Sappho's Leap (12 page)

I don't want to report what happened next. It still hurts my heart to think about it. When I returned, the baby and wet nurses were gone—as was my mother. They had taken a ship for Lesbos. My mother left a note:

Pittacus has offered us his protection. I take my namesake for her own good. Don't try to follow or you will hurt your own child more than you have hurt her already. Someday I pray you will understand.

Praxinoa was weeping in distress. She was inconsolable.

“What have you done?” I screamed in a panic. “What did you tell my mother, Prax?”

“She questioned me about Isis and Alcaeus. She wouldn't leave me alone until I confessed everything I knew. She threatened flogging and I knew she meant it. Oh, Sappho, forgive me! I never thought she'd take the baby. I tried to stop her—really I did.”

When you look back at your life from the edge of a cliff, the obstacles you faced seem self-created, the adventures imagined, the heroism less heroic than it seemed at the time. When my mother kidnapped my baby, I felt as Demeter must have felt when her daughter was scuttled away to Hades' realm. A black cloak was drawn across my face and I could not see the sun. I raged. I wept. I blamed my mother at first, then Isis, then Praxinoa, then myself. But I had put Praxinoa in an impossible situation and I knew it. Jealous of Isis, still angry with me for disappearing with Alcaeus and letting her be punished for it, how could she protect me when my mother pressed her? No one was to blame for my mother taking the baby but me. In a daze of lust, I had lost the most precious creature I had ever known. I had given my mother every excuse to treat me like an irresponsible child. I had provoked Praxinoa with my usual carelessness.

What use was it to
say
you loved? You had to show it. I wanted desperately to chase my baby across the sea, yet I knew that in Lesbos both my life and hers would be in mortal danger. Without me, Pittacus would protect her for my mother's sake. The pain I felt was unbearable, but it was possible that my daughter was safer without me.

“Let's run to the harbor—perhaps we can still stop them!” Praxinoa said.

We ran like the wind, our sandals clattering over the cobblestones. In the market, I knocked over a stand of ripe pomegranates, then fell into the heap of red fruit, which stained my chiton as if with blood. I picked myself up again and ran. The pomegranate seller shouted curses after me. Carts blocked our way. Donkeys laden with fruits and spices slowly crossed the narrow causeway to the harbor. It was like a nightmare in which you try to run, but your way is blocked no matter where you turn. Crowds of people surged from the harbor. Some had just arrived and were balancing all manner of baskets and parcels on their heads, in their hands, on carts overflowing with their ragtag possessions. We pushed through the crowd, smelling the sweat of mingled humanity. Finally we arrived at the water's edge to see the boat for Lesbos disappearing into the distance, its sails red in the setting sun. I collapsed on the dock and wept the tears of the damned.

I don't expect to reach the sky.

—S
APPHO

I
WENT INTO A
long black tunnel after that. After the loss of my daughter I could not eat for weeks. I barely touched a drop of water. I slept and slept to escape the curse of consciousness. In my dreams the baby was restored to me. I could smell her sweet smell and press her to my breasts. Life seemed worth living again. Then I awoke and found myself newly bereft.

It was an excruciating punishment, to dream of her with me and wake up to find her snatched away. If I'd had the courage then, I would have drunk poison or opened my veins. But something always stopped me.

“Your mother may relent and come back,” Praxinoa said, trying to comfort me. I doubted that. But maybe we'd find a way to get back to Lesbos. Perhaps there would be a revolution and Pittacus would be expelled from power. As long as there was the remotest chance of seeing my daughter again, I could not take my own life. Not then.

I had no wish to see Isis. Because she knew that I was through with her, she sent me endless gifts. I returned them all—except for a golden cartouche with her name written in hieroglyphics and a golden cat curled on top of the symbols in sweet sleep. Praxinoa took great pleasure tossing it into the sea.

Eventually Cyrus came to find me. I had not thought of him or his stories about Alcaeus since my mother had decamped with my daughter. In my misery, I had scarcely thought of Alcaeus. It seemed my life was over and love would never be mine again. I slept all day and paced all night. The sun seemed black, the nights were haunted. If it had been up to me, I would never have admitted Cyrus of Sardis through my door, but Praxinoa thought he might distract me from my grief, so she let him in.

“Send him away!” I said.

“He claims he has news of Alcaeus.”

“I don't care,” I said. “I only care for news of Cleis. I'm sure he has none of that.”

“Sappho—hear what he has to say. It may even lead you to your daughter.”

“I doubt it,” I said gloomily, but by then Cyrus stood at the door with a long scroll in his hand.

“A letter from Alcaeus of Lesbos,” he said. “For you.”

“Go away,” I said.

“Aren't you even a tiny bit curious?”

“No,” I said. “I am only curious about my baby.”

“The letter is in Greek,” he said, waving it. He came closer. I could see it was in Alcaeus' hand.

He brought it to me. In fact it was not a letter to me, but my name was mentioned several times. Cyrus was beseeched for news of me and how I was faring in Syracuse. “If you should meet the lovely violet-haired Sappho,” it said, “tell her she is always in my thoughts.” He also reported that he was on the way to Delphi to consult the oracle for the Lydian king.

“If we journey to Delphi, we can also consult the oracle for news of your daughter,” Cyrus wheedled. “And there is money to be made in Delphi. People are so bored waiting for the oracle that they pay well for entertainment. Perhaps also we shall find Alcaeus there. In fact, I'm sure we shall!”

“Go away!” I said.

Cyrus went away that time, but he proved to be persistent. He came back again and again, always with new temptations. If I would agree to sing at a certain symposium, he could guarantee me my weight in gold.

“Sappho—I know who will pay, and pay well, for songs. I know the rich all over the known world. I met them all in Sardis—ahhh, I should have bought land near the palace in Sardis when it was still cheap—but that is another story.”

“Go away!” I screamed.

“Her weight in gold?” Praxinoa asked. “She's a tiny thing, but we could use the gold.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“You may not have noticed this in your despair, but ever since Cercylas died, no money has been coming in from the ships or the wine trade. We owe everyone. We have been trading the produce of our farm for bread and wine, but soon we may lose the farm. Cercylas was improvident. It appears that even when he was
alive
he had enormous debts. While you have been sleeping, I've been managing all this. You'd better sing for your supper or there'll be no supper.”

“How can this be true?” I asked.

“I don't know the how of it—but we do have debts. Every morning the merchants are at our door, looking for payment. I have held them off till now, but if there is a way to get gold—you have no choice.”

“I concur,” said Cyrus.

“But if I sing for gold, my goddess will desert me.”

“But if you don't, your stomach will be empty. And mine,” said Prax. “Sappho, you have never been very practical—so let me be practical for you, for us both. We need the gold. We need to go to Egypt to protect your legacy, and that will be expensive. If we can earn some money here and earn some more in Delphi—then that's what we must do. We no longer have any choice in the matter.”

Cyrus was trembling with excitement. “She's right!” he said. “I can arrange for you to sing at a symposium tomorrow night! Get your songs ready! I shall bring the golden litter for you at sundown!”

“Wait,” said Prax. “How much will she make tomorrow?”

“That's hard to say,” said Cyrus.

“What about her weight in gold?” asked Prax.

“A figure of speech,” said Cyrus.

“Then my mistress will not sing.”

“Are you crazy, Prax? I thought we needed the money,” I burst out.

“Shhh,” said Prax. And then to Cyrus: “If you will bring me half her weight this afternoon, I will let my mistress sing.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” said Cyrus. “I'll bring my own scale.”

“I'd rather use mine,” said Prax with obvious satisfaction. “Sappho—go get your repertory ready. Hurry!”

When Cyrus returned later that afternoon, he and Prax argued over weights and measures. I heard them shrieking at each other as I was trying to rehearse my songs. Eventually, I was summoned out of my chamber to sit in a swing hooked up to an elaborate scale. Prax was loading one side of the scale with weights. Cyrus was removing them. Both of them were accusing each other of cheating.

“You'll break me!” Cyrus was protesting while Prax loaded on the weights.

“My mistress is the biggest bargain of your life!” Prax countered. The weights went on. The weights came off. I myself climbed on and off the swing while they argued over whose mechanism was better and whose weights more accurate. It was excruciating. All the while I was tuning my lyre.

“Can I go now?” I asked, as they seemed to be reaching some sort of compromise.

“Go rehearse and rest and make yourself beautiful,” said Cyrus. “You never know how a symposium can change your life.”

Cyrus came back at six leading a golden litter carried by four burly slaves. The canopy was purple linen embroidered with gold and matched the costumes of the slaves. Praxinoa and I climbed into the litter, which took us through the busy streets of Syracuse. We came into the courtyard of a great villa. Before anyone could see me, Cyrus and Praxinoa led me to private dressing quarters to robe me in royal purple, paint my face elaborately, and perfume me for my performance. Then I waited for the dinner to be over and the floor swept before I appeared with my lyre.

Cyrus introduced me as the “legendary Sappho of Lesbos.” I emerged from the shadows, surrounded by slaves bearing torches and sweet incense. I started with my “Hymn to Aphrodite,” which had so moved the company at Lesbos. Even before I came to the whirling of wings and the chariot descending, I could feel the audience warming to me. What a wonderful feeling! I enchanted myself as I enchanted them! I was in love with the sound of my own voice, in love with their applause and laughter. When I had softened them up with Aphrodite, I moved on to other songs of love.

Some say a host of horsemen

And some say a line of ships

Is the most beautiful thing

On the dark earth—

But I say it is what you love!

Helen deserted her husband

And daughter

And sailed to Troy

When the goddess of love

Called her.

Here I paused and waited for the audience to remember all their own impossible loves. How I knew to do this I cannot say, but I knew it intuitively and it enabled me to manipulate my listeners. I embodied their hunger and yearning perhaps because deep within me there was so much yearning for Cleis and Alcaeus. My desperation fueled my singing.

I would rather see the bright face

Of my beloved

Than Lydian chariots

And full-armed infantry.

There was a catch in my throat because of my recent losses, and the audience felt it. I had become the orphaned, yearning part of them. I felt their pulse and became one with it. Though I had rehearsed all my songs before the symposium, I decided which of them to sing when I met the audience and appraised their hunger. I even improvised for the crowd. Did they lust for young girls? I sang of young girls. Did they dream of sweet-cheeked boys? I sang of them. Did they dream of marriage for their daughters? I dazzled them with epithalamia. I tugged on their heartstrings by ending with this refrain:

The moon and the Pleiades are set.

It is midnight and time spins away.

I lie in my bed alone.

And they rewarded me with thunderous applause.

Later, when I walked among the guests, I was amazed at how well I had taken their measure.

“You speak my own thoughts,” one woman said.

“No—you speak mine!” said her husband.

“I am honored to be your mouthpiece,” I said. And I was. But I was also thinking of the gold.

Cyrus of Sardis charged ever more gold for my performances. And the more he charged, the more the people thought they were worth. They bragged to their guests about how much they had paid for my performances. It was a point of pride that I was so expensive.

But Aphrodite appeared less and less frequently to me. I knew she was angry. My gifts had been given to honor her, not to earn a fortune. I knew she would take her revenge, but I could not imagine what it would be. She had already humbled me with the loss of my daughter and Alcaeus. What more could she do to me? I trembled to contemplate her wrath.

What does the singer learn? Enchantment. We love the gods for their powers of enchantment and we seek to summon them by imitating these powers. We burn incense; we utter incantations in order to become like the gods, in order to attract them. But if the motivation is false—gold, not godliness—the gods will know. Eventually our powers will fail. We will not be able to attract the muses to replenish our song.