rhesos had caught sight of two swimmers, Earine and Melissa — Earine giving him a message from Aphrodite herself, no doubt, for it was she who gave him the movement he had been seeking for months. Very soon other stories began to appear in the legends that were forming and the folk looked after Rhesos as he walked to his workshop, and one day seeing him walking with his wife towards the woods along the coast — the woods that he and his brother had loved when they were boys, building a sort of crow’s nest high up in a tree where they could pass the night out of the way of wolves — they recalled Ajax, the cub-wolf that the boys had stolen from the den whilst the bitch was away hunting on the higher hills for a fawn or laying in wait for an unwary lamb strayed from the flock. Memories long laid by were awakened, and it was sagely remarked that a man having once gotten a liking for the company of a wolf would return to it.