The Double Tongue by William Golding Read Free Book Online Page B

The Ion. You’ve heard of Ion? He wasn’t my ancestor but he filled the same position as I do here. Euripides wrote the play – this roll here, rather tattered, was the prompt copy and he allowed us to keep it. It’s a rather cruel story and I think that perhaps you wouldn’t like it. Sophocles. Aeschylus – oh, any tragedian you care to mention. But we don’t have the originals of them all, you know. King Ptolemy sent round asking for the originals so that he might copy them for his great bookroom in Alexandria. What we got back were not the originals but the copies. That was really, really wicked. You can see how a decent Greek gets corrupted by eastern influences. Of course, Ptolemy – the first one – was only a Macedonian, which isn’t quite – well now what have we here? Ah yes, the Lyrists. Pindar, and I think his master, Simonides, Bacchylides, Erinna – she was a girl like you. Over here though, all on her own, we have – See!’
    It was another book box on legs. He laid back the lids and I looked in. There was a book, of course. There was also a plain gold ring and a tuft of rather mousy hair pushed through it. There was an old goose feather, rather crumpled and stained here and there with black.
    ‘The Tenth Muse, Young Lady. Sappho of Lesbos, the island where the head of Orpheus was washed up on the beach after the Wild Women tore him to pieces. I think Sappho is going to be a particular friend of yours. Now don’t get the idea you’ll meet her in the flesh. She died hundreds of years ago, but what difference does that make? She was a young lady like you, very emotional, very passionate, I think, though she was happiest with girls as I am happiest with – well, I suppose you can guess. Perseus! Could you spare us a moment?’
    A young man whom I had not noticed appeared between two of the book chests.
    ‘Ionides. Gracious Lady.’
    ‘This is Perseus, my dear, our infinitely precious slave. Aren’t you ever going to accept your freedom, Perseus?’
    ‘And leave this bookroom, Ion? Never! What can I do for you?’
    ‘Could you tell this Young Lady – you know about her – tell her about the book and the rest.’
    ‘Well. The pen is, as the notice says, Sappho’s pen. The ring was hers and of course the hair is said to be hers – not very impressive for the Tenth Muse, is it? But then, she was said to be an insignificant little creature – the little brown nightingale of Lesbos, Alcaeus called her. Which of her poems did you wish to see?’
    ‘I don’t think we’ve time for that, Perseus. Just tell us the story.’
    ‘Oh well, she fell in love with a man at last, a fisherman who didn’t know his alpha from his beta. Not that that matters of course. But he abandoned her. She was too plain for him. He liked them curvaceous. So she threw herself off a cliff at Leuctra. He sold the book and the ring she’d given him. Poor girl, she’d tried to magic him with it. As for the hair – no I don’t think so.’
    ‘Well, there you are, Young Lady.’
    ‘Forgive me, Ion, I’m very busy.’
    ‘Go back to your books about books about books! We’ll be content with the makers. Well, Young Lady. I want you to spend as much time as you like here and believe me you’ll have plenty of time. There’s prose down at that end – Histiaeus, Herodotus, and the fellow who circumnavigated Africa, I forget his name – Alexander’s Admiral of the Fleet. Hundreds of books, positively hundreds. But mostly I want you to read the poetry. Particularly the hexameters. I want you to be able to speak in hexameters. But, for now, all you have to do is read, read, read!’ He lowered his voice suddenly. ‘Arieka! Come, you watering pot, what’s the matter? You’re free, free, free! Here in this building is man’s greatest gift to you, greatest invention! Without it we might still be scratching bulls’ heads and pots with ears to them on clay brick! The alphabet, my child, and thank god for the