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Authors: Mary Renault
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usually quoted The Clouds ) until he dared to chop logic with Perikles himself. After which he, having got from them what served his turn, laughed at their talk of wisdom and virtue, and went away.
I listened sick at heart, waiting for the name that always came up before long. It was common knowledge, people said, that Sokrates had been in love with the youth, and wanted to make a greater Perikles of him; would follow him to his loose revels, rebuke him in front of his friends, and drag him off like a slave, out of jealousy, unwilling to have the boy an hour out of his sight. I felt the disgrace as if it were my own. Since I could not silence the men, I spoke to Xenophon. We were scraping each other’s backs after wrestling; as I worked on him with the strigil, I said I could not see any crime in trying to make a bad man good. He laughed at me over his shoulder. “Scrape harder; you never scrape hard enough. I will say for you, Alexias, you stick to your side. Well, let’s be fair to him; all these people were taken in by Alkibiades themselves and want a scapegoat. But a man like Sokrates, who goes about all day tripping people up and setting them right, can’t afford to make a fool of himself. Do you know that when Alkibiades was a youth he once used his teeth in a wrestling-bout, when he was losing? If that had happened in Sparta, they would have beaten not only him, but his lover as well, for not teaching him to be a man.”
I had not spirit enough even to rise to the Spartans. “Look into the scent-shop,” he said, “and you will see Sokrates’ young men lolling about by the hour, word-splitting and discussing their souls; like Agathon, who, if you mistook him for a girl, I should think would be delighted.”—“He is a crowned tragedian,” I said. “Why laugh at a man who will be immortal, when no one remembers you or me? Have you seen Sokrates in the scent-shop? I never have.”—“It will be some time, I should say, before we see him anywhere. Ten knucklebones to one I’ll lay you, that he doesn’t show himself in the colonnade for a week at least. Do you take me?”—“Yes.” He noticed then that I had stopped scraping, and looked round. “Pax,” he said smiling, “or we shall be having to clean-off all over again.”
Someone had said that Autolykos the athlete was wrestling in Taureas’ palaestra, so we asked our tutors if we could watch. They agreed to pass through but not to stop. We found that Autolykos had finished his bout and was taking a rest; the place was full of people admiring his looks and waiting for him to wrestle again. A statuary, or a painter, was sitting and making a sketch of him. He was used to all this and took no notice of it. We were edging our way through the press, when from the other end came a hush, and then the muttering of an angry crowd. My hands felt cold. I knew who had come in.
He was alone. It did not occur to me that he had not sought for company; I thought they had all deserted him. Kriton, who had been watching the wrestling, came over at once to walk with him; and to everyone’s surprise, Autolykos himself saluted him, but being naked and covered with dust did not leave the wrestling-ground. Everyone else drew away as he passed, or turned their backs; as he drew nearer, I heard someone laugh.
As for me, I was neither brave enough to go forward, nor coward enough to go back. When others withdrawing left me in sight of him, I could scarcely bring myself to look. The best I hoped for was to see him staring them all out, as they say he did the enemy at Delion in the retreat. But as he passed me he was saying as if conversing at home, “But his contention is that the method can be taught, not the power of apprehending it. If it were a question of mathematics …”
I did not hear any more. As Midas was calling me, I turned to go: then I saw that Xenophon was standing just behind. At first he did not see me, for he was following Sokrates with his eyes. I
I listened sick at heart, waiting for the name that always came up before long. It was common knowledge, people said, that Sokrates had been in love with the youth, and wanted to make a greater Perikles of him; would follow him to his loose revels, rebuke him in front of his friends, and drag him off like a slave, out of jealousy, unwilling to have the boy an hour out of his sight. I felt the disgrace as if it were my own. Since I could not silence the men, I spoke to Xenophon. We were scraping each other’s backs after wrestling; as I worked on him with the strigil, I said I could not see any crime in trying to make a bad man good. He laughed at me over his shoulder. “Scrape harder; you never scrape hard enough. I will say for you, Alexias, you stick to your side. Well, let’s be fair to him; all these people were taken in by Alkibiades themselves and want a scapegoat. But a man like Sokrates, who goes about all day tripping people up and setting them right, can’t afford to make a fool of himself. Do you know that when Alkibiades was a youth he once used his teeth in a wrestling-bout, when he was losing? If that had happened in Sparta, they would have beaten not only him, but his lover as well, for not teaching him to be a man.”
I had not spirit enough even to rise to the Spartans. “Look into the scent-shop,” he said, “and you will see Sokrates’ young men lolling about by the hour, word-splitting and discussing their souls; like Agathon, who, if you mistook him for a girl, I should think would be delighted.”—“He is a crowned tragedian,” I said. “Why laugh at a man who will be immortal, when no one remembers you or me? Have you seen Sokrates in the scent-shop? I never have.”—“It will be some time, I should say, before we see him anywhere. Ten knucklebones to one I’ll lay you, that he doesn’t show himself in the colonnade for a week at least. Do you take me?”—“Yes.” He noticed then that I had stopped scraping, and looked round. “Pax,” he said smiling, “or we shall be having to clean-off all over again.”
Someone had said that Autolykos the athlete was wrestling in Taureas’ palaestra, so we asked our tutors if we could watch. They agreed to pass through but not to stop. We found that Autolykos had finished his bout and was taking a rest; the place was full of people admiring his looks and waiting for him to wrestle again. A statuary, or a painter, was sitting and making a sketch of him. He was used to all this and took no notice of it. We were edging our way through the press, when from the other end came a hush, and then the muttering of an angry crowd. My hands felt cold. I knew who had come in.
He was alone. It did not occur to me that he had not sought for company; I thought they had all deserted him. Kriton, who had been watching the wrestling, came over at once to walk with him; and to everyone’s surprise, Autolykos himself saluted him, but being naked and covered with dust did not leave the wrestling-ground. Everyone else drew away as he passed, or turned their backs; as he drew nearer, I heard someone laugh.
As for me, I was neither brave enough to go forward, nor coward enough to go back. When others withdrawing left me in sight of him, I could scarcely bring myself to look. The best I hoped for was to see him staring them all out, as they say he did the enemy at Delion in the retreat. But as he passed me he was saying as if conversing at home, “But his contention is that the method can be taught, not the power of apprehending it. If it were a question of mathematics …”
I did not hear any more. As Midas was calling me, I turned to go: then I saw that Xenophon was standing just behind. At first he did not see me, for he was following Sokrates with his eyes. I
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