Aspasia the maker of strategists

    



             ASPASIA: THE MAKER OF STRATEGISTS

                A Drama in Five Tableaux



CAST OF CHARACTERS

For a company of four actors

THE ACTRESS

ASPASIA — daughter of Axiochus of Miletus. Her journey carries her from a twenty-year-old foreigner to a mature mistress of the polis and, at last, a tragic widow.

TELESIPPA (Tableau IV) — Pericles’ first lawful wife, a traditional Athenian woman at her distaff.

ACTOR I — POWER AND ITS BURDEN

PERICLES — First Strategos of Athens.

ACTOR II — WISDOM AND THE FLESH OF THE PEOPLE

ANAXAGORAS — Philosopher of Clazomenae (Tableau I).

LYSICLES — Cattle merchant, later a new demagogue and strategos (Tableaux II, IV and V).

ACTOR III — THE VOICE OF TRUTH AND QUESTIONING

SOCRATES — In youth, a stonemason dusted with lime; later, a mature philosopher who walks barefoot (Tableaux II, III and V).







                TABLEAU I


THE MORNING BREAD AND THE BIRTH OF A VISION

Circa 450 BC
Setting

The inner courtyard, or peristyle, of Anaxagoras’ modest house in Athens. Early morning. Long, slanting shadows. The coolness of an olive tree. A clean, diffused light.

Upon a stone table stands a simple breakfast: an earthenware bowl of barley bread softened in watered wine — akratismos — a dish of dark olives, and dried figs.

Two men sit at the table, wearing light, unstitched Ionian chitons. They converse at the unhurried pace of men born of the same land.

ANAXAGORAS (slowly breaking off a piece of flatbread)

…The Athenians are stubborn, Aspasia. They pray to Helios in his golden chariot because they cannot bear to imagine the heavens empty. Tell them the sun is nothing but a blazing stone, as large as the Peloponnese, and they will stop their ears and call thee impious.

ASPASIA (with a gentle, knowing smile, taking a sip from her cup)

It is not the stone they fear, Anaxagoras. It is being left alone with the cold. A chariot may be guided by prayer; a stone is indifferent to their sacrifices. But if the earth itself sails in a circle…

(She gives a slight shake of her head, gazing thoughtfully into the garden.)

I felt that stubbornness almost the moment my feet touched Attic soil. In Miletus, we breathed the arguments of philosophers as naturally as all living things breathe upon the Ionian shore. I came to Athens dreaming it might become the new capital of the oikoumene — longing to conquer its heart, to behold a city of wise men and free citizens…

And what did I find? A sprawling, noisy township, provincial in its fear of thought. Here, the gods still command the heavens; a woman is expected to spin wool and hold her tongue within the women’s quarters; and one may scarcely whisper a question about the nature of the universe.

How far they are from understanding the true nature of Helios…

(With a crash, the heavy wooden bar of the street door flies back. Pericles strides into the courtyard without knocking or warning. He is wound tight with agitation. His cloak is crumpled in one hand; road dust clings to his sandals; his breath is short from hurried walking.)

PERICLES (entering at speed, flinging his cloak upon the stone bench without looking around)

Anaxagoras! Where in Hades have you vanished to? Seven days I have searched for you in the Agora. I have sent servants to your door, only to find the house barred!

The Council is aflame; the Assembly clamours for war; our allies are muttering; the demagogues are tearing the polis limb from limb! I need your sober mind, and I need it this instant — and you…

(Pericles stops abruptly, halfway through a step. His gaze falls upon the table. He sees a young woman in loose attire, a cup in her hand, making not the slightest attempt to conceal herself. A stunned silence descends.)

PERICLES (more quietly, struggling to preserve his composure)

…and you… are not alone.

ANAXAGORAS (unperturbed, finishing his mouthful of bread; he gestures towards the bench opposite)

Leave your cloak by the door, Pericles. Neither Spartans nor archons will break through that bar while we are breaking bread. Sit.

Allow me to present my companion at breakfast: Aspasia, daughter of Axiochus of Miletus. She comes from our own Ionian shore.

And believe an old man, Strategos: in all my years in Athens, I have never encountered a mind more lucid, more free, or more profound. We were debating the circles of the heavenly bodies, but the heavens can wait.

Wash your hands. Take a little wine. Then speak. What has gone amiss upon the hill of the Pnyx?

(Pericles hesitates for the briefest moment, inclines his head to Aspasia in a restrained bow, and sits. Anaxagoras pours him wine mixed with water. Pericles drinks, gathering his thoughts.)

PERICLES

Athens has reached an impasse. After the disaster in Egypt, the treasury is drained and the people are afraid. The war party demands that we continue the struggle, that we pursue vengeance upon the Persians to the last ship. Others cry that our allies are deserting us, that the tribute is bleeding the islands dry.

The Assembly wavers. The crowd hungers for triumph, yet dreads the cost.

If I seek a truce, they will call me a coward. If I send the fleet onward, we shall strain ourselves to breaking point and burn.

How am I to tell the d;mos what Athens ought truly to desire, when Athens itself does not know where it is going?

ANAXAGORAS (sighing heavily, sifting the crumbs between his fingers)

It is no simple matter, Pericles… The crowd is a force of nature bereft of Cosmic Mind. It remembers only yesterday’s terror and thirsts for vengeance today. Press it too hard, and it will revolt. Loosen the reins, and it will dash itself against the rocks.

I see no straight road through this.

(A deep silence. Aspasia carefully sets down her cup upon the stone table and raises her eyes to the First Strategos.)

ASPASIA (softly, with impeccable tact, speaking in her musical Ionian accent)

Forgive a stranger, noble gentlemen… And you, Strategos, forgive a woman for speaking where the fate of the polis is decided.

But have you ever considered… that the error lies in the very terms of your argument?

You are defending yourself, Pericles. You go before the Assembly like a debtor before his creditors, seeking to justify the cost of war.

But one must not plead one’s case before a crowd. One must open before it a horizon it has never seen.

Why should victory be measured only by the number of triremes burned and walls cast down? In the strength of arms, Sparta will always breathe down your neck.

But weapons command only bodies.

Command their minds.

Let the greatness of Athens be measured not by the fear she inspires in her neighbours, but by the way of life every Greek will wish to emulate.

Make this city the place towards which the finest minds, architects, poets and sages of the whole oikoumene will turn their steps. Win supremacy not by the sword, but through reason, beauty, and the dignity of your laws.

You speak to them of duties and triremes. Speak to them of the destiny of Athens — and they will follow you of their own accord, because they will believe they are building their own immortality.

(Pericles becomes utterly still. Astonishment fills his eyes. Slowly, the tension leaves his face. For a long moment he looks from Aspasia to Anaxagoras, then back to her.)

PERICLES (slowly, almost under his breath)

You speak as though you can already see an Athens that does not yet exist.

ASPASIA (meeting his gaze without a trace of uncertainty)

But is a city that already exists worth living for?

(A brief, ringing silence. Anaxagoras looks at them both, then lowers his eyes, a wise and faintly sorrowful smile upon his face.)

BLACKOUT.



                TABLEAU II



DUST AND PERFUMES

A few years later
Setting

The andron in Aspasia’s house. Evening. Bronze oil lamps, a delicate thread of myrrh smoke. Carved couches (klinai), cushions of purple Milesian wool, and a silver wine-mixing bowl (krater) upon its stand.

Aspasia reclines upon a couch, at ease, wearing a finely worked peplos edged with gold. A slender kylix rests in her hand.

Beside her sits Lysicles, dressed in a rich, excessively colourful himation. He keeps adjusting its folds and making his gold ring chime against the cup.

LYSICLES (heated by wine)

…I swear by the Dog, Aspasia, the whole of Piraeus is talking about your speeches! Young men from the finest houses are ready to pay silver for a single evening in your company.

But tell me plainly: what use have you for philosophers with their empty purses? Can wisdom feed a ship?

Now, a herd of first-rate sheep from Thrace — that is power! That is weight you can put your hands on! With that behind you, you can enter the Council without shame. Power is bought with things that can be weighed on market scales!

ASPASIA (with affectionate irony)

Sheep make a splendid foundation for the state, Lysicles — especially when the citizens begin bleating in chorus upon the Pnyx.

The trouble is that a sheep is shorn once a year, while a fool in the Assembly is fleeced at every vote.

If you wish to lead men, a full pen is not enough. You must know the language in which they are to be led.

LYSICLES (laughing, flattered)

You do know how to prick a man, Milesian! That is why I—

(A figure appears quietly in the doorway. Without announcing himself, the young Socrates enters. He wears the rough exomis of a stonemason, his right shoulder bare. White lime dust clings to his hair and calloused hands. He stops, blinking at the soft light and the unfamiliar fragrance of perfumes.)

LYSICLES (wrinkling his nose in disgust)

And what sort of apparition is this? Hey, lad, you’ve come to the wrong courtyard! Orders for portico steps are taken at the back entrance.

Or have the slaves gone blind altogether, letting stonemasons into an andron where respectable people receive their guests?

SOCRATES (looking calmly at Aspasia)

I have not come to the wrong courtyard. The door was open. In the street I smelled myrrh and heard talk of wisdom.

I asked the doorkeeper whether this was where one learned the art of speaking so that others would listen. He laughed — but he did not drive me away.

LYSICLES

Learn to speak! Soon the donkeys at the mill will be demanding lessons in rhetoric! Back to your chisel, apprentice!

ASPASIA (checking Lysicles with a gesture; her eyes remain fixed on the newcomer)

Leave him be, Lysicles. The door of my house is open to those who seek a word, not only to those who can pay for one.

Come closer, stranger in your own city. What is your name?

SOCRATES

Socrates, son of Sophroniscus, of the deme of Alopece.

ASPASIA

And why does a stonemason need rhetoric, Socrates? Stone does not argue. It yields to the hammer’s blow.

SOCRATES

Stone does not argue. That is true. But stone is blind.

My father taught me to cut away all that is superfluous from a block, until the form hidden within it is set free.

Today, in the square, I listened to an archon speaking of justice. His words were smooth as Parian marble, yet there was nothing behind them. Only emptiness.

So I came to ask: is eloquence merely the art of dressing emptiness in fine garments? Or can it also be used to cut away the unnecessary, until the truth stands revealed?

LYSICLES (suspiciously)

You mean to invite him to your table, Aspasia? If slaves and craftsmen begin discoursing on truth, who will haul the stones for the Propylaea that Pericles is so anxious to build?

A city stands because every man knows his place. Sheep belong in the pen; merchants belong in the market!

ASPASIA (without taking her eyes from Socrates)

A city stands upon its laws, Lysicles. But when those who write the laws mistake polished marble for truth, the whole polis becomes a house built upon sand.

(She offers Socrates a kylix. He politely declines with a slight shake of his head.)

You say, Socrates, that your father cuts away what is superfluous. But words are another matter.

One false word upon the Pnyx can set an allied city ablaze or destroy an innocent general. Are you not afraid that, in cutting away the unnecessary, you may leave nothing of a man but bare bones?

SOCRATES

If bones are the only truth a man contains, then let the bones remain.

Is not the body but a passing garment worn by the soul?

The marble of the Parthenon will outlive me — and, forgive me, even your beauty. But if the sweat of slaves and the pride of rulers become the only mortar holding it together, that temple will stand as a monument to disgrace.

You teach Pericles to speak so that Athens may appear beautiful. But can Athens be just, rather than merely seem so?

LYSICLES (striking his cup irritably upon the table)

Justice means that Piraeus receives three hundred ships a year and the harbour dues flow without delay!

Justice is the strength of the strong!

ASPASIA (with quiet admiration for Socrates’ audacity)

You see, Socrates? For Lysicles, justice is weighed in talents of silver. And the d;mos will agree with him, not with you.

Men will tear apart anyone who tries to strip away their masks.

Why pursue so dangerous a quest?

SOCRATES (a faint smile appearing for the first time)

For the same reason you left flourishing Miletus and came to this “noisy township.”

To awaken those who sleep.

You awaken them with passion and grand designs, Aspasia. And I… I shall awaken them with questions.

Then we shall see which bites make this lazy Athenian horse run faster.

ASPASIA (quietly)

Sit at my table, stonemason. We shall have much to discuss.

BLACKOUT.






                TABLEAU III



AT THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS

431 BC — The Beginning of the Peloponnesian War

Setting:

The andron in Aspasia’s house, at dusk. The air hangs heavy with smoke: the Spartans are burning the fields and olive groves of Attica. From beyond the windows comes a muffled roar — the wailing of children, the cries of hundreds of thousands of refugees driven from every corner of Attica and crowded behind the Long Walls of Athens.

On the table lie papyrus scrolls bearing drafts of the Funeral Oration.

PERICLES stands at the window, gazing into the fiery glow on the horizon.

PERICLES (with smouldering fury)

Archidamus stands at Acharnae. He burns our ancient olive trees to lure me out into the open field. The Council clamours for battle. The hoplites beat their spears against their shields and demand that we fight.

But if we march beyond the walls, the Spartan phalanx will crush us within an hour.

Our salvation lies in the sea and in granite. We shall outlast them.

SOCRATES (seated upon the steps of the portico; a mature man of forty)

The walls will save your bodies, Pericles. But what will you do with the souls imprisoned within them?

You have driven all your people inside the city’s bounds. They sleep huddled together in the dust of sanctuaries and beside refuse pits. You have taken their land from them and given them confinement and bitterness in its place.

Already, they hate one another more fiercely than they hate their enemies.

PERICLES

This is a war for survival, Socrates! You speak of manners and morals while the Spartan axe bites into our roots!

So long as our fleet remains intact, Athens remains intact!

SOCRATES

Is Athens made of people, or of the timbers of triremes?

If a shepherd drives his flock into a narrow stone pen to save it from wolves, yet the sheep, maddened by hunger, begin trampling their own lambs — has he saved the flock?

When citizens gaze upon the gleaming Parthenon from the foul, airless darkness of their hovels, all they see is silver that might have bought them bread!

ASPASIA (rising from behind the scrolls, her voice commanding)

They shall see what we compel them to see, Socrates.

(She passes her hand over the papyrus.)

Tomorrow, the Kerameikos will be filled with the people. Tomorrow, cypress coffins will be carried forth, bearing the bones of the first warriors who have fallen.

Ten coffins, one for each tribe — and one empty, in memory of those swallowed by the sea.

The d;mos will come in fear, ready to curse Pericles for the ashes of their homesteads.

But Pericles will mount the platform, and he will not speak of ashes.

SOCRATES

And what, then, will you command him to say to them, Aspasia?

ASPASIA

He will tell them that they are free men, while their enemies are slaves to their own fear.

He will tell them that our way of life serves not a handful of nobles, but the many.

He will tell them that we alone unite our love of beauty with courage.

(She hands the scroll to Pericles.)

You will tell them, Strategos:

“Our city is the school of all Hellas.”

Lift their eyes above the burned-out barns. Show them a greatness for which it is worth dying.

PERICLES (with reverence and pain)

You place the words of the gods upon my lips at the very moment Hell itself yawns open around us.

SOCRATES (rising to leave)

The greatest temptation of words is this: to wrap a dying man in a golden cloak, that none may see his agony.

You will give them a song above the grave, Aspasia.

But the fire is already burning beneath the walls.

Soon it will leap within them.

And no speech, however mighty, shall quench it.

BLACKOUT.




                TABLEAU IV



BLACK MYRRH

429 BC — The Plague of Athens

Setting:

The same andron, now sunk in half-darkness. On the floor, braziers smoulder with resin, wormwood, and vinegar — a desperate attempt to drive away the pestilence.

From the streets comes the wailing of funeral mourners.

In one corner sits a woman, wrapped in a dark, concealing veil, a spindle never leaving her hands. She is TELESIPPA, played by the same actress who plays Aspasia.

TELESIPPA (her voice hollow and monotonous, her fingers mechanically twisting the thread)

Xanthippus died on the third day…

Paralus turned black by morning…

The hearth has gone cold, Strategos. Your house has gone cold. Your line has perished.

You gave me to another husband. You went in search of a living flame in a foreign woman — and brought nothing home but ashes.

The gods have not forgiven your pride.

(The woman rises, drops her spindle, and dissolves into the smoke from the braziers.)

From the half-darkness emerges Aspasia herself.

Pericles enters to meet her, staggering and leaning against the doorpost. His face is the colour of earth. His cloak hangs open, and dark plague sores mark his neck and chest.

ASPASIA (rushing to him, catching him beneath the arms)

Pericles! Why have you risen? You must not move!

PERICLES (sinking helplessly onto the couch)

They have withdrawn the charges against me, Aspasia…

The Assembly has called me back once more.

They have acknowledged our son…

Pericles the Younger shall become a citizen of Athens.

Your law has yielded before your devotion.

ASPASIA (pressing his burning head against her breast)

The very law you wrote yourself!

And now they beg you to return. Live for him! Live for me!

From these ashes, we shall raise Athens anew!

PERICLES (weakly stroking her face)

My beautiful Milesian…

My Reason.

You were not afraid to remain with me in this plague-ridden tomb.

And yet Anaxagoras’ burning stone has fallen upon my head at last.

The stone is cold, Aspasia.

It does not care…

ASPASIA

Do not speak so! I beg you!

PERICLES (hoarsely, in broken breaths)

Listen to me…

When the torch is extinguished, the d;mos will tear you apart.

They will never forgive the woman I loved more than their laws.

You will need a protector.

A man with money, with meat to put before the people, and with the nerve to speak to the crowd in its own tongue.

ASPASIA (in horror)

What are you saying?!

I need no one but you!

PERICLES

You are a pragmatist.

You have made strategists.

Make one more — so that you may survive, and save our boy…

Promise me…


BLACKOUT.





                TABLEAU V (FINALE)




 THE NEW PEN

Athens, 428 BC

The same andron, stripped of its former luxury. Military maps cover the walls; lists of triremes lie scattered across the table beside sacks of coins. Through the wide window, the Parthenon, newly completed, gleams in the light of the setting sun.

LYSICLES paces the room, dressed in an expensive general’s cloak, a sword at his waist. He is on the verge of panic.

LYSICLES: They’re waiting for me on the Pnyx! Piraeus is roaring! The Spartans are at our doorstep, the treasury is empty, and the d;mos demands free bread!

I’m a cattle merchant, Aspasia! I’m no Pericles! I have no archons among my ancestors. I’ll choke before I face that crowd!

ASPASIA stands by the window, dressed in mourning. Her voice is cold and measured.

ASPASIA: You will go. You will raise your hand, and the crowd will fall silent.

You will tell them that the aristocrats have betrayed the polis. You will tell them that you are flesh of their flesh—that you know the smell of sheep’s wool and the taste of sea salt.

You will promise the rowers their pay. You will promise bread from the Thracian colonies.

And you will speak the words I have given you. Every word. Do you understand?

LYSICLES: You’re a terrifying woman…

Pericles is scarcely ashes on his pyre, and already you’re carving me into his shadow. Why? For power?

ASPASIA points towards the Acropolis.

ASPASIA: For my son.

So that Pericles may not be sold into slavery because his mother was born in Miletus.

And for that marble.

She gazes at the Parthenon.

Men die of plague. They die of stupidity. But they cannot destroy what they have built upon this rock.

Go. The Assembly awaits.

LYSICLES snatches up his cloak and exits. For a moment, silence reigns. Then SOCRATES, older now, emerges from the shadows of the portico.

SOCRATES: So you’ve taken up your chisel again, Aspasia?

But this marble is riddled with cracks. Lysicles will perish on his very first campaign in Caria. The d;mos will tear him apart as soon as the Thracian grain runs out.

ASPASIA does not turn. Her gaze remains fixed upon the Parthenon.

ASPASIA: I know, Socrates.

He will not last a year. But that year will give my son the right to remain a citizen.

I pay for every step with lives and words.

And you… do you still ask questions to which there are no answers?

SOCRATES: One answer I have found through all these years.

You carved the greatest city on earth. You taught it to speak the language of the gods.

But you could not make it immortal.

ASPASIA turns. In her eyes is the bitter irony of their first encounter.

ASPASIA: But is a city worth loving if it cannot die, Socrates?

SOCRATES: Pericles gave Athens her walls and triremes.

You gave Pericles the audacity of his gaze.

And me…

You left me a lifetime’s work: to explain to these madmen why beauty without truth turns to ash.

The last light fades upon the hill. The white marble of the Parthenon slowly turns ash-grey.

From the square below comes the dull, triumphant roar of the crowd, welcoming its new orator.


CURTAIN.