"Mary Renault - Greece 5 - Mask Of Apollo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Renault Mary)

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THE MASK OF APOLLO

Copyright 1966, by Mary Renault

Tears were for Hekab├к, friend, and for IlionтАЩs women,
Spun into the dark Web on the day of their birth,
But for you our hopes were great, and great the triumph,
Cancelled alike by the gods at the point of glory.
Now you lie in your own land, now all men honor you-
But I loved you, O Di├┤n!
plato

(Translation by Dudley Fitts)

THE MASK OF APOLLO

I

NOT MANY PEOPLE REMEMBER LIAMPRIAS NOW IN ATHENS. But his company is still
talked about in the Peloponnese. Ask in Corinth or Epidauros, no one will have heard of him; but down
in the Argolid they will go on about his Mad Herakles, or his Agamemnon, as if it were yesterday. I don't
know who is working his circuit now.

At all events, he was in Athens when my father died, and owed him more money than anyone else did;
but as usual he was nearly broke, and trying to fit a tour out on a handful of beans. So he offered to take
me on as an extra; it was the best he could do.

As I suppose everyone knows, my father Artemidoros was an actor before me; the service of Dionysos
runs in our blood. Indeed, you could call him a sacrifice to the god. He died of a chill he caught here in
Athens, playing second roles in the Bacchae of Euripides, which was that year's classical revival. It was
one of those bright spring days you get at the Dionysia, warm in the sun but with a cutting wind. He came
on first as King Pentheus, wearing a heavy sleeved costume, red cloth with thick embroidery, also some
padding in the chest and shoulders, since like me he was a slender man. I don't know what possessed
him to put on under all this his maenad dress for Queen Agave. There is plenty of time after Pentheus'
exit; but he was always proud of changing quickly. Of course he sweated; when he changed masks and
came on again in this damp thin robe, the sun went in and he got chilled to the bone. One would never
have known it. I was on as a Maenad, and thought he was at his best. He was famous for his women's
roles, especially the crazy ones, like Agave and Cassandra, or tear-wringers like Niobe.

He had no luck that day, for the leading man, who had played the god, got the actors' prize and gave a
party. My father did not like to leave early, in case it was misunderstood, so he stayed drinking till past
midnight. The cold went to his chest with a high fever, and on the third night he died.

Though I was nineteen at the time, it was the first death in our own house since I was born. I felt
half-dazed, and confused with the noise of the rites, the house all upside down, my father on his bier, feet