The Life of Polycrates and Other Stories for Antiquated Children by Brendan Connell Page A
Authors: Brendan Connell
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by the plans of the Moirae.
Graffito, on a boulder near the Proastion:
Barbax here danced cordax with Crimon; and melted.
XXXII.
Democedes: I saw Bathyllus in the Laura with Anacreon. And Anacreon was feeding him oysters.
< heart to wax. Bathyllus blazing sun >
Polycrates, sick with jealousy, had the hair of Bathyllus shorn from his head. . . . . . . Then he set fire to the gymnasium.
XXXIII.
There is something especially horrible about the unnatural decay of a handsome man. Polycrates had for years now over-indulged himself, with wine, often unmixed, rich foods, and numerous illicit relations with various specimens of the two sexes. No longer did he subject himself to the rigorous physical drills of his youth. As far as literature went, he turned from all serious study and began to peruse only the works of the lighter poets, those whose works dealt primarily with love and drink. He now had a decidedly gone-to-seed appearance, made all the more tragic by the fact that he tried to cover his flaws of feature with makeup and disguise. Numerous fine wrinkles surrounded his eyes, which themselves had taken on a glazed look, like those of a not particularly fresh fish. Every morning he applied a paste of Solomon’s seal to his skin in order to keep these wrinkles at bay; this having failed, he applied to Democedes, who gave him an unguent of gum of frankincense, fresh moringa oil and cyperus grass. The hair of his head and beard, though still luxuriant, had turned grey and he dyed it with a decoction made from the rinds of the roots of the halm tree and the boiled blood of a black ox. His belly had grown large with fat and around his house and gardens he wore a long loose gown, violet-coloured and embroidered with figures of peacocks. When he went out he secured his belly and buttocks in a tight girdle and dressed in a turban of gold brocade and the soft purple robe of a king. He often found himself weak in the sports of Aphrodite and so had recourse to wine spiced with clary, to membrane of bitch, or cocks’ stones fried with garlic.
XXXIV.
“ I had a dream last night,” Eriphyle said to her father one morning while they were breakfasting on poppy seed cakes and daffodil flowers steeped in honey of Hymettus. “I saw you raised up on some prominent place. . . . You were being laved and anointed by the hands of Zeus and the Sun.”
Polycrates smiled. “Well,” he said, “such a dream can only mean good things; surely it is the foretelling of a rich and happy future.”
“ Surely it is.”
And they ate; and they licked the honey from their fingertips.
And during that time, other things occurred. A meteor darted from south to east. Lightning came from the clear sky, some citizens were struck, killed by bolts, as was a horse; one bolt struck the statue of Apollo that was placed near the theatre, and then again other statues, those of Demeter and Poseidon on horseback, began to sweat. There was an earthquake; subterranean groans were heard; bees swarmed about the temple of Dionysus and a profusion of owls were seen about the temple of Hermes; dogs prowled and whined through the city streets; a farmer dug up a jar of human flesh; blood flowed from beneath a bakeshop toward the Heraion and clods of earth mixed with bile were seen flying through the air.
XXXV.
“ . . . The herald is in the anti-chamber, waiting.”
“ What were the lines again?” said Polycrates to Anacreon, meek old lover of shorn Bathyllus. “What lust has now enslaved your mind . . .”
“ What lust has now enslaved your mind,” said Anacreon, “to wish to dance to amorous half-bored flutes.”
“ The herald is in the anti-chamber,” repeated Maeandrius. “From Oroetes, Satrap of Sardis.”
“ Oroetes . . .” murmured Polycrates from his nest of purple cushions.
“ I will send him in,” said Maeandrius, and turned and walked briskly away.
A few moments later the herald was shown in. . . . He spoke, in low
Graffito, on a boulder near the Proastion:
Barbax here danced cordax with Crimon; and melted.
XXXII.
Democedes: I saw Bathyllus in the Laura with Anacreon. And Anacreon was feeding him oysters.
< heart to wax. Bathyllus blazing sun >
Polycrates, sick with jealousy, had the hair of Bathyllus shorn from his head. . . . . . . Then he set fire to the gymnasium.
XXXIII.
There is something especially horrible about the unnatural decay of a handsome man. Polycrates had for years now over-indulged himself, with wine, often unmixed, rich foods, and numerous illicit relations with various specimens of the two sexes. No longer did he subject himself to the rigorous physical drills of his youth. As far as literature went, he turned from all serious study and began to peruse only the works of the lighter poets, those whose works dealt primarily with love and drink. He now had a decidedly gone-to-seed appearance, made all the more tragic by the fact that he tried to cover his flaws of feature with makeup and disguise. Numerous fine wrinkles surrounded his eyes, which themselves had taken on a glazed look, like those of a not particularly fresh fish. Every morning he applied a paste of Solomon’s seal to his skin in order to keep these wrinkles at bay; this having failed, he applied to Democedes, who gave him an unguent of gum of frankincense, fresh moringa oil and cyperus grass. The hair of his head and beard, though still luxuriant, had turned grey and he dyed it with a decoction made from the rinds of the roots of the halm tree and the boiled blood of a black ox. His belly had grown large with fat and around his house and gardens he wore a long loose gown, violet-coloured and embroidered with figures of peacocks. When he went out he secured his belly and buttocks in a tight girdle and dressed in a turban of gold brocade and the soft purple robe of a king. He often found himself weak in the sports of Aphrodite and so had recourse to wine spiced with clary, to membrane of bitch, or cocks’ stones fried with garlic.
XXXIV.
“ I had a dream last night,” Eriphyle said to her father one morning while they were breakfasting on poppy seed cakes and daffodil flowers steeped in honey of Hymettus. “I saw you raised up on some prominent place. . . . You were being laved and anointed by the hands of Zeus and the Sun.”
Polycrates smiled. “Well,” he said, “such a dream can only mean good things; surely it is the foretelling of a rich and happy future.”
“ Surely it is.”
And they ate; and they licked the honey from their fingertips.
And during that time, other things occurred. A meteor darted from south to east. Lightning came from the clear sky, some citizens were struck, killed by bolts, as was a horse; one bolt struck the statue of Apollo that was placed near the theatre, and then again other statues, those of Demeter and Poseidon on horseback, began to sweat. There was an earthquake; subterranean groans were heard; bees swarmed about the temple of Dionysus and a profusion of owls were seen about the temple of Hermes; dogs prowled and whined through the city streets; a farmer dug up a jar of human flesh; blood flowed from beneath a bakeshop toward the Heraion and clods of earth mixed with bile were seen flying through the air.
XXXV.
“ . . . The herald is in the anti-chamber, waiting.”
“ What were the lines again?” said Polycrates to Anacreon, meek old lover of shorn Bathyllus. “What lust has now enslaved your mind . . .”
“ What lust has now enslaved your mind,” said Anacreon, “to wish to dance to amorous half-bored flutes.”
“ The herald is in the anti-chamber,” repeated Maeandrius. “From Oroetes, Satrap of Sardis.”
“ Oroetes . . .” murmured Polycrates from his nest of purple cushions.
“ I will send him in,” said Maeandrius, and turned and walked briskly away.
A few moments later the herald was shown in. . . . He spoke, in low
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