The Praise Singer

by Mary Renault

  “Harmodios was there today,” he said, soaking his bread in soup. “He came without Aristogeiton.”

  “Why, have they parted?” I began to attend.

  “Oh, no. Aristogeiton has to go out to his farm. Harmodios has more land, but he can afford a steward. And you know, Uncle Sim, if you can believe it, Hipparchos had another try at him?”

  I nearly choked on my food. I don’t know why I had expected the boy to have heard nothing; no one had longer ears; but I sometimes forgot his childhood was well behind him. “I never knew he had been so open. It is unlike him.”

  “Why, doesn’t he talk to you about it? I made sure he would.”

  “No, indeed. I’m amazed that it’s common knowledge.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the city. But it is in the boys’ palaestra. People would laugh, if it were anyone else. But I expect he could put us in prison.”

  “The gymnasiarch would make you sorry. But you don’t mean to tell me the Archon pays his court on the wrestling-ground?”

  “Well, almost. He stands staring. At first he used to just walk up and down with friends, only stealing glances; you know how, it always looks so silly. But now he stands and watches, as if he were a regular erastes waiting for his eromenos. Harmodios hates it. People look, you know. Today when it started, he simply broke off his bout and left the other man standing, and walked out. And Hipparchos followed him.” Seeing my startled face, and remembering I’d not been to school in Athens, he said, “Things like that often happen.”

  “Not to him. Bacchylides, don’t gossip about this. I mean it. This is serious.”

  “Yes, I know.” Indeed, his face had sobered. “I went to see.”

  “Did he see you?” I was surprised by my own alarm.

  “No fear. I looked out of the privy window. Harmodios had to wash down before he dressed, so he went to the fountain. He’d come by himself with no one to sluice him down; and Hipparchos went and picked up the jug to do it. I couldn’t hear all they said because of the fountain-spouts splashing. Harmodios said thank you, but it was too great an honor and he’d sooner do it himself. I couldn’t hear Hipparchos, he spoke too quietly. But he stood the jug on the curbstone, and started to put his hand on him. Harmodios shook him off, like—like a spider. I really thought for a moment he was going to hit him. But he didn’t; he snatched up the jug, and stood with it, ready to throw the water. So then Hipparchos went.”

  I was too shocked to speak. There are people to whom such things are never done; everyone knows it to be impossible.

  “Don’t worry, Uncle Sim. I didn’t tell the others. Just for your sake I kept back this very good story, which you are the first to hear. It would have made a better one still, if Harmodios had emptied the jug on him. He had his hair in curls across the front, and a robe with three-color borders. I would have liked to see him all wet.”

  “I doubt you would.”

  “Well, maybe not. I saw his face, as it was … And Aristogeiton won’t laugh, either.”

  “If Harmodios is wise, he will not tell him.”

  “He’ll have to do that. For all he knows, someone saw. Like I did. If he doesn’t tell, and Aristogeiton gets to hear, he might think he listened.” He nodded gravely, a citizen of his world. “Look who Hipparchos is, and what he owns. Harmodios must tell … But he’d do it anyway.”

  “Yes. I fear that you are right.”

  I knew it, next time I saw the two together. They were going about the city upon their business; Harmodios had a kind of sparkle upon him, and I saw what the boy had meant, when he likened him to the young Achilles at Aulis. Aristogeiton looked darker. I thought, That man is afraid. What of? He never looked like a coward. Though it was not likely they would talk of it, I knew how gossip seeps down through the gymnasium from older to younger; so presently I remarked to Bacchylides that Aristogeiton seemed oftener in the city than he used to be.

  He answered at once, “Oh yes, he is. He comes to watch over Harmodios.”

  “Well, there’s sense in that. It would be better still to take him out of town.”

  “He’d never go. He’s the head of the family. Uncle Sim, do you think the Archon would ever carry him off? I think that’s what Aristogeiton is really frightened of.”

  “Carry him off?” I could hardly credit my ears. It was too absurd for anger; I simply laughed. “A man like Hipparchos doesn’t run mad for love, like someone in a song. And he’d need be mad, to do that. Harmodios’ family is one of the oldest in Athens.”

  “Yes, I know. But his father’s dead, and he hasn’t any brothers … They do say Hipparchos carried off a boy.”

  “Not for long. Except for the slave; and that was little more than a prank.”

  With his elbow on the table beside his bowl, he propped his chin on his hand and looked at me, thinking. I can still see his eyes, under those dark brows which now are starting to grey. Soft and thick they were, in those days.

  “You are right,” I said. “It was an act of hubris, and unjust. You could say it was unworthy of a gentleman, let alone a ruler. But things are less simple when you know a man.”

  “And he’s been good to you, too.” He meant just what he said, not more. He trusted me.

  “That’s so. We are eating his bread this moment. But it’s not his gold that keeps me here. I don’t think we’d come to want if we took the road. You’d enjoy it, I daresay; at your age, I did.”

  “I’d have enjoyed Ionia, I know that. But it’s gone, now. In those days Athens was just one city; but now it’s the center of the earth.”

  In no time, I thought, he will be a man, and I’d best remember it. “That’s the root of the matter. Solon and Pisistratos brought the Muses to Athens. But only one man keeps them here. Without him, they’d fly away like birds scared out of a field. It takes more than gold to whistle them to your hand; more, even, than being a gracious giver. To keep them, you must understand their song.”

  “Yes,” he said gravely. “You’re his friend; you really know him, and I’ve only seen him when he’s been making a fool of himself. Plenty of other men do it too, over boys who just make fun of them.”

  “But they can afford it better. Well, only the gods are without a flaw. All one dares ask of any man is that he does more good than evil. And that he does no evil of free choice.”

  I could see him getting that by heart, like a song. From loving the boy, I was beginning to love the man.

  Presently he said, as he finished his watered wine, “It’s the Great Year. It will soon be the Panathenaia. I’ve only seen one. What hymn will you be doing?”

  “Two, as it’s a Great Year. Men and girls. The men for a choral ode to Poseidon at the holy spring.”

  “You’ll have to think of something new about Theseus, won’t you? Is there anything?”

  “Certainly. He’s not yet been down to the underworld, to carry off Persephone.”

  “That’s a dark tale, Uncle Sim. Do you think the Archons will like it?”

  “That’s with the god, who sent the song to me.” I had asked myself the same question, but only as if asking whether it would rain tomorrow. This tale of the hero’s hubris and nemesis had seized my mind, and I had no time for anything else. “Herakles shall rescue him at the end.”

  “And what about the girls?”

  “That hymn is always joyful. It’s for the maidens, who bring the offerings to Athene. Yes, I shall be busy. Hipparchos, too. He’s been planning a full year for the Great Year. That will take his mind off his little folly.”

  A thought came to me then, and I said, “I don’t think, this year, the city would grudge me the privilege of having my pupil carry my kithara. Just for the Presentation of the Maidens.”

  Before he found his voice, he looked almost beautiful. Never mind, I thought; he is in no danger now, and if he were he can well look after himself. I took him to a robe-maker to have something made up, a short tunic proper to his age, and a red shoulder-cloak.

  A few day
s later, Hipparchos sent for me to discuss the festival. Of course I was one of many: high priests and generals, the engineers who had charge of the Sacred Ship, and that year were making a new one; the other poets, and the musicians. The heralds were there, to learn their stations and cries. The eldest of them plied back and forth with messages to the High Priestess of Athene, who was too holy to appear among men at all. Both Archons were present; Thessalos too, who was to lead the youths’ cavalcade, by reason of rank, for he was past the age. Hipparchos, as usual, did almost all the business of the rite, and had a good deal to say to me; but all day I never had speech with him alone.

  That I had expected; but I kept my eye on him, and what I saw disturbed me. In the last few years he had been thickening a little, till it threatened to spoil his looks; now he was lean. He had lost flesh so quickly, I wondered if he could have a wasting sickness. Men with a phthisis have this burned-up look, till one day they cough blood and die. But he did a great deal of talking that afternoon, and did not cough even once.

  When all the business was over, he did beckon me up. I wondered if he wanted a private word, and didn’t know if I feared or wished it; it was a long time now since I had known his mind. But it was only to say he would be sending for me shortly, to discuss the Maidens’ Hymn.

  Anakreon left with me, and we walked down the steps together. I said, “Is Hipparchos sick, or has he had too many late nights? The man looks raveled.”

  “Something has happened. I don’t know what; nor does anyone else—except one, maybe. A few days back he passed me in the city within a yard, and never saw me or heard me greet him. No, it wasn’t meant; he might have been alone upon Mount Parnes. He looked as if the Furies were after him.”

  I remembered Bacchylides; but I had given him good advice and meant to keep it myself. “Can it be love? I thought he’d be cured by this time.”

  “He did not name his daimon. But it looked more like hate to me.”

  “Or the terrible face of Eros, when he changes shape.”

  He gave me his sweet smile; like a wise young boy’s, though by then he was over fifty. “My dear, there is no terrible face of Eros. There is just the one charming one, which he may decide to turn away. The Furies who follow him are all begotten by men.”

  That was his truth; and even in sad old age, when his smiling god had turned away forever, he did not renounce it. Happy Anakreon!

  Next day, Hipparchos sent for me about the maidens’ procession. I took my kithara to let him hear the hymn. This time, maybe I would be alone with him. But once more, no; Thessalos was sitting by him.

  He at least was his usual self; a saffron robe, blue-bordered, gold clasps and studs on his sandals, an Egyptian girdle worked with ibises. His dark hair was cut to the nape in the very latest fashion, with an embroidered headband. He looked in high health and spirits. They waved me to sit at their writing-table. No clerk was there; Hipparchos wrote a very good hand himself.

  Once again I wondered if he was sick. Beside his brother, glossy as a well-groomed horse, his lack of condition showed up. He was dressed with less than his usual care; his hair looked dull, and for the first time I was aware of grey in it; his cheeks were mottled, with broken veins, and when he held his stylos, I saw that he had a tremor. He spoke to me very civilly, but with only half his mind on me. It was Thessalos who saw my kithara, and jogged him into asking to hear the hymn.

  I gave it, my own mind partly upon Thessalos himself. His concern with the maiden rite was something new. He was now about thirty, and might well be thinking of marriage. He was far from sharing his brother’s dislike of women; and the great festivals are good times for choosing brides. Men can look the girls well over, before getting caught up with matchmakers and kinfolk. Wellborn girls are hard to get a sight of at other times.

  Hipparchos roused himself when my noise had stopped, and praised it as warmly as any man can who has not listened. Thessalos, who was missing nothing today, picked out one or two images for compliment. We went quickly over the rite, which had only to be remembered from one Great Year to the next. Thessalos said, “Was there anything else? Oh, yes, we never finished choosing the girls.”

  He sounded too careless, and I was sure I had guessed right. If so, his choice would be on the list already. As usual, Hipparchos showed it me; sometimes I would ask for some girl of middle station, whom I’d marked down at a wedding or a feast, for her fine presence or sweet voice. I had no one in mind today; he rolled it up, saying, “We can finish it presently. Won’t you take some wine before you go?” I left the brothers with their heads together. He had one friend at least, it seemed, in whom he could still confide.

  The maids were duly brought to the temple precinct, to be taught the hymn and the order of the procession. Their mothers led them proudly, dressed in their second best, their new ones saved for the day; their hair just loosened from the crimping-plaits, solemn-faced, too overawed even to catch one another’s eyes. Their mothers sat down on the seats along the wall, appraising each other’s daughters, and looking at me to be sure I valued their own.

  I have never desired young maids, preferring ripe fruit to green; maybe it is because I feared their laughter when I was a boy. But at the rites they always moved me: those sure of their beauty, so ignorant of what Aphrodite may send them when they have served Athene; the shy ones, sure of nothing, except that this is their own Great Year, which they will have to remember forever. They give no trouble, as boys often do, who know they will find their fates elsewhere and would sooner impress each other than their teacher. The girls seek perfection before unknown eyes they have only seen in dreams.

  It was the mother I noticed first, fanning herself, and condescending to the lady beside her. The girls stood in a clump, waiting for me to arrange them. There in the middle was the silver-gold hair of the young Delias.

  I thought, Her name was not on the list; but it was not finished. He added her later, ashamed that I should see. And Anakreon says there is no terrible face of love! As surely as Dionysos, he can strike men mad. This poor wretch, who has had every gift he offered thrown back in his face, still hopes that by flattering the family he can buy his treasure. The girl is too young, hardly more than a child. Well, at least it will give her pleasure.

  I felt a moment’s surprise that she had been allowed to accept. But how not? It was her right by birth. Her mother would rejoice that the orphan had not been forgotten. Harmodios could not interfere, unless he told them everything; and why, after all, oppose it? It would bring her the chance of a better marriage. She had some of his beauty; indeed was becoming not unlike him. Young though she was, she was one of the tallest there. Like enough she would catch some young noble’s eye.

  With fifty girls to train, I had not much time to notice her. She was quiet and grave, and did not need to be told things twice. Though there were two or three girls more beautiful, she had the virgin candor of the young Athene herself, and the grace of a willow wand. The mother wafted her fan without a care. It was clear that Harmodios had kept his counsel.

  I did not trouble the girls at first with their offering-baskets; highborn girls learn as young as peasants to balance loads on the head, ready for these occasions, and they could practice at home. But I had them pacing the precinct as they sang, to get the beat in their blood. There is the little ceremony some days before the great one, when the chosen girls are presented to the goddess and bring her offerings. I would have them ready for that.

  Soon after this, I saw Aristogeiton walking across the Agora; and watched him with curiosity, after all I’d heard. I had lately seen one man scorching his soul to a crisp; here, by the look of him, went another. Since he was younger and much fitter, his sleepless nights had made him fine-drawn and handsome. But what would he know of that? An implacable god!

  Just then he stopped a passing man, and they walked on talking. Soon he drew him out of the crowd, towards the stall of a pot-seller. She started pointing to her wares, and showing the price on her
fingers. She was deaf and dumb.

  They paid her no heed, and after talking there awhile went off together. I did not know the second man; he had a sharp discontented face, and did not look cheerful company. As they walked my way, I saw approaching a certain Charias, whom I did know; one of the lesser Alkmaionid clansmen, not of enough consequence to have been exiled. He used to say, rather too often, that he took no part in politics. He and Aristogeiton just lifted a hand in greeting as they passed; after which the young man spoke with great earnestness to his companion. When I came near, they became as dumb as the pot-seller.

  I did not think much about it. Men with a grievance will go about getting sympathy from their friends; and if their complaint is against the great, everyone concerned will show a certain discretion.

  As I walked on, I was wishing that I knew him as a friend, to quiet his fears; for, if Bacchylides had been right about them, they were quite absurd. Ah well, I thought, next year the boy will be a man with a stubble on his chin; and to both these poor fools, Archon and commoner, all this anguish will seem like a dream gone by. We are all children of Time, however much we may wish to kill our father. I walked on smiling, thinking how Anakreon could have contained it all in one short bitter-sweet song.

  I rehearsed my girls each morning. The temple guard is there to keep out men, but some will always watch from beyond the walls. Bacchylides came most days. He had learned all his schoolmaster could teach him, and I’d let him leave; it was time he should study music as a man. The Maiden’s Hymn, he had by heart the first day; as he still appeared, I took it he had begun to notice girls. Afterwards at our meal he would pass judgment on them, rather severely lest I should suspect him of it, but fairly on the whole.

  “You can see at once which is Harmodios’ sister, she’s so like him. She gets everything right. He came to watch her today.”

  “He should be pleased with her. She holds herself very well. They must use their baskets tomorrow; the Presentation is in three days’ time.”