The Goddess Of Love

  Author’s Note

  Thomas, seventh Earl of Elgin and eleventh Earl of Kincardine, a soldier and a diplomatist, (1766 –1841) is famous for his acquisition of the Greek sculptures now known as the ‘Elgin Marbles’.

  Keenly interested in classical art, between 1803 and 1812 his great collection of sculptures, taken chiefly from the Parthenon at Athens, was brought to England and became the subject of violent controversy.

  When he was our Envoy to the Turkish Government, 1799-1803, he had bought the ‘Marbles’ from the Turks, who at that time were still the rulers of Greece, to save them from what seemed almost certain destruction.

  However the Earl was denounced as a dishonest and rapacious vandal, notably by Lord Byron, while the quality of his acquisitions, later regarded as exceptional, was questioned.

  In 1810 he published a memorandum defending his actions and judgement. On the recommendation of a Parliamentary Committee, which also vindicated Elgin’s conduct, the ‘Marbles’ were bought by the nation in 1816 for thirty-five thousand pounds, considerably below their cost to the Earl of Elgin and deposited in the British Museum, where they remain on view.

  Chapter One – 1899

  Corena came down the stairs humming a little tune to herself.

  It was a lovely day with the spring sunshine lighting the daffodils under the trees and the first butterflies were hovering over the lilac bushes.

  She had no idea that she looked like a spring flower herself.

  She was wearing a gown that matched the sprouting buds.

  Her eyes, touched with gold, were the translucent green of the stream at the bottom of the garden.

  She was wishing that her father were with her.

  He would doubtless have quoted a Greek ode that would illustrate his appreciation of the beauty she was seeing better than she could express in words.

  However not surprisingly Sir Priam Melville was in Greece.

  Ever since going up to Oxford University Sir Priam had had an obsession with Greece.

  His outstanding and unusual knowledge of Greek antiquity had gained him a First.

  Sir Priam had a Greek grandmother, so his feeling for Greece was not only in his brain but in his blood.

  He had then begun to collect the statues and other relics of Greece that embellished the beautiful Elizabethan house they lived in.

  It was inevitable that his daughter when she was born should be given a Greek name.

  Also that she would grow up to look even more beautiful than the Greek statues which both her father and mother found so entrancing.

  Then two years ago Lady Melville had died.

  Corena had tried to look after her father, but she knew that the only thing that would really help him to get over his loss was to be in Greece.

  He had told her after Christmas that that was where he was going and she thought she was lucky that he had not wished to leave sooner.

  She was lonely without him, but her Governess, a very intelligent woman, kept her company.

  They pored over the books that filled Sir Priam’s library and the inscriptions that had been sent to him not long before he left.

  It was these inscriptions that had finally decided him that he could stay away no longer from the land that enthralled him.

  He had set off looking, Corena thought, ten years younger at the mere idea of what lay ahead.

  Now as she reached the hall she stopped for a moment to touch an exquisite marble foot that stood on one pillar and next to it was the head of a man.

  It was a beautiful piece of sculpture and in amazingly good condition.

  Her father had discovered it on his last expedition before her mother had died and had brought it home in triumph.

  It was one of the finest examples he had ever seen and he could hardly believe that he had been so lucky as to obtain it.

  “It is fourth century B. C., my dear,” he told Corena.

  Corena often wondered if she would ever meet a man as good-looking or as commanding as the statue.

  This morning, perhaps because it was spring, she was thinking that if she ever fell in love it would be with a man like him – handsome, authoritative and self-possessed.

  She had not found any of those characteristics in any of the young men who came to the house or whom she had met at the few parties she attended.

  Most of last year she had been in mourning and had gone nowhere.

  Now she had hoped her father would escort her to some of the balls and Receptions that were given in the County.

  But he was more absorbed in the Goddesses he found in Greece than in his own daughter.

  ‘I suppose I am fortunate,’ Corena often thought, ‘that the women whom Papa admires so fervently have been dead for centuries or else have retired to Mount Olympus and no longer concern themselves with human beings.’

  She laughed at the idea.

  Nevertheless Greece absorbed her thoughts and her father had promised that the next time he went he would take her with him.

  “Why not this time, Papa?” Corena enquired.

  Her father hesitated for a moment as if he was feeling for words.

  And then because she was so closely attuned to him she asked perceptively,

  “Is what you are doing dangerous?”

  He looked away from her before he replied,

  “It might be and that is why, my dearest, I have to go alone.”

  “What are you looking for particularly?”

  He had paused before he answered,

  “I have heard vaguely of a statue or statues in Delphi that, incredible though it may seem, have not yet been discovered.”

  Corena’s eyes lit up.

  Anything to do with Delphi had always thrilled her and she had read every book that had ever been written about it and bombarded her father with questions.

  Delphi was where the Temple of Apollo had been built beneath the Shining Cliffs, which stood a thousand feet above the pilgrims’ heads, implacably stern and remote.

  Her father had explained to her how, when Apollo left the holy island of Delos to conquer Greece, a dolphin had guided his ship to the little seaside town of Crisa.

  Disguised as a star at high noon the young God leapt from the ship, flames flared from him and a flash of splendour lit the sky.

  He had marched up the steep hill to the lair of the dragon that guarded the cliffs.

  When he had slain it, he announced to the Gods that he was claiming possession of all the territory that he could see from where he was standing.

  Corena dreamt of that poignant moment and her father told her that Apollo had chosen the loveliest viewpoint in Greece.

  At Delphi had been the Oracle. People came from every part of the Mediterranean world to hear the pronouncements of a young Priestess when she was possessed by the God.

  Her father had a rapt admiration in his voice when he spoke to Corena of the past.

  Then he would look unutterably sad as he explained that the Emperor Nero had in the first century A. D. removed seven hundred statues from Delphi and sent them to Rome.

  Three years ago French excavators had found innumerable inscriptions, ruined Temples and Shrines.

  But not one single statue had been left intact.

  Archaeologists like her father had, however, gone on hoping and Corena had looked at him excitedly as she said,

  “Are you telling me, Papa, that you have found a statue?”

  “I have heard of it,” her father corrected, “but it may be just a rumour. The trouble is that since Lord Elgin removed ‘the marbles’ from the Parthenon the Greeks are antagonistic towards anybody trying to carry off their treasures.

  “I can understand that,” Corena murmured.

&n
bsp; “They neglected them for centuries,” he said, “but now, at last, they are beginning to realise their value, even though the majority don’t understand how unique and irreplaceable they are.”

  “And you think that the Greeks might stop you from taking anything you find away?” Corena persisted.

  Again her father seemed to hesitate before he replied,

  “There are other men, some Greeks, some of other nationalities, who wish to exploit any findings simply for gain.”

  Corena understood that this was where the danger lay and she put her arms around her father’s neck saying,

  “Darling Papa, you must be very very careful! If anything should happen to you, I would be entirely alone and miserably unhappy without you and Mama.”

  She saw the pain in her father’s eyes as she spoke and knew how desperately he missed her mother.

  “I promise I will do everything in my power to come back to you as quickly as possible,” he answered, “and perhaps bringing a statue of Aphrodite, who will be as beautiful, my dearest, as you are yourself!”

  Corena had loved the compliment and kissed him.

  She would in fact have been very stupid if she had not realised that she did resemble some of the lovelier heads of Aphrodite.

  Especially those carved by an Attic Master in the 4th century B. C.

  She had the same oval brow, the same straight perfectly proportioned nose, the same curved chin.

  Her lips, although she was not aware of it, made any man think that they were made for kisses.

  The few men she had met had been overwhelmed by her loveliness.

  None of them, however, had appreciated that she not only had a Greek beauty, she also had the astute mind that had made the Ancient Greeks revolutionise the thinking of the world.

  As she moved further across the hall, she was thinking of her father in Delphi.

  She could imagine him reciting the words of the Oracle to Julian the Apostate who visited the shrine in A. D. 362.

  He had asked what he could do to preserve the glory of Apollo.

  The Oracle answered him,

  “Tell the King the fair-wrought house has fallen.

  No shelter has Apollo nor sacred laurel leaves.

  The fountains now are silent, the voice is stilled.”

  ‘That may be true,’ Corena said to herself. ‘At the same time, however damaged Delphi may look today, it inspires and excites Papa, so all cannot be lost.’

  Because she loved her father so deeply she felt as if she was travelling with him first overland to Italy and then by sea to Crisa.

  They would look up at the Shining Cliffs and she was sure that they would see eagles flying above them.

  Then the light of Apollo would leap from the ruins and her father would know that the God was no longer dead but living.

  She went into the low-ceilinged drawing room where again there were many small but exquisite pieces of Greek sculpture.

  A woman’s hand lying open as if in supplication.

  Damaged, but still exquisite, was a statue of Eros and a plaque that depicted Aphrodite driving in a chariot to Olympus drawn by Zephyrus and Iris.

  They were all so dear to Corena and she dusted them daily, as her mother had done, not trusting anything so precious to servants.

  She wondered what her father would find in Delphi.

  Although it seemed incredible that it had not been found before, she knew that he was hoping for something as sensational as the Bronze Charioteer.

  He had been discovered only three years ago by French archaeologists.

  After the rubble at the foot of the theatre had been washed away in the spring rains, a long fluted skirt and a beautifully formed foot were found.

  Her father had described so often how during the following days, working with wild excitement, the French had unearthed a piece of a stone base.

  They discovered fragments of a chariot pole, two hind legs of horses, a horse’s tail, a hoof, fragments of reins and the arm of a child.

  “At last, on May 1st,” Sir Priam continued, “they found the upper part of a right arm some thirty feet away and closer to the theatre.”

  “They were not damaged. Papa?” Corena exclaimed knowing the answer.

  “No, they were not,” her father replied, “but heavily corroded by moisture from a sewer.”

  “It must have been unbelievably exciting!”

  “The French were thrilled, but what surprised them more than anything else was the extraordinary state of preservation and nothing except for an arm was lost.”

  Corena had heard the story over and over again.

  Because her father, having seen the statue later had explained it so vividly, she could herself see the dreaming boy.

  He was perhaps fourteen years old, believed to be a Prince, who had, as a Charioteer, taken part in the Pythian Games.

  ‘Could Papa really find something like that?’ she asked herself now.

  It would be a fitting climax to his life’s work and his search for the beauty and brilliance of Ancient Greece.

  She went across the room to look at another piece of statuary. Only the legs and the knees were intact with a skilfully draped skirt above them.

  So little remained of what must have once been a perfectly shaped woman, yet even to look at it made one aware of her beauty and her symmetry.

  It still inspired and stimulated, as it must have done to those who had admired the living model all those centuries ago.

  Very gently, Corena touched the marble as if she caressed it.

  As she did so, the door opened and the butler announced,

  “A gentleman to see you, Miss Corena!”

  She turned in surprise wondering who could be calling on her so early in the morning.

  A small sallow-skinned man came into the room.

  He advanced towards her and, as he drew nearer, she could see his dark hair and even darker eyes.

  Even before he spoke she guessed that he was Greek.

  “You are Miss Melville?” he asked with a distinct accent.

  “I am.”

  “My name is Ion Thespidos, and I wish to talk to you.”

  “Yes – of course.”

  Corena indicated a chair saying,

  “Will you sit down?”

  The man obeyed her and she sat in another chair opposite him, wondering why he was here.

  Then suddenly, as if she realised that she had been very obtuse, she stiffened as she thought his visit must concern her father.

  Perhaps something had happened to him.

  She did not speak, but her heart was beginning to beat agitatedly and her eyes were worried as she waited.

  “You are the daughter of Professor Priam Melville?” he asked.

  “That is correct,” Corena managed to reply.

  Then, as her visitor stared at her with penetrating eyes that made her feel somewhat uncomfortable, she said quickly,

  “You have come to see me – about – my Papa? Has anything – happened to – him?”

  “He is in no danger. Miss Melville. However, my visit does concern him.”

  “You know my father?”

  “We met in Greece and he is in fact – staying with me.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before the word ‘staying’.

  Because Corena was exceedingly perceptive, she was aware that if this man was, as he said, concerned with her father, it was not in any circumstance of friendship.

  “Will you tell me why you are here?” she asked.

  “I have come to put a proposition to you. Miss Melville, and what I have to say is entirely confidential and secret.”

  “Yes – of course,” Corena agreed.

  Again Mr. Thespidos seemed to consider his words before he began,

  “Your father is, of course, well known in Greece. He has visited us often in the past and has brought back with him, as I can see in this room and in the hall, some Greek treasures which in fact belong to our country!
”

  Corena’s chin rose a little as she replied,

  “You have not taken very much care of them in the past! It is only now that you are beginning to realise how important they are to the world.”

  “The world may appreciate them, Miss Melville, but they are ours.”

  As Corena had no answer to this she thought that it was best to say nothing.

  She had the feeling that the Greeks, despite their apparent previous indifference, had a very good point in claiming that the glories of Ancient Greece belonged to them.

  So many statues and plaques, painted pots and engravings had been dispersed to France, to England and to other nations. That did not, however, really justify the plunder of what were national treasures.

  She remembered that German archaeologists had uncovered the sanctuary of Olympia and had dug through an entire village to do so.

  They were looking for the colossal statue of Zeus.

  They never found it, but other treasures they did discover had naturally alerted other archaeologists all over the world.

  She was therefore silent, waiting for Mr. Thespidos to continue.

  After a moment he said,

  “We believe that there is somewhere in Delphi a treasure as fine as the figure of the Winged Victory that once stood in the vestibule of the Temple at Olympia.”

  He paused before he went on,

  “It is in fact a statue of Aphrodite and so beautiful that any man who looks at it falls in love with the Goddess, as they would have done when she was there.”

  He spoke poetically, but his voice did not sound poetical.

  As Corena looked at him, she was almost sure that there was something wrong, almost repulsive about him.

  As she was now certain that this was what had interested her father, she said nothing but waited for him.

  She was clutching her fingers together because she was afraid of what he would tell her.

  “Your father,” Mr. Thespidos went on, “has admitted to me that it is this statue of Aphrodite that he is looking for and I believe him when he tells me that it is only a rumour that it is in existence and he knew little more.”

  “And you say my father is staying with you?” Corena asked.

  Mr. Thespidos nodded agreement.

  She had the terrifying feeling that, if her father was his guest, it was on a compulsory basis and he could not escape.