Sappho by Nancy Freedman Read Free Book Online Page A

reproachfully at Sappho.
    Pelops, the latest golden boy of Alkaios’s passion, began to blubber. “If ever I burnt heifer, sheep, or these things…”
    â€œHush,” Sappho said sharply.
    Pittakos entered with his attendants. Seating himself, he looked with a mild gaze at the young troublemakers. When he spoke, it was courteously. “A harmful rumor flies around Mitylene from the white stone bridges that span the narrows to Mount Lesbos itself.” He adopted the lecturing tone of a teacher with wayward children. At this condescension, Sappho held her head higher.
    â€œMurder,” Pittakos continued in the same patient tone, “is outside civilized law. Yet the rumor is that murder was done on Melanchros, whom we all know to be residing in Rhodes.” He paused, giving them a chance to speak, wanting them perhaps to deny this. Seeing they would not, he continued. “I have word from my captains that Atreus has taken boat for Egypt. I do not know how deeply you youngsters were involved in his treasonous plotting. But I am inclined to think your only crime is that of being young, and of having a way with words that leads you to excesses.” Here he smiled at Sappho.
    To check her anger she dug her nails into the palms of her hands. “Apollo, god of Truth, looks over my shoulder when I sing.”
    â€œYes, yes. But it is well to ascertain the facts before you sing.”
    She retorted haughtily, “The Muses themselves guide my mind. You perhaps do not know that Art was born in the temple and flowered in the sacred grove. If you use your power against me and my friends, let it be on grounds other than poetry. For if it be a lying song, it will die its own death. If it be true, then Melanchros’s murder will be only the first.”
    â€œHow you misunderstand me, young Sappho of a noble sire. Mysilos and I do not fear idle words, but neither do we want slander—it creates an atmosphere of unrest. Believe me, there has been no murder. Melanchros is as hale as I am. And a token will be dispatched by him from Rhodes, so that all Lesbos may know he prospers. And now…” His mood was almost fatherly. A crease of blood appeared on the inside of Sappho’s hands. “I wish to persuade you that forgiveness is better than punishment. That is the lesson I want you to learn in this room.” He smiled on them benignly. “Why linger,” he said lightly, “when you are free to go?”
    The miscreants looked at one another, unable to believe this clemency. There was a stir among them. Her brother went up to Pittakos and clasped his arm. Even Alkaios said to him, “You have spoken well.”
    Sappho said nothing, not to Pittakos or her companions. Alkaios, in high spirits at their reprieve, reached for her hand, which she tore from his.
    â€œDo not meddle with the Pebble.”
    *   *   *
    Sappho was bitter at being the recipient of Pittakos’s leniency and angry with Alkaios for treating Pittakos as an equal. She was altogether out of sorts.
    This was the moment her mother chose to speak to her of the young men who, with encouragement, might become suitors. “But,” her mother continued in gentle reproof, “a girl who behaves so outspokenly will end up becoming what Aphrodite abhors most, an old virgin.”
    â€œI could always go to the priestesses of Dionysos and live in a cave with the sacred snakes,” Sappho teased.
    â€œSappho, I am trying to have a serious talk with you.” Nevertheless Kleis shuddered. She was afraid of those priestesses who communed with gods and knew the hour of each person’s death. She sighed at her inability to oppose her small, imperious daughter.
    A second person sought Sappho that day whom she treated no better.
    â€œI have not forgotten my anger, Alkaios. Why are you here?”
    â€œSappho, stop playing the part of a spoiled child. Great happenings can be brought