What a wonderful style of writing, Elgin, ordering me to leave Paris today or tomorrow. Do you not understand that I will be giving birth any day now? Do you really wish me to risk travel? Do you not care about me at all, Elgin? That is all I have to say. Your letter has hurt me too much in every respect to be able to answer it.
“Here, have this answer delivered to him,” she said, folding up the letter and sealing it with her personal stamp. “I will not be commanded about, not even by my own husband. I will not risk the health of an unborn baby to satisfy the wishes of a grown man who is acting like one!”
Robert took the letter from her and smiled. He clicked his heels together and saluted her in the formal, Austrian style, a style with which he would be familiar after his time with his German mistress. “Yes, Lady Elgin. Command of me anything that you wish and I shall carry out the duty.”
FROM THE MOMENT SHE saw him, bloodied and flailing about like one of the war-wounded, though the only battle in which he had engaged was with the birth canal, Mary knew that Baby William was different from the others.
The midwife held the baby close to Mary’s face so that she might see him through the haze of her own misery, and through blurry eyes, she met the sight of the love of her life. “Why are you crying, little boy?” she asked aloud, smiling at him. “It is I who went through the pain.”
When the midwife swept the infant away to clean and swaddle him, Mary felt a pang of loss and realized that she could not wait for him to be back in her arms, where she might stare at him for as long as she wanted.
“What is the date?” Mary asked the girl from the hotel who came in to bring fresh linens.
“It is the fifth of March, madame,” the girl replied. “And the hour is eight and one half in the morning.”
“Then throw the curtains back and let in the sun,” Mary said. “Henceforth, this shall be my favorite day of the year.”
She had been in labor the entire evening. Miss Gosling, her maid, had brought her a light supper at seven o’clock in the evening, and before Mary could take a bite of her potato, the water broke and the contractions began. It had been a horrible twelve hours, causing the same sort of agony and fear as the other births—at times even more so because she was alone, without husband or family, in this foreign country. But the little baby’s knowing blue eyes made the ordeal worth it.
“I’m grateful that I survived your birth,” she whispered to him when the midwife brought him back to her arms. “Because now I can get to know you. I am Mary, Countess of Elgin, from the village of Dirleton, by the Firth of Forth. It’s a beautiful place that you shall grow to love. But you, my darling boy, are a Parisian by birth, and shall always have the same rakish handsomeness that you are displaying at this moment.”
He was beautiful. All her babies were beautiful, but William had the bluest eyes, more like the waters of the Aegean in the summertime, and sheltered by astonishingly long black eyelashes. He was rosier, fattened in the womb by the rich sauces of Parisian cuisine. And unlike the others, he looked at her with the gravest curiosity and an acute intelligence, as if she were an object of fascination.
Though she was still too weak to get out of bed, when the wet nurse arrived to feed him, Mary refused to hand over the child. She had heard about an outbreak of smallpox in certain quarters of Paris. Who knew where this nurse had come from? Mary made the instantaneous decision that she would defy all convention and decorum and breast-feed this little miracle herself.
As soon as she could sit up in bed without pain in the lower regions, she sent off letters to her parents, to the Dowager Lady Elgin, and to Elgin himself, to whom she wrote that in addition to their three Turks, they now had a little frog. She did not mention too many of the tribulations of the birth, though she was as weakened and as ill as when Harriet was born, and she did not address any of the accusations he had made about her behavior prior to the baby’s birth. Perhaps they might put that unpleasantness behind them. But she did announce the news that she would be her own baby’s wet nurse.
This scandalous information brought anger and criticism from everyone, even the doctor who was attending her. Her parents and Elgin’s mother were outraged that Mary would put herself in a servant’s position. Have you lost all dignity? the parties wished to know. She wrote back to her mother:
Please do not scold me! You have scolded me enough. I have been alone and ill. I have worked toward no purpose but my husband’s freedom. I have not seen my precious three Turks in twelve months. If I wish to preserve my baby’s life by taking this precaution, I will do so!
But no reaction was more puzzling than Elgin’s. He sent contradictory responses. Sometimes he chastised her severely for breastfeeding like a peasant woman, and sometimes he sent lurid missives about wanting to share her undoubtedly ample breasts with the baby. Thoughts of sex and its consequences at this juncture of her life made her completely ill. But she did not have to worry over that. Surely, with four healthy children, Elgin would not need to add to the count of his heirs. At the moment, though she was lonely and in exile and pining for her other three children, she was also free to pour her love for all of them into this small body of a boy. With his merry disposition, William was her sole consolation and the life of the household, the single factor existing between Mary and encroaching blue moods.
YOU MUST TAKE THE fresh air, Mary,” Robert said, arriving at her door on a rare, sunny Monday morning. She’d been pale and weak since the birth, and all she could manage was lying in bed, nursing her baby and cooing over him. The rainy Parisian spring weather and her physical condition had precluded spending time any other way. “Alas, your time as a shut-in must come to an end. The air is fresh, the month is June, and the parks are beautiful. Let us take a stroll.”
With little protest, Mary dressed herself and the baby. It was a pleasure to walk the parks of Paris with Robert, who identified the opulent blooms, trees, birds—even the insects—as they strolled. The walks became a daily ritual, weather permitting. Mary thought that Robert must be standing by his window at all times, for whenever the sun popped out from behind the rain clouds, he appeared within minutes. They continued this way quite pleasantly until, one morning, a French lady stopped them to take a look at the child and congratulated Robert on siring such a beautiful son. Both Mary and Robert were too embarrassed to correct her.
Days later, he announced his departure from Paris.
“Sir Joseph Banks has interceded with Bonaparte,” he said. Sir Joseph, in addition to being Ferguson’s mentor, held the admiration of all men regardless of national allegiance. The famous botanist had explored the Pacific Islands with Captain Cook, was director of the Royal Botanic Gardens, had islands named after him, and was high on His Majesty’s list of important minds. “I have my papers. I must take the opportunity to return home.”
“Home?” Mary knew she was being selfish, but she could only think of how her own condition would be diminished if he left. “But Mr. Ferguson, you have not lived at home in many a year.”
She hoped that he noticed that she had reverted to addressing him formally.
“I must go, Mary. You know that I must go, and I will not compromise you by explaining the reasons.”
She continued to walk, but she was so shaken by his remark that she did not know how she was managing to keep moving. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to see his intense eyes staring at her, waiting for a response to what he had said. She wanted to speak, but did not want to address all that was implied in his comment.
“I have no right to ask you to remain here,” she said. “You have made the impossible tolerable, and I hope that you will remember Lord Elgin’s cause when you return to Scotland. He and I will be most appreciative of your efforts.”
“I shall never neglect your cause, Lady Elgin,” he said. He waved for a carriage. “Hotel Prince de Galles,” he said to the driver, opening the door for Mary and then putting the baby and his stroller inside.
Mary could no
t bear the look of loss, of things that must remain unsaid, upon Robert’s face. He had done so much for her. Where would she be, alone in this city with a baby and without him? What could she say to thank him without addressing the host of emotions—silent, yet visceral and real—that had passed between them?
“Forgive me for not seeing you all the way home.” He raised her hand, which was now ice cold and trembling, and kissed it gently. “Adieu.”
The city of Athens, in the ninth year of the Thirty-Year Truce with Sparta
PHEIDIAS’ TRIAL WAS A sham, but the only way to expose that fact and to prove his innocence was for him to go through it. I did not attend. A woman’s presence at a trial is scandal enough, but my particular presence would not have helped his cause. I was the harridan who had tempted him into the evil of which he was accused—not the allegation in the court, but the accusations in the marketplace, where public opinion flew across the square along with soot and smoke from fires and other dark and bitter things. As people talked more and more about that scandal, the crime became not his but mine. It was I who wanted my face desecrating the temple of Athena Parthenos, and I who used my witchery and my influence with Perikles to bully the great artist in appeasing my thirst for impious acts.
Under Perikles’ orders, Pheidias and I continued to claim that I had not posed for the statue of Athena. Our enemies tried to press the charge, as well as the idea that Pheidias had painted his own image and that of Perikles into the shield of Athena. An assembly of selected magistrates visited the Parthenon to see if any resemblances either to the two men or to me could be found, but they had to admit that whatever characteristics we shared with the images were vague at best. Deflated, Elpinike, the ringleader in this escapade, and her new accomplice, Alkibiades, began to look for other means of attack.
Rumors persisted that Pheidias had skimmed a goodly amount of gold off the statue while gilding it, until he was brought to trial on charges of embezzlement of public funds. The trial was being held today, and we had no idea what the outcome would be. The magistrates from the Office of Weights and Measures had ordered the statue stripped of its gold so that it could be weighed. Pheidias was worried that they might have been bribed to misrepresent the weight, and if that happened, then undoubtedly Perikles would also be blamed.
Elpinike had made that clear when we saw her at the games that took place on the day after our party. She had made a point of walking across the stadium so that she could pass in front of our seats. I had seen her coming, and had nudged Perikles with my foot, warning him that she was approaching us. I heard him take a deep, exasperated breath.
“You sent my brother into exile, Perikles, and I will not rest until you suffer the same fate,” Elpinike said to him. He ignored her, but I thought that the force of anger coming from her was so strong that she would have to get some sort of vengeance before it dissipated.
But Perikles ignored my fears. “She is old. Perhaps she will simply die before she has the opportunity to get this revenge upon which she is so determined.”
That was one month ago. I was so nervous over the outcome of Pheidias’ trial that I decided to go to Diotima to get a reading on what the gods were thinking. While I had continued to deny any wrongdoing, I was still under constant attack for posing for the sculptor. After the horrible vision of Nemesis and her monsters taking revenge, I could not lose the idea that Athena was on a mission to punish me for my crime. I was also worried about Pheidias. Had he insulted the great goddess by suggesting my mortal face as hers? Who knew what moved the gods to anger? The best we could do was guess.
The sacrifice of a lamb for the purpose of reading its entrails to determine outcomes and omens is costly. I sent a slave into the marketplace to pawn some jewelry that I did not like so much, hoping that she would not betray me to Perikles. I bought cheaper varieties of fish for dinner and skimped on other household expenses until I had enough coin to present to the priestess. All of this took quite a bit of planning, with Sokrates taking the role of intermediary between Diotima and me.
I was grateful that Diotima preferred to perform the killing in private. I did not want to see a lamb slaughtered. Since I’d discovered I was pregnant, my stomach was much weaker than usual. I was eating nothing, but growing bigger by the day. I did not think that I could withstand watching the flow of blood.
When Sokrates and I arrived at the temple on the Akropolis, two young girls greeted us, ushering us to the small altar where private sacrifices were performed. The room was dark. A heady incense burned, spilling smoke into the air. I could not identify the smell, but it threatened to upset my stomach. There was no animal in sight, but a bowl of what looked like organs was sitting on the altar. Diotima sat on big cushions, eyes closed, as if in a trance. The girls pointed to chairs where we were to sit, and then wordlessly backed out of the room. We sat in front of the priestess for an uncomfortably long time, waiting for her to open her eyes and acknowledge us. At last she took in a deep breath and awakened from her state.
“Aspasia, I do not know why you are having dark visions of Nemesis. Athena is not seeking vengeance upon you for any misdeed.”
Diotima has a way of phrasing things with utter certainty. I wondered if she was so very sure of her interpretations or if she wanted to do as little work as possible for her pay. I hated suspecting a priestess, but she spoke with the kind of emphatic finality rarely expressed by a woman.
“But why, then, would she send the goddess of vengeance to me in a dream?”
“I have no idea. The animal’s intestines are as clear as a newborn baby’s. The liver is pink. There are no tumors or growths. Perhaps your pregnancy is causing these strange visions. You would not be the first woman to experience this sort of thing. I was haunted by dark images when I was carrying my son.”
“Were you married?”
“Oh yes, I was married to an Athenian citizen. I was fortunate enough to have come to Athens before Perikles passed his law that keeps you in the unmarried state. Otherwise I would not be a widow and high priestess of the goddess, but perhaps a courtesan like yourself. Strange, how human fate hangs by such precarious threads.”
“She is never wrong, Aspasia,” Sokrates said.
“How would you know, my friend, when you admit that you are certain of nothing but your uncertainty on all matters?” I had a bit of sarcasm in my voice. I did not want to attack my friend, and I certainly did not want to push Diotima into giving me an unfavorable reading, but I felt shortchanged.
“I am not certain of anything that I know,” he answered. “I am certain of what Diotima knows, and of what her powers are.” He did not like my questioning his teacher.
“So that is it?” I said to Diotima. “I will not be punished?”
“Not for any insult against the goddess. It is not foretold, and therefore it will not happen.”
There was that officious tone again. Why did I dislike it so? Could it be that I was like the men who criticized me? Could it be that I did not like the voice of authority coming from a woman?
Diotima poured the entrails of the animal out on the altar. “Here, Aspasia, lest you doubt me. Look at the organs. Pink, clean, and clear.”
I pretended to scrutinize them, but I was not allowing my eyes to focus. I knew that if I did, my stomach would be upset.
“There was one irregularity, but it has nothing to do with you.”
I looked up at her. This was my reading. I had paid for it, and I wanted all information derived from it.
“I want to know all,” I said.
“The animal had only one testicle. Strange.”
“What can it mean?”
“It means that the goddess is going to punish someone in connection with defacing her temple and her images, but it is not you. It is a man.”
“Pheidias?” I had been afraid of this—afraid he would take the brunt for both of us.
“No, no,” she said dismissively. “He has already had commissioned a sacrifice and had his
own reading. Did he not tell you? Perhaps he did not wish to frighten you. The sculptor only intended to honor the goddess with his temple and his statues. Athena is most pleased with him, and I believe that at this moment she is present at his trial, winning the jurors over to his side. A favorable outcome is foretold.”
“Is it Perikles? Please do not tell me that something bad will happen to him.”
“Perikles is in good stead with the goddess. She is pleased with his monumental marble homage to her on the Akropolis.” I could tell that Diotima was getting bored with us, or perhaps just with me. That was the way with the wise ones, I noticed. Those of us who were younger and seeking their wisdom wore them out with our impatience and our ignorance.
“Can you not supply me with any more information that might put my mind at ease?”
“I do not know what to tell you, Aspasia. I am not in the business of giving comfort. Anyone who insults or defiles Athena will be punished. That is a guarantee. Look at what happened to the Persians after they destroyed her temple. She is one to seek revenge, that is certain. She will dole out punishment, and she will send Nemesis to do the deed. I do not know why she revealed this to you in a vision, but that was her message, and you were correct to investigate whether it was you or someone with whom you are connected. I do not know why the goddess is being so secretive, but who are we to question the ways of the gods? Someone—a man—will pay for something egregious done to the goddess, but Athena has chosen to keep hidden his identity. If I were you, I would let the matter rest. Be happy that neither you nor your loved ones have been singled out.”
She stood up to signal that our time together was over. As we were leaving the temple, I asked what had happened to the sacrificial animal.
“The slaves are preparing it for my dinner,” she said, before showing us to the door and turning away.