Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“Having seen such harmonious and inspiring creations, I suddenly felt fear for their fate. It is as uncertain as the future of any of us. Our lives are so short, but these goddesses must exist forever, traveling thorough future centuries, as we do through light wind. And Cleophrades …” Hesiona fell silent.

“What about Cleophrades?” Thais asked anxiously.

“He made your statue out of silver instead of bronze. There is no question about the splendor of such material. But silver is valuable by itself. It is money. Something you can use to pay for land, house, livestock, and slaves. Only a powerful polis or ruler can allow twelve talants to sit without use. And think of all the greedy scum that don’t believe in our gods? They wouldn’t hesitate to chop off Anadiomena’s arm and take it to a merchant, like a piece of dead metal.”

“You have alarmed me,” Thais admitted. “I really hadn’t thought of the uncertain destiny of not only people, but entire states. During the few years of Alexander’s campaigns we have seen old order fall apart and thousands of people lose their place in life. Fates, tastes, moods, attitude toward the world, possessions and each other — everything is feeble and changeable. What would you suggest?”

“I do not know. Should Cleophrades give or sell her to some famous temple, I would be much more at rest than if she went to some art patron, even if he were as wealthy as Midas.”

“I shall talk to Cleophrades,” Thais decided.

Some time passed before the Athenian had a chance to fulfill her intentions.

The sculptor showed Anadiomena to anyone who wished to see her. Visitors came to Lysippus’ garden where the statue was placed in one of the pavilions, and admired her at length, unable to pull away. Then Anadiomena was transferred back into the house, and Cleophrades disappeared. He returned in Hekatombeon, when even Ecbatana became hot, and the snow cap on the southwest ridge turned into a narrow strip resembling a cloud.

“I beg you,” Thais said to him as soon as they met, “to tell me what you want to do with Anadiomena.”

Cleophrades gazed upon her at length. A sad, almost tender smile rested upon his usually stern and glum face.

“If the world was arranged according to dreams and myths, then I would be the one begging, not you. But unlike with Pygmalion, in addition to the silver goddess, a live Thais is before me. And everything is too late.”

“What is too late?”

“Both Anadiomena and Thais. Still, I do have a request for you. My friends are holding a symposium in my honor. You must be there. Then we shall settle the matter of the statue. It contains not only your beauty but also your silver. I cannot manage it singlehandedly.”

“Why then and not now?”

“It’s too early.”

“If you intend to torment me with riddles,” the Athenian said, slightly put out, “then you have succeeded in this unworthy mission. When is the symposium?”

“At hebdomeros. Bring Eris, too. Although, I hardly need to say that, since you are practically inseparable. And also Nearchus’ wife.”

“The seventh day of the first decade? The day after tomorrow?”

Cleophrades nodded silently, then raised his hand and vanished into the back of Lysippus’ great house.

The symposium began in the early evening. It was set in the garden and included nearly sixty people of various ages. They were almost exclusively Helenians, settled at narrow tables in the shade of great sycamores. Among the attendees there were only five women: Thais, Hesiona, Eris, and two new Ionian models of Lysippus, who assumed hosting the party in the old bachelor’s house. Thais knew one of them well. She was short with a long neck, a merry round face, and constantly smiling, plump lips. She resembled a cora in Delphi, at the entrance to the Scythian treasury of the Apollo’s temple. The other woman was a complete opposite of the first one, indicating the host’s broad tastes. She was tall with long, slanted eyes on an elongated face, and a mouth with its tips pointing upward like the moon. She had joined Lysippus’ household only recently, and everyone grew to like her for her slow, graceful movements, modest demeanor and beautiful garments of dark crimson cloth.

Thais chose to wear a shocking yellow ecsomida. Eris wore a sky blue one, while Hesiona showed up in a strange, draping garment of bright blue and gray, a south Mesopotamian costume. The seductive quintet took their places to the left of the host while Cleophrades and other sculptors: Ehephilos, Leptines, Diosphos, and Stemlos settled on the right. There was more black Khios wine, as well as rose Knid wine, diluted with ice cold water. The gathering was becoming rambunctious.

Thais found the verboseness of the speakers rather unusual. One after the other they stepped forth and, instead of toasting, spoke about Cleophrades’ deeds, his military heroics, and his sculptures, praising him without superfluous flattery. On his request, the new model sang strange, sad songs in a low, resonating voice, and Hesiona performed a hymn to Dindimena.

“I could ask you to sing in the nude, as is customary for hymns, as their name indicates,” Cleophrades said, thanking the Theban. “But let the dances be our hymns to physical beauty, of which I ask Thais and Eris. That is my final request.”

“Why your final one, Cleophrades?” the unsuspecting Athenian asked.

“Only you and your friends do not know of the true purpose of this symposium. I shall answer you with Menander’s verses. ‘There is a beautiful custom among the Keossians, Phania: he who does not live well must not live poorly, either.’”

Thais shuddered and paled. “You are not from Keoss, Cleophrades. You are an Athenian.”

“I am from Keoss. Attica is my second homeland. And my island is really not that far from Sunion, where the famous temple with seven columns is raised to the sky over the sheer marble drops eight hundred elbows tall. Since childhood, it became for me a symbol of spiritual heights reached by the creators of the art of Attica. When I came to Sunion, I saw the spear and the crest on the helm of Athena Promakhos. The bronze Maiden twenty elbows tall stood on a huge pedestal at the Acropolis between Propyleus and Erekhteyon. I sailed to her call and saw her, proud and strong, with slender neck and high, prominent breasts. That was the image of a woman that enchanted me forever. And that was how I became an Athenian. None of it matters anymore. The future will meet the past, and that is why you must dance for me.”

Thais, obedient model that she was, improvised complex dances of the highest skill level, in which a woman’s body transformed and granted a dream after dream, a legend after legend. In the end, Thais was exhausted.

“As I watched you,” Cleophrades said, “I was reminded of your Athenian nickname. You are not only a Fourth Kharita, but you were also called Euryale, or Storm. Let Eris take your place.”

At Cleophrades’ sign, Eris danced as she had before the Indian artists. When the black priestess froze in the last pose and Ehephilos wrapped a light cape around her body, Cleophrades rose, holding a large golden goblet.

“I have turned sixty years old, and I cannot do more than my last Anadiomena. I cannot love women, I cannot enjoy travel, sea-bathing, good food or loud singing. Ahead of me is a spiritually deprived, miserable life. We Keossians have long since forbidden that a man should live that way, for he must only live in a worthy fashion. I thank you, my friends, who came to honor me in my last hour. Rejoice, rejoice all, and you, splendid Thais. How I would have wanted to love you. Forgive me, but I cannot. Lysippus will take care of the statue. I gave it to him. And let me embrace you, my godlike friend.”