"Mary Renault - Greece 4 - The Last Of The Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Renault Mary)

me.

I was old enough to have received some attentions from men, while still young enough to think them
rather absurd; as, for that matter, the kind of person who chases young boys usually is. But I had never
been inclined to laugh at Kritias.

When I reached him with the wine, he was all graciouness, and remarked, as if we had never spoken
before, that he had watched me on the running-track and noticed my style improving; and he named one
or two victors my trainer had taught. On my replying as shortly as I knew how, he praised my modesty,
saying I had the manners of a better age, and quoting Theognis. I could see my father listening with
approval. But as soon as he turned his head away, Kritias moved his cup a little, so that the wine spilled
down my clothes. On this he apologised, said he hoped it would leave no stain, and put his hand under
the hem of my tunic in such a way that, to everyone but me, he would have seemed to be feeling the
cloth.

I don't know how I refrained from bringing the pitcher down upon his head. He knew I should be
ashamed to call attention to him, before my father and his friends. I withdrew at once, though without
saying anything, and went over to the mixing-bowl to fill the jug. I thought no one had noticed; but when I
got round to Tellis, the man who had been too poor to pay his own subscription, he spoke to me with a
certain gentleness which told me that he knew. Looking up, I saw Kritias watching us together.
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When the garlands had been brought in and the slaves had shut the door and gone, one or two people
invited me to sit beside them; but I sat on the foot of my father's couch. They had been capping verses, a
diversion in which Kritias had shone; but now being alone they glanced round at each other, and there
was a pause. Then Theramenes said, Well, every dog has his day, and today is the demagogues'.

To this several voices assented. He went on, They think with their ears, their eyes, their bellies or what
else you like, except their minds. If Alkibiades has been insolent to them, he must be guilty. If he has
spent money at the shop, and remembered to smile, he could walk the City with a smashed Herm under
his arm and still be as innocent as this boy here. But remind them a little of expediency, point out to them
that he is a strategist of genius such as Ares sends once in a century; their eyes glaze over; what do they
care? They've not set foot on a battlefield in three generations; they have no armour, no, but they can give
us our marching orders, and choose the generals. Kritias said, And we, who carry the burden of the City,
are like parents with spoiled children: they break the roof-tiles, we pay.

As for justice, Theramenes said, they have as much notion of it as the guts of a mullet. I tell you, my dear
Myron, this very night I could raise a drunken brawl here, strike you before all these witnesses, wound
your slaves; and if you would only come to court looking and behaving like a gentleman, I undertake you
would lose your case. I, you see, should put on the old tunic I wear on my farm, and have a speech
written for an honest poor fellow, which I should con till it came like nature to me. I should bring my
children along, borrowing some little ones as the youngest is ten; and we should all rub our eyes with
onion. I assure you, in the end it would be you who would pay the fine, for plying your simple friend with
stronger stuff that he could afford at home, and trying to profit by it. They would spit on you as you left.

My father said, Well, I agree, they are often like children. But children can be taught. Perikles did it.
Who does it now? Now their folly is tended and farmed for gain. — Whoever complains of them, said