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Historical Miniatures. August Strindberg
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Автор произведения August Strindberg
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
“Do that! Speak the Athenian language to him! He does not understand Persian.”
Alcibiades returned to Athens; the death-sentence against him was annulled; and as a commander who had won a battle, he was able to have a triumphal procession from Piraeus to the city. But popular favour was fickle, and, becoming suspected of aspiring to be king, he fled again, this time to the Persian satrap Pharnabazes. Since he could not live without intrigues, he was soon entangled in one, unmasked, and condemned, without his knowing it, to death.
One day he was sitting with his paramour, and chatting quietly at his ease: “You think, then, Timandra, that Cyrus marches against his brother Artaxerxes, in order to seize the throne of Persia.”
“I am sure of it, and equally sure that he has ten thousand Athenians under Xenophon with him.”
“Do you know whether Artaxerxes has been warned?”
“Yes, I know it.”
“Who could have warned him?”
“You did.”
“Does Cyrus know that?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Who has betrayed me?”
“I did.”
“Then I am lost.”
“Yes, you are.”
“To think that I must fall through a woman!”
“Did you expect anything else, Alcibiades?”
“No, not really! Can I not fly?”
“You cannot, but I can.”
“I see smoke! Is the house on fire?”
“Yes, it is. And there are archers posted outside!”
“The comedy is over! We return to tragedy....”
“And the satyr-play begins.”
“My feet are hot; generally cold is a precursor of death.”
“Everything is born from its opposite, Alcibiades.”
“Give me a kiss.”
She kissed him, the handsomest man of Athens.
“Thank you!”
“Go to the window; there you will see!”
Alcibiades stepped to the window. “Now I see.”
At that moment he was struck by an arrow. “But now I see nothing! It grows dark, and I thought it would grow light.”
Timandra fled, as the corpse began to burn.
SOCRATES
Sparta had conquered Athens, and Athens lay in ruins. The government by the people was over, and the rule of the Thirty Tyrants had succeeded it. Socrates and Euripides walked with sad faces among the ruins on the Agora.
Socrates spoke: “We are on the ruins of Athens’ walls! We have become Spartans. We would have no tyrants, and now thirty rule over us.”
“I go to the North,” said Euripides, “to Macedonia, whither I am invited.”
“In that you are right, for the Tyrants have forbidden the acting of your tragedies.”
“That is true.”
“And they have forbidden me to teach.”
“Have they forbidden Socrates to speak? No! Then he can teach, for he cannot speak without teaching. But they must have forbidden the oracles to speak, for they have ceased to prophesy. Everything has ceased! Hellas has ceased to be! And why?”
“You may well ask. Has Zeus begotten the son who is to overthrow him, as Aeschylus foretold?”
“Who knows? The people have introduced a new God called Adonai or Adonis. He is from the East, and his name signifies the Lord.”
“Who is the new god?”
“He teaches readiness for death, and the resurrection. And they have also got a new goddess. Have you heard of Cybele, the mother of the gods, a virgin, who is worshipped in Rome like Vesta by vestal priests.”
“There is so much that is new and obscure, like wine in fermentation. There comes Aristophanes. Farewell, my friend, for the last time here in life.”
“Wait! Aristophanes beckons! No, see! he weeps! Aristophanes weeps!”
Aristophanes approached. “Euripides,” he said, “don’t go till I have spoken to you.”
“Can you speak?” answered Euripides.
“I weep.”
“Do not quit your role. Shall that represent tears?”
“Sympathise with a companion in distress, Euripides; the Tyrants have closed my theatre.”
“Socrates, shall I sympathise with my executioner?”
“I believe that the Temple of Nemesis has been opened again,” answered Socrates. “Aristophanes has never been ingenuous hitherto; now he is so with a vengeance. Very well, Aristophanes, I sympathise with you that you can no more scoff at me. I pardon you, but I cannot help you to stage your comedies. That is asking too much. Now I follow Euripides home.”
Socrates sat by Aspasia, who had grown elderly. “Euripides has gone to Macedonia,” he said.
“From his wives.”
“You have become bitter.”
“I am tired of seeing ruins and all the rest. The Tyrants are murdering the citizens.”
“That is the occupation of tyrants.”
“Shall we soon have rest?”
“In the Ceramicus, in a cedar coffin.”
“I will not die; I will live, but quietly.”
“Life is not quiet.”
“Yes, if one is well off.”
“One never is.”
“No, not if one is unhappily married, like you, Socrates.”
“My wife is certainly the worst possible; if she had not had me for a husband, she would long ago have been murdered.”
“Xantippe betrays you with her gossiping; and when she does not understand what you say, she gives others distorted ideas of your opinions and your person.”
“Yes, I know that, but I cannot alter it.”
“Why do you continue in such a state of humiliation?”
“Why should I fly? One is only justified in flying from superior force, and Xantippe is not a superior force to me.”
“You are forbidden, on pain of death, to give instruction; that is her work and that of Anytos.”
“She may bring about my death, if she likes, for then she has only brought about my freedom.... Aspasia, I hear that our friendship is on the decline; you have found new friends, you have become another person. Let me say farewell before Lysicles comes.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, and the whole town speaks of your coming marriage.”
“With the cattle-dealer, Lysicles?”
“Yes, that is your affair; I don’t talk about it.”
“But you think I should have cherished Pericles’ memory better?”
“I would fain have seen Aspasia’s memory better preserved; but since I have seen Athenians adorn themselves with garlands to celebrate Athens’ overthrow; since I have seen Phidias....”
“How, then, will Socrates end?”
“Certainly not like Aspasia.”
“The gods jest with us. Beware!