"As he never wearies of reminding us," I said.
My father added: "He may soon be admitted to full citizenship, and he's related to several citizens' families. We're lucky. We are after all self-made men and tradesmen, and only by such an alliance can we hope to be accepted by gentlemen."
"I tell you I will not marry at all!"
"Why not? Are you in love with some mainland woman? Or some man?"
"No, I'm in love with nothing but my art."
My mother said: "Oh, Chares, what has that to do with your being married, like any decent young man? You can't carve and cast every hour of the day."
My father added: "Moreover, if you insist on going ahead with this impractical sculptural career, instead of helping me to manage the foundry as you ought, you'll need a good marriage connection more than ever."
"You shall see. When I have achieved fame, I may think of marrying, but for now I'm convinced that I shall go faster in my craft without the comforts and distractions of domesticity."
This idea I had picked up in Athens from Pyrron of Elis, the skeptical philosopher, when he lectured there during my first year of study abroad. Once I had asked Pyrron if there was any general rule by which a man might achieve great deeds. Pyrron rubbed his chin in his absent way—he was a tall, gangling fellow of middle age, so woolly-minded that he was always tripping over things if his friends did not warn him—and replied:
"I suspect that a certain amount of solitude and discomfort enters into the formula." When another student asked if this precluded marriage, Pyrron rejoined:
"I am sure that bachelorhood is a help. You know what Diogenes said of the time to marry: for young men, not yet; for older men, never. On the other hand, many great men have been married; whereas I, who hardly rank as great, have never been. However, I would not advise the seeker after greatness to wed a Greek girl in any case."
"Why not?" I had asked.
"They are too subdued by our one-sided rules of familial life, so that there is no stimulation in their company. A man's wife is chosen for him, and serves him well or badly, but he finds his companionship among men or professional entertainers. Now, in some other lands, such as Egypt and Persia, the women have more spirit. For instance, when I was out east with the Alexander fifteen years ago, there was a lovely Persian maid ..." Pyrron sighed and changed the subject.
My father, however, stuck to his subject like a limpet to a rock, beating his large, work-hardened fist into his palm. "But what shall your parents do for descendants? I'm a nobody; and, besides, I married into a mixed family—now, now, Elissa, I am not criticizing your Phoenician relatives. Some of my best friends are Phoenicians. I'm merely pointing out why I can never be a full citizen; nor, I should think, can Chares. But if we handle our tiller with care and craft, there's no reason why his children should not attain the franchise.
"That means," he went on, "you must step into my shoes when I'm gone—and, of course, beget children to succeed you. I've worked like a mine slave to build up the foundry and give you a good start. If I saw you well settled, learning the business and rearing healthy children, I shouldn't feel I had wasted my life.
"Moreover, since poor little Nikon died, you are our only hope. It is your duty ..."
The dispute raged on for an hour, with shouts, threats, and tears. I refused to yield a digit from my stand.
"Oh, plague!" said my father at last. "We cannot argue all night. At least, Chares, promise me not to antagonize Genetor. When the lusts of the flesh come upon you, you may change your mind."
I said: "The whorehouse will take care of my lusts and steal less time from my art."
"But promise not to speak out of turn to Genetor!"
"For you I will. I'll treat the pompous old peacock like a piece of Egyptian glass!"
The next day my first concern was to find quarters for a studio. My father, when he saw that I was determined to go ahead with sculpture, said:
"Why don't you work at home or in the foundry? Then you could still help me out when I need you."
"No, Father, it wouldn't do. A sculptor must have not only lots of light but also space in which to stand back from his work. If he sees it at arm's length only, he finds when he has finished that his warrior looks like a monkey and his athlete looks like a frog. And the house and the foundry are much too cluttered and cut up by walls. What I need is some old house out on the edge of town, where I can knock out most of one wall."
"I daresay such places exist," said my father, "but you'll have to pay for any such house yourself. Since you won't help me, there's no reason why I should buy or rent another house for you, and I cannot afford it anyway."
"That doesn't worry me. I shall pay my own way as soon as I get some commissions. But I must get a commission first and then start hunting for a studio. Who is the municipal architect?"
"Diognetos. He lives not far from here. Sosias can show you."
Diognetos was a tall, thin, elderly man, with little red veins in his skin and a long gray beard such as few Hellenes wear today save philosophers and back-country shepherds.
"Yes, yes, my boy, I know your father," he said. "A fine man, Nikon Charetos. So you desire a commission from the city, eh? What of your qualifications?"
"I have a letter from Lysippos of Sikyon, under whom I studied."
"I have heard strange things of Lysippos and his brother. It is said that they make casts of living faces and use them for models."
"Why, yes, they do. It's their own invention and a very ingenious one. What about it?"
Diognetos pursed his thin lips. "Ingenious though it be, it is not art. It is reducing sculpture to mere mechanical craftsmanship, such as any clever Asiatic slave can turn his hand to. No, a letter from Lysippos is no recommendation to me. Have you executed any sculptures since your return?"
"No, sir, I arrived only yesterday."
"Then why do you not make some samples in clay to give me an idea of your work?"
I explained about my need for a proper studio, and how I had to have a commission before I could afford to rent and fit out such an establishment.
"Phy!" he said. "A real sculptor can work in a corner of a dungeon cell. If you think you need a Persian palace to work in, you have chosen the wrong trade. Then, have you joined the Guild? I should deem that a good recommendation. Our artists are shrewd critics of each other's work."
"Why, I plan to attend their meeting tonight, and Makar will propose me. It will be a mere formality. There is no question of their not admitting me when they hear what I have to offer."
"Indeed? And what have you to offer?"
"I can teach a whole new method of bronze casting, invented by Lysippos and Lysistratos."
"What newfangled nonsense is this?" growled Diognetos, looking like an aged eagle to whom a rabbit was being saucy.
Irked, I spoke in a loud, emphatic tone. "It's an advance on the piece mold of clay. With a model of clay, you must either dig the clay out of the extremities of the mold, often marring the mold, or else failing to get all the clay out, leaving a defect in the cast; or you must make your mold in sections, and in a free-standing figure of any real complication you can never break the mold down into enough pieces. And there is always the difficulty of building up cores.
"Lysippos' method gets around all these difficulties. He makes a model of sandy clay, a little smaller than the final piece. Then he brushes melted beeswax over it until it is built out beyond the surfaces that the final bronze is to have. He works on the waxen surface, shaving the piece down to size and inscribing surface detail.
"Then he applies the sand of the mold to the waxen surface, leaving pipes to admit the molten bronze and allow the air to escape."