Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“You see, Eris? You must take this gift. One cannot decline such a sign of respect. The foreigner recognized perfection of the soul in you. What did the Indian say? Chitrini? What is that?” Thais asked.

“Let us ask the honorable guest to explain,” Lysippus chimed in.

The elderly Indian asked for a board, covered with a layer of alabaster. Such pieces were used by artists for large sketches. The interpreter stepped forward, bowed, then raised his hands and folded them in front of his forehead. This was a sign of readiness, meaning he was prepare to serve the guest and the host.

“Worshiping a woman and her beauty is greater among our people, it seems,” the Indian began. “And the power of beauty is stronger in our country. We think that when a man and a woman come together in love, it increases the spirituality of both and improves their Psyche, the soul of any offspring they conceive. The greatest of gods don’t only obey the charms of the heavenly beauties, the apsaras, or hetaerae, as you call them, but also use them as powerful weapons. The main heavenly hetaera, Urvashi was designated to seduce the wise men when they achieved too high a level of perfection and power compared to the gods. Physical love in our country is elevated not only to serve beauty and the mysteries of nature, as in Hellas, but also to serve the gods, as it was among the ancestors of Indian people on Crete, in Asia and in Finikia.

“The scores of gods and goddesses include a multitude of celestial beauties of sunlight, including surasundari or apsaras, Urvashi’s helpers. One of their chief missions is to inspire artists to create beautiful things and to bring comprehension and comfort to all people. The celestial maidens bring their own image to us artists, and thus are called chitrini, from the word chitra, which is a painting, a statue, or a verbal poetic description. Imbued with the magical power of art and the ability to create the miracle of beauty, chitrini bring us all under the same law. He who cannot fulfill his task loses his power and becomes blind to the invisible, becoming a mere craftsman.”

“This is very close to the Orphic teaching of the muses,” Lysippus whispered to Thais. “There is a reason why, according to legend, Orpheus brought his knowledge from India.”

“Or from Crete,” the Athenian replied quietly.

“One of the main secrets of the artists’ skill,” the Indian continued, “is the inexhaustible wealth of colors and forms in the world. The soul of any man will always get an answer to his call, if he calls. The mystery will only increase his curiosity. But there are main forms and main gods. Their embodiment is the most difficult task and requires a heroic deed from the artist. His creation, however, lives longer than mountains and rivers on the face of the Earth, akin to the eternal life of the celestial world.

“That is why the entire multitude of chitrini possesses common features shared by them all. This feminine image was described by a poet fifteen hundred years ago.”

The Indian held out his arms and started reciting in another dialect, apparently quoting something. The interpreter looked around helplessly. Then another Indian started translating into a more common language he knew.

“This woman is a joyous dancer, a courageous lover, an agile and strong chitrini. She is of small height with a slender waist and curved hips, with a strong straight neck, with small hands and feet. Her shoulders are straight and more narrow than her hips, her breasts are firm and set high and close, because they are wide at the base. Her face is round, her nose is small and straight. Her eyes are large, eyebrows narrow, hair darker than Indian nights. Her only scent is the smell of honey. Her ears are small and set high.” The Indian caught his breath. “And now look at them,” he said suddenly, pointing at Thais and Eris. “The poet inspired by gods who died so long ago described them both. Do we need any more proof of the immortal beauty of chitrini?”

The Helenians gave loud exclamations of delight. Lysippus, who sent for a chest to be brought from another room, approached the speaker, carefully carrying a statuette made of ivory and gold.

“This is a gift to you, Indian, to confirm what you said,” Lysippus said, then lifted the sculpture in his palm.

Time had damaged the statuette of a semi-nude woman slightly around her face, headdress and right arm. With her left hand, the woman was pulling up the broad floor length skirt that flowed in waves. Deep gores appeared lower down the middle, in the shape of the letter mu. Her loose, wide sash sat at a slant, revealing almost all of her stomach, tiny waist and the top part of her curvy hips. Large, round breasts sat high and close but seemed too well-developed for the narrow torso and shoulders. Her face, though damaged by time, still held its round shape and a steadfast gaze of long widely set eyes.

“Chitrini?” Lysippus asked, smiling.

“Chitrini!” the Indian said, then nodded. “Where from?”

“From the island of Crete. Connoisseurs believe she is one thousand five hundred years old. That means she is a contemporary of your poet. Take it.”

“For me?” the Indian asked, stepping back in reverent awe.

“For you. Take it to your country where beliefs, standards of art and attitude toward women are so close to the great lost art of Crete.”

The Indian said something to his companions and they began chattering loudly and excitedly, raising his arms like Athenians at Agora.

“Today is a true holiday for us at your house, oh wise teacher,” the eldest Indian said. “We have long since heard of your fame as the most incorruptible and greatest artist of Hellas, who came to Asia with Alexander. We have now seen that there is far more glory in the depth and generosity of your knowledge, and we have met not one, but two surasundari — chitrini at your home. But this last gift is particularly special. Even with all of your wisdom you may not know of a legend, that there once was a land in the west which was wiped out by terrible earthquakes and underwater volcano eruptions.”

“I know this legend, and she does too,” Lysippus said, pointing at Thais. “And so do those of my students who have read Creteus and Timeus by Plato. There once was a rich and powerful seafaring country in the west. Its capital, the City of Waters, perished from the wrath of Poseidon and Gaea. Egyptian priests, from whom Plato learned this legend, did not give the precise location of that country, which was called Atlantis. Followers of Plato believe Atlantis to have been located to the west of the Pillars of Hercules in the great ocean. Creteus, unfortunately, remained unfinished, and we do not know what else the great scholar might have wanted to tell us.”

“Then you know the rest. Our legend states that the seafaring country was in your sea. Its position, description and time coincide with those of the island of Crete. The time of demise, not of the country itself, but of its wisdom and the best of its people, took place eleven centuries ago.”

“Right at the time of the fall of the Cretan state after the terrible eruption and flood,” Lysippus said, addressing Thais.

“Some of the most skillful and knowledgeable people of Crete survived the disaster and subsequent capture by people who attacked

Crete the moment its might was crushed and its fleet was gone. They escaped to the east, to their new motherland of Licaonia and Cilicia, as well as Phrygia. But they found the places for possible settlements were already occupied, so they continued their journey.

“The legend says nothing of how they could have reached the river Indus, where they founded their city. They found people there who were distantly related to them: the Dravidians, and taught them arts. Whether they traveled across the land through Parthia, Bactria and the mountains or whether they managed to sail down the Euphrates and make it into the delta of the Indus from the sea using their seafaring skills, the legend doesn’t say. Now you can see that your gift is sacred, for it brings to us a creation of an artist whose people founded the art of our country. I haven’t enough words to thank you, Lysippus.”