Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Lysippus put his arms around the sculptor, not hiding the tears in his eyes.

Cleophrades stepped back and raised his goblet. At the same time, all others raised their cups, filled with life-giving wine. So did Thais. Only Hesiona remained motionless, observing the scene with horror in her wide eyes. Eris watched the Athenian’s every movement in admiration and shock.

Tipping his head back, Cleophrades downed the poison, faltered, then straightened out, leaning against Lysippus’ shoulder. The goblet rang as it fell on the ground. The other guests drank their cups and threw them as well, shattering glass, china and clay. The pieces would be placed under the tombstone.

“Haire! Easy sailing across the river. Our memories are with you, Cleophrades!” everyone exclaimed.

The sculptor, his face gray and his lips trembling, made one last tremendous effort. He smiled broadly, gazed into the darkness of Hades before him, and collapsed.

At that moment, or so it seemed to Thais, the sun vanished behind the mountain range. Light summer twilight fell upon the silent group of people.

There were two physicians among the guests. They examined Cleophrades and placed him on a stretcher. The others placed a wreath on his head, crowning him as a victor in a competition. Had he not walked victoriously along the difficult path of his life? In the light of torches and the moon, the sculptor was carried to the Helenian and Macedonian cemetery.

High above the city in a juniper grove, low trees shed their bronze-like needles over a few graves. The Athenian sculptor had asked in advance that he be buried rather than arranging a funeral pyre. The grave had already been prepared and was covered with a temporary slab until the friends of the late sculptor, other sculptors, could design and build another tombstone.

The participants of the sad ceremony returned to Lysippus’ house after the cemetery, where they held a midnight memorial feast. Night drew to a close.

Shocked and tired, Thais remembered another dawn, a dawn when she had admired the power of the artist who had just departed to the kingdom of Hades. As if guessing her thoughts, Lysippus invited her, Eris and Ehephilos, as well as a few other friends, into a workroom lit by alabaster lanterns.

“You heard from Cleophrades that he left Anadiomena to me,” Lysippus said, addressing Thais. “Even before that he told me of your generous donation to complete the statue. Thus, you and I are co-owners of Anadiomena and Cleophrades’ heirs. Tell me, what would you prefer: to keep the statue, let me keep it or entrust me to sell it? Its value is tremendous, not even considering the material. I cannot pay you back your share. You can probably pay me back mine, but I think that this statue ought not to be owned by you or any person who understands that the miracle of art and the goddess cannot be held in singular possession.”

“You are right as always, teacher. Allow me to surrender my share, as you call it, and leave the statue with you.”

“My generous Thais,” Lysippus exclaimed with pleasure. “Perhaps there will be no need of your generosity. I admit that I once spoke with Alexander about Cleophrades’ intention to sculpt you and …”

Thais’ heart beat faster and she sighed.

“He said,” Lysippus continued, “that if, in my opinion, the statue is successful, he would be the first contender for it. I asked him why he wouldn’t simply order it. He looked at me as if I had asked an inappropriate question. I suppose you would not mind if I sell Anadiomena to Alexander. He will send it to Hellas, perhaps to Athens or to Cythera.”

Thais lowered her lashes and tipped her head, then asked, with her gaze still lowered. “What will Ehephilos do with his Acsiopena?”

The young sculptor frowned. “I shall keep Acsiopena until Eris agrees to be mine.”

“One does not discuss such things in front of everyone, as if I were a market whore,” Eris replied indignantly. “The Great Mother requires nighttime for her mysteries. Those who dare violate her rules become akin to beasts, not knowing that love is sacred and requires preparation of body and soul. Have you Helenians forgotten the orders of the Mother of Abyss, Kibela?”

Thais looked at the black priestess in amazement. What made her pronounce such a tirade? Having guessed, she smiled and her sad eyes twinkled merrily.

“Ehephilos — or should we call you Eriphilos [35] Eriphilos is a seer who traveled to Troy with the Greek army, despite the fact that he knew he would die there. ? Were you not an artist, I would have used all my power to keep you from this mad pursuit that could mean your death. Even to you, the creator of Acsiopena, I say beware, beware and beware again. You will not gain happiness, but will discover Eros available only to a few people, but at the cost of their lives.”

“What do you speak of, Mistress?” Eris exclaimed, wheeling towards her. “Are you encouraging him?”

“Why not? It’s about time you shed the darkness that descended upon you at the temple of Kibela. Whether you want it or not, part of you has already been consumed by the statue.”

“Do you suggest that I serve a man?”

“Not at all. The man will serve you. Look at him. He can barely resist the urge to wrap his arms around your legs.”

“I cannot violate my vow and abandon you.”

“It is entirely up to you and him how to reach an understanding. And if not, then you had better kill him and put him out of his misery.”

“I agree, Mistress Thais,” Ehephilos exclaimed.

“Do not rush to celebrate,” Eris interrupted sternly. “Nothing happened yet.”

“It will,” Thais said with certainty then apologized to Lysippus, who observed this “family scene” curiously.

Arguments aside, a few days later Artemis Acsiopena left Lysippus’ home, bought for an enormous sum — not by a Helenian, but by one of the Indian artists that visited Lysippus. He purchased the statue for an ancient temple of strange faith called Eridu. It was located at the Euphrates delta, near the most ancient city in Mesopotamia. The sculptor saw a particularly good omen in the similarity between the name of the temple and that of his love.

What happened between him and Eris remained forever under the cover of night. Thais, who was naturally observant, noticed that that night, Eris’ swift movements became a bit smoother and her blue eyes sometimes lost their cold steely glint.

A couple of months after the sale of the statue, Ehephilos came to Thais, looking utterly miserable. He begged her to take a walk in the garden with him. Not far from the stone wall where the stream from the pool flowed across a small pit, the sculptor jumped into waist-high water, ignoring his clean and pressed clothes. Ehephilos knelt, reached into the pit and raised his folded hands. Large rubies, emeralds, sapphires, sardonyxes, gold and silver bracelets, belts and a golden goblet with turquoise glittered in the sun.

Having figured out what the matter was, Thais burst out laughing and advised the young sculptor to pick up his gifts, gather them into a sack, take them home and not give Eris any more jewelry. She would not accept anything unless it came from Thais herself.

“Why is that?”

“She and I are tied together in life and death by our mutual salvation. If you really want to, you can give her sandals with silver straps. It’s the only article of clothing she cannot resist. And not only from you, but from anyone who wants to make her a present.”

The new Olympiad started after the death of the Athenian artist. Time flew swiftly, approaching the date set by Ptolemy. Winter nights in Ecbatana grew cooler. Thais spent long evenings in conversation with Lysippus and his learned friends.