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

At this I heard, all round the couches, an indrawn breath. Kritias said, They did the Showing, too. They
brought in a woman. He added something, which it is unlawful to write.

There was a long silence. Then a man in the far corner said, That is not only blasphemy. It is hubris.

It is more dangerous than that, Kritias said. It is frivolity. He picked up his cup and set it down again, to
remind me it was empty. He will destroy himself because he cannot keep his mind on serious things. His
capacity is excellent; he begins a business of some gravity, knowing himself capable of success, and
discounting the results of failure. Then something crosses his path: a quarrel, a love-affair, a practical joke
that he can't resist. He enjoys dangerous improvisations. He has the soul of an acrobat. Recall his public
debut, to contribute to the war fund. No one knows better the value of an entrance. But he won't leave
his fighting quail at home; and this when the ban is on. It gets out of his mantle; in the event, people are
tickled, and tumble about the Theatre trying to catch it for him. Ignoring all who might be useful later, he
receives it from a nobody, the pilot's mate of a warship; they go home together, and the man is about him
to this day. Another time, entering on affairs, he will take a course in debate. He goes to Sokrates; not a
discreet choice, but far from a foolish one, for the man, though mad, is a most accomplished logician; I
have profited from him myself and don't care who knows it. His processes, of course, all lead towards a
rationalism which he himself refuses to accept; one knows these eccentrics. But Alkibiades, who by this
time has tasted everything beautiful in the City, of all three sexes, is taken by the man's extraordinary
ugliness, and suffers him to extend the lesson in all directions. Before very long, he has caught his lover's
vagary for reforming the gods, and, by a simple syllogism, infers that unreformed gods are fair game.
Hence the dangerous little mummery you spoke of, Myron. Nowadays he has given up improving the
Olympians, though in matters of love he could probably instruct them. And danger, like wine, has to be
strong now to quicken his blood.

I stood beside the wine-mixer, the jug in my hand, looking at Kritias. I was wishing him dead. I
remember thinking that if I could make him meet my eye, my curse would be more effectual; but he did
not look.

Then Tellis, who had not spoken for some time, said in his quiet voice, Well, we began by discussing the
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Herm-breaking. If we can be sure of anything, I should say, we can rule improvisation out. A couple of
hundred men could scarcely have done it, all round the City in a night. Were they knocked up here and
there by drunks, and no one remembers? None of these chance people refused, and denounced them?
No, Myron is right; it was planned to a hair, and not by Alkibiades.

Kritias said smoothly, No one, I am sure, will think worse of Tellis for supporting his host.

The men had been drinking, and were full of their affairs. But I, who was watching, saw Tellis' face
stiffen, as at the first bite of a sword-thrust. When you have thought yourself among good friends, who
have given the best proof of their liking for your company, it strikes hard to be called a sycophant for the
first time. I knew he would never sup with the club again. I went over to him and filled his cup, knowing
no other way to show what I felt; and he smiled at me, trying to greet me as he always did. Our eyes met
above the wine-cup, like men's who have picked up the sound of a lost battle before the trumpet blows
the retreat.