{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6327/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6327","id":"gutenberg_6327","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6327","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Lucian, of Samosata -- Translations into English"],"text":"THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA\n\nComplete with exceptions specified in the preface\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nH. W. FOWLER AND F. G. FOWLER\n\n\n\n\nIN FOUR VOLUMES\n\n\n\n\nWhat work nobler than transplanting foreign thought into the barren domestic\nsoil? except indeed planting thought of your own, which the fewest are\nprivileged to do.\u2014_Sarlor Resartus_.\n\nAt each flaw, be this your first thought: the author doubtless said something\nquite different, and much more to the point. And then you may hiss _me_\noff, if you will.\u2014LUCIAN, _Nigrinus, 9_.\n\n(LUCIAN) The last great master of Attic eloquence and Attic wit.\u2014_Lord\nMacaulay_.\n\n\n\n\nVOLUME I\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe text followed in this translation is that of Jacobitz, Teubner,\n1901, all deviations from which are noted.\n\nIn the following list of omissions, italics denote that the piece is\nmarked as spurious both by Dindorf and by Jacobitz. The other omissions\nare mainly by way of expurgation. In a very few other passages some\nisolated words and phrases have been excised; but it has not been\nthought necessary to mark these in the texts by asterisks.\n\n_Halcyon_; Deorum Dialogi, iv, v, ix, x, xvii, xxii, xxiii; Dialogi\nMarini, xiii; Vera Historia, I. 22, II. 19; Alexander, 41,42; Eunuchus;\n_De Astrologia_; _Amores_; _Lucius_ sive _Asinus_; Rhetorum Preceptor,\n23; _Hippias_; Adversus Indoctum, 23; Pseudologista; _Longaevi_;\nDialogi Meretricii, v, vi, x; De Syria Dea; _Philopatris; Charidemus;\nNero_; Tragodopodagra; Ocypus; Epigrammata.\n\nA word may be said about four pieces that seem to stand apart from the\nrest. Of these, the _Trial in the Court of Vowels_ and _A Slip of the\nTongue_ will be interesting only to those who are familiar with Greek.\nThe _Lexiphanes_ and _A Purist Purized_, satirizing the pedants and\neuphuists of Lucian's day, almost defy translation, and they must be\naccepted at best as an effort to give the general effect of the\noriginal.\n\nThe _Notes explanatory_ at the end of vol. iv will be used by the\nreader at his discretion. Reference is made to them at the foot of the\npage only when it is not obvious what name should be consulted.\n\nThe translators take this opportunity of offering their heartiest\nthanks to the Delegates of the Clarendon Press for undertaking this\nwork; and, in particular, to the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford University,\nDr. Merry, who has been good enough to read the proofs, and to give\nmuch valuable advice both on the difficult subject of excision and on\ndetails of style and rendering. In this connexion, however, it should\nbe added that for the retention of many modern phrases, which may\noffend some readers as anachronistic, responsibility rests with the\ntranslators alone.\n\n\nCONTENTS of VOL. I\n\n\n PREFACE\n INTRODUCTION\n THE VISION\n A LITERARY PROMETHEUS\n NIGRINUS\n TRIAL IN THE COURT OF VOWELS\n TIMON THE MISANTHROPE\n PROMETHEUS ON CAUCASUS\n DIALOGUES OF THE GODS\ni, ii, iii, vi, vii, viii, xi, xii, xiii, xiv, xv, xvi, xviii, xix, xx,\nxxi, xxiv, xxv, xxvi.\n DIALOGUES OF THE SEA-GODS\ni, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, viii, ix, x, xi, xii, xiv, xv.\n DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD\nI, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII,\nXVIII, XIX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XXIV, XXV, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX,\nXXX.\n MENIPPUS\n CHARON\n OF SACRIFICE\n SALE OF CREEDS\n THE FISHER\n VOYAGE TO THE LOWER WORLD\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n1. LIFE.\n2. PROBABLE ORDER OF WRITINGS.\n3. CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE TIME.\n4. LUCIAN AS A WRITER.\n\n\nIt is not to be understood that all statements here made are either\nascertained facts or universally admitted conjectures. The introduction\nis intended merely to put those who are not scholars, and probably have\nnot books of reference at hand, in a position to approach the\ntranslation at as little disadvantage as may be. Accordingly, we give\nthe account that commends itself to us, without discussion or reference\nto authorities. Those who would like a more complete idea of Lucian\nshould read Croiset's _Essai sur la vie et les oeuvres de Lucien_, on\nwhich the first two sections of this introduction are very largely\nbased. The only objections to the book (if they are objections) are\nthat it is in French, and of 400 octavo pages. It is eminently\nreadable.\n\n1. LIFE\n\nWith the exception of a very small number of statements, of which the\ntruth is by no means certain, all that we know of Lucian is derived\nfrom his own writings. And any reader who prefers to have his facts at\nfirst rather than at second hand can consequently get them by reading\ncertain of his pieces, and making the natural deductions from them.\nThose that contain biographical matter are, in the order corresponding\nto the periods of his life on which they throw light, _The Vision,\nDemosthenes, Nigrinus, The Portrait-study_ and _Defence_ (in which\nLucian is _Lycinus_), _The Way to write History, The double Indictment_\n(in which he is _The Syrian_), _The Fisher_ (_Parrhesiades_), _Swans\nand Amber, Alexander_, _Hermotimus_ (_Lycinus_), _Menippus and\nIcaromenippus_ (in which _Menippus_ represents him), _A literary\nPrometheus, Herodotus, Zeuxis, Harmonides, The Scythian_, _The Death of\nPeregrine_, _The Book-fancier_, _Demonax_, _The Rhetorician's Vade\nmecum_, _Dionysus_, _Heracles_, _A Slip of the Tongue_, _Apology for\n'The dependent Scholar.'_ Of these _The Vision_ is a direct piece of\nautobiography; there is intentional but veiled autobiography in several\nof the other pieces; in others again conclusions can be drawn from\ncomparison of his statements with facts known from external sources.\n\nLucian lived from about 125 to about 200 A.D., under the Roman Emperors\nAntoninus Pius, M. Aurelius and Lucius Verus, Commodus, and perhaps\nPertinax. He was a Syrian, born at Samosata on the Euphrates, of\nparents to whom it was of importance that he should earn his living\nwithout spending much time or money on education. His maternal uncle\nbeing a statuary, he was apprenticed to him, having shown an aptitude\nfor modelling in the wax that he surreptitiously scraped from his\nschool writing-tablets. The apprenticeship lasted one day. It is clear\nthat he was impulsive all through life; and when his uncle corrected\nhim with a stick for breaking a piece of marble, he ran off home,\ndisposed already to think he had had enough of statuary. His mother\ntook his part, and he made up his mind by the aid of a vision that came\nto him the same night.\n\nIt was the age of the rhetoricians. If war was not a thing of the past,\nthe shadow of the _pax Romana_ was over all the small states, and the\naspiring provincial's readiest road to fame was through words rather\nthan deeds. The arrival of a famous rhetorician to lecture was one of\nthe important events in any great city's annals; and Lucian's works are\nfull of references to the impression these men produced, and the envy\nthey enjoyed. He himself was evidently consumed, during his youth and\nearly manhood, with desire for a position like theirs. To him, sleeping\nwith memories of the stick, appeared two women, corresponding to\n_Virtue_ and _Pleasure_ in Prodicus's _Choice of Heracles_\u2014the working\nwoman _Statuary_, and the lady _Culture_. They advanced their claims to\nhim in turn; but before _Culture_ had completed her reply, the choice\nwas made: he was to be a rhetorician. From her reminding him that she\nwas even now not all unknown to him, we may perhaps assume that he\nspoke some sort of Greek, or was being taught it; but he assures us\nthat after leaving Syria he was still a barbarian; we have also a\ncasual mention of his offering a lock of his hair to the Syrian goddess\nin his youth.\n\nHe was allowed to follow his bent and go to Ionia. Great Ionian cities\nlike Smyrna and Ephesus were full of admired sophists or teachers of\nrhetoric. But it is unlikely that Lucian's means would have enabled him\nto become the pupil of these. He probably acquired his skill to a great\nextent by the laborious method, which he ironically deprecates in _The\nRhetorician's Vade mecum_, of studying exhaustively the old Attic\norators, poets, and historians.\n\nHe was at any rate successful. The different branches that a\nrhetorician might choose between or combine were: (1) Speaking in court\non behalf of a client; (2) Writing speeches for a client to deliver;\n(3) Teaching pupils; (4) Giving public displays of his skill. There is\na doubtful statement that Lucian failed in (1), and took to (2) in\ndefault. His surviving rhetorical pieces (_The Tyrannicide, The\nDisinherited, Phalaris_) are declamations on hypothetical cases which\nmight serve either for (3) or (4); and _The Hall, The Fly, Dipsas_, and\nperhaps _Demosthenes_, suggest (4). A common form of exhibition was for\na sophist to appear before an audience and let them propose subjects,\nof which he must choose one and deliver an impromptu oration upon it.\n\nWhatever his exact line was, he earned an income in Ionia, then in\nGreece, had still greater success in Italy, and appears to have settled\nfor some time in Gaul, perhaps occupying a professorial chair there.\nThe intimate knowledge of Roman life in some aspects which appears in\n_The dependent Scholar_ suggests that he also lived some time in Rome.\nHe seems to have known some Latin, since he could converse with boatmen\non the Po; but his only clear reference (_A Slip of the Tongue_, 13)\nimplies an imperfect knowledge of it; and there is not a single mention\nin all his works, which are crammed with literary allusions, of any\nLatin author. He claims to have been during his time in Gaul one of the\nrhetoricians who could command high fees; and his descriptions of\nhimself as resigning his place close about his lady's (i.e. Rhetoric's)\nperson, and as casting off his wife Rhetoric because she did not keep\nherself exclusively to him, show that he regarded himself, or wished to\nbe regarded, as having been at the head of his profession.\n\nThis brings us to about the year 160 A.D. We may conceive Lucian now to\nhave had some of that yearning for home which he ascribes in the\n_Patriotism_ even to the successful exile. He returned home, we\nsuppose, a distinguished man at thirty-five, and enjoyed impressing the\nfact on his fellow citizens in _The Vision_. He may then have lived at\nAntioch as a rhetorician for some years, of which we have a memorial in\n_The Portrait-study_. Lucius Verus, M. Aurelius's colleague, was at\nAntioch in 162 or 163 A.D. on his way to the Parthian war, and _The\nPortrait-study_ is a panegyric on Verus's mistress Panthea, whom Lucian\nsaw there.\n\nA year or two later we find him migrating to Athens, taking his father\nwith him, and at Athens he settled and remained many years. It was on\nthis journey that the incident occurred, which he relates with such a\ncurious absence of shame in the _Alexander_, of his biting that\ncharlatan's hand.\n\nThis change in his manner of life corresponds nearly with the change in\nhabit of mind and use of his powers that earned him his immortality.\nHis fortieth year is the date given by himself for his abandonment of\nRhetoric and, as he calls it, taking up with Dialogue, or, as we might\nsay, becoming a man of letters. Between Rhetoric and Dialogue there was\na feud, which had begun when Socrates five centuries before had fought\nhis battles with the sophists. Rhetoric appeals to the emotions and\nobscures the issues (such had been Socrates's position); the way to\nelicit truth is by short question and answer. The Socratic method,\nillustrated by Plato, had become, if not the only, the accredited\ninstrument of philosophers, who, so far as they are genuine, are\ntruth-seekers; Rhetoric had been left to the legal persons whose object\nis not truth but victory. Lucian's abandonment of Rhetoric was\naccordingly in some sort his change from a lawyer to a philosopher. As\nit turned out, however, philosophy was itself only a transitional stage\nwith him.\n\nAlready during his career as a rhetorician, which we may put at 145-164\nA.D., he seems both to have had leanings to philosophy, and to have\ntoyed with dialogue. There is reason to suppose that the _Nigrinus_,\nwith its strong contrast between the noise and vulgarity of Rome and\nthe peace and culture of Athens, its enthusiastic picture of the charm\nof philosophy for a sensitive and intelligent spirit, was written in\n150 A.D., or at any rate described an incident that occurred in that\nyear; and the _Portrait-study_ and its _Defence_, dialogues written\nwith great care, whatever their other merits, belong to 162 or 163 A.D.\nBut these had been excursions out of his own province. After settling\nat Athens he seems to have adopted the writing of dialogues as his\nregular work. The _Toxaris_, a collection of stories on friendship,\nstrung together by dialogue, the _Anacharsis_, a discussion on the\nvalue of physical training, and the _Pantomime_, a description slightly\nrelieved by the dialogue form, may be regarded as experiments with his\nnew instrument. There is no trace in them of the characteristic use\nthat he afterwards made of dialogue, for the purposes of satire.\n\nThat was an idea that we may suppose to have occurred to him after the\ncomposition of the _Hermotimus_. This is in form the most philosophic\nof his dialogues; it might indeed be a dialogue of Plato, of the merely\ndestructive kind; but it is at the same time, in matter, his farewell\nto philosophy, establishing that the pursuit of it is hopeless for\nmortal man. From this time onward, though he always professes himself a\nlover of true philosophy, he concerns himself no more with it, except\nto expose its false professors. The dialogue that perhaps comes next,\n_The Parasite_, is still Platonic in form, but only as a parody; its\nmain interest (for a modern reader is outraged, as in a few other\npieces of Lucian's, by the disproportion between subject and treatment)\nis in the combination for the first time of satire with dialogue.\n\nOne more step remained to be taken. In the piece called _A literary\nPrometheus_, we are told what Lucian himself regarded as his claim to\nthe title of an original writer. It was the fusing of Comedy and\nDialogue\u2014the latter being the prose conversation hat had hitherto been\nconfined to philosophical discussion. The new literary form, then, was\nconversation, frankly for purposes of entertainment, as in Comedy, but\nto be read and not acted. In this kind of writing he remains, though he\nhas been often imitated, first in merit as clearly as in time; and\nnearly all his great masterpieces took this form. They followed in\nrapid succession, being all written, perhaps, between 165 and 175 A.D.\nAnd we make here no further comment upon them, except to remark that\nthey fall roughly into three groups as he drew inspiration successively\nfrom the writers of the New Comedy (or Comedy of ordinary life) like\nMenander, from the satires of Menippus, and from writers of the Old\nComedy (or Comedy of fantastic imagination) like Aristophanes. The best\nspecimens of the first group are _The Liar_ and the _Dialogues of the\nHetaerae;_ of the second, the _Dialogues of the Dead_ and _of the Gods,\nMenippus_ and _Icaromenippus, Zeus cross-examined;_ of the third,\n_Timon, Charon, A Voyage to the lower World, The Sale of Creeds, The\nFisher, Zeus Tragoedus, The Cock, The double Indictment, The Ship_.\n\nDuring these ten or more years, though he lived at Athens, he is to be\nimagined travelling occasionally, to read his dialogues to audiences in\nvarious cities, or to see the Olympic Games. And these excursions gave\noccasion to some works not of the dialogue kind; the _Zeuxis_ and\nseveral similar pieces are introductions to series of readings away\nfrom Athens; The _Way to write History_, a piece of literary criticism\nstill very readable, if out of date for practical purposes, resulted\nfrom a visit to Ionia, where all the literary men were producing\nhistories of the Parthian war, then in progress (165 A.D.). An\nattendance at the Olympic Games of 169 A.D. suggested _The Death of\nPeregrine_, which in its turn, through the offence given to Cynics, had\nto be supplemented by the dialogue of _The Runaways. The True History_,\nmost famous, but, admirable as it is, far from best of his works,\npresumably belongs to this period also, but cannot be definitely\nplaced. The _Book-fancier_ and _The Rhetorician's Vade mecum_ are\nunpleasant records of bitter personal quarrels.\n\nAfter some ten years of this intense literary activity, producing,\nreading, and publishing, Lucian seems to have given up both the writing\nof dialogues and the presenting of them to audiences, and to have lived\nquietly for many years. The only pieces that belong here are the _Life\nof Demonax_, the man whom he held the best of all philosophers, and\nwith whom he had been long intimate at Athens, and that of Alexander,\nthe Asiatic charlatan, who was the prince of impostors as Demonax of\nphilosophers. When quite old, Lucian was appointed by the Emperor\nCommodus to a well-paid legal post in Egypt. We also learn, from the\nnew introductory lectures called _Dionysus_ and _Heracles_, that he\nresumed the practice of reading his dialogues; but he wrote nothing\nmore of importance. It is stated in Suidas that he was torn to pieces\nby dogs; but, as other statements in the article are discredited, it is\nsupposed that this is the Christian revenge for Lucian's imaginary\nhostility to Christianity. We have it from himself that he suffered\nfrom gout in his old age. He solaced himself characteristically by\nwriting a play on the subject; but whether the goddess Gout, who gave\nit its name, was appeased by it, or carried him off, we cannot tell.\n\n2. PROBABLE ORDER OF WRITINGS\n\nThe received order in which Lucian's works stand is admitted to be\nentirely haphazard. The following arrangement in groups is roughly\nchronological, though it is quite possible that they overlap each\nother. It is M. Croiset's, put into tabular form. Many details in it\nare open to question; but to read in this order would at least be more\nsatisfactory to any one who wishes to study Lucian seriously than to\ntake the pieces as they come. The table will also serve as a rough\nguide to the first-class and the inferior pieces. The names italicized\nare those of pieces rejected as spurious by M. Croiset, and therefore\nnot placed by him; we have inserted them where they seem to belong; as\nto their genuineness, it is our opinion that the objections made (not\nby M. Croiset, who does not discuss authenticity) to the _Demosthenes_\nand _The Cynic_ at least are, in view of the merits of these,\nunconvincing.\n\n(i) About 145 to 160 A.D. Lucian a rhetorician in Ionia, Greece, Italy,\nand Gaul.\n\nThe Tyrannicide, a rhetorical exercise.\n\nThe Disinherited.\n\nPhalaris I & II.\n\n_Demosthenes_, a panegyric.\n\nPatriotism, an essay.\n\nThe Fly, an essay.\n\nSwans and Amber, an introductory lecture.\n\nDipsas, an introductory lecture.\n\nThe Hall, an introductory lecture.\n\nNigrinus, a dialogue on philosophy, 150 A.D.\n\n(ii) About 160 to 164 A.D. After Lucian's return to Asia.\n\nThe Portrait-study, a panegyric in dialogue, 162 A.D.\n\nDefence of The Portrait-study, in dialogue.\n\nA Trial in the Court of Vowels, a _jeu d'esprit_.\n\nHesiod, a short dialogue.\n\nThe Vision, an autobiographical address.\n\n(iii) About 165 A.D. At Athens.\n\nPantomime, art criticism in dialogue.\n\nAnacharsis, a dialogue on physical training.\n\nToxaris, stories of friendship in dialogue.\n\nSlander, a moral essay.\n\nThe Way to write History, an essay in literary criticism.\n\nThe next eight groups, iv-xi, belong to the years from about 165 A.D.\nto about 175 A.D., when Lucian was at his best and busiest; iv-ix are\nto be regarded roughly as succeeding each other in time; x and xi being\nindependent in this respect. Pieces are assigned to groups mainly\naccording to their subjects; but some are placed in groups that do not\nseem at first sight the most appropriate, owing to specialties in their\ntreatment; e.g. _The Ship_ might seem more in place with vii than with\nix; but M. Croiset finds in it a maturity that induces him to put it\nlater.\n\n(iv) About 165 A.D.\n\nHermotimus, a philosophic dialogue.\n\nThe Parasite, a parody of a philosophic dialogue.\n\n(v) Influence of the New Comedy writers.\n\nThe Liar, a dialogue satirizing superstition.\n\nA Feast of Lapithae, a dialogue satirizing the manners of philosophers.\n\nDialogues of the Hetaerae, a series of short dialogues.\n\n(vi) Influence of the Menippean satire.\n\nDialogues of the Dead, a series of short dialogues.\n\nDialogues of the Gods, a series of short dialogues.\n\nDialogues of the Sea-Gods, a series of short dialogues.\n\nMenippus, a dialogue satirizing philosophy.\n\nIcaromenippus, a dialogue satirizing philosophy and religion.\n\nZeus cross-examined, a dialogue satirizing religion.\n\n_The Cynic_, a dialogue against luxury.\n\n_Of Sacrifice_, an essay satirizing religion.\n\nSaturnalia, dialogue and letters on the relation of rich and poor.\n\nThe True History, a parody of the old Greek historians,\n\n(vii) Influence of the Old Comedy writers: vanity of human wishes.\n\nA Voyage to the Lower World, a dialogue on the vanity of power.\n\nCharon, a dialogue on the vanity of all things.\n\nTimon, a dialogue on the vanity of riches.\n\nThe Cock, a dialogue on the vanity of riches and power,\n\n(viii) Influence of the Old Comedy writers: dialogues satirizing\nreligion.\n\nPrometheus on Caucasus.\n\nZeus Tragoedus.\n\nThe Gods in Council.\n\n(ix) Influence of the Old Comedy writers: satire on philosophers.\n\nThe Ship, a dialogue on foolish aspirations.\n\nThe Life of Peregrine, a narrative satirizing the Cynics, 169 A.D.\n\nThe Runaways, a dialogue satirizing the Cynics.\n\nThe double Indictment, an autobiographic dialogue.\n\nThe Sale of Creeds, a dialogue satirizing philosophers.\n\nThe Fisher, an autobiographic dialogue satirizing philosophers.\n\n(x) 165-175 A.D. Introductory lectures.\n\nHerodotus.\n\nZeuxis.\n\nHarmonides.\n\nThe Scythian.\n\nA literary Prometheus.\n\n(xi) 165-175 A.D. Scattered pieces standing apart from the great\ndialogue series, but written during the same period.\n\nThe Book-fancier, an invective. About 170 A.D.\n\n_The Purist purized_, a literary satire in dialogue.\n\nLexiphanes, a literary satire in dialogue.\n\nThe Rhetorician's Vade-mecum, a personal satire. About 178 A.D.\n\n(xii) After 180 A.D.\n\nDemonax, a biography.\n\nAlexander, a satirical biography,\n\n(xiii) In old age.\n\nMourning, an essay.\n\nDionysus, an introductory lecture.\n\nHeracles, an introductory lecture.\n\nApology for 'The dependent Scholar.'\n\nA Slip of the Tongue.\n\nIn conclusion, we have to say that this arrangement of M. Croiset's,\nwhich we have merely tabulated without intentionally departing from it\nin any particular, seems to us well considered in its broad lines;\nthere are a few modifications which we should have been disposed to\nmake in it; but we thought it better to take it entire than to exercise\nour own judgment in a matter where we felt very little confidence.\n\n3. CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE TIME\n\n'M. Aurelius has for us moderns this great superiority in interest over\nSaint Louis or Alfred, that he lived and acted in a state of society\nmodern by its essential characteristics, in an epoch akin to our own,\nin a brilliant centre of civilization. Trajan talks of \"our enlightened\nage\" just as glibly as _The Times_ talks of it.' M. Arnold, _Essays in\nCriticism, M. Aurelius_.\n\nThe age of M. Aurelius is also the age of Lucian, and with any man of\nthat age who has, like these two, left us a still legible message we\ncan enter into quite different relations from those which are possible\nwith what M. Arnold calls in the same essay 'classical-dictionary\nheroes.' A twentieth-century Englishman, a second-century Greek or\nRoman, would be much more at home in each other's century, if they had\nthe gift of tongues, than in most of those which have intervened. It is\nneither necessary nor possible to go deeply into the resemblance here\n[Footnote: Some words of Sir Leslie Stephen's may be given, however,\ndescribing the welter of religious opinions that prevailed at both\nepochs: 'The analogy between the present age and that which witnessed\nthe introduction of Christianity is too striking to have been missed by\nvery many observers. The most superficial acquaintance with the general\nfacts shows how close a parallel might be drawn by a competent\nhistorian. There are none of the striking manifestations of the present\nday to which it would not be easy to produce an analogy, though in some\nrespects on a smaller scale. Now, as then, we can find mystical\nphilosophers trying to evolve a satisfactory creed by some process of\nlogical legerdemain out of theosophical moonshine; and amiable and\nintelligent persons labouring hard to prove that the old mythology\ncould be forced to accept a rationalistic interpretation\u2014whether in\nregard to the inspection of entrails or prayers for fine weather; and\nphilosophers framing systems of morality entirely apart from the\nancient creeds, and sufficiently satisfactory to themselves, while\nhopelessly incapable of impressing the popular mind; and politicians,\nconscious that the basis of social order was being sapped by the decay\nof the faith in which it had arisen, and therefore attempting the\nimpossible task of galvanizing dead creeds into a semblance of\nvitality; and strange superstitions creeping out of their\nlurking-places, and gaining influence in a luxurious society whose\nintelligence was an ineffectual safeguard against the most grovelling\nerrors; and a dogged adherence of formalists and conservatives to\nancient ways, and much empty profession of barren orthodoxy; and,\nbeneath all, a vague disquiet, a breaking up of ancient social and\nnatural bonds, and a blind groping toward some more cosmopolitan creed\nand some deeper satisfaction for the emotional needs of mankind.'\u2014_The\nReligion of all Sensible Men_ in _An Agnostic's Apology_, 1893.]; all\nthat need be done is to pass in review those points of it, some\nimportant, and some trifling, which are sure to occur in a detached way\nto readers of Lucian.\n\nThe Graeco-Roman world was as settled and peaceful, as conscious of its\nimperial responsibilities, as susceptible to boredom, as greedy of\namusement, could show as numerous a leisured class, and believed as\nfirmly in money, as our own. What is more important for our purpose, it\nwas questioning the truth of its religion as we are to-day questioning\nthe truth of ours. Lucian was the most vehement of the questioners. Of\nwhat played the part then that the Christian religion plays now, the\npagan religion was only one half; the other half was philosophy. The\ngods of Olympus had long lost their hold upon the educated, but not\nperhaps upon the masses; the educated, ill content to be without any\nguide through the maze of life, had taken to philosophy instead.\nStoicism was the prevalent creed, and how noble a form this could take\nin a cultivated and virtuous mind is to be seen in the _Thoughts_ of M.\nAurelius. The test of a religion, however, is not what form it takes in\na virtuous mind, but what effects it produces on those of another sort.\nLucian applies the test of results alike to the religion usually so\ncalled, and to its philosophic substitute. He finds both wanting; the\ntest is not a satisfactory one, but it is being applied by all sorts\nand conditions of men to Christianity in our own time; so is the second\ntest, that of inherent probability, which he uses as well as the other\nupon the pagan theology; and it is this that gives his writings, even\napart from their wit and fancy, a special interest for our own time.\nOur attention seems to be concentrated more and more on the ethical, as\nopposed to the speculative or dogmatic aspect of religion; just such\nwas Lucian's attitude towards philosophy.\n\nSome minor points of similarity may be briefly noted. As we read the\n_Anacharsis_, we are reminded of the modern prominence of athletics;\nthe question of football _versus_ drill is settled for us; light is\nthrown upon the question of conscription; we think of our Commissions\non national deterioration, and the schoolmaster's wail over the\nathletic _Frankenstein's_ monster which, like _Eucrates_ in _The Liar_,\nhe has created but cannot control. The 'horsy talk in every street' of\nthe _Nigrinus_ calls up the London newsboy with his 'All the winners.'\nWe think of palmists and spiritualists in the police-courts as we read\nof Rutilianus and the Roman nobles consulting the impostor Alexander.\nThis sentence reads like the description of a modern man of science\nconfronted with the supernatural: 'It was an occasion for a man whose\nintelligence was steeled against such assaults by scepticism and\ninsight, one who, if he could not detect the precise imposture, would\nat any rate have been perfectly certain that, though this escaped him,\nthe whole thing was a lie and an impossibility.' The upper-class\naudiences who listened to Lucian's readings, taking his points with\nquiet smiles instead of the loud applause given to the rhetorician,\nmust have been something like that which listens decorously to an\nExtension lecturer. When Lucian bids us mark 'how many there are who\nonce were but cyphers, but whom words have raised to fame and opulence,\nay, and to noble lineage too,' we remember not only Gibbon's remark\nabout the very Herodes Atticus of whom Lucian may have been thinking\n('The family of Herod, at least after it had been favoured by fortune,\nwas lineally descended from Cimon and Miltiades'), but also the modern\n_carriere ouverte aux talents_, and the fact that Tennyson was a lord.\nThere are the elements of a socialist question in the feelings between\nrich and poor described in the _Saturnalia_; while, on the other hand,\nthe fact of there being an audience for the _Dialogues of the Hetaerae_\nis an illustration of that spirit of _humani nihil a me alienum puto_\nwhich is again prevalent today. We care now to realize the thoughts of\nother classes besides our own; so did they in Lucian's time; but it is\nsignificant that Francklin in 1780, refusing to translate this series,\nsays: 'These dialogues exhibit to us only such kind of conversation as\nwe may hear in the purlieus of Covent Garden\u2014lewd, dull, and insipid.'\nThe lewdness hardly goes beyond the title; they are full of humour and\ninsight; and we make no apology for translating most of them. Lastly, a\ngeneration that is always complaining of the modern over-production of\nbooks feels that it would be at home in a state of society in which our\nauthor found that, not to be too singular, he must at least write about\nwriting history, if he declined writing it himself, even as Diogenes\ntook to rolling his tub, lest he should be the only idle man when\nCorinth was bustling about its defences.\n\nAs Lucian is so fond of saying, 'this is but a small selection of the\nfacts which might have been quoted' to illustrate the likeness between\nour age and his. It may be well to allude, on the other hand, to a few\npeculiarities of the time that appear conspicuously in his writings.\n\nThe Roman Empire was rather Graeco-Roman than Roman; this is now a\ncommonplace. It is interesting to observe that for Lucian 'we' is on\noccasion the Romans; 'we' is also everywhere the Greeks; while at the\nsame time 'I' is a barbarian and a Syrian. Roughly speaking, the Roman\nelement stands for energy, material progress, authority, and the Greek\nfor thought; the Roman is the British Philistine, the Greek the man of\nculture. Lucian is conscious enough of the distinction, and there is no\ndoubt where his own preference lies. He may be a materialist, so far as\nhe is anything, in philosophy; but in practice he puts the things of\nthe mind before the things of the body.\n\nIf our own age supplies parallels for most of what we meet with in the\nsecond century, there are two phenomena which are to be matched rather\nin an England that has passed away. The first is the Cynics, who swarm\nin Lucian's pages like the begging friars in those of a historical\nnovelist painting the middle ages. Like the friars, they began nobly in\nthe desire for plain living and high thinking; in both cases the\nthinking became plain, the living not perhaps high, but the best that\ncircumstances admitted of, and the class\u2014with its numbers hugely\nswelled by persons as little like their supposed teachers as a Marian\nor Elizabethan persecutor was like the founder of Christianity\u2014a pest\nto society. Lucian's sympathy with the best Cynics, and detestation of\nthe worst, make Cynicism one of his most familiar themes. The second is\nthe class so vividly presented in _The dependent Scholar_\u2014the indigent\nlearned Greek who looks about for a rich vulgar Roman to buy his\ncompany, and finds he has the worst of the bargain. His successors, the\n'trencher chaplains' who 'from grasshoppers turn bumble-bees and wasps,\nplain parasites, and make the Muses mules, to satisfy their\nhunger-starved panches, and get a meal's meat,' were commoner in\nBurton's days than in our own, and are to be met in Fielding, and\nMacaulay, and Thackeray.\n\nTwo others of Lucian's favourite figures, the parasite and the\nlegacy-hunter, exist still, no doubt, as they are sure to in every\ncomplex civilization; but their operations are now conducted with more\nregard to the decencies. This is worth remembering when we are\noccasionally offended by his frankness on subjects to which we are not\naccustomed to allude; he is not an unclean or a sensual writer, but the\nwaters of decency have risen since his time and submerged some things\nwhich were then visible.\n\nA slight prejudice, again, may sometimes be aroused by Lucian's trick\nof constant and trivial quotation; he would rather put the simplest\nstatement, or even make his transition from one subject to another, in\nwords of Homer than in his own; we have modern writers too who show the\nsame tendency, and perhaps we like or dislike them for it in proportion\nas their allusions recall memories or merely puzzle us; we cannot all\nbe expected to have agreeable memories stirred by insignificant Homer\ntags; and it is well to bear in mind by way of palliation that in Greek\neducation Homer played as great a part as the Bible in ours. He might\nbe taken simply or taken allegorically; but one way or the other he was\nthe staple of education, and it might be assumed that every one would\nlike the mere sound of him.\n\nWe may end by remarking that the public readings of his own works, to\nwhich the author makes frequent reference, were what served to a great\nextent the purpose of our printing-press. We know that his pieces were\nalso published; but the public that could be reached by hand-written\ncopies would bear a very small proportion to that which heard them from\nthe writer's own lips; and though the modern system may have the\nadvantage on the whole, it is hard to believe that the unapproached\nlife and naturalness of Lucian's dialogue does not owe something to\nthis necessity.\n\n4. LUCIAN AS A WRITER\n\nWith all the sincerity of Lucian in _The True History_, 'soliciting his\nreader's incredulity,' we solicit our reader's neglect of this\nappreciation. We have no pretensions whatever to the critical faculty;\nthe following remarks are to be taken as made with diffidence, and\noffered to those only who prefer being told what to like, and why, to\nsettling the matter for themselves.\n\nGoethe, aged fourteen, with seven languages on hand, devised the plan\nof a correspondence kept up by seven imaginary brothers scattered over\nthe globe, each writing in the language of his adopted land. The\nstay-at-home in Frankfort was to write Jew-German, for which purpose\nsome Hebrew must be acquired. His father sent him to Rector Albrecht.\nThe rector was always found with one book open before him\u2014a\nwell-thumbed Lucian. But the Hebrew vowel-points were perplexing, and\nthe boy found better amusement in putting shrewd questions on what\nstruck him as impossibilities or inconsistencies in the Old-Testament\nnarrative they were reading. The old gentleman was infinitely amused,\nhad fits of mingled coughing and laughter, but made little attempt at\nsolving his pupil's difficulties, beyond ejaculating _Er narrischer\nKerl! Er narrischer Junge_! He let him dig for solutions, however, in\nan English commentary on the shelves, and occupied the time with\nturning the familiar pages of his Lucian [Footnote: _Wahrheit und\nDichtung_, book iv. ]. The wicked old rector perhaps chuckled to think\nthat here was one who bade fair to love Lucian one day as well as he\ndid himself.\n\nFor Lucian too was one who asked questions\u2014spent his life doing little\nelse; if one were invited to draw him with the least possible\nexpenditure of ink, one's pen would trace a mark of interrogation. That\npicture is easily drawn; to put life into it is a more difficult\nmatter. However, his is not a complex character, for all the irony in\nwhich he sometimes chooses to clothe his thought; and materials are at\nleast abundant; he is one of the self-revealing fraternity; his own\npersonal presence is to be detected more often than not in his work. He\nmay give us the assistance, or he may not, of labelling a character\n_Lucian_ or _Lycinus_; we can detect him, _volentes volentem_, under\nthe thin disguise of _Menippus_ or _Tychiades_ or _Cyniscus_ as well.\nAnd the essence of him as he reveals himself is the questioning spirit.\nHe has no respect for authority. Burke describes the majority of\nmankind, who do not form their own opinions, as 'those whom Providence\nhas doomed to live on trust'; Lucian entirely refuses to live on trust;\nhe 'wants to know.' It was the wish of _Arthur Clennam_, who had in\nconsequence a very bad name among the _Tite Barnacles_ and other\npersons in authority. Lucian has not escaped the same fate; 'the\nscoffer Lucian' has become as much a commonplace as '_fidus Achates_,'\nor 'the well-greaved Achaeans,' the reading of him has been\ndiscountenanced, and, if he has not actually lost his place at the\ntable of Immortals, promised him when he temporarily left the Island of\nthe Blest, it has not been so 'distinguished' a place as it was to have\nbeen and should have been. And all because he 'wanted to know.'\n\nHis questions, of course, are not all put in the same manner. In the\n_Dialogues of the Gods_, for instance, the mark of interrogation is not\nwrit large; they have almost the air at first of little stories in\ndialogue form, which might serve to instruct schoolboys in the\nattributes and legends of the gods\u2014a manual charmingly done, yet a\nmanual only. But we soon see that he has said to himself: Let us put\nthe thing into plain natural prose, and see what it looks like with its\nglamour of poetry and reverence stripped off; the Gods do human things;\nwhy not represent them as human persons, and see what results? What did\nresult was that henceforth any one who still believed in the pagan\ndeities might at the cost of an hour's light reading satisfy himself\nthat his gods were not gods, or, if they were, had no business to be.\nWhether many or few did so read and so satisfy themselves, we have no\nmeans of knowing; it is easy to over-estimate the effect such writing\nmay have had, and to forget that those who were capable of being\nconvinced by exposition of this sort would mostly be those who were\nalready convinced without; still, so far as Lucian had any effect on\nthe religious position, it must have been in discrediting paganism and\nincreasing the readiness to accept the new faith beginning to make its\nway. Which being so, it was ungrateful of the Christian church to turn\nand rend him. It did so, partly in error. Lucian had referred in the\n_Life of Peregrine_ to the Christians, in words which might seem\nirreverent to Christians at a time when they were no longer an obscure\nsect; he had described and ridiculed in _The Liar_ certain 'Syrian'\nmiracles which have a remarkable likeness to the casting out of spirits\nby Christ and the apostles; and worse still, the _Philopatris_ passed\nunder his name. This dialogue, unlike what Lucian had written in the\n_Peregrine_ and _The Liar_, is a deliberate attack on Christianity. It\nis clear to us now that it was written two hundred years after his\ntime, under Julian the Apostate; but there can be no more doubt of its\nbeing an imitation of Lucian than of its not being his; it consequently\npassed for his, the story gained currency that he was an apostate\nhimself, and his name was anathema for the church. It was only partly\nin error, however. Though Lucian might be useful on occasion ('When\nTertullian or Lactantius employ their labours in exposing the falsehood\nand extravagance of Paganism, they are obliged to transcribe the\neloquence of Cicero or the wit of Lucian' [Footnote: Gibbon, _Decline\nand Fall_, cap. xv.]), the very word heretic is enough to remind us\nthat the Church could not show much favour to one who insisted always\non thinking for himself. His works survived, but he was not read,\nthrough the Middle Ages. With the Renaissance he partly came into his\nown again, but still laboured under the imputations of scoffing and\natheism, which confined the reading of him to the few.\n\nThe method followed in the _Dialogues of the Gods_ and similar pieces\nis a very indirect way of putting questions. It is done much more\ndirectly in others, the _Zeus cross-examined_, for instance. Since the\nfallen angels\n\n  reasoned high\n  Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate\u2014\n  Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute\u2014\n  And found no end, in wandering mazes lost,\n\n\nthese subjects have had their share of attention; but the questions can\nhardly be put more directly, or more neatly, than in the _Zeus\ncross-examined_, and the thirtieth _Dialogue of the Dead_.\n\nHe has many other interrogative methods besides these, which may be\nleft to reveal themselves in the course of reading. As for answering\nquestions, that is another matter. The answer is sometimes apparent,\nsometimes not; he will not refrain from asking a question just because\nhe does not know the answer; his _role_ is asking, not answering. Nor\nwhen he gives an answer is it always certain whether it is to be taken\nin earnest. Was he a cynic? one would say so after reading _The Cynic_;\nwas he an Epicurean? one would say so after reading the _Alexander_;\nwas he a philosopher? one would say Yes at a certain point of the\n_Hermotimus_, No at another. He doubtless had his moods, and he was\nquite unhampered by desire for any consistency except consistent\nindependence of judgement. Moreover, the difficulty of getting at his\nreal opinions is increased by the fact that he was an ironist. We have\ncalled him a self-revealer; but you never quite know where to have an\nironical self-revealer. Goethe has the useful phrase, 'direct irony'; a\ncertain German writer 'makes too free a use of direct irony, praising\nthe blameworthy and blaming the praiseworthy\u2014a rhetorical device which\nshould be very sparingly employed. In the long run it disgusts the\nsensible and misleads the dull, pleasing only the great intermediate\nclass to whom it offers the satisfaction of being able to think\nthemselves more shrewd than other people, without expending much\nthought of their own' (_Wahrheit und Dichtung_, book vii). Fielding\ngives us in _Jonathan Wild_ a sustained piece of 'direct irony'; you\nhave only to reverse everything said, and you get the author's meaning.\nLucian's irony is not of that sort; you cannot tell when you are to\nreverse him, only that you will have sometimes to do so. He does use\nthe direct kind; _The Rhetorician's Vade mecum_ and _The Parasite_ are\nexamples; the latter is also an example (unless a translator, who is\ncondemned not to skip or skim, is an unfair judge) of how tiresome it\nmay become. But who shall say how much of irony and how much of genuine\nfeeling there is in the fine description of the philosophic State given\nin the _Hermotimus_ (with its suggestions of _Christian_ in _The\nPilgrim's Progress_, and of the 'not many wise men after the flesh, not\nmany mighty, not many noble'), or in the whimsical extravagance (as it\nstrikes a modern) of the _Pantomime_, or in the triumph permitted to\nthe Cynic (against 'Lycinus' too) in the dialogue called after him? In\none of his own introductory lectures he compares his pieces aptly\nenough to the bacchante's thyrsus with its steel point concealed.\n\nWith his questions and his irony and his inconsistencies, it is no\nwonder that Lucian is accused of being purely negative and destructive.\nBut we need not think he is disposed of in that way, any more than our\nold-fashioned literary education is disposed of when it has been\npointed out that it does not equip its _alumni_ with knowledge of\nelectricity or of a commercially useful modern language; it may have\nequipped them with something less paying, but more worth paying for.\nLucian, it is certain, will supply no one with a religion or a\nphilosophy; but it may be doubted whether any writer will supply more\nfully both example and precept in favour of doing one's thinking for\noneself; and it may be doubted also whether any other intellectual\nlesson is more necessary. He is _nullius addictus iurare in verba\nmagistri_, if ever man was; he is individualist to the core. No\nreligion or philosophy, he seems to say, will save you; the thing is to\nthink for yourself, and be a man of sense. 'It was but small\nconsolation,' says _Menippus_, 'to reflect that I was in numerous and\nwise and eminently sensible company, if I was a fool still, all astray\nin my quest for truth.' _Vox populi_ is no _vox dei_ for him; he is\nquite proof against majorities; _Athanasius contra mundum_ is more to\nhis taste. \"What is this I hear?\" asked Arignotus, scowling upon me;\n\"you deny the existence of the supernatural, when there is scarcely a\nman who has not seen some evidence of it?\" \"Therein lies my\nexculpation,\" I replied; \"I do not believe in the supernatural,\nbecause, unlike the rest of mankind, I do not see it; if I saw, I\nshould doubtless believe, just as you all do.\"' That British schoolboys\nshould have been brought up for centuries on Ovid, and Lucian have been\ntabooed, is, in view of their comparative efficacy in stimulating\nthought, an interesting example of _habent sua fata libelli_.\n\nIt need not be denied that there is in him a certain lack of feeling,\nnot surprising in one of his analytic temper, but not agreeable either.\nHe is a hard bright intelligence, with no bowels; he applies the knife\nwithout the least compunction\u2014indeed with something of savage\nenjoyment. The veil is relentlessly torn from family affection in the\n_Mourning_. _Solon_ in the _Charon_ pursues his victory so far as to\nmake us pity instead of scorning _Croesus_. _Menippus_ and his kind, in\nthe shades, do their lashing of dead horses with a disagreeable gusto,\nwhich tempts us to raise a society for the prevention of cruelty to the\nDamned. A voyage through Lucian in search of pathos will yield as\nlittle result as one in search of interest in nature. There is a touch\nof it here and there (which has probably evaporated in translation) in\nthe _Hermotimus_, the _Demonax_, and the _Demosthenes_; but that is\nall. He was perhaps not unconscious of all this himself. 'But what is\nyour profession?' asks _Philosophy_. 'I profess hatred of imposture and\npretension, lying and pride\u2026 However, I do not neglect the\ncomplementary branch, in which love takes the place of hate; it\nincludes love of truth and beauty and simplicity, and all that is akin\nto love. _But the subjects for this branch of the profession are sadly\nfew_.'\n\nBefore going on to his purely literary qualities, we may collect here a\nfew detached remarks affecting rather his character than his skill as\nan artist. And first of his relations to philosophy. The statements in\nthe _Menippus_ and the _Icaromenippus_, as well as in _The Fisher_ and\n_The double Indictment_, have all the air of autobiography (especially\nas they are in the nature of digressions), and give us to understand\nthat he had spent much time and energy on philosophic study. He claims\n_Philosophy_ as his mistress in _The Fisher_, and in a case where he is\nin fact judge as well as party, has no difficulty in getting his claim\nestablished. He is for ever reminding us that he loves philosophy and\nonly satirizes the degenerate philosophers of his day. But it _will_\noccur to us after reading him through that he has dissembled his love,\nthen, very well. There is not a passage from beginning to end of his\nworks that indicates any real comprehension of any philosophic system.\nThe external characteristics of the philosophers, the absurd stories\ncurrent about them, and the popular misrepresentations of their\ndoctrines\u2014it is in these that philosophy consists for him. That he had\nread some of them there is no doubt; but one has an uneasy suspicion\nthat he read Plato because he liked his humour and his style, and did\nnot trouble himself about anything further. Gibbon speaks of 'the\nphilosophic maze of the writings of Plato, of which the dramatic is\nperhaps more interesting than the argumentative part.' That is quite a\nlegitimate opinion, provided you do not undertake to judge philosophy\nin the light of it. The apparently serious rejection of geometrical\ntruth in the _Hermotimus_ may fairly suggest that Lucian was as\nunphilosophic as he was unmathematical. Twice, and perhaps twice only,\ndoes he express hearty admiration for a philosopher. Demonax is 'the\nbest of all philosophers'; but then he admired him just because he was\nso little of a philosopher and so much a man of ordinary common sense.\nAnd Epicurus is 'the thinker who had grasped the nature of things and\nbeen in solitary possession of truth'; but then that is in the\n_Alexander_, and any stick was good enough to beat that dog with. The\nfact is, Lucian was much too well satisfied with his own judgement to\nthink that he could possibly require guidance, and the commonplace test\nof results was enough to assure him that philosophy was worthless: 'It\nis no use having all theory at your fingers' ends, if you do not\nconform your conduct to the right.' There is a description in the\n_Pantomime_ that is perhaps truer than it is meant to pass for.\n'Lycinus' is called 'an educated man, and _in some sort_ a student of\nphilosophy.'\n\nIf he is not a philosopher, he is very much a moralist; it is because\nphilosophy deals partly with morals that he thinks he cares for it. But\nhere too his conclusions are of a very commonsense order. The Stoic\nnotion that 'Virtue consists in being uncomfortable' strikes him as\nmerely absurd; no asceticism for him; on the other hand, no lavish\nextravagance and _Persici apparatus_; a dinner of herbs with the\nrighteous\u2014that is, the cultivated Athenian\u2014, a neat repast of Attic\ntaste, is honestly his idea of good living; it is probable that he\nreally did sacrifice both money and fame to live in Athens rather than\nin Rome, according to his own ideal. That ideal is a very modest one;\nwhen _Menippus_ took all the trouble to get down to Tiresias in Hades\nvia Babylon, his reward was the information that 'the life of the\nordinary man is the best and the most prudent choice.' So thought\nLucian; and it is to be counted to him for righteousness that he\ndecided to abandon 'the odious practices that his profession imposes on\nthe advocate\u2014deceit, falsehood, bluster, clamour, pushing,' for the\nquiet life of a literary man (especially as we should probably never\nhave heard his name had he done otherwise). Not that the life was so\nquiet as it might have been. He could not keep his satire impersonal\nenough to avoid incurring enmities. He boasts in the _Peregrine_ of the\nunfeeling way in which he commented on that enthusiast to his\nfollowers, and we may believe his assurance that his writings brought\ngeneral dislike and danger upon him. His moralizing (of which we are\nhappy to say there is a great deal) is based on Tiresias's\npronouncement. Moralizing has a bad name; but than good moralizing\nthere is, when one has reached a certain age perhaps, no better\nreading. Some of us like it even in our novels, feel more at home with\nFielding and Thackeray for it, and regretfully confess ourselves\nunequal to the artistic aloofness of a Flaubert. Well, Lucian's\nmoralizings are, for those who like such things, of the right quality;\nthey are never dull, and the touch is extremely light. We may perhaps\nbe pardoned for alluding to half a dozen conceptions that have a\nspecially modern air about them. The use that Rome may serve as a\nschool of resistance to temptation (_Nigrinus_, 19) recalls Milton's\n'fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never\nsallies out and seeks her adversary.' 'Old age is wisdom's youth, the\nday of her glorious flower' (_Heracles_, 8) might have stood as a text\nfor Browning's _Rabbi ben Ezra_. The brands visible on the tyrant's\nsoul, and the refusal of Lethe as a sufficient punishment (_Voyage to\nthe lower World_, 24 and 28), have their parallels in our new\neschatology. The decision of _Zeus_ that _Heraclitus_ and _Democritus_\nare to be one lot that laughter and tears will go together (_Sale of\nCreeds_, l3)\u2014accords with our views of the emotional temperament.\n_Chiron_ is impressive on the vanity of fruition (_Dialogues of the\nDead_, 26). And the figuring of _Truth_ as 'the shadowy creature with\nthe indefinite complexion' (_The Fisher_, 16) is only one example of\nLucian's felicity in allegory.\n\nAnother weak point, for which many people will have no more inclination\nto condemn him than for his moralizing, is his absolute indifference to\nthe beauties of nature. Having already given him credit for regarding\nnothing that is human as beyond his province, it is our duty to record\nthe corresponding limitation; of everything that was not human he was\nsimply unconscious; with him it was not so much that the _proper_ as\nthat the _only_ study of mankind is man. The apparent exceptions are\nnot real ones. If he is interested in the gods, it is as the creatures\nof human folly that he takes them to be. If he writes a toy essay with\nmuch parade of close observation on the fly, it is to show how amusing\nhuman ingenuity can be on an unlikely subject. But it is worth notice\nthat 'the first of the moderns,' though he shows himself in many\ndescriptions of pictures quite awake to the beauty manufactured by man,\nhas in no way anticipated the modern discovery that nature is\nbeautiful. To readers who have had enough of the pathetic fallacy, and\nof the second-rate novelist's local colour, Lucian's tacit assumption\nthat there is nothing but man is refreshing. That he was a close enough\nobserver of human nature, any one can satisfy himself by glancing at\nthe _Feast of Lapithae_, the _Dialogues of the Hetaerae_, some of the\n_Dialogues of the Gods_, and perhaps best of all, _The Liar_.\n\nAs it occurs to himself to repel the imputation of plagiarism in _A\nliterary Prometheus_, the point must be briefly touched upon. There is\nno doubt that Homer preceded him in making the gods extremely, even\ncomically, human, that Plato showed him an example of prose dialogue,\nthat Aristophanes inspired his constructive fancy, that Menippus\nprovided him with some ideas, how far developed on the same lines we\ncannot now tell, that Menander's comedies and Herodas's mimes\ncontributed to the absolute naturalness of his conversation. If any, or\nalmost any, of these had never existed, Lucian would have been more or\nless different from what he is. His originality is not in the least\naffected by that; we may resolve him theoretically into his elements;\nbut he too had the gift, that out of three sounds he framed, not a\nfourth sound, but a star. The question of his originality is no more\nimportant\u2014indeed much less so\u2014than that of Sterne's.\n\nWhen we pass to purely literary matters, the first thing to be remarked\nupon is the linguistic miracle presented to us. It is useless to dwell\nupon it in detail, since this is an introduction not to Lucian, but to\na translation of Lucian; it exists, none the less. A Syrian writes in\nGreek, and not in the Greek of his own time, but in that of five or six\ncenturies before, and he does it, if not with absolute correctness, yet\nwith the easy mastery that we expect only from one in a million of\nthose who write in their mother tongue, and takes his place as an\nimmortal classic. The miracle may be repeated; an English-educated\nHindu may produce masterpieces of Elizabethan English that will rank\nhim with Bacon and Ben Jonson; but it will surprise us, when it does\nhappen. That Lucian was himself aware of the awful dangers besetting\nthe writer who would revive an obsolete fashion of speech is shown in\nthe _Lexiphanes_.\n\nSome faults of style he undoubtedly has, of which a word or two should\nperhaps be said. The first is the general taint of rhetoric, which is\nsometimes positively intolerable, and is liable to spoil enjoyment even\nof the best pieces occasionally. Were it not that 'Rhetoric made a\nGreek of me,' we should wish heartily that he had never been a\nrhetorician. It is the practice of talking on unreal cases, doubtless\nhabitual with him up to forty, that must be responsible for the\nself-satisfied fluency, the too great length, and the perverse\ningenuity, that sometimes excite our impatience. Naturally, it is in\nthe pieces of inferior subject or design that this taint is most\nperceptible; and it must be forgiven in consideration of the fact that\nwithout the toilsome study of rhetoric he would not have been the\nmaster of Greek that he was.\n\nThe second is perhaps only a special case of the first. Julius Pollux,\na sophist whom Lucian is supposed to have attacked in _The\nRhetorician's Vade mecum_, is best known as author of an _Onomasticon_,\nor word-list, containing the most important words relating to certain\nsubjects. One would be reluctant to believe that Lucian condescended to\nuse his enemy's manual; but it is hard to think that he had not one of\nhis own, of which he made much too good use. The conviction is\nconstantly forced on a translator that when Lucian has said a thing\nsufficiently once, he has looked at his Onomasticon, found that there\nare some words he has not yet got in, and forthwith said the thing\nagain with some of them, and yet again with the rest.\n\nThe third concerns his use of illustrative anecdotes, comparisons, and\nphrases. It is true that, if his pieces are taken each separately, he\nis most happy with all these (though it is hard to forgive Alexander's\nbathe in the Cydnus with which _The Hall_ opens); but when they are\nread continuously, the repeated appearances of the tragic actor\ndisrobed, the dancing apes and their nuts, of Zeus's golden cord, and\nof the 'two octaves apart,' produce an impression of poverty that makes\nus momentarily forget his real wealth.\n\nWe have spoken of the annoying tendency to pleonasm in Lucian's style,\nwhich must be laid at the door of rhetoric. On the other hand let it\nhave part of the credit for a thing of vastly more importance, his\nchoice of dialogue as a form when he took to letters. It is quite\nobvious that he was naturally a man of detached mind, with an\ninclination for looking at both sides of a question. This was no doubt\nstrengthened by the common practice among professional rhetoricians of\nwriting speeches on both sides of imaginary cases. The level-headedness\nproduced by this combination of nature and training naturally led to\nthe selection of dialogue. In one of the preliminary trials of _The\ndouble Indictment, Drink_, being one of the parties, and consciously\nincapable at the moment of doing herself justice, employs her opponent,\n_The Academy_, to plead for as well as against her. There are a good\nmany pieces in which Lucian follows the same method. In _The Hall_ the\nlegal form is actually kept; in the _Peregrine_ speeches are delivered\nby an admirer and a scorner of the hero; in _The Rhetorician's Vade\nmecum_ half the piece is an imaginary statement of the writer's enemy;\nin the _Apology for 'The dependent Scholar'_ there is a long imaginary\nobjection set up to be afterwards disposed of; the _Saturnalian\nLetters_ are the cases of rich and poor put from opposite sides. None\nof these are dialogues; but they are all less perfect devices to secure\nthe same object, the putting of the two views that the man of detached\nmind recognizes on every question. Not that justice is always the\nobject; these devices, and dialogue still more, offer the further\nadvantage of economy; no ideas need be wasted, if the subject is\ntreated from more than one aspect. The choice of dialogue may be\naccounted for thus; it is true that it would not have availed much if\nthe chooser had not possessed the nimble wit and the endless power of\nvarying the formula which is so astonishing in Lucian; but that it was\na matter of importance is proved at once by comparing the _Alexander_\nwith _The Liar_, or _The dependent Scholar_ with the _Feast of\nLapithae_. Lucian's non-dialogue pieces (with the exception of _The\nTrue History_) might have been written by other people; the dialogues\nare all his own.\n\nAbout five-and-thirty of his pieces (or sets of pieces) are in\ndialogue, and perhaps the greatest proof of his artistic skill is that\nthe form never palls; so great is the variety of treatment that no one\nof them is like another. The point may be worth dwelling on a little.\nThe main differences between dialogues, apart from the particular\nwriter's characteristics, are these: the persons may be two only, or\nmore; they may be well or ill-matched; the proportions and relations\nbetween conversation and narrative vary; and the objects in view are\nnot always the same. It is natural for a writer to fall into a groove\nwith some or all of these, and produce an effect of sameness. Lucian,\non the contrary, so rings the changes by permutations and combinations\nof them that each dialogue is approached with a delightful uncertainty\nof what form it may take. As to number of persons, it is a long step\nfrom the _Menippus_ to the crowded _dramatis personae_ of _The Fisher_\nor the _Zeus Tragoedus_, in the latter of which there are two\nindependent sets, one overhearing and commenting upon the other. It is\nnot much less, though of another kind, from _The Parasite_, where the\ninterlocutor is merely a man of straw, to the _Hermotimus_, where he\nhas life enough to give us ever fresh hopes of a change in fortune, or\nto the _Anacharsis_, where we are not quite sure, even when all is\nover, which has had the best. Then if we consider conversation and\nnarrative, there are all kinds. _Nigrinus_ has narrative in a setting\nof dialogue, _Demosthenes_ vice versa, _The Liar_ reported dialogue\ninside dialogue; _Icaromenippus_ is almost a narrative, while _The\nRunaways_ is almost a play. Lastly, the form serves in the _Toxaris_ as\na vehicle for stories, in the _Hermotimus_ for real discussion, in\n_Menippus_ as relief for narrative, in the _Portrait-study_ for\ndescription, in _The Cock_ to convey moralizing, in _The double\nIndictment_ autobiography, in the _Lexiphanes_ satire, and in the short\nseries it enshrines prose idylls.\n\nThese are considerations of a mechanical order, perhaps; it may be\nadmitted that technical skill of this sort is only valuable in giving a\nproper chance to more essential gifts; but when those exist, it is of\nthe highest value. And Lucian's versatility in technique is only a\nsymbol of his versatile powers in general. He is equally at home in\nheaven and earth and hell, with philosophers and cobblers, telling a\nstory, criticizing a book, describing a picture, elaborating an\nallegory, personifying an abstraction, parodying a poet or a historian,\nflattering an emperor's mistress, putting an audience into good temper\nwith him and itself, unveiling an imposture, destroying a religion or a\nreputation, drawing a character. The last is perhaps the most\ndisputable of the catalogue. How many of his personages are realities\nto us when we have read, and not mere labels for certain modes of\nthought or conduct? Well, characterization is not the first, but only\nthe second thing with him; what is said matters rather more than who\nsays it; he is more desirous that the argument should advance than that\nthe person should reveal himself; nevertheless, nothing is ever said\nthat is out of character; while nothing can be better of the kind than\nsome of his professed personifications, his _Plutus_ or his\n_Philosophy_, we do retain distinct impressions of at least an\nirresponsible _Zeus_ and a decorously spiteful _Hera_, a well-meaning,\nincapable _Helius_, a bluff _Posidon_, a gallant _Prometheus_, a\none-idea'd _Charon_; _Timon_ is more than misanthropy, _Eucrates_ than\nsuperstition, _Anacharsis_ than intelligent curiosity, _Micyllus_ than\nignorant poverty, poor _Hermotimus_ than blind faith, and Lucian than a\nscoffer.\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF LUCIAN\n\n\n\nTHE VISION\n\nA CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\n\nWhen my childhood was over, and I had just left school, my father\ncalled a council to decide upon my profession. Most of his friends\nconsidered that the life of culture was very exacting in toil, time,\nand money: a life only for fortune's favourites; whereas our resources\nwere quite narrow, and urgently called for relief. If I were to take up\nsome ordinary handicraft, I should be making my own living straight\noff, instead of eating my father's meat at my age; and before long my\nearnings would be a welcome contribution.\n\nSo the next step was to select the most satisfactory of the\nhandicrafts; it must be one quite easy to acquire, respectable,\ninexpensive as regards plant, and fairly profitable. Various\nsuggestions were made, according to the taste and knowledge of the\ncouncillors; but my father turned to my mother's brother, supposed to\nbe an excellent statuary, and said to him: 'With you here, it would be\na sin to prefer any other craft; take the lad, regard him as your\ncharge, teach him to handle, match, and grave your marble; he will do\nwell enough; you know he has the ability.' This he had inferred from\ncertain tricks I used to play with wax. When I got out of school, I\nused to scrape off the wax from my tablets and work it into cows,\nhorses, or even men and women, and he thought I did it creditably; my\nmasters used to cane me for it, but on this occasion it was taken as\nevidence of a natural faculty, and my modelling gave them good hopes of\nmy picking up the art quickly.\n\nAs soon as it seemed convenient for me to begin, I was handed over to\nmy uncle, and by no means reluctantly; I thought I should find it\namusing, and be in a position to impress my companions; they should see\nme chiselling gods and making little images for myself and my\nfavourites. The usual first experience of beginners followed: my uncle\ngave me a chisel, and told me to give a gentle touch to a plaque lying\non the bench: 'Well begun is half done,' said he, not very originally.\nIn my inexperience I brought down the tool too hard, and the plaque\nbroke; he flew into a rage, picked up a stick which lay handy, and gave\nme an introduction to art which might have been gentler and more\nencouraging; so I paid my footing with tears.\n\nI ran off, and reached home still howling and tearful, told the story\nof the stick, and showed my bruises. I said a great deal about his\nbrutality, and added that it was all envy: he was afraid of my being a\nbetter sculptor than he. My mother was very angry, and abused her\nbrother roundly; as for me, I fell asleep that night with my eyes still\nwet, and sorrow was with me till the morning.\n\nSo much of my tale is ridiculous and childish. What you have now to\nhear, gentlemen, is not so contemptible, but deserves an attentive\nhearing; in the words of Homer,\n\n  To me in slumber wrapt a dream divine\n  Ambrosial night conveyed,\n\n\na dream so vivid as to be indistinguishable from reality; after all\nthese years, I have still the figures of its persons in my eyes, the\nvibration of their words in my ears; so clear it all was.\n\nTwo women had hold of my hands, and were trying vehemently and\npersistently to draw me each her way; I was nearly pulled in two with\ntheir contention; now one would prevail and all but get entire\npossession of me, now I would fall to the other again, All the time\nthey were exchanging loud protests: 'He is mine, and I mean to keep\nhim;' 'Not yours at all, and it is no use your saying he is.' One of\nthem seemed to be a working woman, masculine looking, with untidy hair,\nhorny hands, and dress kilted up; she was all powdered with plaster,\nlike my uncle when he was chipping marble. The other had a beautiful\nface, a comely figure, and neat attire. At last they invited me to\ndecide which of them I would live with; the rough manly one made her\nspeech first.\n\n'Dear youth, I am Statuary\u2014the art which you yesterday began to learn,\nand which has a natural and a family claim upon you. Your grandfather'\n(naming my mother's father) 'and both your uncles practised it, and it\nbrought them credit. If you will turn a deaf ear to this person's\nfoolish cajolery, and come and live with me, I promise you wholesome\nfood and good strong muscles; you shall never fear envy, never leave\nyour country and your people to go wandering abroad, and you shall be\ncommended not for your words, but for your works.\n\n'Let not a slovenly person or dirty clothes repel you; such were the\nconditions of that Phidias who produced the Zeus, of Polyclitus who\ncreated the Hera, of the much-lauded Myron, of the admired Praxiteles;\nand all these are worshipped with the Gods. If you should come to be\ncounted among them, you will surely have fame enough for yourself\nthrough all the world, you will make your father the envy of all\nfathers, and bring your country to all men's notice.' This and more\nsaid Statuary, stumbling along in a strange jargon, stringing her\narguments together in a very earnest manner, and quite intent on\npersuading me. But I can remember no more; the greater part of it has\nfaded from my memory. When she stopped, the other's turn came.\n\n'And I, child, am Culture, no stranger to you even now, though you have\nyet to make my closer acquaintance. The advantages that the profession\nof a sculptor will bring with it you have just been told; they amount\nto no more than being a worker with your hands, your whole prospects in\nlife limited to that; you will be obscure, poorly and illiberally paid,\nmean-spirited, of no account outside your doors; your influence will\nnever help a friend, silence an enemy, nor impress your countrymen; you\nwill be just a worker, one of the masses, cowering before the\ndistinguished, truckling to the eloquent, living the life of a hare, a\nprey to your betters. You may turn out a Phidias or a Polyclitus, to be\nsure, and create a number of wonderful works; but even so, though your\nart will be generally commended, no sensible observer will be found to\nwish himself like you; whatever your real qualities, you will always\nrank as a common craftsman who makes his living with his hands.\n\n'Be governed by me, on the other hand, and your first reward shall be a\nview of the many wondrous deeds and doings of the men of old; you shall\nhear their words and know them all, what manner of men they were; and\nyour soul, which is your very self, I will adorn with many fair\nadornments, with self-mastery and justice and reverence and mildness,\nwith consideration and understanding and fortitude, with love of what\nis beautiful, and yearning for what is great; these things it is that\nare the true and pure ornaments of the soul. Naught shall escape you\neither of ancient wisdom or of present avail; nay, the future too, with\nme to aid, you shall foresee; in a word, I will instill into you, and\nthat in no long time, all knowledge human and divine.\n\n'This penniless son of who knows whom, contemplating but now a vocation\nso ignoble, shall soon be admired and envied of all, with honour and\npraise and the fame of high achievement, respected by the high-born and\nthe affluent, clothed as I am clothed' (and here she pointed to her own\nbright raiment), 'held worthy of place and precedence; and if you leave\nyour native land, you will be no unknown nameless wanderer; you shall\nwear my marks upon you, and every man beholding you shall touch his\nneighbour's arm and say, That is he.\n\n'And if some great moment come to try your friends or country, then\nshall all look to you. And to your lightest word the many shall listen\nopen-mouthed, and marvel, and count you happy in your eloquence, and\nyour father in his son. 'Tis said that some from mortal men become\nimmortal; and I will make it truth in you; for though you depart from\nlife yourself, you shall keep touch with the learned and hold communion\nwith the best. Consider the mighty Demosthenes, whose son he was, and\nwhither I exalted him; consider Aeschines; how came a Philip to pay\ncourt to the cymbal-woman's brat? how but for my sake? Dame Statuary\nhere had the breeding of Socrates himself; but no sooner could he\ndiscern the better part, than he deserted her and enlisted with me;\nsince when, his name is on every tongue.\n\n'You may dismiss all these great men, and with them all glorious deeds,\nmajestic words, and seemly looks, all honour, repute, praise,\nprecedence, power, and office, all lauded eloquence and envied wisdom;\nthese you may put from you, to gird on a filthy apron and assume a\nservile guise; then will you handle crowbars and graving tools, mallets\nand chisels; you will be bowed over your work, with eyes and thoughts\nbent earthwards, abject as abject can be, with never a free and manly\nupward look or aspiration; all your care will be to proportion and\nfairly drape your works; to proportioning and adorning yourself you\nwill give little heed enough, making yourself of less account than your\nmarble.'\n\nI waited not for her to bring her words to an end, but rose up and\nspoke my mind; I turned from that clumsy mechanic woman, and went\nrejoicing to lady Culture, the more when I thought upon the stick, and\nall the blows my yesterday's apprenticeship had brought me. For a time\nthe deserted one was wroth, with clenched fists and grinding teeth; but\nat last she stiffened, like another Niobe, into marble. A strange fate,\nbut I must request your belief; dreams are great magicians, are they\nnot?\n\nThen the other looked upon me and spoke:\u2014'For this justice done me,'\nsaid she, 'you shall now be recompensed; come, mount this car'\u2014and lo,\none stood ready, drawn by winged steeds like Pegasus\u2014, 'that you may\nlearn what fair sights another choice would have cost you.' We mounted,\nshe took the reins and drove, and I was carried aloft and beheld towns\nand nations and peoples from the East to the West; and methought I was\nsowing like Triptolemus; but the nature of the seed I cannot call to\nmind\u2014only this, that men on earth when they saw it gave praise, and all\nwhom I reached in my flight sent me on my way with blessings.\n\nWhen she had presented these things to my eyes, and me to my admirers,\nshe brought me back, no more clad as when my flight began; I returned,\nmethought, in glorious raiment. And finding my father where he stood\nwaiting, she showed him my raiment, and the guise in which I came, and\nsaid a word to him upon the lot which they had come so near appointing\nfor me. All this I saw when scarce out of my childhood; the confusion\nand terror of the stick, it may be, stamped it on my memory.\n\n'Good gracious,' says some one, before I have done, 'what a longwinded\nlawyer's vision!' 'This,' interrupts another, 'must be a winter dream,\nto judge by the length of night required; or perhaps it took three\nnights, like the making of Heracles. What has come over him, that he\nbabbles such puerilities? memorable things indeed, a child in bed, and\na very ancient, worn-out dream! what stale frigid stuff! does he take\nus for interpreters of dreams?' Sir, I do not. When Xenophon related\nthat vision of his which you all know, of his father's house on fire\nand the rest, was it just by way of a riddle? was it in deliberate\nineptitude that he reproduced it? a likely thing in their desperate\nmilitary situation, with the enemy surrounding them! no, the relation\nwas to serve a useful purpose.\n\nSimilarly I have had an object in telling you my dream. It is that the\nyoung may be guided to the better way and set themselves to Culture,\nespecially any among them who is recreant for fear of poverty, and\nminded to enter the wrong path, to the ruin of a nature not all\nignoble. Such an one will be strengthened by my tale, I am well\nassured; in me he will find an apt example; let him only compare the\nboy of those days, who started in pursuit of the best and devoted\nhimself to Culture regardless of immediate poverty, with the man who\nhas now come back to you, as high in fame, to put it at the lowest, as\nany stonecutter of them all.\n\nH.\n\n\n\nA LITERARY PROMETHEUS\n\nSo you will have me a Prometheus? If your meaning is, my good sir, that\nmy works, like his, are of clay, I accept the comparison and hail my\nprototype; potter me to your heart's content, though _my_ clay is poor\ncommon stuff, trampled by common feet till it is little better than\nmud. But perhaps it is in exaggerated compliment to my ingenuity that\nyou father my books upon the subtlest of the Titans; in that case I\nfear men will find a hidden meaning, and detect an Attic curl on your\nlaudatory lips. Where do you find my ingenuity? in what consists the\ngreat subtlety, the Prometheanism, of my writings? enough for me if you\nhave not found them sheer earth, all unworthy of Caucasian clay-pits.\nHow much better a claim to kinship with Prometheus have you gentlemen\nwho win fame in the courts, engaged in real contests; _your_ works have\ntrue life and breath, ay, and the warmth of fire. That is Promethean\nindeed, though with the difference, it may be, that you do not work in\nclay; your creations are oftenest of gold; we on the other hand who\ncome before popular audiences and offer mere lectures are exhibitors of\nimitations only. However, I have the general resemblance to Prometheus,\nas I said before\u2014a resemblance which I share with the dollmakers\u2014, that\nmy modelling is in clay; but then there is no motion, as with him, not\na sign of life; entertainment and pastime is the beginning and the end\nof my work. So I must look for light elsewhere; possibly the title is a\nsort of _lucus a non lucendo_, applied to me as to Cleon in the comedy:\n\nFull well Prometheus-Cleon plans\u2014the past.\n\n\nOr again, the Athenians used to call Prometheuses the makers of jars\nand stoves and other, clay-workers, with playful reference to the\nmaterial, and perhaps to the use of fire in baking the ware. If that is\nall your 'Prometheus' means, you have aimed your shaft well enough, and\nflavoured your jest with the right Attic tartness; my productions are\nas brittle as their pottery; fling a stone, and you may smash them all\nto pieces.\n\nBut here some one offers me a crumb of comfort: 'That was not the\nlikeness he found between you and Prometheus; he meant to commend your\ninnovating originality: at a time when human beings did not exist,\nPrometheus conceived and fashioned them; he moulded and elaborated\ncertain living things into agility and beauty; he was practically their\ncreator, though Athene assisted by putting breath into the clay and\nbringing the models to life.' So says my some one, giving your remark\nits politest possible turn. Perhaps he has hit the true meaning; not\nthat I can rest content, however, with the mere credit of innovation,\nand the absence of any original to which my work can be referred; if it\nis not good as well as original, I assure you I shall be ashamed of it,\nbring down my foot and crush it out of existence; its novelty shall not\navail (with me at least) to save its ugliness from annihilation. If I\nthought otherwise, I admit that a round dozen of vultures would be none\ntoo many for the liver of a dunce who could not see that ugliness was\nonly aggravated by strangeness.\n\nPtolemy, son of Lagus, imported two novelties into Egypt; one was a\npure black Bactrian camel, the other a piebald man, half absolutely\nblack and half unusually white, the two colours evenly distributed; he\ninvited the Egyptians to the theatre, and concluded a varied show with\nthese two, expecting to bring down the house. The audience, however,\nwas terrified by the camel and almost stampeded; still, it _was_ decked\nall over with gold, had purple housings and a richly jewelled bridle,\nthe spoil of Darius' or Cambyses' treasury, if not of Cyrus' own. As\nfor the man, a few laughed at him, but most shrank as from a monster.\nPtolemy realized that the show was a failure, and the Egyptians proof\nagainst mere novelty, preferring harmony and beauty. So he withdrew and\nceased to prize them; the camel died forgotten, and the parti-coloured\nman became the reward of Thespis the fluteplayer for a successful\nafter-dinner performance.\n\nI am afraid my work is a camel in Egypt, and men's admiration limited\nto the bridle and purple housings; as to combinations, though the\ncomponents may be of the most beautiful (as Comedy and Dialogue in the\npresent case), that will not ensure a good effect, unless the mixture\nis harmonious and well-proportioned; it is possible that the resultant\nof two beauties may be bizarre. The readiest instance to hand is the\ncentaur: not a lovely creature, you will admit, but a savage, if the\npaintings of its drunken bouts and murders go for anything. Well, but\non the other hand is it not possible for two such components to result\nin beauty, as the combination of wine and honey in superlative\nsweetness? That is my belief; but I am not prepared to maintain that\n_my_ components have that property; I fear the mixture may only have\nobscured their separate beauties.\n\nFor one thing, there was no great original connexion or friendship\nbetween Dialogue and Comedy; the former was a stay-at-home, spending\nhis time in solitude, or at most taking a stroll with a few intimates;\nwhereas Comedy put herself in the hands of Dionysus, haunted the\ntheatre, frolicked in company, laughed and mocked and tripped it to the\nflute when she saw good; nay, she would mount her anapaests, as likely\nas not, and pelt the friends of Dialogue with nicknames\u2014doctrinaires,\nairy metaphysicians, and the like. The thing she loved of all else was\nto chaff them and drench them in holiday impertinence, exhibit them\ntreading on air and arguing with the clouds, or measuring the jump of a\nflea, as a type of their ethereal refinements. But Dialogue continued\nhis deep speculations upon Nature and Virtue, till, as the musicians\nsay, the interval between them was two full octaves, from the highest\nto the lowest note. This ill-assorted pair it is that we have dared to\nunite and harmonize\u2014reluctant and ill-disposed for reconciliation.\n\nAnd here comes in the apprehension of yet another Promethean analogy:\nhave I confounded male and female, and incurred the penalty? Or no\u2014when\nwill resemblances end?\u2014have I, rather, cheated my hearers by serving\nthem up bones wrapped in fat, comic laughter in philosophic solemnity?\nAs for stealing\u2014for Prometheus is the thief's patron too\u2014I defy you\nthere; that is the one fault you cannot find with me: from whom should\nI have stolen? if any one has dealt before me in such forced unions and\nhybrids, I have never made his acquaintance. But after all, what am I\nto do? I have made my bed, and I must lie in it; Epimetheus may change\nhis mind, but Prometheus, never.\n\nH.\n\n\n\nNIGRINUS\n\n[Lucian to Nigrinus. Health.\n\nThere is a proverb about carrying 'owls to Athens'\u2014an absurd\nundertaking, considering the excellent supply already on the spot. Had\nit been my intention, in presenting Nigrinus with a volume of my\ncomposition, to indulge him of all people with a display of literary\nskill, I should indeed have been an arrant 'owl-fancier in Athens.' As\nhowever my object is merely to communicate to you my present\nsentiments, and the profound impression produced upon me by your\neloquence, I may fairly plead Not Guilty, even to the charge of\nThucydides, that 'Men are bold from ignorance, where mature\nconsideration would render them cautious.' For I need not say that\ndevotion to my subject is partly responsible for my present hardihood;\nit is not _all_ the work of ignorance. Farewell.]\n\nNIGRINUS\n\nA DIALOGUE\n\n\n_Lucian. A Friend_\n\n_Fr_. What a haughty and dignified Lucian returns to us from his\njourney! He will not vouchsafe us a glance; he stands aloof, and will\nhold no further communion with us. Altogether a supercilious Lucian!\nThe change is sudden. Might one inquire the cause of this altered\ndemeanour?\n\n_Luc_. 'Tis the work of Fortune.\n\n_Fr_. Of Fortune!\n\n_Luc_. As an incidental result of my journey, you see in me a happy\nman; 'thrice-blest,' as the tragedians have it.\n\n_Fr_. Dear me. What, in this short time?\n\n_Luc_. Even so.\n\n_Fr_. But what does it all mean? What is the secret of your elation? I\ndecline to rejoice with you in this abridged fashion; I must have\ndetails. Tell me all about it.\n\n_Luc_. What should you think, if I told you that I had exchanged\nservitude for freedom; poverty for true wealth; folly and presumption\nfor good sense?\n\n_Fr_. Extraordinary! But I am not quite clear of your meaning yet.\n\n_Luc_. Why, I went off to Rome to see an oculist\u2014my eyes had been\ngetting worse\u2014\n\n_Fr_. Yes, I know about that. I have been hoping that you would light\non a good man.\n\n_Luc_. Well, I got up early one morning with the intention of paying a\nlong-deferred visit to Nigrinus, the Platonic philosopher. On reaching\nhis house, I knocked, and was duly announced and admitted to his\npresence. I found him with a book in his hand, surrounded by various\nstatues of the ancient philosophers. Before him lay a tablet, with\ngeometrical figures described on it, and a globe of reeds, designed\napparently to represent the universe. He greeted me cordially, and\nasked after my welfare. I satisfied his inquiries, and demanded, in my\nturn, how he did, and whether he had decided on another trip to Greece.\nOnce on that subject, he gave free expression to his sentiments; and, I\nassure you, 'twas a veritable feast of ambrosia to me. The spells of\nthe Sirens (if ever there were Sirens), of the Pindaric 'Charmers,' of\nthe Homeric lotus, are things to be forgotten, after his truly divine\neloquence. Led on by his theme, he spoke the praises of philosophy, and\nof the freedom which philosophy confers; and expressed his contempt for\nthe vulgar error which sets a value upon wealth and renown and dominion\nand power, upon gold and purple, and all that dazzles the eyes of the\nworld,\u2014and once attracted my own! I listened with rapt attention, and\nwith a swelling heart. At the time, I knew not what had come over me;\nmy feelings were indescribable. My dearest idols, riches and renown,\nlay shattered; one moment I was ready to shed bitter tears over the\ndisillusionment, the next, I could have laughed for scorn of these very\nthings, and was exulting in my escape from the murky atmosphere of my\npast life into the brightness of the upper air. The result was curious:\nI forgot all about my ophthalmic troubles, in the gradual improvement\nof my spiritual vision; for till that day I had grovelled in spiritual\nblindness. Little by little I came into the condition with which you\nwere twitting me just now. Nigrinus's words have raised in me a joyous\nexaltation of spirit which precludes every meaner thought. Philosophy\nseems to have produced the same effect on me as wine is said to have\nproduced on the Indians the first time they drank it. The mere taste of\nsuch potent liquor threw them into a state of absolute frenzy, the\nintoxicating power of the wine being doubled in men so warm-blooded by\nnature. This is my case. I go about like one possessed; I am drunk with\nthe words of wisdom.\n\n_Fr_. This is not drunkenness, but sobriety and temperance. But I\nshould like to hear what Nigrinus actually said, if that may be. It is\nonly right that you should take that trouble for me; I am your friend,\nand share your interests.\n\n_Luc_. Enough! You urge a willing steed. I was about to bespeak your\nattention. You must be my witness to the world, that there is reason in\nmy madness. Indeed, apart from this, the work of recollection is a\npleasure, and has become a constant practice with me; twice, thrice in\na day I repeat over his words, though there is none to hear. A lover,\nin the absence of his mistress, remembers some word, some act of hers,\ndwells on it, and beguiles hours of sickness with her feigned presence.\nSometimes he thinks he is face to face with her; words, heard long\nsince, come again from her lips; he rejoices; his soul cleaves to the\nmemory of the past, and has no time for present vexations. It is so\nwith me. Philosophy is far away, but I have heard a philosopher's\nwords. I piece them together, and revolve them in my heart, and am\ncomforted. Nigrinus is the beacon-fire on which, far out in mid-ocean,\nin the darkness of night, I fix my gaze; I fancy him present with me in\nall my doings; I hear ever the same words. At times, in moments of\nconcentration, I see his very face, his voice rings in my ears. Of him\nit may truly be said, as of Pericles,\n\nIn every heart he left his sting.\n\n\n_Fr_. Stay, gentle enthusiast. Take a good breath, and start again; I\nam waiting to hear what Nigrinus said. You beat about the bush in a\nmanner truly exasperating.\n\n_Luc_. True, I must make a start, as you say. And yet\u2026 Tell me, did you\nnever see a tragedy (nay, the comedies fare no better) murdered by bad\nacting, and the culprits finally hissed off the stage for their pains?\nAs often as not the play is a perfectly good one, and has scored a\nsuccess.\n\n_Fr_. I know the sort of thing; and what about it?\n\n_Luc_. I am afraid that before I have done you will find that I make as\nsad work of it as they do,\u2014jumbling things together pell-mell, spoiling\nthe whole point sometimes by inadequate expression; and you will end by\ndamning the play instead of the actor. I could put up with my own share\nof the disgrace; but it would vex me indeed, that my subject should be\ninvolved in my downfall; I cannot have _it_ discredited for my\nshortcomings. Remember, then: whatever the imperfections in my speech,\nthe author is not to be called to account; he sits far aloof from the\nstage, and knows nothing of what is going forward. The memory of the\nactor is all that you are invited to criticize; I am neither more nor\nless than the 'Messenger' in a tragedy. At each flaw in the argument,\nbe this your first thought, that the author probably said something\nquite different, and much more to the point;\u2014and then you may hiss me\noff if you will.\n\n_Fr_. Bless me; here is quite a professional exordium! You are about to\nadd, I think, that 'your consultation with your client has been but\nbrief'; that you 'come into court imperfectly instructed'; that 'it\nwere to be desired that your client were here to plead his own cause;\nas it is, you are reduced to such a meagre and inadequate statement of\nthe case, as memory will supply.' Am I right? Well then, spare yourself\nthe trouble, as far as I am concerned. Imagine all these preliminaries\nsettled. I stand prepared to applaud: but if you keep me waiting, I\nshall harbour resentment all through the case, and hiss you\naccordingly.\n\n_Luc_. I should, indeed, have been glad to avail myself of the\narguments you mention, and of others too. I might have said, that mine\nwould be no set speech, no orderly statement such as that I heard; that\nis wholly beyond me. Nor can I speak in the person of Nigrinus. There\nagain I should be like a bad actor, taking the part of Agamemnon, or\nCreon, or Heracles' self; he is arrayed in cloth of gold, and looks\nvery formidable, and his mouth opens tremendously wide; and what comes\nout of it? A little, shrill, womanish pipe of a voice that would\ndisgrace Polyxena or Hecuba! I for my part have no intention of\nexposing myself in a mask several sizes too large for me, or of wearing\na robe to which I cannot do credit. Rather than play the hero's part,\nand involve him in my discomfiture, I will speak in my own person.\n\n_Fr_. Will the man never have done with his masks and his stages?\n\n_Luc_. Nay, that is all. And now to my subject. Nigrinus's first words\nwere in praise of Greece, and in particular of the Athenians. They are\nbrought up, he said, to poverty and to philosophy. The endeavours,\nwhether of foreigners or of their own countrymen, to introduce luxury\ninto their midst, find no favour with them. When a man comes among them\nwith this view, they quietly set about to correct his tendency, and by\ngentle degrees to bring him to a better course of life. He mentioned\nthe case of a wealthy man who arrived at Athens in all the vulgar pomp\nof retinue and gold and gorgeous raiment, expecting that every eye\nwould be turned upon him in envy of his lot; instead of which, they\nheartily pitied the poor worm, and proceeded to take his education in\nhand. Not an ill-natured word, not an attempt at direct interference:\nit was a free city; he was at liberty to live in it as he thought fit.\nBut when he made a public nuisance of himself in the baths or\ngymnasiums, crowding in with his attendants, and taking up all the\nroom, someone would whisper, in a sly aside, as if the words were not\nmeant to reach his ears: 'He is afraid he will never come out from here\nalive; yet all is peace; there is no need of such an army.' The remark\nwould be overheard, and would have its educational effect. They soon\neased him of his embroidery and purple, by playful allusions to flower\nand colour. 'Spring is early.'\u2014'How did that peacock get here?'\u2014'His\nmother must have lent him that shawl,'\u2014and so on. The same with the\nrest, his rings, his elaborate coiffure, and his table excesses. Little\nby little he came to his senses, and left Athens very much the better\nfor the public education he had received.\n\nNor do they scruple to confess their poverty. He mentioned a sentence\nwhich he heard pronounced unanimously by the assembled people at the\nPanathenaic festival. A citizen had been arrested and brought before\nthe Steward for making his appearance in coloured clothes. The\nonlookers felt for him, and took his part; and when the herald declared\nthat he had violated the law by attending the festival in that attire,\nthey all exclaimed with one voice, as if they had been in consultation,\n'that he must be pardoned for wearing those clothes, as he had no\nothers.'\n\nHe further commended the Athenian liberty, and unpretentious style of\nliving; the peace and learned leisure which they so abundantly enjoy.\nTo dwell among such men, he declared, is to dwell with philosophy; a\nsingle-hearted man, who has been taught to despise wealth, may here\npreserve a pure morality; no life could be more in harmony with the\ndetermined pursuit of all that is truly beautiful. But the man over\nwhom gold has cast its spell, who is in love with riches, and measures\nhappiness by purple raiment and dominion, who, living his life among\nflatterers and slaves, knows not the sweets of freedom, the blessings\nof candour, the beauty of truth; he who has given up his soul to\nPleasure, and will serve no other mistress, whose heart is set on\ngluttony and wine and women, on whose tongue are deceit and hypocrisy;\nhe again whose ears must be tickled with lascivious songs, and the\nvoluptuous notes of flute and lyre;\u2014let all such (he cried) dwell here\nin Rome; the life will suit them. Our streets and market-places are\nfilled with the things they love best. They may take in pleasure\nthrough every aperture, through eye and ear, nostril and palate; nor\nare the claims of Aphrodite forgotten. The turbid stream surges\neverlastingly through our streets; avarice, perjury, adultery,\u2014all\ntastes are represented. Under that rush of waters, modesty, virtue,\nuprightness, are torn from the soul; and in their stead grows the tree\nof perpetual thirst, whose flowers are many strange desires.\n\nSuch was Rome; such were the blessings she taught men to enjoy. 'As for\nme,' he continued, 'on returning from my first voyage to Greece, I\nstopped short a little way from the city, and called myself to account,\nin the words of Homer, for my return.\n\nAh, wretch! and leav'st thou then the light of day\u2014the joyous freedom\nof Greece,\nAnd wouldst behold\u2014\n\n\nthe turmoil of Rome? slander and insolence and gluttony, flatterers and\nfalse friends, legacy-hunters and murderers? And what wilt thou do\nhere? thou canst not endure these things, neither canst thou escape\nthem! Thus reasoning, I withdrew myself out of range, as Zeus did\nHector,\n\nFar from the scene of slaughter, blood and strife,\n\n\nand resolved henceforth to keep my house. I lead the life you see\u2014a\nspiritless, womanish life, most men would account it\u2014holding converse\nwith Philosophy, with Plato, with Truth. From my high seat in this vast\ntheatre, I look down on the scene beneath me; a scene calculated to\nafford much entertainment; calculated also to try a man's resolution to\nthe utmost. For, to give evil its due, believe me, there is no better\nschool for virtue, no truer test of moral strength, than life in this\nsame city of Rome. It is no easy thing, to withstand so many\ntemptations, so many allurements and distractions of sight and sound.\nThere is no help for it: like Odysseus, we must sail past them all; and\nthere must be no binding of hands, no stopping of our ears with wax;\nthat would be but sorry courage: our ears must hear, our hands must be\nfree,\u2014and our contempt must be genuine. Well may that man conceive an\nadmiration of philosophy, who is a spectator of so much folly; well may\nhe despise the gifts of Fortune, who views this stage, and its\nmultitudinous actors. The slave grows to be master, the rich man is\npoor, the pauper becomes a prince, a king; and one is His Majesty's\nfriend, and another is his enemy, and a third he banishes. And here is\nthe strangest thing of all: the affairs of mankind are confessedly the\nplaythings of Fortune, they have no pretence to security; yet, with\ninstances of this daily before their eyes, men will reach after wealth\nand power;\u2014not one of them but carries his load of hopes unrealized.\n\n'But I said that there was entertainment also to be derived from the\nscene; and I will maintain it. Our rich men are an entertainment in\nthemselves, with their purple and their rings always in evidence, and\ntheir thousand vulgarities. The latest development is the _salutation\nby proxy_; [Footnote: The _spoken_ salutation being performed by a\nservant.] they favour us with a glance, and that must be happiness\nenough. By the more ambitious spirits, an obeisance is expected; this\nis not performed at a distance, after the Persian fashion\u2014you go right\nup, and make a profound bow, testifying with the angle of your body to\nthe self-abasement of your soul; you then kiss his hand or breast\u2014and\nhappy and enviable is he who may do so much! And there stands the great\nman, protracting the illusion as long as may be. (I heartily acquiesce,\nby the way, in the churlish sentence which excludes us from a nearer\nacquaintance with their _lips_.)\n\n'But if these men are amusing, their courtiers and flatterers are\ndoubly so. They rise in the small hours of the night, to go their round\nof the city, to have doors slammed in their faces by slaves, to swallow\nas best they may the compliments of \"Dog,\" \"Toadeater,\" and the like.\nAnd the guerdon of their painful circumambulations? A vulgarly\nmagnificent dinner, the source of many woes! They eat too much, they\ndrink more than they want, they talk more than they should; and then\nthey go away, angry and disappointed, grumbling at their fare, and\nprotesting against the scant courtesy shown them by their insolent\npatron. You may see them vomiting in every alley, squabbling at every\nbrothel. The daylight most of them spend in bed, furnishing employment\nfor the doctors. Most of them, I say; for with some it has come to\nthis, that they actually have no time to be ill. My own opinion is\nthat, of the two parties, the toadies are more to blame, and have only\nthemselves to thank for their patron's insolence. What can they expect\nhim to think, after their commendations of his wealth, their panegyrics\non money, their early attendance at his doors, their servile\nsalutations? If by common consent they would abstain, were it only for\na few days, from this voluntary servitude, the tables must surely be\nturned, and the rich come to the doors of the paupers, imploring them\nnot to leave such blessedness as theirs without a witness, their fine\nhouses and elegant furniture lying idle for want of some one to use\nthem. Not wealth, but the envy that waits on wealth, is the object of\ntheir desire. The truth is, gold and ivory and noble mansions are of\nlittle avail to their owner, if there is no one to admire them. If we\nwould break the power of the rich, and bring down their pretensions, we\nmust raise up within their borders a stronghold of Indifference. As it\nis, their vanity is fostered by the court that is paid to them. In\nordinary men, who have no pretence to education, this conduct, no\ndoubt, is less to be blamed. But that men who call themselves\nphilosophers should actually outdo the rest in degradation,\u2014this,\nindeed, is the climax. Imagine my feelings, when I see a brother\nphilosopher, an old man, perhaps, mingling in the herd of sycophants;\ndancing attendance on some great man; adapting himself to the\nconversational level of a possible host! One thing, indeed, serves to\ndistinguish him from his company, and to accentuate his disgrace;\u2014he\nwears the garb of philosophy. It is much to be regretted that actors of\nuniform excellence in other respects will not dress conformably to\ntheir part. For in the achievements of the table, what toadeater\nbesides can be compared with them? There is an artlessness in their\nmanner of stuffing themselves, a frankness in their tippling, which\ndefy competition; they sponge with more spirit than other men, and sit\non with greater persistency. It is not an uncommon thing for the more\ncourtly sages to oblige the company with a song.'\n\nAll this he treated as a jest. But he had much to say on the subject of\nthose paid philosophers, who hawk about virtue like any other\nmarketable commodity. 'Hucksters' and 'petty traders' were his words\nfor them. A man who proposes to teach the contempt of wealth, should\nbegin (he maintained) by showing a soul above fees. And certainly he\nhas always acted on this principle himself. He is not content with\ngiving his services gratis to all comers, but lends a helping hand to\nall who are in difficulties, and shows an absolute disregard for\nriches. So far is he from grasping at other men's goods, that he could\nanticipate without concern the deterioration of his own property. He\npossessed an estate at no great distance from the city, on which for\nmany years he had never even set foot. Nay, he disclaimed all right of\nproperty in it; meaning, I suppose, that we have no natural claim to\nsuch things; law, and the rights of inheritance, give us the use of\nthem for an indefinite period, and for that time we are styled\n'owners'; presently our term lapses, and another succeeds to the\nenjoyment of a name.\n\nThere are other points in which he sets an admirable example to the\nserious followers of philosophy: his frugal life, his systematic habits\nof bodily exercise, his modest bearing, his simplicity of dress, but\nabove all, gentle manners and a constant mind. He urges his followers\nnot to postpone the pursuit of good, as so many do, who allow\nthemselves a period of grace till the next great festival, after which\nthey propose to eschew deceit and lead a righteous life; there must be\nno shilly-shallying, when virtue is the goal for which we start. On the\nother hand, there are philosophers whose idea of inculcating virtue in\ntheir youthful disciples is to subject them to various tests of\nphysical endurance; whose favourite prescription is the strait\nwaistcoat, varied with flagellations, or the enlightened process of\nscarification. Of these Nigrinus evidently had no opinion. According to\nhim, our first care should be to inure the _soul_ to pain and hardship;\nhe who aspired to educate men aright must reckon with soul as well as\nbody, with the age of his pupils, and with their previous training; he\nwould then escape the palpable blunder of overtasking them. Many a one\n(he affirmed) had succumbed under the unreasonable strain put upon him;\nand I met with an instance myself, of a man who had tasted the\nhardships of those schools, but no sooner heard the words of true\nwisdom, than he fled incontinently to Nigrinus, and was manifestly the\nbetter for the change.\n\nLeaving the philosophers to themselves, he reverted to more general\nsubjects: the din and bustle of the city, the theatres, the\nrace-course, the statues of charioteers, the nomenclature of horses,\nthe horse-talk in every side-street. The rage for horses has become a\npositive epidemic; many persons are infected with it whom one would\nhave credited with more sense.\n\nThen the scene changed to the pomp and circumstance attendant upon\nfunerals and testamentary dispositions. 'Only once in his life' (he\nobserved) 'does your thoroughbred Roman say what he means; and then,'\nmeaning, in his will, 'it comes too late for him to enjoy the credit of\nit.' I could not help laughing when he told me how they thought it\nnecessary to carry their follies with them to the grave, and to leave\nthe record of their inanity behind them in black and white; some\nstipulating that their clothes or other treasures should be burnt with\nthem, others that their graves should be watched by particular\nservants, or their monuments crowned with flowers;\u2014sapient end to a\nlife of sapience! 'Of their doings in this world,' said he, 'you may\nform some idea from their injunctions with reference to the next. These\nare they who will pay a long price for an entree; whose floors are\nsprinkled with wine and saffron and spices; who in midwinter smother\nthemselves in roses, ay, for roses are scarce, and out of season, and\naltogether desirable; but let a thing come in its due course, and oh,\n'tis vile, 'tis contemptible. These are they whose drink is of costly\nessences.' He had no mercy on them here. 'Very bunglers in sensuality,\nwho know not her laws, and confound her ordinances, flinging down their\nsouls to be trampled beneath the heels of luxury! As the play has it,\nDoor or window, all is one to them. Such pleasures are rank solecism.'\nOne observation of his in the same spirit fairly caps the famous\ncensure of Momus. Momus found fault with the divine artificer for not\nputting his bull's horns in front of the eyes. Similarly, Nigrinus\ncomplained that when these men crown themselves in their banquets, they\nput the garlands in the wrong place; if they are so fond of the smell\nof violets and roses, they should tie on their garlands as close as may\nbe under their nostrils; they could then snuff up the smell to their\nhearts' content.\n\nProceeding to the gentlemen who make such a serious work of their\ndinner, he was exceedingly merry over their painful elaborations of\nsauce and seasoning. 'Here again,' he cried, 'these men are sore put to\nit, to procure the most fleeting of enjoyments. Grant them four inches\nof palate apiece\u2014'tis the utmost we can allow any man\u2014and I will prove\nto you that they have four inches of gratification for their trouble.\nThus: there is no satisfaction to be got out of the costliest viands\nbefore consumption; and after it a full stomach is none the better for\nthe price it has cost to fill it. _Ergo_, the money is paid for the\npleasure snatched _in transitu_. But what are we to expect? These men\nare too grossly ignorant to discern those truer pleasures with which\nPhilosophy rewards our resolute endeavours.'\n\nThe Baths proved a fertile topic, what with the insolence of the\nmasters and the jostlings of their men;\u2014'they will not stand without\nthe support of a slave; it is much that they retain enough vitality to\nget away on their own legs at all.' One practice which obtains in the\nstreets and Baths of Rome seemed to arouse his particular resentment.\nSlaves have to walk on ahead of their masters, and call out to them to\n'look to their feet,' whenever there is a hole or a lump in their way;\nit has come to this, that men must be _reminded that they are walking_.\n'It is too much,' he cried; 'these men can get through their dinner\nwith the help of their own teeth and fingers; they can hear with their\nown ears: yet they must have other men's eyes to see for them! They are\nin possession of all their faculties: yet they are content to be spoken\nto in language which should only be addressed to poor maimed wretches!\nAnd this goes on in broad daylight, in our public places; and among the\nsufferers are men who are responsible for the welfare of cities!'\n\nThis he said, and much more to the same effect. At length he was\nsilent. All the time I had listened in awestruck attention, dreading\nthe moment when he should cease. And when it was all over, my condition\nwas like that of the Phaeacians. For a long time I gazed upon him,\nspellbound; then I was seized with a violent attack of giddiness; I was\nbathed in perspiration, and when I attempted to speak, I broke down; my\nvoice failed, my tongue stammered, and at last I was reduced to tears.\nMine was no surface wound from a random shaft. The words had sunk deep\ninto a vital part; had come with true aim, and cleft my soul asunder.\nFor (if I may venture to philosophize on my own account) I conceive the\ncase thus:-A well-conditioned human soul is like a target of some soft\nmaterial. As life goes on, many archers take aim thereat; and every\nman's quiver is full of subtle and varied arguments, but not every man\nshoots aright. Some draw the bow too tight, and let fly with undue\nviolence. These hit the true direction, but their shafts do not lodge\nin the mark; their impetus carries them right through the soul, and\nthey pass on their way, leaving only a gaping wound behind them. Others\nmake the contrary mistake: their bows are too slack, and their shafts\nnever reach their destination; as often as not their force is spent at\nhalf distance, and they drop to earth. Or if they reach the mark, they\ndo but graze its surface; there can be no deep wound, where the archer\nlacks strength. But a good marksman, a Nigrinus, begins with a careful\nexamination of the mark, in case it should be particularly soft,\u2014or\nagain too hard; for there are marks which will take no impression from\nan arrow. Satisfied on this point, he dips his shaft, not in the\npoisons of Scythia or Crete, but in a certain ointment of his own,\nwhich is sweet in flavour and gentle in operation; then, without more\nado, he lets fly. The shaft speeds with well-judged swiftness, cleaves\nthe mark right through, and remains lodged in it; and the drug works\nits way through every part. Thus it is that men hear his words with\nmingled joy and grief; and this was my own case, while the drug was\ngently diffusing itself through my soul. Hence I was moved to\napostrophize him in the words of Homer:\n\nSo aim; and thou shalt bring (to some) salvation.\n\n\nFor as it is not every man that is maddened by the sound of the\nPhrygian flute, but only those who are inspired of Cybele, and by those\nstrains are recalled to their frenzy,\u2014so too not every man who hears\nthe words of the philosophers will go away possessed, and stricken at\nheart, but only those in whose nature is something akin to philosophy.\n\n_Fr_. These are fearful and wonderful words; nay, they are divine. All\nthat you said of ambrosia and lotus is true; I little knew how\nsumptuous had been your feast. I have listened to you with strange\nemotion, and now that you have ceased, I feel oppressed, nay, in your\nown language, 'sore stricken.' This need not surprise you. A person who\nhas been bitten by a mad dog not only goes mad himself, you know, but\ncommunicates his madness to any one whom he bites whilst he is in that\nstate, so that the infection may be carried on by this means through a\nlong succession of persons.\n\n_Luc_. Ah, then you confess to a tenderness?\n\n_Fr_. I do; and beg that you will think upon some medicine for both our\nwounded breasts.\n\n_Luc_. We must take a hint from Telephus.\n\n_Fr_. What is that?\n\n_Luc_. We want a hair of the dog that bit us.\n\nF.\n\n\n\nTRIAL IN THE COURT OF VOWELS\n\nArchon, Aristarchus of Phalerum.\nSeventh Pyanepsion.\nCourt of the Seven Vowels.\nAction for assault with robbery.\nSigma _v_. Tau.\nPlaintiff's case\u2014that the words in-\u03c4\u03c4-are wrongfully withheld from him.\n\n\nVowels of the jury.\u2014For some time this Mr. Tau's trespasses and\nencroachments on my property were of minor importance; I made no claim\nfor damages, and affected unconsciousness of what I heard; my\nconciliatory temper both you and the other letters have reason to know.\nHis covetousness and folly, however, have now so puffed him up, that he\nis no longer content with my habitual concessions, but insists on more;\nI accordingly find myself compelled to get the matter settled by you\nwho know both sides of it. The fact is, I am in bodily fear, owing to\nthe crushing to which I am subjected. This evergrowing aggression will\nend by ousting me completely from my own; I shall be almost dumb, lose\nmy rank as a letter, and be degraded to a mere noise.\n\nJustice requires then that not merely you, the jury in this case, but\nthe other letters also, should be on your guard against such attempts.\nIf any one who chooses is to be licensed to leave his own place and\nusurp that of others, with no objection on your part (whose concurrence\nis an indispensable condition of all writing), I fail to see how\ncombinations are to have their ancient constitutional rights secured to\nthem. But my first reliance is upon you, who will surely never be\nguilty of the negligence and indifference which permits injustice; and\neven if you decline the contest, I have no intention of sitting down\nunder that injustice myself.\n\nIt is much to be regretted that the assaults of other letters were not\nrepelled when they first began their lawless practices; then we should\nnot be watching the still pending dispute between Lambda and Rho for\npossession of \u03ba\u03b9\u03c6\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03bb\u03b3\u03af\u03b1 or \u03ba\u03b9\u03c6\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03c1\u03b3\u03af\u03b1, \u03ba\u03af\u03c3\u03b7\u03bb\u03b9\u03c2 or \u03ba\u03af\u03c3\u03b7\u03c1\u03b9\u03c2: Gamma would\nnot have had to defend its rights over \u03b3\u03c5\u03ac\u03c6\u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1, constantly almost at\nblows with Kappa in the debatable land, and _per contra_ it would\nitself have dropped its campaign against Lambda (if indeed it is more\ndignified than petty larceny) for converting \u03bc\u03cc\u03bb\u03b9\u03c2 to \u03bc\u03cc\u03b3\u03b9\u03c2: in fact\nlawless confusion generally would have been nipped in the bud. And it\nis well to abide by the established order; such trespasses betray a\nrevolutionary spirit.\n\nNow our first legislators\u2014Cadmus the islander, Palamedes, son of\nNauplius, or Simonides, whom some authorities credit with the\nmeasure\u2014were not satisfied with determining merely our order of\nprecedence in the alphabet; they also had an eye to our individual\nqualities and faculties. You, Vowels of the jury, constitute the first\nEstate, because you can be uttered independently; the semi-vowels,\nrequiring support before they can be distinctly heard, are the second;\nand the lowest Estate they declared to consist of those nine which\ncannot be sounded at all by themselves. The vowels are accordingly the\nnatural guardians of our laws.\n\nBut this\u2014this Tau\u2014I would give him a worse designation, but that is a\nmanifest impossibility; for without the assistance of two good\npresentable members of your Estate, Alpha and Upsilon, he would be a\nmere nonentity\u2014he it is that has dared to outdo all injuries that I\nhave ever known, expelling me from the nouns and verbs of my\ninheritance, and hunting me out of my conjunctions and prepositions,\ntill his rapacity has become quite unbearable. I am now to trace\nproceedings from the beginning.\n\nI was once staying at Cybelus, a pleasant little town, said to be an\nAthenian colony; my travelling companion was the excellent Rho, best of\nneighbours. My host was a writer of comedies, called Lysimachus; he\nseems to have been a Boeotian by descent, though he represented himself\nas coming from the interior of Attica. It was while with him that I\nfirst detected Tau's depredations*. For some earlier occasional\nattempts (as when he took to \u03c4\u03b5\u03c4\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1\u03ac\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 for \u03c4\u03b5\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1\u03c1\u03ac\u03ba\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1, \u03c4\u03ae\u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd for\n\u03c3\u03ae\u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd, with little pilferings of that sort) I had explained as a\ntrick and peculiarity of pronunciation; I had tolerated the sound\nwithout letting it annoy me seriously.\n\n[*Footnote: For the probably corrupt passage \u00a7 7 fin.\u2014\u00a7 8 init. I\naccept Dindorf\u2019s rearrangement as follows: mechr men gar oligois\nepecheirei, tettarakonta legein axioun, eti de taemeron kai ta homoia\nepispomenon, sunaetheian thmaen idia tauti legein, kai oiston aen moi\nto akousma kai ou panu ti edaknomaen ep autois. 8. hupote d ek touton\narxamenon etolmaese kattiteron eipein kai kattuma kai pittan, eita\naperuthriasan kai basilitgan onomazein, aposteroun me ton\nsuggegenaemenun moi kai suntethrammenun grammatun, ou metrius ipi\ntoutois aganaktu.]\n\n\nBut impunity emboldened him; kassiteros became kattiteros, kassuma and\npissa shared its fate; and then he cast off all shame and assaulted\nbasigissa. I found myself losing the society in which I had been born\nand bred;* at such a time equanimity is out of place; I am tortured\nwith apprehension; how long will it be before suka is tuka? Bear with\nme, I beseech you; I despair and have none to help me; do I not well to\nbe angry? It is no petty everyday peril, this threatened separation\nfrom my long-tried familiars. My kissa, my talking bird that nestled in\nmy breast, he has torn away and named anew; my phassa, my nhssai, my\nkhossuphoi\u2014all gone; and I had Aristarchus's own word that they were\nmine; half my melissai he has lured to strange hives; Attica itself he\nhas invaded, and wrongfully annexed its Hymettus (as he calls it); and\nyou and the rest looked on at the seizure.\n\n[*Footnote: For the probably corrupt passage \u00a7 7 fin.\u2014\u00a7 8 init. I\naccept Dindorf\u2019s rearrangement as follows: mechr men gar oligois\nepecheirei, tettarakonta legein axioun, eti de taemeron kai ta homoia\nepispomenon, sunaetheian thmaen idia tauti legein, kai oiston aen moi\nto akousma kai ou panu ti edaknomaen ep autois. 8. hupote d ek touton\narxamenon etolmaese kattiteron eipein kai kattuma kai pittan, eita\naperuthriasan kai basilitgan onomazein, aposteroun me ton\nsuggegenaemenun moi kai suntethrammenun grammatun, ou metrius ipi\ntoutois aganaktu.]\n\n\nBut why dwell on such trifles? I am driven from all Thessaly (Thettaly,\nforsooth!), \u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1 is now _mare clausum_ to me; he will not leave me a\npoor garden-herb like seutlion, I have never a passalos to hang myself\nupon. What a long-suffering letter I am myself, your own knowledge is\nwitness enough. When Zeta stole my smaragdos, and robbed me of all\nSmyrna, I never took proceedings against him; Xi might break all\nsunthhkai, and appeal to Thucydides (who ought to know) as sympathizing\nwith his xystem; I let them alone. My neighbour Rho I made no\ndifficulty about pardoning as an invalid, when he transplanted my\nmursinai into his garden, or, in a fit of the spleen, took liberties\nwith my khopsh. So much for my temper.\n\nTau's, on the other hand, is naturally violent; its manifestations are\nnot confined to me. In proof that he has not spared other letters, but\nassaulted Delta, Theta, Zeta, and almost the whole alphabet, I wish his\nvarious victims to be put in the box. Now, Vowels of the jury, mark the\nevidence of Delta:\u2014'He robbed me of _endelecheia_, which he claimed,\nquite illegally, as _entelecheia_.' Mark Theta beating his breast and\nplucking out his hair in grief for the loss of _kolokunthh_. And Zeta\nmourns for _surizein_ and _salpizein_\u2014nay, _cannot_ mourn, for lack of\nhis gryzein. What tolerance is possible, what penalty adequate, for\nthis criminal letter's iniquities?\n\nBut his wrongs are not even limited to us, his own species; he has now\nextended his operations to mankind, as I shall show. He does not permit\ntheir tongues to work straight. (But that mention of mankind calls me\nback for a moment, reminding me how he turns glossa into glotta, half\nrobbing me of the tongue itself. Ay, you are a disease of the tongue in\nevery sense, Tau.) But I return from that digression, to plead the\ncause of mankind and its wrongs. The prisoner's designs include the\nconstraint, racking, and mutilation of their utterance. A man sees a\nbeautiful thing, and wishes to describe it as kalon, but in comes Tau,\nand forces the man to say \u03c4\u03b1\u03bb\u03cc\u03bd: _he_ must have precedence everywhere,\nof course. Another man has something to say about a vine, and lo,\nbefore it is out, it is metamorphosed by this miserable creature into\nmisery; he has changed slaema to tlaema, with a suggestive hint of\n\u03c4\u03bb\u03ae\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd. And, not content with middle-class victims, he aims at the\nPersian king himself, the one for whom land and sea are said to have\nmade way and changed their nature: Cyrus comes out at his bidding as\nTyrus.\n\nSuch are his verbal offences against man; his offences in deed remain.\nMen weep, and bewail their lot, and curse Cadmus with many curses for\nintroducing Tau into the family of letters; they say it was his body\nthat tyrants took for a model, his shape that they imitated, when they\nset up the erections on which men are crucified. Stayros the vile\nengine is called, and it derives its vile name from him. Now, with all\nthese crimes upon him, does he not deserve death, nay, many deaths? For\nmy part I know none bad enough but that supplied by his own shape\u2014that\nshape which he gave to the gibbet named Stayros after him by men.\n\nH.\n\n\n\nTIMON THE MISANTHROPE\n\n_Timon. Zeus. Hermes. Plutus. Poverty. Gnathonides. Philiades. Demeas.\nThrasycles. Blepsias_.\n\n_Tim_. O Zeus, thou arbiter of friendship, protector of the guest,\npreserver of fellowship, lord of the hearth, launcher of the lightning,\navenger of oaths, compeller of clouds, utterer of thunder (and pray add\nany other epithets; those cracked poets have plenty ready, especially\nwhen they are in difficulties with their scansion; then it is that a\nstring of your names saves the situation and fills up the metrical\ngaps), O Zeus, where is now your resplendent lightning, where your\ndeep-toned thunder, where the glowing, white-hot, direful bolt? we know\nnow 'tis all fudge and poetic moonshine\u2014barring what value may attach\nto the rattle of the names. That renowned projectile of yours, which\nranged so far and was so ready to your hand, has gone dead and cold, it\nseems; never a spark left in it to scorch iniquity.\n\nIf men are meditating perjury, a smouldering lamp-wick is as likely to\nfrighten them off it as the omnipotent's levin-bolt; the brand you hold\nover them is one from which they see neither flame nor smoke can come;\na little soot-grime is the worst that need be apprehended from a touch\nof it. No wonder if Salmoneus challenged you to a thundering-match; he\nwas reasonable enough when he backed his artificial heat against so\ncool-tempered a Zeus. Of course he was; there are you in your\nopiate-trance, never hearing the perjurers nor casting a glance at\ncriminals, your glazed eyes dull to all that happens, and your ears as\ndeaf as a dotard's.\n\nWhen you were young and keen, and your temper had some life in it, you\nused to bestir yourself against crime and violence; there were no\narmistices in those days; the thunderbolt was always hard at it, the\naegis quivering, the thunder rattling, the lightning engaged in a\nperpetual skirmish. Earth was shaken like a sieve, buried in snow,\nbombarded with hail. It rained cats and dogs (if you will pardon my\nfamiliarity), and every shower was a waterspout. Why, in Deucalion's\ntime, hey presto, everything was swamped, mankind went under, and just\none little ark was saved, stranding on the top of Lycoreus and\npreserving a remnant of human seed for the generation of greater\nwickedness.\n\nMankind pays you the natural wages of your laziness; if any one offers\nyou a victim or a garland nowadays, it is only at Olympia as a\nperfunctory accompaniment of the games; he does it not because he\nthinks it is any good, but because he may as well keep up an old\ncustom. It will not be long, most glorious of deities, before they\nserve you as you served Cronus, and depose you. I will not rehearse all\nthe robberies of your temple\u2014those are trifles; but they have laid\nhands on your person at Olympia, my lord High-Thunderer, and you had\nnot the energy to wake the dogs or call in the neighbours; surely they\nmight have come to the rescue and caught the fellows before they had\nfinished packing up the swag. But there sat the bold Giant-slayer and\nTitan-conqueror letting them cut his hair, with a fifteen-foot\nthunderbolt in his hand all the time! My good sir, when is this\ncareless indifference to cease? how long before you will punish such\nwickedness? Phaethon-falls and Deucalion-deluges\u2014a good many of them\nwill be required to suppress this swelling human insolence.\n\nTo leave generalities and illustrate from my own case\u2014I have raised any\nnumber of Athenians to high position, I have turned poor men into rich,\nI have assisted every one that was in want, nay, flung my wealth\nbroadcast in the service of my friends, and now that profusion has\nbrought me to beggary, they do not so much as know me; I cannot get a\nglance from the men who once cringed and worshipped and hung upon my\nnod. If I meet one of them in the street, he passes me by as he might\npass the tombstone of one long dead; it has fallen face upwards,\nloosened by time, but he wastes no moment deciphering it. Another will\ntake the next turning when he sees me in the distance; I am a sight of\nill omen, to be shunned by the man whose saviour and benefactor I had\nbeen not so long ago.\n\nThus in disgrace with fortune, I have betaken me to this corner of the\nearth, where I wear the smock-frock and dig for sixpence a day, with\nsolitude and my spade to assist meditation. So much gain I reckon upon\nhere\u2014to be exempt from contemplating unmerited prosperity; no sight\nthat so offends the eye as that. And now, Son of Cronus and Rhea, may I\nask you to shake off that deep sound sleep of yours\u2014why, Epimenides's\nwas a mere nap to it\u2014, put the bellows to your thunderbolt or warm it\nup in Etna, get it into a good blaze, and give a display of spirit,\nlike a manly vigorous Zeus? or are we to believe the Cretans, who show\nyour grave among their sights?\n\n_Zeus_. Hermes, who is that calling out from Attica? there, on the\nlower slopes of Hymettus\u2014a grimy squalid fellow in a smock-frock; he is\nbending over a spade or something; but he has a tongue in his head, and\nis not afraid to use it. He must be a philosopher, to judge from his\nfluent blasphemy.\n\n_Her_. What, father! have you forgotten Timon\u2014son of Echecratides, of\nCollytus? many is the time he has feasted us on unexceptionable\nvictims; the rich _parvenu_ of the whole hecatombs, you know, who used\nto do us so well at the Diasia.\n\n_Zeus_. Dear, dear, _quantum mutatus_! is this the admired, the rich,\nthe popular? What has brought him to this pass? There he is in filth\nand misery, digging for hire, labouring at that ponderous spade.\n\n_Her_. Why, if you like to put it so, it was kindness and generosity\nand universal compassion that ruined him; but it would be nearer the\ntruth to call him a fool and a simpleton and a blunderer; he did not\nrealize that his proteges were carrion crows and wolves; vultures were\nfeeding on his unfortunate liver, and he took them for friends and good\ncomrades, showing a fine appetite just to please him. So they gnawed\nhis bones perfectly clean, sucked out with great precision any marrow\nthere might be in them, and went off, leaving him as dry as a tree\nwhose roots have been severed; and now they do not know him or\nvouchsafe him a nod\u2014no such fools\u2014, nor ever think of showing him\ncharity or repaying his gifts. That is how the spade and smock-frock\nare accounted for; he is ashamed to show his face in town; so he hires\nhimself out to dig, and broods over his wrongs\u2014the rich men he has made\npassing him contemptuously by, apparently quite unaware that his name\nis Timon.\n\n_Zeus_. This is a case we must take up and see to. No wonder he is down\non his luck. We should be putting ourselves on the level of his\ndespicable sycophants, if we forgot all the fat ox and goat thighs he\nhas burnt on our altars; the savour of them is yet in my nostrils. But\nI have been so busy, there is such a din of perjury, assault, and\nburglary; I am so frightened of the temple-robbers\u2014they swarm now, you\ncannot keep them out, nor take a nap with any safety; and, with one\nthing and another, it is an age since I had a look at Attica. I have\nhardly been there since philosophy and argument came into fashion;\nindeed, with their shouting-matches going on, prayers are quite\ninaudible. One must sit with one's ears plugged, if one does not want\nthe drums of them cracked; such long vociferous rigmaroles about\nIncorporeal Things, or something they call Virtue! That is how we came\nto neglect this man\u2014who really deserved better.\n\nHowever, go to him now without wasting any more time, Hermes, and take\nPlutus with you. Thesaurus is to accompany Plutus, and they are both to\nstay with Timon, and not leave him so lightly this time, even though\nthe generous fellow does his best to find other hosts for them. As to\nthose parasites, and the ingratitude they showed him, I will attend to\nthem before long; they shall have their deserts as soon as I have got\nthe thunderbolt in order again. Its two best spikes are broken and\nblunted; my zeal outran my discretion the other day when I took that\nshot at Anaxagoras the sophist; the Gods non-existent, indeed! that was\nwhat he was telling his disciples. However, I missed him (Pericles had\nheld up his hand to shield him), and the bolt glanced off on to the\nAnaceum, set it on fire, and was itself nearly pulverized on the rock.\nBut meanwhile it will be quite sufficient punishment for them to see\nTimon rolling in money.\n\n_Her_. Nothing like lifting up your voice, making yourself a nuisance,\nand showing a bold front; it is equally effective whether you are\npleading with juries or deities. Here is Timon developing from pauper\nto millionaire, just because his prayer was loud and free enough to\nstartle Zeus; if he had dug quietly with his face to his work, he might\nhave dug to all eternity, for any notice he would have got.\n\n_Pl_. Well, Zeus, I am not going to him.\n\n_Zeus_. Your reason, good Plutus; have I not told you to go?\n\n_Pl_. Good God! why, he insulted me, threw me about, dismembered me\u2014me,\nhis old family friend\u2014and practically pitchforked me out of the house;\nhe could not have been in a greater hurry to be rid of me if I had been\na live coal in his hand. What, go there again, to be transferred to\ntoadies and flatterers and harlots? No, no, Zeus; send me to people who\nwill appreciate the gift, take care of me, value and cherish me. Let\nthese gulls consort with the poverty which they prefer to me; she will\nfind them a smock-frock and a spade, and they can be thankful for a\nmiserable pittance of sixpence a day, these reckless squanderers of\n1,000 pound presents.\n\n_Zeus_. Ah, Timon will not treat you that way again. If his loins are\nnot of cast iron, his spade-work will have taught him a thing or two\nabout your superiority to poverty. You are so particular, you know;\nnow, you are finding fault with Timon for opening the door to you and\nletting you wander at your own sweet will, instead of keeping you in\njealous seclusion. Yesterday it was another story: you were imprisoned\nby rich men under bolts and locks and seals, and never allowed a\nglimpse of sunlight. That was the burden of your complaint\u2014you were\nstifled in deep darkness. We saw you pale and careworn, your fingers\nhooked with coin-counting, and heard how you would like to run away, if\nonly you could get the chance. It was monstrous, then, that you should\nbe kept in a bronze or iron chamber, like a Danae condemned to\nvirginity, and brought up by those stern unscrupulous tutors, Interest,\nDebit and Credit.\n\nThey were perfectly ridiculous, you know, loving you to distraction,\nbut not daring to enjoy you when they might; you were in their power,\nyet they could not give the reins to their passion; they kept awake\nwatching you with their eyes glued to bolt and seal; the enjoyment that\nsatisfied them was not to enjoy you themselves, but to prevent others'\nenjoying you\u2014true dogs in the manger. Yes, and then how absurd it was\nthat they should scrape and hoard, and end by being jealous of their\nown selves! Ah, if they could but see that rascally\nslave\u2014steward\u2014trainer\u2014sneaking in bent on carouse! little enough _he_\ntroubles his head about the luckless unamiable owner at his nightly\naccounts by a dim little half-fed lamp. How, pray, do you reconcile\nyour old strictures of this sort with your contrary denunciation of\nTimon?\n\n_Pl_. Oh, if you consider the thing candidly, you will find both\nattitudes reasonable. It is clear enough that Timon's utter negligence\ncomes from slackness, and not from any consideration for me. As for the\nother sort, who keep me shut up in the obscurity of strong-boxes,\nintent on making me heavy and fat and unwieldy, never touching me\nthemselves, and never letting me see the light, lest some one else\nshould catch sight of me, I always thought of them as fools and\ntyrants; what harm had I done that they should let me rot in close\nconfinement? and did not they know that in a little while they would\npass away and have to resign me to some other lucky man?\n\nNo, give me neither these nor the off-hand gentry; my beau ideal is the\nman who steers a middle course, as far from complete abstention as from\nutter profusion. Consider, Zeus, by your own great name; suppose a man\nwere to take a fair young wife, and then absolutely decline all jealous\nprecautions, to the point of letting her wander where she would by day\nor night, keeping company with any one who had a mind to her\u2014or put it\na little stronger, and let him be procurer, janitor, pander, and\nadvertiser of her charms in his own person\u2014well, what sort of love is\nhis? come, Zeus, you have a good deal of experience, you know what love\nis.\n\nOn the other hand, let a man make a suitable match for the express\npurpose of raising heirs, and then let him neither himself have\nanything to do with her ripe, yet modest, beauty, nor allow any other\nto set eyes on it, but shut her up in barren, fruitless virginity; let\nhim say all the while that he is in love with her, and let his pallid\nhue, his wasting flesh and his sunken eyes confirm the statement;\u2014is he\na madman, or is he not? he should be raising a family and enjoying\nmatrimony; but he lets this fair-faced lovely girl wither away; he\nmight as well be bringing up a perpetual priestess of Demeter. And now\nyou understand my feelings when one set of people kick me about or\nwaste me by the bucketful, and the others clap irons on me like a\nrunaway convict.\n\n_Zeus_. However, indignation is superfluous; both sets have just what\nthey deserve\u2014one as hungry and thirsty and dry-mouthed as Tantalus,\ngetting no further than gaping at the gold; and the other finding its\nfood swept away from its very gullet, as the Harpies served Phineus.\nCome, be off with you; you will find Timon has much more sense\nnowadays.\n\n_Pl_. Oh, of course! he will not do his best to let me run out of a\nleaky vessel before I have done running in! oh no, he will not be\nconsumed with apprehensions of the inflow's gaining on the waste and\nflooding him! I shall be supplying a cask of the Danaids; no matter how\nfast I pour in, the thing will not hold water; every gallon will be out\nalmost before it is in; the bore of the waste-pipe is so large, and\nnever a plug.\n\n_Zeus_. Well, if he does not stop the hole\u2014if the leak is more than\ntemporary\u2014you will run out in no time, and he can find his smock-frock\nand spade again in the dregs of the cask. Now go along, both of you,\nand make the man rich. And, Hermes, on your way back, remember to bring\nthe Cyclopes with you from Etna; my thunderbolt wants the grindstone;\nand I have work for it as soon as it is sharp.\n\n_Her_. Come along, Plutus. Hullo! limping? My good man, I did not know\nyou were lame as well as blind.\n\n_Pl_. No, it is intermittent. As sure as Zeus sends me _to_ any one, a\nsort of lethargy comes over me, my legs are like lead, and I can hardly\nget to my journey's end; my destined host is sometimes an old man\nbefore I reach him. As a parting guest, on the other hand, you may see\nme wing my way swifter than any dream. 'Are you ready?' and almost\nbefore 'Go' has sounded, up goes my name as winner; I have flashed\nround the course absolutely unseen sometimes.\n\n_Her_. You are not quite keeping to the truth; I could name you plenty\nof people who yesterday had not the price of a halter to hang\nthemselves with, and to-day have developed into lavish men of fortune;\nthey drive their pair of high-steppers, whereas a donkey would have\nbeen beyond their means before. They go about in purple raiment with\njewelled fingers, hardly convinced yet that their wealth is not all a\ndream.\n\n_Pl_. Ah, those are special cases, Hermes. I do not go on my own feet\non those occasions, and it is not Zeus who sends me, but Pluto, who has\nhis own ways of conferring wealth and making presents; Pluto and Plutus\nare not unconnected, you see. When I am to flit from one house to\nanother, they lay me on parchment, seal me up carefully, make a parcel\nof me and take me round. The dead man lies in some dark corner,\nshrouded from the knees upward in an old sheet, with the cats fighting\nfor possession of him, while those who have expectations wait for me in\nthe public place, gaping as wide as young swallows that scream for\ntheir mother's return.\n\nThen the seal is taken off, the string cut, the parchment opened, and\nmy new owner's name made known. It is a relation, or a parasite, or\nperhaps a domestic minion, whose value lay in his vices and his smooth\ncheeks; he has continued to supply his master with all sorts of\nunnatural pleasures beyond the years which might excuse such service,\nand now the fine fellow is richly rewarded. But whoever it is, he\nsnatches me up, parchment included, and is off with me in a flash; he\nused to be called Pyrrhias or Dromo or Tibius, but now he is Megacles,\nMegabyzus, or Protarchus; off he goes, leaving the disappointed ones\nstaring at each other in very genuine mourning\u2014over the fine fish which\nhas jumped out of the landing-net after swallowing their good bait.\n\nThe fellow who _has_ pounced on me has neither taste nor feeling; the\nsight of fetters still gives him a start; crack a whip in his\nneighbourhood, and his ears tingle; the treadmill is an abode of awe to\nhim. He is now insufferable\u2014insults his new equals, and whips his old\nfellows to see what that side of the transaction feels like. He ends by\nfinding a mistress, or taking to the turf, or being cajoled by\nparasites; these have only to swear he is handsomer than Nireus, nobler\nthan Cecrops or Codrus, wiser than Odysseus, richer than a dozen\nCroesuses rolled into one; and so the poor wretch disperses in a moment\nwhat cost so many perjuries, robberies, and swindles to amass.\n\n_Her_. A very fair picture. But when you go on your own feet, how can a\nblind man like you find the way? Zeus sends you to people who he thinks\ndeserve riches; but how do you distinguish them?\n\n_Pl_. Do you suppose I do find them? not much. I should scarcely have\npassed Aristides by, and gone to Hipponicus, Callias, and any number of\nother Athenians whose merits could have been valued in copper.\n\n_Her_. Well, but what do you do when he sends you?\n\n_Pl_. I just wander up and down till I come across some one; the first\ncomer takes me off home with him, and thanks\u2014whom but the God of\nwindfalls, yourself?\n\n_Her_. So Zeus is in error, and you do not enrich deserving persons\naccording to his pleasure?\n\n_Pl_. My dear fellow, how can he expect it? He knows I am blind, and he\nsends me groping about for a thing so hard to detect, and so nearly\nextinct this long time, that a Lynceus would have his work cut out\nspying for its dubious remains. So you see, as the good are few, and\ncities are crowded with multitudes of the bad, I am much more likely to\ncome upon the latter in my rambles, and they keep me in their nets.\n\n_Her_. But when you are leaving them, how do you find escape so easy?\nyou do not know the way.\n\n_Pl_. Ah, there is just one occasion which brings me quickness of eye\nand foot; and that is flight.\n\n_Her_. Yet another question. You are not only blind (excuse my\nfrankness), but pallid and decrepit; how comes it, then, that you have\nso many lovers? All men's looks are for you; if they get possession of\nyou, they count themselves happy men; if they miss you, life is not\nworth living. Why, I have known not a few so sick for love of you that\nthey have scaled some sky-pointing crag, and thence hurled themselves\nto unplumbed ocean depths [Footnote: See Apology for 'The Dependent\nScholar,'], when they thought they were scorned by you, because you\nwould not acknowledge their first salute. I am sure you know yourself\nwell enough to confess that they must be lunatics, to rave about such\ncharms as yours.\n\n_Pl_. Why, you do not suppose they see me in my true shape, lame,\nblind, and so forth?\n\n_Her_. How else, unless they are all as blind themselves?\n\n_Pl_. They are not blind, my dear boy; but the ignorant misconceptions\nnow so prevalent obscure their vision. And then I contribute; not to be\nan absolute fright when they see me, I put on a charming mask, all gilt\nand jewels, and dress myself up. They take the mask for my face, fall\nin love with its beauty, and are dying to possess it. If any one were\nto strip and show me to them naked, they would doubtless reproach\nthemselves for their blindness in being captivated by such an ugly\nmisshapen creature,\n\n_Her_. How about fruition, then? When they are rich, and have put the\nmask on themselves, they are still deluded; if any one tries to take it\noff, they would sooner part with their heads than with it; and it is\nnot likely they do not know by that time that the beauty is\nadventitious, now that they have an inside view.\n\n_Pl_. There too I have powerful allies.\n\n_Her_. Namely\u2014?\n\n_Pl_. When a man makes my acquaintance, and opens the door to let me\nin, there enter unseen by my side Arrogance, Folly, Vainglory,\nEffeminacy, Insolence, Deceit, and a goodly company more. These possess\nhis soul; he begins to admire mean things, pursues what he should\nabhor, reveres me amid my bodyguard of the insinuating vices which I\nhave begotten, and would consent to anything sooner than part with me.\n\n_Her_. What a smooth, slippery, unstable, evasive fellow you are,\nPlutus! there is no getting a firm hold of you; you wriggle through\none's fingers somehow, like an eel or a snake. Poverty is so\ndifferent\u2014sticky, clinging, all over hooks; any one who comes near her\nis caught directly, and finds it no simple matter to get clear. But all\nthis gossip has put business out of our heads.\n\n_Pl_. Business? What business?\n\n_Her_. We have forgotten to bring Thesaurus, and we cannot do without\nhim.\n\n_Pl_. Oh, never mind him. When I come up to see you, I leave him on\nearth, with strict orders to stay indoors, and open to no one unless he\nhears my voice.\n\n_Her_. Then we may make our way into Attica; hold on to my cloak till I\nfind Timon's retreat.\n\n_Pl_. It is just as well to keep touch; if you let me drop behind, I am\nas likely as not to be snapped up by Hyperbolus or Cleon. But what is\nthat noise? it sounds like iron on stone.\n\n_Her_. Ah, here is Timon close to us; what a steep stony little plot he\nhas got to dig! Good gracious, I see Poverty and Toil in attendance,\nEndurance, Wisdom, Courage, and Hunger's whole company in full\nforce\u2014much more efficient than your guards, Plutus.\n\n_Pl_. Oh dear, let us make the best of our way home, Hermes. We shall\nnever produce any impression on a man surrounded by such troops.\n\n_Her_. Zeus thought otherwise; so no cowardice.\n\n_Pov_. Slayer of Argus, whither away, you two hand in hand?\n\n_Her_. Zeus has sent us to Timon here.\n\n_Pov_. Now? What has Plutus to do with Timon now? I found him suffering\nunder Luxury's treatment, put him in the charge of Wisdom and Toil\n(whom you see here), and made a good worthy man of him. Do you take me\nfor such a contemptible helpless creature that you can rob me of my\nlittle all? have I perfected him in virtue, only to see Plutus take\nhim, trust him to Insolence and Arrogance, make him as soft and limp\nand silly as before, and return him to me a worn-out rag again?\n\n_Her_. It is Zeus's will.\n\n_Pov_. I am off, then. Toil, Wisdom, and the rest of you, quick march!\nWell, he will realize his loss before long; he had a good help meet in\nme, and a true teacher; with me he was healthy in body and vigorous in\nspirit; he lived the life of a man, and could be independent, and see\nthe thousand and one needless refinements in all their absurdity.\n\n_Her_. There they go, Plutus; let us come to him.\n\n_Tim_. Who are you, villains? What do you want here, interrupting a\nhired labourer? You shall have something to take with you, confound you\nall! These clods and stones shall provide you with a broken head or\ntwo.\n\n_Her_. Stop, Timon, don't throw. We are not men; I am Hermes, and this\nis Plutus; Zeus has sent us in answer to your prayers. So knock off\nwork, take your fortune, and much good may it do you!\n\n_Tim_. I dare say you _are_ Gods; that shall not save you. I hate every\none, man or God; and as for this blind fellow, whoever he may be, I am\ngoing to give him one over the head with my spade.\n\n_Pl_. For God's sake, Hermes, let us get out of this! the man is\nmelancholy-mad, I believe; he will do me a mischief before I get off.\n\n_Her_. Now don't be foolish, Timon; cease overdoing the ill-tempered\nboor, hold out your hands, take your luck, and be a rich man again.\nHave Athens at your feet, and from your solitary eminence you can\nforget ingratitude.\n\n_Tim_. I have no use for you; leave me in peace; my spade is riches\nenough for me; for the rest, I am perfectly happy if people will let me\nalone.\n\n_Her_. My dear sir\u2014so unsociable?\n\nSo stiff and stubborn a reply to Zeus?\n\n\nA misanthrope you may well be, after the way men have treated you; but\nwith the Gods so thoughtful for you, you need not be a misotheist.\n\n_Tim_. Very well, Hermes; I am extremely obliged to you and Zeus for\nyour thoughtfulness\u2014there; but I will not have Plutus.\n\n_Her_. Why, pray?\n\n_Tim_. He brought me countless troubles long ago\u2014put me in the power of\nflatterers, set designing persons on me, stirred up ill-feeling,\ncorrupted me with indulgence, exposed me to envy, and wound up with\ntreacherously deserting me at a moment's notice. Then the excellent\nPoverty gave me a drilling in manly labour, conversed with me in all\nfrankness and sincerity, rewarded my exertions with a sufficiency, and\ntaught me to despise superfluities; all hopes of a livelihood were to\ndepend on myself, and I was to know my true wealth, unassailable by\nparasites' flattery or informers' threats, hasty legislatures or\ndecree-mongering legislators, and which even the tyrant's machinations\ncannot touch.\n\nSo, toil-hardened, working with a will at this bit of ground, my eyes\nrid of city offences, I get bread enough and to spare out of my spade.\nGo your ways, then, Hermes, and take Plutus back to Zeus. I am quite\ncontent to let every man of them go hang.\n\n_Her_. Oh, that would be a pity; they are not all hanging-ripe. Don't\nmake a passionate child of yourself, but admit Plutus. Zeus's gifts are\ntoo good to be thrown away.\n\n_Pl_. Will you condescend to argue with me, Timon? or does my voice\nprovoke you?\n\n_Tim_. Oh, talk away; but be brief; no rascally lawyer's 'opening the\ncase.' I can put up with a few words from you, for Hermes' sake.\n\n_Pl_. A speech of some length might seem to be needed, considering the\nnumber of your charges; however, just examine your imputations of\ninjustice. It was I that gave you those great objects of\ndesire\u2014consideration, precedence, honours, and every delight; all eyes\nand tongues and attentions were yours\u2014my gifts; and if flatterers\nabused you, I am not responsible for that. It is I who should rather\ncomplain; you prostituted me vilely to scoundrels, whose laudations and\ncajolery of you were only samples of their designs upon me. As to your\nsaying that I wound up by betraying you, you have things topsy-turvy\nagain; _I_ may complain; you took every method to estrange me, and\nfinally kicked me out neck and crop. That is why your revered Dame\nPoverty has supplied you with a smock-frock to replace your soft\nraiment. Why, I begged and prayed Zeus (and Hermes heard me) that I\nmight be excused from revisiting a person who had been so unfriendly to\nme as you.\n\n_Her_. But you see how he is changed, Plutus; you need not be afraid to\nlive with him now. Just go on digging, Timon; and you, Plutus, put\nThesaurus in position; he will come at your call.\n\n_Tim_. I must obey, and be a rich man again, Hermes; what can one do,\nwhen Gods insist? But reflect what troubles you are bringing on my\nluckless head; I have had a blissful life of late, and now for no fault\nof my own I am to have my hands full of gold and care again.\n\n_Her_. Hard, intolerable fate! yet endure for my sake, if only that the\nflatterers may burst themselves with envy. And now for heaven, via\nEtna.\n\n_Pl_. He is off, I suppose, from the beating of his wings. Now, you\nstay where you are, while I go and fetch Thesaurus to you; or rather,\ndig hard. Here, Gold! Thesaurus I say! answer Timon's summons and let\nhim unearth you. Now, Timon, with a will; a deep stroke or two. I will\nleave you together.\n\n_Tim_. Come, spade, show your mettle; stick to it; invite Thesaurus to\nstep up from his retreat\u2026. O God of Wonders! O mystic priests! O lucky\nHermes! whence this flood of gold? Sure, 'tis all a dream; methinks\n'twill be ashes when I wake. And yet\u2014coined gold, ruddy and heavy, a\nfeast of delight!\n\nO gold, the fairest gift to mortal eyes!\n\n\nbe it night, or be it day,\n\nThou dost outshine all else like living fire.\n\n\nCome to me, my own, my beloved. I doubt the tale no longer; well might\nZeus take the shape of gold; where is the maid that would not open her\nbosom to receive so fair a lover gliding through the roof?\n\nTalk of Midas, Croesus, Delphic treasures! they were all nothing to\nTimon and his wealth; why, the Persian King could not match it. My\nspade, my dearest smock-frock, you must hang, a votive offering to Pan.\nAnd now I will buy up this desert corner, and build a tiny castle for\nmy treasure, big enough for me to live in all alone, and, when I am\ndead, to lie in. And be the rule and law of my remaining days to shun\nall men, be blind to all men, scorn all men. Friendship, hospitality,\nsociety, compassion\u2014vain words all. To be moved by another's tears, to\nassist another's need\u2014be such things illegal and immoral. Let me live\napart like a wolf; be Timon's one friend\u2014Timon.\n\nAll others are my foes and ill-wishers; to hold communion with them is\npollution; to set eyes upon one of them marks the day unholy; let them\nbe to me even as images of bronze or stone. I will receive no herald\nfrom them, keep with them no truce; the bounds of my desert are the\nline they may not cross. Cousin and kinsman, neighbour and\ncountryman\u2014these are dead useless names, wherein fools may find a\nmeaning. Let Timon keep his wealth to himself, scorn all men, and live\nin solitary luxury, quit of flattery and vulgar praise; let him\nsacrifice and feast alone, his own associate and neighbour, far from*\nthe world. Yea, when his last day comes, let there be none to close his\neyes and lay him out, but himself alone.\n\n[*Footnote: Reading, with Dindorf, _hekas on_ for _ekseion_.]\n\n\nBe the name he loves Misanthropus, and the marks whereby he may be\nknown peevishness and spleen, wrath and rudeness and abhorrence. If\never one burning to death should call for help against the flames, let\nme help\u2014with pitch and oil. If another be swept past me by a winter\ntorrent, and stretch out his hands for aid, then let mine press him\ndown head under, that he never rise again. So shall they receive as\nthey have given. Mover of this resolution\u2014Timon, son of Echecratides of\nCollytus. Presiding officer\u2014the same Timon. The ayes have it. Let it be\nlaw, and duly observed.\n\nAll the same, I would give a good deal to have the fact of my enormous\nwealth generally known; they would all be fit to hang themselves over\nit\u2026. Why, what is this? Well, that is quick work. Here they come\nrunning from every point of the compass, all dusty and panting; they\nhave smelt out the gold somehow or other. Now, shall I get on top of\nthis knoll, keep up a galling fire of stones from my point of vantage,\nand get rid of them that way? Or shall I make an exception to my law by\nparleying with them for once? contempt might hit harder than stones.\nYes, I think that is better; I will stay where I am, and receive them.\nLet us see, who is this in front? Ah, Gnathonides the flatterer; when I\nasked an alms of him the other day, he offered me a halter; many a cask\nof my wine has he made a beast of himself over. I congratulate him on\nhis speed; first come, first served.\n\n_Gna_. What did I tell them?\u2014Timon was too good a man to be abandoned\nby Providence. How are you, Timon? as good-looking and good-tempered,\nas good a fellow, as ever?\n\n_Tim_. And you, Gnathonides, still teaching vultures rapacity, and men\ncunning?\n\n_Gna_. Ah, he always liked his little joke. But where do you dine? I\nhave brought a new song with me, a march out of the last musical thing\non.\n\n_Tim_. It will be a funeral march, then, and a very touching one, with\nspade _obbligato_.\n\n_Gna_. What means this? This is assault, Timon; just let me find a\nwitness! \u2026 Oh, my God, my God! \u2026 I'll have you before the Areopagus for\nassault and battery.\n\n_Tim_. You'd better not wait much longer, or you'll have to make it\nmurder.\n\n_Gna_. Mercy, mercy! \u2026 Now, a little gold ointment to heal the wound;\nit is a first-rate styptic.\n\n_Tim_. What! you _won't_ go, won't you?\n\n_Gna_. Oh, I am going. But you shall repent this. Alas, so genial once,\nand now so rude!\n\n_Tim_. Now who is this with the bald crown? Why, it is Philiades; if\nthere is a loathsome flatterer, it is he. When I sang that song that\nnobody else would applaud, he lauded me to the skies, and swore no\ndying swan could be more tuneful; his reward was one of my farms, and a\n500 pounds portion for his daughter. And then when he found I was ill,\nand had come to him for assistance, his generous aid took the form of\nblows.\n\n_Phil_. You shameless creatures! yes, yes, _now_ you know Timon's\nmerits! _now_ Gnathonides would be his friend and boon-companion! well,\nhe has the right reward of ingratitude. Some of us were his familiars\nand playmates and neighbours; but _we_ hold back a little; we would not\nseem to thrust ourselves upon him. Greeting, lord Timon; pray let me\nwarn you against these abominable flatterers; they are your humble\nservants during meal-times, and else about as useful as carrion crows.\nPerfidy is the order of the day; everywhere ingratitude and vileness. I\nwas just bringing a couple of hundred pounds, for your immediate\nnecessities, and was nearly here before I heard of your splendid\nfortune. So I just came on to give you this word of caution; though\nindeed you are wise enough (I would take your advice before Nestor's\nmyself) to need none of my counsel.\n\n_Tim_. Quite so, Philiades. But come near, will you not, and receive\nmy\u2014spade!\n\n_Phil_. Help, help! this thankless brute has broken my head, for giving\nhim good counsel.\n\n_Tim_. Now for number three. Lawyer Demeas\u2014my cousin, as he calls\nhimself, with a decree in his hand. Between three and four thousand it\nwas that I paid in to the Treasury in ready money for him; he had been\nfined that amount and imprisoned in default, and I took pity on him.\nWell, the other day he was distributing-officer of the festival money\n[Footnote: Every citizen had the right to receive from the State the\nsmall sum which would pay for his admission to theatrical or other\nfestival entertainments.]; when I applied for my share, he pretended I\nwas not a citizen.\n\n_Dem_. Hail, Timon, ornament of our race, pillar of Athens, shield of\nHellas! The Assembly and both Councils are met, and expect your\nappearance. But first hear the decree which I have proposed in your\nhonour. 'WHEREAS Timon son of Echecratides of Collytus who adds to high\nposition and character a sagacity unmatched in Greece is a consistent\nand indefatigable promoter of his country's good and Whereas he has\nbeen victorious at Olympia on one day in boxing wrestling and running\nas well as in the two and the four-horse chariot races\u2014'\n\n_Tim_. Why, I was never so much as a spectator at Olympia.\n\n_Dem_. What does that matter? you will be some day. It looks better to\nhave a good deal of that sort in\u2014'and Whereas he fought with\ndistinction last year at Acharnae cutting two Peloponnesian companies\nto pieces\u2014'\n\n_Tim_. Good work that, considering that my name was not on the\nmuster-rolls, because I could not afford a suit of armour.\n\n_Dem_. Ah, you are modest; but it would be ingratitude in us to forget\nyour services\u2014'and Whereas by political measures and responsible advice\nand military action he has conferred great benefits on his country Now\nfor all these reasons it is the pleasure of the Assembly and the\nCouncil the ten divisions of the High Court and the Borough Councils\nindividually and collectively THAT a golden statue of the said Timon be\nplaced on the Acropolis alongside of Athene with a thunderbolt in the\nhand and a seven-rayed aureole on the head Further that golden garlands\nbe conferred on him and proclaimed this day at the New Tragedies\n[Footnote: See _Dionysia_ in Notes] the said day being kept in his\nhonour as the Dionysia. Mover of the Decree Demeas the pleader the said\nTimon's near relation and disciple the said Timon being as\ndistinguished in pleading as in all else wherein it pleases him to\nexcel.'\n\nSo runs the decree. I had designed also to present to you my son, whom\nI have named Timon after you.\n\n_Tim_. Why, I thought you were a bachelor, Demeas.\n\n_Dem_. Ah, but I intend to marry next year; my child\u2014which is to be a\nboy\u2014I hereby name Timon.\n\n_Tim_. I doubt whether you will feel like marrying, my man, when I have\ngiven you\u2014this!\n\n_Dem_. Oh Lord! what is that for? \u2026 You are plotting a _coup d'etat_,\nyou Timon; you assault free men, and you are neither a free man nor a\ncitizen yourself. You shall soon be called to account for your crimes;\nit was you set fire to the Acropolis, for one thing.\n\n_Tim_. Why, you scoundrel, the Acropolis has not been set on fire; you\nare a common blackmailer.\n\n_Dem_. You got your gold by breaking into the Treasury.\n\n_Tim_. It has not been broken into, either; you are not even plausible.\n\n_Dem_. There is time for the burglary yet; meantime, you are in\npossession of the treasures.\n\n_Tim_. Well, here is another for you, anyhow.\n\n_Dem_. Oh! oh! my back!\n\n_Tim_. Don't make such a noise, if you don't want a third. It would be\ntoo absurd, you know, if I could cut two companies of Spartans to\npieces without my armour, and not be able to give a single little\nscoundrel his deserts. My Olympic boxing and wrestling victories would\nbe thrown away.\n\nWhom have we now? is this Thrasycles the philosopher? sure enough it\nis. A halo of beard, eyebrows an inch above their place, superiority in\nhis air, a look that might storm heaven, locks waving to the wind\u2014'tis\na very Boreas or Triton from Zeuxis' pencil. This hero of the careful\nget-up, the solemn gait, the plain attire\u2014in the morning he will utter\na thousand maxims, expounding Virtue, arraigning self- indulgence,\nlauding simplicity; and then, when he gets to dinner after his bath,\nhis servant fills him a bumper (he prefers it neat), and draining this\nLethe-draught he proceeds to turn his morning maxima inside out; he\nswoops like a hawk on dainty dishes, elbows his neighbour aside, fouls\nhis beard with trickling sauce, laps like a dog, with his nose in his\nplate, as if he expected to find Virtue there, and runs his finger all\nround the bowl, not to lose a drop of the gravy. Let him monopolize\npastry or joint, he will still criticize the carving\u2014that is all the\nsatisfaction his ravenous greed brings him\u2014; when the wine is in,\nsinging and dancing are delights not fierce enough; he must brawl and\nrave. He has plenty to say in his cups\u2014he is then at his best in that\nkind\u2014upon temperance and decorum; he is full of these when his\npotations have reduced him to ridiculous stuttering. Next the wine\ndisagrees with him, and at last he is carried out of the room, holding\non with all his might to the flute-girl. Take him sober, for that\nmatter, and you will hardly find his match at lying, effrontery or\navarice. He is _facile princeps_ of flatterers, perjury sits on his\ntongue-tip, imposture goes before him, and shamelessness is his good\ncomrade; oh, he is a most ingenious piece of work, finished at all\npoints, a _multum in parvo_. I am afraid his kind heart will be grieved\npresently. Why, how is this, Thrasycles? I must say, you have taken\nyour time about coming.\n\n_Thr_. Ah, Timon, I am not come like the rest of the crowd; _they_ are\ndazzled by your wealth; they are gathered together with an eye to gold\nand silver and high living; they will soon be showing their servile\ntricks before your unsuspicious, generous self. As for me, you know a\ncrust is all the dinner I care for; the relish I like best is a bit of\nthyme or cress; on festal days I may go as far as a sprinkling of salt.\nMy drink is the crystal spring; and this threadbare cloak is better\nthan your gay robes. Gold\u2014I value it no higher than pebbles on the\nbeach. What brought _me_ was concern for you; I would not have you\nruined by this same pestilent wealth, this temptation for plunderers;\nmany is the man it has sunk in helpless misery. Take my advice, and\nfling it bodily into the sea; a good man, to whom the wealth of\nphilosophy is revealed, has no need of the other. It does not matter\nabout deep water, my good sir; wade in up to your waist when the tide\nis near flood, and _let no one see you but me_. Or if that is not\nsatisfactory, here is another plan even better. Get it all out of the\nhouse as quick as you can, not reserving a penny for yourself, and\ndistribute it to the poor five shillings to one, five pounds to\nanother, a hundred to a third; philosophy might constitute a claim to a\ndouble or triple share. For my part\u2014and I do not ask for myself, only\nto divide it among my needy friends\u2014I should be quite content with as\nmuch as my scrip would hold; it is something short of two standard\nbushels; if one professes philosophy, one must be moderate and have few\nneeds\u2014none that go beyond the capacity of a scrip.\n\n_Tim_. Very right, Thrasycles. But instead of a mere scripful, pray\ntake a whole headful of clouts, standard measure by the spade.\n\n_Thr_. Land of liberty, equality, legality! protect me against this\nruffian!\n\n_Tim_. What is your grievance, my good man? is the measure short? here\nis a pint or two extra, then, to put it right.\n\nWhy, what now? here comes a crowd; friend Blepsias, Laches, Gniphon;\ntheir name is legion; they shall howl soon. I had better get up on the\nrock; my poor tired spade wants a little rest; I will collect all the\nstones I can lay hands on, and pepper them at long range.\n\n_Bl_. Don't throw, Timon; we are going.\n\n_Tim_. Whether the retreat will be bloodless, however, is another\nquestion.\n\nH.\n\n\n\nPROMETHEUS ON CAUCASUS\n\n_Hermes. Hephaestus. Prometheus._\n\n_Her_. This, Hephaestus, is the Caucasus, to which it is our painful\nduty to nail our companion. We have now to select a suitable crag, free\nfrom snow, on which the chains will have a good hold, and the prisoner\nwill hang in all publicity.\n\n_Heph_. True. It will not do to fix him too low down, or these _men_ of\nhis might come to their maker's assistance; nor at the top, where he\nwould be invisible from the earth. What do you say to a middle course?\nLet him hang over this precipice, with his arms stretched across from\ncrag to crag.\n\n_Her_. The very thing. Steep rocks, slightly overhanging, inaccessible\non every side; no foothold but a mere ledge, with scarcely room for the\ntips of one's toes; altogether a sweet spot for a crucifixion. Now,\nPrometheus, come and be nailed up; there is no time to lose.\n\n_Prom_. Nay, hear me; Hephaestus! Hermes! I suffer injustice: have\ncompassion on my woes!\n\n_Her_. In other words, disobey orders, and promptly be gibbeted in your\nstead! Do you suppose there is not room on the Caucasus to peg out a\ncouple of us? Come, your right hand! clamp it down, Hephaestus, and in\nwith the nails; bring down the hammer with a will. Now the left; make\nsure work of that too.\u2014So!\u2014The eagle will shortly be here, to trim your\nliver; so ingenious an artist is entitled to every attention.\n\n_Prom_. O Cronus, and Iapetus, and Mother Earth! Behold the sufferings\nof the innocent!\n\n_Her_. Why, as to innocence,\u2014to begin with, there was that business of\nthe sacrificial meats, your manner of distributing which was most\nunfair, most disingenuous: you got all the choice parts for yourself,\nand put Zeus off with bones 'wrapped up in shining fat'; I remember the\npassage in Hesiod; those are his very words. Then you made these human\nbeings; creatures of unparalleled wickedness, the women especially. And\nto crown all, you stole fire, the most precious possession of the Gods,\nand gave it to them. And with all this on your conscience, you protest\nthat you have done nothing to deserve captivity.\n\n_Prom_. Ah, Hermes; you are as bad as Hector; you 'blame the\nblameless.' For such crimes as these, I deserve a round pension, if\njustice were done. And by the way, I should like, if you can spare the\ntime, to answer to these charges, and satisfy you of the injustice of\nmy sentence. You can employ your practised eloquence on behalf of Zeus,\nand justify his conduct in nailing me up here at the Gates of the\nCaspian, for all Scythia to behold and pity.\n\n_Her_. There is nothing to be gained now by an appeal to another court;\nit is too late. Proceed, however. We have to wait in any case till the\neagle comes to look after that liver of yours; and the time might be\nworse spent than in listening to the subtleties of such a master in\nimpudence as yourself.\n\n_Prom_. You begin then, Hermes. Exert all your powers of invective;\nleave no stone unturned to establish the righteousness of papa's\njudgements.\u2014You, Hephaestus, shall compose the jury.\n\n_Heph_. The jury! Not a bit of it; I am a party in this case. My\nfurnace has been cold, ever since you stole that fire.\n\n_Prom_. Well, at this rate you had better divide the prosecution\nbetween you. You conduct the case of larceny, and Hermes can handle the\nman-making, and the misappropriation of meat. I shall expect a great\ndeal of you; you are both artists.\n\n_Heph_. Hermes shall speak for me. The law is not in my line; my forge\ntakes up most of my time. But Hermes is an orator; he has made a study\nof these things.\n\n_Prom_. Well! I should never have thought that Hermes would have the\nheart to reproach me with larceny; he ought to have a fellow-feeling\nfor me there. However, with this further responsibility on your\nshoulders, there is no time to be lost, son of Maia; out with your\naccusation, and have done with it.\n\n_Her_. To deal adequately with your crimes, Prometheus, would require\nmany words and much preparation. It is not enough to mention the\nseveral counts of the accusation; how, entrusted with the distribution\nof meats, you defrauded the crown by retaining the choicer portions for\nyour own use; how you created the race of men, with absolutely no\njustification for so doing; how you stole fire and conveyed it to these\nsame men. You seem not to realize, my friend, that, all-things\nconsidered, Zeus has dealt very handsomely by you. Now, if you deny the\ncharges, I shall be compelled to establish your guilt at some length,\nand to set the facts in the clearest possible light. But if you admit\nthe distribution of meat in the manner described, the introduction of\nmen, and the theft of fire,\u2014then my case is complete, and there is no\nmore to be said. To expatiate further would be to talk nonsense.\n\n_Prom_. Perhaps there has been some nonsense talked already; that\nremains to be seen. But as you say your case is now complete, I will\nsee what I can do in the way of refutation. And first about that meat.\nThough, upon my word, I blush for Zeus when I name it: to think that he\nshould be so touchy about trifles, as to send off a God of my quality\nto crucifixion, just because he found a little bit of bone in his\nshare! Does he forget the services I have rendered him? And does he\nthink what it is that he is so angry about, and how childish it is to\nshow temper about a little thing like that? What if he did miss getting\nthe better share? Why, Hermes, these tricks that are played over the\nwine-cups are not worth thinking twice about. A joke, perhaps, is\ncarried a little too far, in the warmth of the feast; still, it is a\njoke, and resentment should be left behind in the dregs of the bowl. I\nhave no patience with your long memories; this nursing of grievances,\nthis raking up of last night's squabbles, is unworthy of a king, let\nalone a king of Gods. Once take away from our feasts the little\nelegancies of quip and crank and wile, and what is left? Muzziness;\nrepletion; silence;\u2014cheerful accompaniments these to the wine-bowl! For\nmy part, I never supposed that Zeus would give the matter a thought the\nnext morning; much less that he would make such a stir about it, and\nthink himself so mightily injured; my little manoeuvre with the meat\nwas merely a playful experiment, to see which he would choose. It might\nhave been worse. Instead of giving him the inferior half, I might have\ndefrauded him of the whole. And what if I had? Would that have been a\ncase for putting heaven and earth in commotion, for deep designs of\nchain and cross and Caucasus, dispatchings of eagles, rendings of\nlivers? These things tell a sad tale, do they not, of the puny soul,\nthe little mind, the touchy temper of the aggrieved party? How would he\ntake the loss of a whole ox, who storms to such purpose over a few\npounds of meat? How much more reasonable is the conduct of mortals,\nthough one would have expected them to be more irritable than Gods! A\nmortal would never want his cook crucified for dipping a finger into\nthe stew-pan, or filching a mouthful from the roast; they overlook\nthese things. At the worst their resentment is satisfied with a box on\nthe ears or a rap on the head. I find no precedent among them for\ncrucifixion in such cases. So much for the affair of the meat; there is\nlittle credit to be got in the refutation of such a charge, and still\nless in the bringing of it.\n\nI am next to speak of my creation of mankind. And here the terms of\nyour accusation are ambiguous. I have to choose between two distinct\npossibilities. Do you maintain that I had no right to create men at\nall, that I ought to have left the senseless clay alone? Or do you only\ncomplain of the form in which I designed them? However, I shall have\nsomething to say on both points. I shall first endeavour to show that\nno harm has accrued to the Gods from my bringing mankind into\nexistence; and shall then proceed to the positive advantages and\nimprovements which have resulted to them from the peopling of the\nearth. The question as to the harm done by my innovation is best\nanswered by an appeal to the past, to those days when the race of\nheaven-born Gods stood alone, and earth was a hideous shapeless mass, a\ntangle of rude vegetation. The Gods had no altars then, nor temples\n(for who should raise them?), no images of wood or stone, such as now\nabound in every corner of the earth, and are honoured with all\nobservance. It was to me that the idea occurred\u2014amid my ceaseless\nmeditations on the common welfare, on the aggrandizement of the Gods\nand the promotion of order and beauty in the universe\u2014of setting all to\nrights with a handful of clay; of creating living things, and moulding\nthem after our own likeness. I saw what was lacking to our godhead:\nsome counterpart, some foil wherein to set off its blessedness. And\nthat counterpart must be mortal; but in all else exquisitely contrived,\nperfect in intelligence, keen to appreciate our superiority. Thereupon,\nI moulded my material,\n\nWith water mingling clay,\n\n\nand created man, calling in Athene to aid me in the task. And this is\nmy rank offence against the Gods. Destructive work,\u2014to reduce inanimate\nclay to life and motion! The Gods, it seems, are Gods no longer, now\nthat there are mortal creatures on the earth. To judge at least by\nZeus's indignation, one would suppose that the Gods suffered some loss\nof prestige from the creation of mankind; unless it is that he is\nafraid of another revolt, of their waging war with heaven, like the\nGiants.\n\nThat the cause of the Gods suffered nothing at my hands is evident;\nshow me the slightest instance to the contrary, and I will say no more;\nI have but my deserts. But for the positive benefits I have conferred,\nuse the evidence of your eyes. The earth, no longer barren and\nuntilled, is decked with cities and farms and the fruits of\ncultivation; the sea has its ships, the islands their inhabitants.\nEverywhere are altars and temples, everywhere festivals and sacrifices:\n\n  Zeus with his presence fills their gatherings,\n  He fills their streets.\n\n\nHad I created mankind for my own private convenience, it might perhaps\nhave denoted a grasping spirit: but I made them common property; they\nare at the service of every God of you. Nay more: temples of Zeus, and\nApollo, and Hera, temples of Hermes, are everywhere to be seen; but who\never saw a temple of Prometheus? You may judge from this, how far I\nhave sacrificed the common cause to my private ambition.\n\nAnd further. Consider, Hermes: can any good thing whatsoever, be it\ngift of Nature or work of our hands, give the full measure of enjoyment\nto its possessor, when there is none to see, none to admire? You see\nwhither my question tends? But for mankind, the glories of the universe\nmust have been without a witness; and there was little satisfaction to\nbe derived from a wealth which was doomed to excite no envy in others.\nWe should have lacked a standard for comparison; and should never have\nknown the extent of our happiness, while all were as happy as\nourselves. The great is not great, till it is compared with the small.\nYet instead of honouring me for my political insight, you crucify me;\nsuch are the wages of wisdom!\n\nAh, but (you will say) there is so much wickedness among them;\nadultery, war, incest, parricide. Well, I fancy these are not unknown\namong ourselves? And I am sure no one would think that a reason for\nsaying that Uranus and Ge made a mistake in creating us. Or again, you\nwill complain that we have so much trouble in looking after them. At\nthat rate, a shepherd ought to object to the possession of a flock,\nbecause he has to look after it. Besides, a certain show of occupation\nis rather gratifying than otherwise; the responsibility is not\nunwelcome,\u2014it helps to pass the time. What should we do, if we had not\nmankind to think of? There would be nothing to live for; we should sit\nabout drinking nectar and gorging ourselves with ambrosia. But what\nfairly takes away my breath is, your assurance in finding fault with my\n_women_ in particular, when all the time you are in love with them: our\nbulls and satyrs and swans are never tired of making descents upon the\nEarth; women, they find, are good enough to be made the mothers of\nGods!\n\nYes, yes (you will say), it was quite right that men should be created,\nbut they should not have been made in our likeness. And what better\nmodel could I have taken than this, whose perfection I knew? Was I to\nmake them brute beasts without understanding? Had they been other than\nthey are, how should they have paid you due honour and sacrifice? When\nthe hecatombs are getting ready, you think nothing of a journey to the\nends of the earth to see the 'blameless Ethiopians'; and my reward for\nprocuring you these advantages is\u2014crucifixion! But on this subject I\nhave said enough.\n\nAnd now, with your permission, I will approach the subject of that\nstolen fire, of which we hear so much. I have a question to ask, which\nI beg you will answer frankly. Has there been one spark less fire in\nHeaven, since men shared it with us? Of course not. It is the nature of\nfire, that it does not become less by being imparted to others. A fire\nis not put out by kindling another from it. No, this is sheer envy: you\ncannot bear that men should have a share of this necessary, though you\nhave suffered no harm thereby. For shame! Gods should be beneficent,\n'givers of good'; they should be above all envy. Had I taken away fire\naltogether, and left not a spark behind, it would have been no great\nloss. You have no use for it. You are never cold; you need no\nartificial light; nor is ambrosia improved by boiling. To man, on the\nother hand, fire is indispensable for many purposes, particularly for\nthose of sacrifice; how else are they to fill their streets with the\nsavour of burnt-offerings, and the fumes of frankincense? how else to\nburn fat thigh-pieces upon your altars? I observe that you take a\nparticular pleasure in the steam arising therefrom, and think no feast\nmore delicious than the smell of roast meat, as it mounts heavenwards\n\nIn eddying clouds of smoke.\n\n\nYour present complaint, you see, is sadly at variance with this taste.\nI wonder you do not forbid the Sun to shine on mankind. He too is of\nfire, and fire of a purer and diviner quality. Has anything been said\nto _him_ about his lavish expenditure of your property?\n\nAnd now I have done. If there is any flaw in my defence, it is for you\ntwo to refute me. I shall answer your objections in due course.\n\n_Her_. Nay, you are too hard for us, Prometheus; we will not attempt a\nsophist of your mettle. Well for you that Zeus is not within earshot,\nor you would have had a round dozen of hungry vultures to reckon with,\nfor certain; in clearing your own character, you have grievously\nmishandled his. But one thing puzzles me: you are a prophet; you ought\nto have foreseen your sentence.\n\n_Prom_. All this I knew, and more than this; for I shall be released;\nnay, even now the day is not far off when one of your blood shall come\nfrom Thebes, and shoot this eagle with which you threaten me [Footnote:\nSee _Prometheus_ in Notes.].\n\n_Her_. With all my heart! I shall be delighted to see you free again,\nand feasting in our midst; but not, my friend, not carving for us!\n\n_Prom_. You may take my word for it; I shall be with you again. I have\nthe wherewithal to pay abundantly for my ransom.\n\n_Her_. Oh, indeed? Come, tell us all about it.\n\n_Prom_. You know Thetis\u2014But no; the secret is best kept. Ransom and\nreward depend upon it.\n\n_Her_. Well, you know best. Now, Hephaestus, we must be going; see,\nhere comes the eagle.\u2014Bear a brave heart, Prometheus; and all speed to\nyour Theban archer, who is to set a term to this creature's activity.\n\nF.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUES OF THE GODS\n\nI\n\n_Prometheus. Zeus_\n\n_Prom_. Release me, Zeus; I have suffered enough.\n\n_Zeus_. Release you? you? Why, by rights your irons should be heavier,\nyou should have the whole weight of Caucasus upon you, and instead of\none, a dozen vultures, not just pecking at your liver, but scratching\nout your eyes. You made these abominable human creatures to vex us, you\nstole our fire, you invented women. I need not remind you how you\noverreached me about the meat-offerings; my portion, bones disguised in\nfat: yours, all the good.\n\n_Prom_. And have I not been punished enough\u2014riveted to the Caucasus all\nthese years, feeding your bird (on which all worst curses light!) with\nmy liver?\n\n_Zeus_. 'Tis not a tithe of your deserts.\n\n_Prom_. Consider, I do not ask you to release me for nothing. I offer\nyou information which is invaluable.\n\n_Zeus_. Promethean wiles!\n\n_Prom_. Wiles? to what end? you can find the Caucasus another time; and\nthere are chains to be had, if you catch me cheating.\n\n_Zeus_. Tell me first the nature of your 'invaluable' offer.\n\n_Prom_. If I tell you your present errand right, will that convince you\nthat I can prophesy too?\n\n_Zeus_. Of course it will.\n\n_Prom_. You are bound on a little visit to Thetis.\n\n_Zeus_. Right so far. And the sequel? I trust you now.\n\n_Prom_. Have no dealings with her, Zeus. As sure as Nereus's daughter\nconceives by you, your child shall mete you the measure you meted to\u2014\n\n_Zeus_. I shall lose my kingdom, you would say?\n\n_Prom_. Avert it, Fate! I say only, that union portends this issue.\n\n_Zeus_. Thetis, farewell! and for this Hephaestus shall set you free.\n\nH.\n\nII\n\n_Eros. Zeus_\n\n_Eros_. You might let me off, Zeus! I suppose it _was_ rather too bad\nof me; but there!\u2014I am but a child; a wayward child.\n\n_Zeus_. A child, and born before Iapetus was ever thought of? You bad\nold man! Just because you have no beard, and no white hairs, are you\ngoing to pass yourself off for a child?\n\n_Eros_. Well, and what such mighty harm has the old man ever done you,\nthat you should talk of chains?\n\n_Zeus_. Ask your own guilty conscience, what harm. The pranks you have\nplayed me! Satyr, bull, swan, eagle, shower of gold,\u2014I have been\neverything in my time; and I have you to thank for it. You never by any\nchance make the women in love with _me_; no one is ever smitten with\n_my_ charms, that I have noticed. No, there must be magic in it always;\nI must be kept well out of sight. They like the bull or the swan well\nenough: but once let them set eyes on _me_, and they are frightened out\nof their lives.\n\n_Eros_. Well, of course. They are but mortals; the sight of Zeus is too\nmuch for them.\n\n_Zeus_. Then why are Branchus and Hyacinth so fond of Apollo?\n\n_Eros_. Daphne ran away from him, anyhow; in spite of his beautiful\nhair and his smooth chin. Now, shall I tell you the way to win hearts?\nKeep that aegis of yours quiet, and leave the thunderbolt at home; make\nyourself as smart as you can; curl your hair and tie it up with a bit\nof ribbon, get a purple cloak, and gold-bespangled shoes, and march\nforth to the music of flute and drum;\u2014and see if you don't get a finer\nfollowing than Dionysus, for all his Maenads.\n\n_Zeus_. Pooh! I'll win no hearts on such terms.\n\n_Eros_. Oh, in that case, don't fall in love. Nothing could be simpler.\n\n_Zeus_. I dare say; but I like being in love, only I don't like all\nthis fuss. Now mind; if I let you off, it is on this understanding.\n\nF.\n\nIII\n\n_Zeus. Hermes_\n\n_Zeus_. Hermes, you know Inachus's beautiful daughter?\n\n_Her_. I do. Io, you mean?\n\n_Zeus_. Yes; she is not a girl now, but a heifer.\n\n_Her_. Magic at work! how did that come about?\n\n_Zeus_. Hera had a jealous fit, and transformed her. But that is not\nall; she has thought of a new punishment for the poor thing. She has\nput a cowherd in charge, who is all over eyes; this Argus, as he is\ncalled, pastures the heifer, and never goes to sleep.\n\n_Her_. Well, what am I to do?\n\n_Zeus_. Fly down to Nemea, where the pasture is, kill Argus, take Io\nacross the sea to Egypt, and convert her into Isis. She shall be\nhenceforth an Egyptian Goddess, flood the Nile, regulate the winds, and\nrescue mariners.\n\nH.\n\nVI\n\n_Hera. Zeus_\n\n_Hera_. Zeus! What is your opinion of this man Ixion?\n\n_Zeus_. Why, my dear, I think he is a very good sort of man; and the\nbest of company. Indeed, if he were unworthy of our company, he would\nnot be here.\n\n_Hera_. He _is_ unworthy! He is a villain! Discard him!\n\n_Zeus_. Eh? What has he been after? I must know about this.\n\n_Hera_. Certainly you must; though I scarce know how to tell you. The\nwretch!\n\n_Zeus_. Oh, oh; if he is a 'wretch,' you must certainly tell me all\nabout it. I know what 'wretch' means, on your discreet tongue. What, he\nhas been making love?\n\n_Hera_. And to me! to me of all people! It has been going on for a long\ntime. At first, when he would keep looking at me, I had no idea\u2014. And\nthen he would sigh and groan; and when I handed my cup to Ganymede\nafter drinking, he would insist on having it, and would stop drinking\nto kiss it, and lift it up to his eyes; and then he would look at me\nagain. And then of course I knew. For a long time I didn't like to say\nanything to you; I thought his mad fit would pass. But when he actually\ndared to _speak_ to me, I left him weeping and groveling about, and\nstopped my ears, so that I might not hear his impertinences, and came\nto tell you. It is for you to consider what steps you will take.\n\n_Zeus_. Whew! I have a rival, I find; and with my own lawful wife. Here\nis a rascal who has tippled nectar to some purpose. Well, we have no\none but ourselves to blame for it: we make too much of these mortals,\nadmitting them to our table like this. When they drink of our nectar,\nand behold the beauties of Heaven (so different from those of Earth!),\n'tis no wonder if they fall in love, and form ambitious schemes! Yes,\nLove is all-powerful; and not with mortals only: we Gods have sometimes\nfallen beneath his sway.\n\n_Hera_. He has made himself master of _you_; no doubt of that. He does\nwhat he likes with you;\u2014leads you by the nose. You follow him whither\nhe chooses, and assume every shape at his command; you are his chattel,\nhis toy. I know how it will be: you are going to let Ixion off, because\nyou have had relations with his wife; she is the mother of Pirithous.\n\n_Zeus_. Why, what a memory you have for these little outings of\nmine!\u2014Now, my idea about Ixion is this. It would never do to punish\nhim, or to exclude him from our table; that would not look well. No; as\nhe is so fond of you, so hard hit\u2014even to weeping point, you tell me,\u2014\n\n_Hera_. Zeus! What _are_ you going to say?\n\n_Zeus_. Don't be alarmed. Let us make a cloud-phantom in your likeness,\nand after dinner, as he lies awake (which of course he will do, being\nin love), let us take it and lay it by his side. 'Twill put him out of\nhis pain: he will fancy he has attained his desire.\n\n_Hera_. Never! The presumptuous villain!\n\n_Zeus_. Yes, I know. But what harm can it do to you, if Ixion makes a\nconquest of a cloud?\n\n_Hera_. But he will think that _I_ am the cloud; he will be working his\nwicked will upon _me_ for all he can tell.\n\n_Zeus_. Now you are talking nonsense. The cloud is not Hera, and Hera\nis not the cloud. Ixion will be deceived; that is all.\n\n_Hera_. Yes, but these men are all alike\u2014they have no delicacy. I\nsuppose, when he goes home, he will boast to every one of how he has\nenjoyed the embraces of Hera, the wife of Zeus! Why, he may tell them\nthat _I_ am in love with _him_! And they will believe it; _they_ will\nknow nothing about the cloud.\n\n_Zeus_. If he says anything of the kind he shall soon find himself in\nHades, spinning round on a wheel for all eternity. That will keep him\nbusy! And serve him right; not for falling in love\u2014I see no great harm\nin that\u2014but for letting his tongue wag.\n\nF.\n\nVII\n\n_Hephaestus. Apollo_\n\n_Heph_. Have you seen Maia's baby, Apollo? such a pretty little thing,\nwith a smile for everybody; you can see it is going to be a treasure.\n\n_Ap_. That baby a treasure? well, in mischief, Iapetus is young beside\nit.\n\n_Heph_. Why, what harm can it do, only just born?\n\n_Ap_. Ask Posidon; it stole his trident. Ask Ares; he was surprised to\nfind his sword gone out of the scabbard. Not to mention myself,\ndisarmed of bow and arrows.\n\n_Heph_. Never! that infant? he has hardly found his legs yet; he is not\nout of his baby-linen.\n\n_Ap_. Ah, you will find out, Hephaestus, if he gets within reach of\nyou.\n\n_Heph_. He has been.\n\n_Ap_. Well? all your tools safe? none missing?\n\n_Heph_. Of course not.\n\n_Ap_. I advise you to make sure.\n\n_Heph_. Zeus! where are my pincers?\n\n_Ap_. Ah, you will find them among the baby-linen.\n\n_Heph_. So light-fingered? one would swear he had practised petty\nlarceny in the womb.\n\n_Ap_. Ah, and you don't know what a glib young chatterbox he is; and,\nif he has his way, he is to be our errand-boy! Yesterday he challenged\nEros\u2014tripped up his heels somehow, and had him on his back in a\ntwinkling; before the applause was over, he had taken the opportunity\nof a congratulatory hug from Aphrodite to steal her girdle; Zeus had\nnot done laughing before\u2014the sceptre was gone. If the thunderbolt had\nnot been too heavy, and very hot, he would have made away with that\ntoo.\n\n_Heph_. The child has some spirit in him, by your account.\n\n_Ap_. Spirit, yes\u2014and some music, moreover, young as he is.\n\n_Heph_. How can you tell that?\n\n_Ap_. He picked up a dead tortoise somewhere or other, and contrived an\ninstrument with it. He fitted horns to it, with a cross-bar, stuck in\npegs, inserted a bridge, and played a sweet tuneful thing that made an\nold harper like me quite envious. Even at night, Maia was saying, he\ndoes not stay in Heaven; he goes down poking his nose into Hades\u2014on a\nthieves' errand, no doubt. Then he has a pair of wings, and he has made\nhimself a magic wand, which he uses for marshalling souls\u2014convoying the\ndead to their place.\n\n_Heph_. Ah, I gave him that, for a toy.\n\n_Ap_. And by way of payment he stole\u2014\n\n_Heph_. Well thought on; I must go and get them; you may be right about\nthe baby-linen.\n\nH.\n\n\nVIII _Hephaestus. Zeus_\n\n_Heph_. What are your orders, Zeus? You sent for me, and here I am;\nwith such an edge to my axe as would cleave a stone at one blow.\n\n_Zeus_. Ah; that's right, Hephaestus. Just split my head in half, will\nyou?\n\n_Heph_. You think I am mad, perhaps?\u2014Seriously, now, what can I do for\nyou?\n\n_Zeus_. What I say: crack my skull. Any insubordination, now, and you\nshall taste my resentment; it will not be the first time. Come, a good\nlusty stroke, and quick about it. I am in the pangs of travail; my\nbrain is in a whirl.\n\n_Heph_. Mind you, the consequences may be serious: the axe is sharp,\nand will prove but a rough midwife.\n\n_Zeus_. Hew away, and fear nothing. I know what I am about.\n\n_Heph_. H'm. I don't like it: however, one must obey orders\u2026. Why, what\nhave we here? A maiden in full armour! This is no joke, Zeus. You might\nwell be waspish, with this great girl growing up beneath your _pia\nmater_; in armour, too! You have been carrying a regular barracks on\nyour shoulders all this time. So active too! See, she is dancing a\nwar-dance, with shield and spear in full swing. She is like one\ninspired; and (what is more to the point) she is extremely pretty, and\nhas come to marriageable years in these few minutes; those grey eyes,\neven, look well beneath a helmet. Zeus, I claim her as the fee for my\nmidwifery.\n\n_Zeus_. Impossible! She is determined to remain a maid for ever. Not\nthat _I_ have any objection, personally.\n\n_Heph_. That is all I want. You can leave the rest to me. I'll carry\nher off this moment.\n\n_Zeus_. Well, if you think it so easy. But I am sure it is a hopeless\ncase.\n\nF.\n\nXI\n\n_Aphrodite. Selene_\n\n_Aph_. What is this I hear about you, Selene? When your car is over\nCaria, you stop it to gaze at Endymion sleeping hunter-fashion in the\nopen; sometimes, they tell me, you actually get out and go down to him.\n\n_Sel_. Ah, Aphrodite, ask that son of yours; it is he must answer for\nit all.\n\n_Aph_. Well now, what a naughty boy! he gets his own mother into all\nsorts of scrapes; I must go down, now to Ida for Anchises of Troy, now\nto Lebanon for my Assyrian stripling;\u2014mine? no, he put Persephone in\nlove with him too, and so robbed me of half my darling. I have told him\nmany a time that if he would not behave himself I would break his\nartillery for him, and clip his wings; and before now I have smacked\nhis little behind with my slipper. It is no use; he is frightened and\ncries for a minute or two, and then forgets all about it. But tell me,\nis Endymion handsome? That is always a comfort in our humiliation.\n\n_Sel_. _Most_ handsome, _I_ think, my dear; you should see him when he\nhas spread out his cloak on the rock and is asleep; his javelins in his\nleft hand, just slipping from his grasp, the right arm bent upwards,\nmaking a bright frame to the face, and he breathing softly in helpless\nslumber. Then I come noiselessly down, treading on tiptoe not to wake\nand startle him\u2014but there, you know all about it; why tell you the\nrest? I am dying of love, that is all.\n\nH.\n\nXII\n\n_Aphrodite. Eros_\n\n_Aph_. Child, child, you must think what you are doing. It is bad\nenough on earth,\u2014you are always inciting men to do some mischief, to\nthemselves or to one another;\u2014but I am speaking of the Gods. You change\nZeus into shape after shape as the fancy takes you; you make Selene\ncome down from the sky; you keep Helius loitering about with Clymene,\ntill he sometimes forgets to drive out at all. As for the naughty\ntricks you play on your own mother, you know you are safe there. But\nRhea! how could you _dare_ to set her on thinking of that young fellow\nin Phrygia, an old lady like her, the mother of so many Gods? Why, you\nhave made her quite mad: she harnesses those lions of hers, and drives\nabout all over Ida with the Corybantes, who are as mad as herself,\nshrieking high and low for Attis; and there they are, slashing their\narms with swords, rushing about over the hills, like wild things, with\ndishevelled hair, blowing horns, beating drums, clashing cymbals; all\nIda is one mad tumult. I am quite uneasy about it; yes, you wicked boy,\nyour poor mother is quite uneasy: some day when Rhea is in one of her\nmad fits (or when she is in her senses, more likely), she will send the\nCorybantes after you, with orders to tear you to pieces, or throw you\nto the lions. You are so venturesome!\n\n_Eros_. Be under no alarm, mother; I understand lions perfectly by this\ntime. I get on to their backs every now and then, and take hold of\ntheir manes, and ride them about; and when I put my hand into their\nmouths, they only lick it, and let me take it out again. Besides, how\nis Rhea going to have time to attend to me? She is too busy with Attis.\nAnd I see no harm in just pointing out beautiful things to people; they\ncan leave them alone;\u2014it is nothing to do with me. And how would you\nlike it if Ares were not in love with you, or you with him?\n\n_Aph_. Masterful boy! always the last word! But you will remember this\nsome day.\n\nF.\n\nXIII\n\n_Zeus. Asclepius. Heracles_\n\n_Zeus_. Now, Asclepius and Heracles, stop that quarrelling; you might\nas well be men; such behaviour is very improper and out of place at the\ntable of the Gods.\n\n_Her_. Is this druggist fellow to have a place above me, Zeus?\n\n_Asc_. Of course I am; I am your better.\n\n_Her_. Why, you numskull? because it was Zeus's bolt that cracked your\nskull, for your unholy doings, and now you have been allowed your\nimmortality again out of sheer pity?\n\n_Asc_. You twit me with my fiery end; you seem to have forgotten that\nyou too were burnt to death, on Oeta.\n\n_Her_. Was there no difference between your life and mine, then? I am\nZeus's son, and it is well known how I toiled, cleansing the earth,\nconquering monsters, and chastising men of violence. Whereas you are a\nroot-grubber and a quack; I dare say you have your use for doctoring\nsick men, but you never did a bold deed in your life.\n\n_Asc_. That comes well from you, whose burns I healed, when you came up\nall singed not so long ago; between the tunic and the flames, your body\nwas half consumed. Anyhow, it would be enough to mention that I was\nnever a slave like you, never combed wool in Lydia, masquerading in a\npurple shawl and being slippered by an Omphale, never killed my wife\nand children in a fit of the spleen.\n\n_Her._ If you don't stop being rude, I shall soon show you that\nimmortality is not much good. I will take you up and pitch you head\nover heels out of Heaven, and Apollo himself shall never mend your\nbroken crown.\n\n_Zeus._ Cease, I say, and let us hear ourselves speak, or I will send\nyou both away from table. Heracles, Asclepius died before you, and has\nthe right to a better place.\n\nH.\n\nXIV\n\n_Hermes. Apollo_\n\n_Her_. Why so sad, Apollo?\n\n_Ap_. Alas, Hermes,\u2014my love!\n\n_Her_. Oh; that's bad. What, are you still brooding over that affair of\nDaphne?\n\n_Ap_. No. I grieve for my beloved; the Laconian, the son of Oebalus.\n\n_Her_. Hyacinth? he is not dead?\n\n_Ap_. Dead.\n\n_Her_. Who killed him? Who could have the heart? That lovely boy!\n\n_Ap_. It was the work of my own hand.\n\n_Her_. You must have been mad!\n\n_Ap_. Not mad; it was an accident.\n\n_Her_. Oh? and how did it happen?\n\n_Ap_. He was learning to throw the quoit, and I was throwing with him.\nI had just sent my quoit up into the air as usual, when jealous Zephyr\n(damned be he above all winds! he had long been in love with Hyacinth,\nthough Hyacinth would have nothing to say to him)\u2014Zephyr came\nblustering down from Taygetus, and dashed the quoit upon the child's\nhead; blood flowed from the wound in streams, and in one moment all was\nover. My first thought was of revenge; I lodged an arrow in Zephyr, and\npursued his flight to the mountain. As for the child, I buried him at\nAmyclae, on the fatal spot; and from his blood I have caused a flower\nto spring up, sweetest, fairest of flowers, inscribed with letters of\nwoe.\u2014Is my grief unreasonable?\n\n_Her_. It is, Apollo. You knew that you had set your heart upon a\nmortal: grieve not then for his mortality.\n\nF.\n\nXV\n\n_Hermes. Apollo_\n\n_Her_. To think that a cripple and a blacksmith like him should marry\ntwo such queens of beauty as Aphrodite and Charis!\n\n_Ap_. Luck, Hermes\u2014that is all. But I do wonder at their putting up\nwith his company; they see him running with sweat, bent over the forge,\nall sooty-faced; and yet they cuddle and kiss him, and sleep with him!\n\n_Her_. Yes, it makes me angry too; how I envy him! Ah, Apollo, you may\nlet your locks grow, and play your harp, and be proud of your looks; I\nam a healthy fellow, and can touch the lyre; but, when it comes to\nbedtime, we lie alone.\n\n_Ap_. Well, my loves never prosper; Daphne and Hyacinth were my great\npassions; she so detested me that being turned to a tree was more\nattractive than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me of\nthem but wreaths of their leaves and flowers.\n\n_Her_. Ah, once, once, I and Aphrodite\u2014but no; no boasting.\n\n_Ap_. I know; that is how Hermaphroditus is accounted for. But perhaps\nyou can tell me how it is that Aphrodite and Charis are not jealous of\none another.\n\n_Her_. Because one is his wife in Lemnus and the other in Heaven.\nBesides, Aphrodite cares most about Ares; he is her real love; so she\ndoes not trouble her head about the blacksmith.\n\n_Ap_. Do you think Hephaestus sees?\n\n_Her_. Oh, he sees, yes; but what can he do? he knows what a martial\nyoung fellow it is; so he holds his tongue. He talks of inventing a\nnet, though, to take them in the act with.\n\n_Ap_. Ah, all I know is, I would not mind being taken in that act.\n\nH.\n\nXVI\n\n_Hera. Leto_\n\n_Hera_. I must congratulate you, madam, on the children with whom you\nhave presented Zeus.\n\n_Leto_. Ah, madam; we cannot all be the proud mothers of Hephaestuses.\n\n_Hera_. My boy may be a cripple, but at least he is of some use. He is\na wonderful smith, and has made Heaven look another place; and\nAphrodite thought him worth marrying, and dotes on him still. But those\ntwo of yours !\u2014that girl is wild and mannish to a degree; and now she\nhas gone off to Scythia, and her doings _there_ are no secret; she is\nas bad as any Scythian herself,\u2014butchering strangers and eating them!\nApollo, too, who pretends to be so clever, with his bow and his lyre\nand his medicine and his prophecies; those oracle-shops that he has\nopened at Delphi, and Clarus, and Dindyma, are a cheat; he takes good\ncare to be on the safe side by giving ambiguous answers that no one can\nunderstand, and makes money out of it, for there are plenty of fools\nwho like being imposed upon,\u2014but sensible people know well enough that\nmost of it is clap-trap. The prophet did not know that he was to kill\nhis favourite with a quoit; he never foresaw that Daphne would run away\nfrom him, so handsome as he is, too, such beautiful hair! I am not\nsure, after all, that there is much to choose between your children and\nNiobe's.\n\n_Leto_. Oh, of course; my children are butchers and impostors. I know\nhow you hate the sight of them. You cannot bear to hear my girl\ncomplimented on her looks, or my boy's playing admired by the company.\n\n_Hera_. His playing, madam!\u2014excuse a smile;\u2014why, if the Muses had not\nfavoured him, his contest with Marsyas would have cost him his skin;\npoor Marsyas was shamefully used on that occasion; 'twas a judicial\nmurder.\u2014As for your charming daughter, when Actaeon once caught sight\nof her charms, she had to set the dogs upon him, for fear he should\ntell all he knew: I forbear to ask where the innocent child picked up\nher knowledge of obstetrics.\n\n_Leto_. You set no small value on yourself, madam, because you are the\nwife of Zeus, and share his throne; you may insult whom you please. But\nthere will be tears presently, when the next bull or swan sets out on\nhis travels, and you are left neglected.\n\nF.\n\nXVIII\n\n_Hera. Zeus_\n\n_Hera_. Well, Zeus, I should be ashamed if _I_ had such a son; so\neffeminate, and so given to drinking; tying up his hair in a ribbon,\nindeed! and spending most of his time among mad women, himself as much\na woman as any of them; dancing to flute and drum and cymbal! He\nresembles any one rather than his father.\n\n_Zeus_. Anyhow, my dear, this wearer of ribbons, this woman among\nwomen, not content with conquering Lydia, subduing Thrace, and\nenthralling the people of Tmolus, has been on an expedition all the way\nto India with his womanish host, captured elephants, taken possession\nof the country, and led their king captive after a brief resistance.\nAnd he never stopped dancing all the time, never relinquished the\nthyrsus and the ivy; always drunk (as you say) and always inspired! If\nany scoffer presumes to make light of his ceremonial, he does not go\nunpunished; he is bound with vine-twigs; or his own mother mistakes him\nfor a fawn, and tears him limb from limb. Are not these manful doings,\nworthy of a son of Zeus? No doubt he is fond of his comforts, too, and\nhis amusements; we need not complain of that: you may judge from his\ndrunken achievements, what a handful the fellow would be if he were\nsober.\n\n_Hera_. I suppose you will tell me next, that the invention of wine is\nvery much to his credit; though you see for yourself how drunken men\nstagger about and misbehave themselves; one would think the liquor had\nmade them mad. Look at Icarius, the first to whom he gave the vine:\nbeaten to death with mattocks by his own boon companions!\n\n_Zeus_. Pooh, nonsense. That is not Dionysus's fault, nor the wine's\nfault; it comes of the immoderate use of it. Men _will_ drink their\nwine neat, and drink too much of it. Taken in moderation, it engenders\ncheerfulness and benevolence. Dionysus is not likely to treat any of\nhis guests as Icarius was treated.\u2014No; I see what it is:\u2014you are\njealous, my love; you can't forget about Semele, and so you must\ndisparage the noble achievements of her son.\n\nF.\n\nXIX\n\n_Aphrodite_. _Eros_\n\n_Aph_. Eros, dear, you have had your victories over most of the\nGods\u2014Zeus, Posidon, Rhea, Apollo, nay, your own mother; how is it you\nmake an exception for Athene? against her your torch has no fire, your\nquiver no arrows, your right hand no cunning.\n\n_Eros_. I am afraid of her, mother; those awful flashing eyes! she is\nlike a man, only worse. When I go against her with my arrow on the\nstring, a toss of her plume frightens me; my hand shakes so that it\ndrops the bow.\n\n_Aph_. I should have thought Ares was more terrible still; but you\ndisarmed and conquered him.\n\n_Eros_. Ah, he is only too glad to have me; he calls me to him. Athene\nalways eyes me so! once when I flew close past her, quite by accident,\nwith my torch, 'If you come near me,' she called out, 'I swear by my\nfather, I will run you through with my spear, or take you by the foot\nand drop you into Tartarus, or tear you in pieces with my own\nhands'\u2014and more such dreadful things. And she has such a sour look; and\nthen on her breast she wears that horrid face with the snaky hair; that\nfrightens me worst of all; the nasty bogy\u2014I run away directly I see it.\n\n_Aph_. Well, well, you are afraid of Athene and the Gorgon; at least so\nyou say, though you do not mind Zeus's thunderbolt a bit. But why do\nyou let the Muses go scot free? do _they_ toss their plumes and hold\nout Gorgons' heads?\n\n_Eros_. Ah, mother, they make me bashful; they are so grand, always\nstudying and composing; I love to stand there listening to their music.\n\n_Aph_. Let them pass too, because they are grand. And why do you never\ntake a shot at Artemis?\n\n_Eros_. Why, the great thing is that I cannot catch her; she is always\nover the hills and far away. But besides that, her heart is engaged\nalready.\n\n_Aph_. Where, child?\n\n_Eros_. In hunting stags and fawns; she is so fleet, she catches them\nup, or else shoots them; she can think of nothing else. Her brother,\nnow, though he is an archer too, and draws a good arrow\u2014\n\n_Aph_. I know, child, you have hit _him_ often enough.\n\nH.\n\nXX.\nTHE JUDGEMENT OF PARIS\n\n_Zeus. Hermes. Hera. Athene. Aphrodite. Paris_\n\n_Zeus_. Hermes, take this apple, and go with it to Phrygia; on the\nGargaran peak of Ida you will find Priam's son, the herdsman. Give him\nthis message: 'Paris, because you are handsome, and wise in the things\nof love, Zeus commands you to judge between the Goddesses, and say\nwhich is the most beautiful. And the prize shall be this apple.'\u2014Now,\nyou three, there is no time to be lost: away with you to your judge. I\nwill have nothing to do with the matter: I love you all exactly alike,\nand I only wish you could all three win. If I were to give the prize to\none of you, the other two would hate me, of course. In these\ncircumstances, I am ill qualified to be your judge. But this young\nPhrygian to whom you are going is of the royal blood\u2014a relation of\nGanymede's,\u2014and at the same time a simple countryman; so that we need\nhave no hesitation in trusting his eyes.\n\n_Aph_. As far as I am concerned, Zeus, Momus himself might be our\njudge; _I_ should not be afraid to show myself. What fault could he\nfind with _me_? But the others must agree too.\n\n_Hera_. Oh, we are under no alarm, thank you,\u2014though your admirer Ares\nshould be appointed. But Paris will do; whoever Paris is.\n\n_Zeus_. And my little Athene; have we her approval? Nay, never blush,\nnor hide your face. Well, well, maidens will be coy; 'tis a delicate\nsubject. But there, she nods consent. Now, off with you; and mind, the\nbeaten ones must not be cross with the judge; I will not have the poor\nlad harmed. The prize of beauty can be but one.\n\n_Herm_. Now for Phrygia. I will show the way; keep close behind me,\nladies, and don't be nervous. I know Paris well: he is a charming young\nman; a great gallant, and an admirable judge of beauty. Depend on it,\nhe will make a good award.\n\n_Aph_. I am glad to hear that; I ask for nothing better than a just\njudge.\u2014Has he a wife, Hermes, or is he a bachelor?\n\n_Herm_. Not exactly a bachelor.\n\n_Aph_. What do you mean?\n\n_Herm_. I believe there is a wife, as it were; a good enough sort of\ngirl\u2014a native of those parts\u2014but sadly countrified! I fancy he does not\ncare very much about her.\u2014Why do you ask?\n\n_Aph_. I just wanted to know.\n\n_Ath_. Now, Hermes, that is not fair. No whispering with Aphrodite.\n\n_Herm_. It was nothing, Athene; nothing about you. She only asked me\nwhether Paris was a bachelor.\n\n_Ath_. What business is that of hers?\n\n_Herm_. None that I know of. She meant nothing by the question; she\njust wanted to know.\n\n_Ath_. Well, and is he?\n\n_Herm_. Why, no.\n\n_Ath_. And does he care for military glory? has he ambition? Or is he a\n_mere_ neatherd?\n\n_Herm_. I couldn't say for certain. But he is a young man, so it is to\nbe presumed that distinction on the field of battle is among his\ndesires.\n\n_Aph_. There, you see; _I_ don't complain; I say nothing when you\nwhisper with _her_. Aphrodite is not so particular as some people.\n\n_Herm_. Athene asked me almost exactly the same as you did; so don't be\ncross. It will do you no harm, my answering a plain\nquestion.\u2014Meanwhile, we have left the stars far behind us, and are\nalmost over Phrygia. There is Ida: I can make out the peak of Gargarum\nquite plainly; and if I am not mistaken, there is Paris himself.\n\n_Hera_. Where is he? I don't see him.\n\n_Herm_. Look over there to the left, Hera: not on the top, but down the\nside, by that cave where you see the herd.\n\n_Hera_. But I _don't_ see the herd.\n\n_Herm_. What, don't you see them coming out from between the\nrocks,\u2014where I am pointing, look\u2014and the man running down from the\ncrag, and keeping them together with his staff?\n\n_Hera_. I see him now; if he it is.\n\n_Herm_. Oh, that is Paris. But we are getting near; it is time to\nalight and walk. He might be frightened, if we were to descend upon him\nso suddenly.\n\n_Hera_. Yes; very well. And now that we are on the earth, you might go\non ahead, Aphrodite, and show us the way. You know the country, of\ncourse, having been here so often to see Anchises; or so I have heard.\n\n_Aph_. Your sneers are thrown away on me, Hera.\n\n_Herm_. Come; I'll lead the way myself. I spent some time on Ida, while\nZeus was courting Ganymede. Many is the time that I have been sent here\nto keep watch over the boy; and when at last the eagle came, I flew by\nhis side, and helped him with his lovely burden. This is the very rock,\nif I remember; yes, Ganymede was piping to his sheep, when down swooped\nthe eagle behind him, and tenderly, oh, so tenderly, caught him up in\nthose talons, and with the turban in his beak bore him off, the\nfrightened boy straining his neck the while to see his captor. I picked\nup his pipes\u2014he had dropped them in his fright and\u2014ah! here is our\numpire, close at hand. Let us accost him.\u2014Good-morrow, herdsman!\n\n_Par_. Good-morrow, youngster. And who may you be, who come thus far\nafield? And these dames? They are over comely, to be wandering on the\nmountain-side.\n\n_Herm_. 'These dames,' good Paris, are Hera, Athene, and Aphrodite; and\nI am Hermes, with a message from Zeus. Why so pale and tremulous?\nCompose yourself; there is nothing the matter. Zeus appoints you the\njudge of their beauty. 'Because you are handsome, and wise in the\nthings of love' (so runs the message), 'I leave the decision to you;\nand for the prize,\u2014read the inscription on the apple.'\n\n_Par_. Let me see what it is about. FOR THE FAIR, it says. But, my lord\nHermes, how shall a mortal and a rustic like myself be judge of such\nunparalleled beauty? This is no sight for a herdsman's eyes; let the\nfine city folk decide on such matters. As for me, I can tell you which\nof two goats is the fairer beast; or I can judge betwixt heifer and\nheifer;\u2014'tis my trade. But here, where all are beautiful alike, I know\nnot how a man may leave looking at one, to look upon another. Where my\neyes fall, there they fasten,\u2014for there is beauty: I move them, and\nwhat do I find? more loveliness! I am fixed again, yet distracted by\nneighbouring charms. I bathe in beauty: I am enthralled: ah, why am I\nnot _all_ eyes like Argus? Methinks it were a fair award, to give the\napple to all three. Then again: one is the wife and sister of Zeus; the\nothers are his daughters. Take it where you will, 'tis a hard matter to\njudge.\n\n_Herm_. So it is, Paris. At the same time\u2014Zeus's orders! There is no\nway out of it.\n\n_Par_. Well, please point out to them, Hermes, that the losers must not\nbe angry with me; the fault will be in my eyes only.\n\n_Herm_. That is quite understood. And now to work.\n\n_Par_. I must do what I can; there is no help for it. But first let me\nask,\u2014am I just to look at them as they are, or must I go into the\nmatter thoroughly?\n\n_Herm_. That is for you to decide, in virtue of your office. You have\nonly to give your orders; it is as you think best.\n\n_Par_. As I think best? Then I will be thorough.\n\n_Herm_. Get ready, ladies. Now, Mr. Umpire.\u2014I will look the other way.\n\n_Hera_. I approve your decision, Paris. I will be the first to submit\nmyself to your inspection. You shall see that I have more to boast of\nthan white arms and large eyes: nought of me but is beautiful.\n\n_Par_. Aphrodite, will you also prepare?\n\n_Ath_. Oh, Paris,\u2014make her take off that girdle, first; there is magic\nin it; she will bewitch you. For that matter, she has no right to come\nthus tricked out and painted,\u2014just like a courtesan! She ought to show\nherself unadorned.\n\n_Par_. They are right about the girdle, madam; it must go.\n\n_Aph_. Oh, very well, Athene: then take off that helmet, and show your\nhead bare, instead of trying to intimidate the judge with that waving\nplume. I suppose you are afraid the colour of your eyes may be noticed,\nwithout their formidable surroundings.\n\n_Ath_. Oh, here is my helmet.\n\n_Aph_. And here is my girdle.\n\n_Hera_. Now then.\n\n_Par_. God of wonders! What loveliness is here! Oh, rapture! How\nexquisite these maiden charms! How dazzling the majesty of Heaven's\ntrue queen! And oh, how sweet, how enthralling is Aphrodite's smile!\n'Tis too much, too much of happiness.\u2014But perhaps it would be well for\nme to view each in detail; for as yet I doubt, and know not where to\nlook; my eyes are drawn all ways at once.\n\n_Aph_. Yes, that will be best.\n\n_Par_. Withdraw then, you and Athene; and let Hera remain.\n\n_Hera_. So be it; and when you have finished your scrutiny, you have\nnext to consider, how you would like the present which I offer you.\nParis, give me the prize of beauty, and you shall be lord of all Asia.\n\n_Par_. I will take no presents. Withdraw. I shall judge as I think\nright. Approach, Athene.\n\n_Ath_. Behold. And, Paris, if you will say that I am the fairest, I\nwill make you a great warrior and conqueror, and you shall always win,\nin every one of your battles.\n\n_Par_. But I have nothing to do with fighting, Athene. As you see,\nthere is peace throughout all Lydia and Phrygia, and my father's\ndominion is uncontested. But never mind; I am not going to take your\npresent, but you shall have fair play. You can robe again and put on\nyour helmet; I have seen. And now for Aphrodite.\n\n_Aph_. Here I am; take your time, and examine carefully; let nothing\nescape your vigilance. And I have something else to say to you,\nhandsome Paris. Yes, you handsome boy, I have long had an eye on you; I\nthink you must be the handsomest young fellow in all Phrygia. But it is\nsuch a pity that you don't leave these rocks and crags, and live in a\ntown; you will lose all your beauty in this desert. What have you to do\nwith mountains? What satisfaction can your beauty give to a lot of\ncows? You ought to have been married long ago; not to any of these\ndowdy women hereabouts, but to some Greek girl; an Argive, perhaps, or\na Corinthian, or a Spartan; Helen, now, is a Spartan, and such a pretty\ngirl\u2014quite as pretty as I am\u2014and so susceptible! Why, if she once\ncaught sight of _you_, she would give up everything, I am sure, to go\nwith you, and a most devoted wife she would be. But you have heard of\nHelen, of course?\n\n_Par_. No, ma'am; but I should like to hear all about her now.\n\n_Aph_. Well, she is the daughter of Leda, the beautiful woman, you\nknow, whom Zeus visited in the disguise of a swan.\n\n_Par_. And what is she like?\n\n_Aph_. She is fair, as might be expected from the swan, soft as down\n(she was hatched from an egg, you know), and such a lithe, graceful\nfigure; and only think, she is so much admired, that there was a war\nbecause Theseus ran away with her; and she was a mere child then. And\nwhen she grew up, the very first men in Greece were suitors for her\nhand, and she was given to Menelaus, who is descended from Pelops.\u2014Now,\nif you like, she shall be your wife.\n\n_Par_. What, when she is married already?\n\n_Aph_. Tut, child, you are a simpleton: _I_ understand these things.\n\n_Par_. I should like to understand them too.\n\n_Aph_. You will set out for Greece on a tour of inspection: and when\nyou get to Sparta, Helen will see you; and for the rest\u2014her falling in\nlove, and going back with you\u2014that will be my affair.\n\n_Par_. But that is what I cannot believe,\u2014that she will forsake her\nhusband to cross the seas with a stranger, a barbarian.\n\n_Aph_. Trust me for that. I have two beautiful children, Love and\nDesire. They shall be your guides. Love will assail her in all his\nmight, and compel her to love you: Desire will encompass you about, and\nmake you desirable and lovely as himself; and I will be there to help.\nI can get the Graces to come too, and between us we shall prevail.\n\n_Par_. How this will end, I know not. All I do know is, that I am in\nlove with Helen already. I see her before me\u2014I sail for Greece I am in\nSparta\u2014I am on my homeward journey, with her at my side! Ah, why is\nnone of it true?\n\n_Aph_. Wait. Do not fall in love yet. You have first to secure my\ninterest with the bride, by your award. The union must be graced with\nmy victorious presence: your marriage-feast shall be my feast of\nvictory. Love, beauty, wedlock; all these you may purchase at the price\nof yonder apple.\n\n_Par_. But perhaps after the award you will forget all about _me_?\n\n_Aph_. Shall I swear?\n\n_Par_. No; but promise once more.\n\n_Aph_. I promise that you shall have Helen to wife; that she shall\nfollow you, and make Troy her home; and I will be present with you, and\nhelp you in all.\n\n_Par_. And bring Love, and Desire, and the Graces?\n\n_Aph._ Assuredly; and Passion and Hymen as well.\n\n_Par_. Take the apple: it is yours.\n\nF.\n\nXXI\n\n_Ares. Hermes_\n\n_Ar_. Did you hear Zeus's threat, Hermes? most complimentary, wasn't\nit, and most practicable? 'If I choose,' says he, 'I could let down a\ncord from Heaven, and all of you might hang on to it and do your very\nbest to pull me down; it would be waste labour; you would never move\nme. On the other hand, if I chose to haul up, I should have you all\ndangling in mid air, with earth and sea into the bargain and so on; you\nheard? Well, I dare say he _is_ too much for any of us individually,\nbut I will never believe he outweighs the whole of us in a body, or\nthat, even with the makeweight of earth and sea, we should not get the\nbetter of him.\n\n_Her_. Mind what you say, Ares; it is not safe to talk like that; we\nmight get paid out for chattering.\n\n_Ar_. You don't suppose I should say this to every one; I am not afraid\nof you; I know you can keep a quiet tongue. I _must_ tell you what made\nme laugh most while he stormed: I remember not so long ago, when\nPosidon and Hera and Athene rebelled and made a plot for his capture\nand imprisonment, he was frightened out of his wits; well, there were\nonly three of them, and if Thetis had not taken pity on him and called\nin the hundred-handed Briareus to the rescue, he would actually have\nbeen put in chains, with his thunder and his bolt beside him. When I\nworked out the sum, I could not help laughing.\n\n_Her_. Oh, do be quiet; such things are too risky for you to say or me\nto listen to.\n\nH.\n\nXXIV\n\n_Hermes_. _Maia_\n\n_Her_. Mother, I am the most miserable god in Heaven.\n\n_Ma_. Don't say such things, child.\n\n_Her_. Am I to do all the work of Heaven with my own hands, to be\nhurried from one piece of drudgery to another, and never say a word? I\nhave to get up early, sweep the dining-room, lay the cushions and put\nall to rights; then I have to wait on Zeus, and take his messages, up\nand down, all day long; and I am no sooner back again (no time for a\nwash) than I have to lay the table; and there was the nectar to pour\nout, too, till this new cup-bearer was bought. And it really is too\nbad, that when every one else is in bed, I should have to go off to\nPluto with the Shades, and play the usher in Rhadamanthus's court. It\nis not enough that I must be busy all day in the wrestling-ground and\nthe Assembly and the schools of rhetoric, the dead must have their\nshare in me too. Leda's sons take turn and turn about betwixt Heaven\nand Hades\u2014_I_ have to be in both every day. And why should the sons of\nAlemena and Semele, paltry women, why should they feast at their ease,\nand I\u2014the son of Maia, the grandson of Atlas\u2014wait upon them? And now\nhere am I only just back from Sidon, where he sent me to see after\nEuropa, and before I am in breath again\u2014off I must go to Argos, in\nquest of Danae, 'and you can take Boeotia on your way,' says father,\n'and see Antiope.' I am half dead with it all. Mortal slaves are better\noff than I am: they have the chance of being sold to a new master; I\nwish I had the same!\n\n_Ma_. Come, come, child. You must do as your father bids you, like a\ngood boy. Run along now to Argos and Boeotia; don't loiter, or you will\nget a whipping. Lovers are apt to be hasty.\n\nF.\n\nXXV\n\n_Zeus. Helius_\n\n_Zeus_. What have you been about, you villainous Titan? You have\nutterly done for the earth, trusting your car to a silly boy like that;\nhe has got too near and scorched it in one place, and in another killed\neverything with frost by withdrawing the heat too far; there is not a\nsingle thing he has not turned upside down; if I had not seen what was\nhappening and upset him with the thunderbolt, there would not have been\na remnant of mankind left. A pretty deputy driver!\n\n_Hel_. I was wrong, Zeus; but do not be angry with me; my boy pressed\nme so; how could I tell it would turn out so badly?\n\n_Zeus_. Oh, of course you didn't know what a delicate business it is,\nand how the slightest divergence ruins everything! it never occurred to\nyou that the horses are spirited, and want a tight hand! oh no! why,\ngive them their heads a moment, and they are out of control; just what\nhappened: they carried him now left, now right, now clean round\nbackwards, and up or down, just at their own sweet will; he was utterly\nhelpless.\n\n_Hel_. I knew it all; I held out for a long time and told him he\nmustn't drive. But he wept and entreated, and his mother Clymene joined\nin, and at last I put him up. I showed him how to stand, and how far he\nwas to mount upwards, and where to begin descending, and how to hold\nthe reins, and keep the spirited beasts under control; and I told him\nhow dangerous it was, if he did not keep the track. But, poor boy, when\nhe found himself in charge of all that fire, and looking down into\nyawning space, he was frightened, and no wonder; and the horses soon\nknew I was not behind them, took the child's measure, left the track,\nand wrought all this havoc; he let go the reins\u2014I suppose he was afraid\nof being thrown out\u2014and held on to the rail. But he has suffered for\nit, and my grief is punishment enough for me, Zeus.\n\n_Zeus_. Punishment enough, indeed! after daring to do such a thing as\nthat!\u2014Well, I forgive you this time. But if ever you transgress again,\nor send another substitute like him, I will show you how much hotter\nthe thunderbolt is than your fire. Let his sisters bury him by the\nEridanus, where he was upset. They shall weep amber tears and be\nchanged by their grief into poplars. As for you, repair the car\u2014the\npole is broken, and one of the wheels crushed\u2014, put the horses to and\ndrive yourself. And let this be a lesson to you.\n\nH.\n\nXXVI\n\n_Apollo. Hermes_\n\n_Ap_. Hermes, have you any idea which of those two is Castor, and which\nis Pollux? I never can make out.\n\n_Her_. It was Castor yesterday, and Pollux to-day.\n\n_Ap_. How do you tell? They are exactly alike.\n\n_Her_. Why, Pollux's face is scarred with the wounds he got in boxing;\nthose that Amycus, the Bebrycian, gave him, when he was on that\nexpedition with Jason, are particularly noticeable. Castor has no\nmarks; his face is all right.\n\n_Ap_. Good; I am glad I know that. Everything else is the same for\nboth. Each has his half egg-shell, with the star on top, each his\njavelin and his white horse. I am always calling Pollux Castor, and\nCastor Pollux. And, by the way, why are they never both here together?\nWhy should they be alternately gods and shades?\n\n_Her_. That is their brotherly way. You see, it was decreed that one of\nthe sons of Leda must die, and the other be immortal; and by this\narrangement they split the immortality between them.\n\n_Ap_. Rather a stupid way of doing it: if one of them is to be in\nHeaven, whilst the other is underground, they will never see one\nanother at all; and I suppose that is just what they wanted to do. Then\nagain: all the other gods practise some useful profession, either here\nor on earth; for instance, I am a prophet, Asclepius is a doctor, you\nare a first-rate gymnast and trainer, Artemis ushers children into the\nworld; now what are these two going to do? surely two such great\nfellows are not to have a lazy time of it?\n\n_Her_. Oh no. Their business is to wait upon Posidon, and ride the\nwaves; and if they see a ship in distress, they go aboard of her, and\nsave the crew.\n\n_Ap_. A most humane profession.\n\nF.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUES OF THE SEA-GODS\n\nI\n\n_Doris. Galatea_.\n\n_Dor_. A handsome lover, Galatea, this Sicilian shepherd who they say\nis so mad for you!\n\n_Gal_. Don't be sarcastic, Doris; he is Posidon's son, after all.\n\n_Dor_. Well, and if he were Zeus's, and still such a wild shaggy\ncreature, with only one eye (there is nothing uglier than to have only\none eye), do you think his birth would improve his beauty?\n\n_Gal_. Shagginess and wildness, as you call them, are not ugly in a\nman; and his eye looks very well in the middle of his forehead, and\nsees just as well as if it were two.\n\n_Dor_. Why, my dear, from your raptures about him one would think it\nwas you that were in love, not he.\n\n_Gal_. Oh no, I am not in love; but it is too bad, your all running him\ndown as you do. It is my belief you are jealous, Do you remember? we\nwere playing on the shore at the foot of Etna, where the long strip of\nbeach comes between the mountain and the sea; he was feeding his sheep,\nand spied us from above; yes, but he never so much as glanced at the\nrest of you; I was the pretty one; he was all eyes\u2014eye, I mean\u2014for me.\nThat is what makes you spiteful, because it showed I was better than\nyou, good enough to be loved, while you were taken no notice of.\n\n_Dor_. Hoity-toity! jealous indeed! because a one-eyed shepherd thinks\nyou pretty! Why, what could he see in you but your white skin? and he\nonly cared for that because it reminded him of cheese and milk; he\nthinks everything pretty that is like them. If you want to know any\nmore than that about your looks, sit on a rock when it is calm, and\nlean over the water; just a bit of white skin, that is all; and who\ncares for that, if it is not picked out with some red?\n\n_Gal_. Well, if I _am_ all white, I have got a lover of some sort;\nthere is not a shepherd or a sailor or a boatman to care for any of\nyou. Besides, Polyphemus is very musical.\n\n_Dor_. Take care, dear; we heard him singing the other day when he\nserenaded you. Heavens! one would have taken him for an ass braying.\nAnd his lyre! what a thing! A stag's skull, with its horns for the\nuprights; he put a bar across, and fastened on the strings without any\ntuning-pegs! then came the performance, all harsh and out of tune; he\nshouted something himself, and the lyre played something else, and the\nlove ditty sent us into fits of laughter. Why, Echo, chatterbox that\nshe is, would not answer him; she was ashamed to be caught mimicking\nsuch a rough ridiculous song. Oh, and the pet that your beau brought\nyou in his arms!\u2014a bear cub nearly as shaggy as himself. Now then,\nGalatea, do you still think we envy you your lover?\n\n_Gal_. Well, Doris, only show us your own; no doubt he is much\nhandsomer, and sings and plays far better.\n\n_Dor_. Oh, I have not got one; _I_ do not set up to be lovely. But one\nlike the Cyclops\u2014faugh, he might be one of his own goats!\u2014he eats raw\nmeat, they say, and feeds on travellers\u2014one like him, dear, you may\nkeep; I wish you nothing worse than to return his love.\n\nH.\n\nII\n\n_Cyclops. Posidon_\n\n_Cy_. Only look, father, what that cursed stranger has been doing to\nme! He made me drunk, and set upon me whilst I was asleep, and blinded\nme.\n\n_Po_. Who has dared to do this?\n\n_Cy_. He called himself 'Noman' at first: but when he had got safely\nout of range, he said his name was Odysseus.\n\n_Po_. I know\u2014the Ithacan; on his way back from Troy. But how did he\ncome to do such a thing? He is not distinguished for courage.\n\n_Cy_. When I got back from the pasture, I caught a lot of the fellows\nin my cave. Evidently they had designs upon the sheep: because when I\nhad blocked up my doorway (I have a great big stone for that), and\nkindled a fire, with a tree that I had brought home from the\nmountain,\u2014there they were trying to hide themselves. I saw they were\nrobbers, so I caught a few of them, and ate them of course, and then\nthat scoundrel of a Noman, or Odysseus, whichever it is, gave me\nsomething to drink, with a drug in it; it tasted and smelt very good,\nbut it was villanously heady stuff; it made everything spin round; even\nthe cave seemed to be turning upside down, and I simply didn't know\nwhere I was; and finally I fell off to sleep. And then he sharpened\nthat stake, and made it hot in the fire, and blinded me in my sleep;\nand blind I have been ever since, father.\n\n_Po_. You must have slept pretty soundly, my boy, or you would have\njumped up in the middle of it. Well, and how did Odysseus get off? He\ncouldn't move that stone away, _I_ know.\n\n_Cy_. I took that away myself, so as to catch him as he went out. I sat\ndown in the doorway, and felt about for him with my hands. I just let\nthe sheep go out to pasture, and told the ram everything I wanted done.\n\n_Po_. Ah! and they slipped out under the sheep? But you should have set\nthe other Cyclopes on to him.\n\n_Cy_. I did call them, and they came: but when they asked me who it was\nthat was playing tricks with me, I said 'Noman'; and then they thought\nI was mad, and went off home again. The villain! that name of his was\njust a trick! And what I minded most was the way in which he made game\nof my misfortune: 'Not even Papa can put this right,' he said.\n\n_Po_. Never mind, my boy; I will be even with him. I may not be able to\ncure blindness, but he shall know that I have something to say to\nmariners. He is not home yet.\n\nF.\n\nIII\n\n_Posidon. Alpheus_\n\n_Pos_. What is the meaning of this, Alpheus? unlike others, when you\ntake your plunge you do not mingle with the brine as a river should;\nyou do not put an end to your labours by dispersing; you hold together\nthrough the sea, keep your current fresh, and hurry along in all your\noriginal purity; you dive down to strange depths like a gull or a\nheron; I suppose you will come to the top again and show yourself\nsomewhere or other.\n\n_Al_. Do not press me, Posidon; a love affair; and many is the time you\nhave been in love yourself.\n\n_Pos_. Woman, nymph, or Nereid?\n\n_Al_. All wrong; she is a fountain.\n\n_Pos_. A fountain? and where does she flow?\n\n_Al_. She is an islander\u2014in Sicily. Her name is Arethusa.\n\n_Pos_. Ah, I commend your taste. She is pellucid, and bubbles up in\nperfect purity; the water as bright over her pebbles as if it were a\nmass of silver.\n\n_Al_. You know my fountain, Posidon, and no mistake. It is to her that\nI go.\n\n_Pos_. Go, then; and may the course of love run smooth! But pray where\ndid you meet her? Arcadia and Syracuse, you know!\n\n_Al_. I am in a hurry; you are detaining me, with these superfluous\nquestions.\n\n_Pos_. Ah, so I am. Be off to your beloved, rise from the sea, mingle\nyour channels and be one water.\n\nH.\n\nIV\n\n_Menelaus. Proteus_\n\n_Me_. I can understand your turning into _water_, you know, Proteus,\nbecause you _are_ a sea-god. I can even pass the tree; and the lion is\nnot wholly beyond the bounds of belief. But the idea of your being able\nto turn into _fire_, living under water as you do,\u2014this excites my\nsurprise, not to say my incredulity.\n\n_Pro_. Don't let it; because I can.\n\n_Me_. I have seen you do it. But (to be frank with you) I think there\nmust be some deception; you play tricks with one's eyes; you don't\nreally turn into anything of the kind?\n\n_Pro_. Deception? What deception can there possibly be? Everything is\nabove-board. Your eyes were open, I suppose, and you saw me change into\nall these things? If that is not enough for you, if you think it is a\nfraud, an optical illusion, I will turn into fire again, and you can\ntouch me with your hand, my sagacious friend. You will then be able to\nconclude whether I am only visible fire, or have the additional\nproperty of burning.\n\n_Me_. That would be rash.\n\n_Pro_. I suppose you have never seen such a thing as a polypus, nor\nobserved the proceedings of that fish?\n\n_Me_. I have seen them; as to their proceedings, I shall be glad of\nyour information.\n\n_Pro_. The polypus, having selected his rock, and attached himself by\nmeans of his suckers, assimilates himself to it, changing his colour to\nmatch that of the rock. By this means he hopes to escape the\nobservation of fishermen: there is no contrast of colour to betray his\npresence; he looks just like stone.\n\n_Me_. So I have heard. But yours is quite another matter, Proteus.\n\n_Pro_. I don't know what evidence would satisfy you, if you reject that\nof your own eyes.\n\n_Me_. I have seen it done, but it is an extraordinary business; fire\nand water, one and the same person!\n\nF.\n\nV\n\n_Panope. Galene_\n\n_Pa_. Galene, did you see what Eris did yesterday at the Thessalian\nbanquet, because she had not had an invitation?\n\n_Ga_, No, I was not with you; Posidon had told me to keep the sea quiet\nfor the occasion. What did Eris do, then, if she was not there?\n\n_Pa_. Thetis and Peleus had just gone off to the bridal chamber,\nconducted by Amphitrite and Posidon, when Eris came in unnoticed\u2014which\nwas easy enough; some were drinking, some dancing, or attending to\nApollo's lyre or the Muses' songs\u2014Well, she threw down a lovely apple,\nsolid gold, my dear; and there was written on it, FOR THE FAIR. It\nrolled along as if it knew what it was about, till it came in front of\nHera, Aphrodite, and Athene. Hermes picked it up and read out the\ninscription; of course we Nereids kept quiet; what should _we_ do in\nsuch company? But they all made for it, each insisting that it was\nhers; and if Zeus had not parted them, there would have been a battle.\nHe would not decide the matter himself, though they asked him to. 'Go,\nall of you, to Ida,' he said, 'to the son of Priam; he is a man of\ntaste, quite capable of picking out the beauty; he will be no bad\njudge.'\n\n_Ga_. Yes. and the Goddesses, Panope?\n\n_Pa_. They are going to Ida to-day, I believe; we shall soon have news\nof the result.\n\n_Ga_. Oh, I can tell you that now; if the umpire is not a blind man, no\none else can win, with Aphrodite in for it.\n\n_Triton. Posidon. Amymone_\n\n_Tri_. Posidon, there is such a pretty girl coming to Lerna for water\nevery day; I don't know that I ever saw a prettier.\n\n_Pos_. What is she, a lady? or a mere water-carrier?\n\n_Tri_. Oh no; she is one of the fifty daughters of that Egyptian king.\nHer name is Amymone; I asked about that and her family. Danaus\nunderstands discipline; he is bringing them up to do everything for\nthemselves; they have to fetch water, and make themselves generally\nuseful.\n\n_Pos_. And does she come all that way by herself, from Argos to Lerna?\n\n_Tri_. Yes; and Argos, you know, is a thirsty place; she is always\nhaving to get water.\n\n_Pos_. Triton, this is most exciting. We must go and see her.\n\n_Tri_. Very well. It is just her time now; I reckon she will be about\nhalf-way to Lerna.\n\n_Pos_. Bring out the chariot, then. Or no; it takes such a time getting\nit ready, and putting the horses to. Just fetch me out a good fast\ndolphin; that will be quickest.\n\n_Tri_. Here is a racer for you.\n\n_Pos_. Good; now let us be off. You swim alongside.\u2014Here we are at\nLerna. I'll lie in ambush hereabouts; and you keep a look-out. When you\nsee her coming\u2014\n\n_Tri_. Here she comes.\n\n_Pos_. A charming child; the dawn of loveliness. We must carry her off.\n\n_Am_. Villain! where are you taking me to? You are a kidnapper. I know\nwho sent you\u2014my uncle Aegyptus. I shall call my father.\n\n_Tri_. Hush, Amymone; it is Posidon.\n\n_Am_. Posidon? What do you mean? Unhand me, villain! would you drag me\ninto the sea? Help, help, I shall sink and be drowned.\n\n_Pos_. Don't be frightened; no harm shall be done to you. Come, you\nshall have a fountain called after you; it shall spring up in this very\nplace, near the waves; I will strike the rock with my trident.\u2014Think\nhow nice it will be being dead, and not having to carry water any more,\nlike all your sisters.\n\nF.\n\nVII\n\n_South Wind. West Wind_\n\n_S_. Zephyr, is it true about Zeus and the heifer that Hermes is\nconvoying across the sea to Egypt?\u2014that he fell in love with it?\n\n_W_. Certainly. She was not a heifer then, though, but a daughter of\nthe river Inachus. Hera made her what she is now; Zeus was so deep in\nlove that Hera was jealous.\n\n_S_. And is he still in love, now that she is a cow?\n\n_W_. Oh, yes; that is why he has sent her to Egypt, and told us not to\nstir up the sea till she has swum across; she is to be delivered there\nof her child, and both of them are to be Gods.\n\n_S_. The heifer a God?\n\n_W_. Yes, I tell you. And Hermes said she was to be the patroness of\nsailors and our mistress, and send out or confine any of us that she\nchooses.\n\n_S_. So we must regard ourselves as her servants at once?\n\n_W_. Why, yes; she will be the kinder if we do. Ah, she has got across\nand landed. Do you see? she does not go on four legs now; Hermes has\nmade her stand erect, and turned her back into a beautiful woman.\n\n_S_. This is most remarkable, Zephyr; no horns, no tail, no cloven\nhoofs; instead, a lovely maid. But what is the matter with Hermes? he\nhas changed his handsome face into a dog's.\n\n_W_. We had better not meddle; he knows his own business best.\n\nH.\n\nVIII\n\n_Posidon. Dolphins_\n\n_Pos_. Well done, Dolphins!\u2014humane as ever. Not content with your\nformer exploit, when Ino leapt with Melicertes from the Scironian\ncliff, and you picked the boy up and conveyed him to the Isthmus, one\nof you swims from Methymna to Taenarum with this musician on his back,\nmantle and lyre and all. Those sailors had almost had their wicked will\nof him; but you were not going to stand that.\n\n_Dol_. You need not be surprised to find us doing a good turn to a man,\nPosidon; we were men before we were fishes.\n\n_Pos_. Yes; I think it was too bad of Dionysus to celebrate his victory\nby such a transformation scene; he might have been content with adding\nyou to the roll of his subjects.\u2014Well, Dolphin, tell me all about\nArion.\n\n_Dol_. From what I can gather, Periander was very fond of him, and was\nalways sending for him to perform; till Arion grew quite rich at his\nexpense, and thought he would take a trip to Methymna, and show off his\nwealth at home. He took ship accordingly; but it was with a crew of\nrogues. He had made no secret of the gold and silver he had with him;\nand when they were in mid Aegean, the sailors rose against him. As I\nwas swimming alongside, I heard all that went on. 'Since your minds are\nmade up,' says Arion, 'at least let me get my mantle on, and sing my\nown dirge; and then I will throw myself into the sea of my own\naccord.'\u2014The sailors agreed. He threw his minstrel's cloak about him,\nand sang a most sweet melody; and then he let himself drop into the\nwater, never doubting but that his last moment had come. But I caught\nhim up on my back, and swam to shore with him at Taenarum.\n\n_Pos_. I am glad to find you a patron of the arts. This was handsome\npay for a song.\n\nF.\n\nIX\n\n_Posidon. Amphitrite and other Nereids_\n\n_Pos_. The strait where the child fell shall be called Hellespont after\nher. And as for her body, you Nereids shall take it to the Troad to be\nburied by the inhabitants.\n\n_Amph_. Oh no, Posidon. Let her grave be the sea which bears her name.\nWe are so sorry for her; that step-mother's treatment of her was\nshocking.\n\n_Pos_. No, my dear, that may not be. And indeed it is not desirable\nthat she should lie here under the sand; her grave shall be in the\nTroad, as I said, or in the Chersonese. It will be no small consolation\nto her that Ino will have the same fate before long. She will be chased\nby Athamas from the top of Cithaeron down the ridge which runs into the\nsea, and there plunge in with her son in her arms. But her we must\nrescue, to please Dionysus; Ino was his nurse and suckled him, you\nknow.\n\n_Amph_. Rescue a wicked creature like her?\n\n_Pos_. Well, we do not want to disoblige Dionysus.\n\n_Nereid_. I wonder what made the poor child fall off the ram; her\nbrother Phrixus held on all right.\n\n_Pos_. Of course he did; a lusty youth equal to the flight; but it was\nall too strange for her; sitting on that queer mount, looking down on\nyawning space, terrified, overpowered by the heat, giddy with the\nspeed, she lost her hold on the ram's horns, and down she came into the\nsea.\n\n_Nereid_. Surely her mother Nephele should have broken her fall.\n\n_Pos_. I dare say; but Fate is a great deal too strong for Nephele.\n\nH.\n\nX\n\n_Iris. Posidon_\n\n_Ir_. Posidon: you know that floating island, that was torn away from\nSicily, and is still drifting about under water; you are to bring it to\nthe surface, Zeus says, and fix it well in view in the middle of the\nAegean; and mind it is properly secured; he has a use for it.\n\n_Pos_. Very good. And when I have got it up, and anchored it, what is\nhe going to do with it?\n\n_Ir_. Leto is to lie in there; her time is near.\n\n_Pos_. And is there no room in Heaven? Or is Earth too small to hold\nher children?\n\n_Ir_. Ah, you see, Hera has bound the Earth by a great oath not to give\nshelter to Leto in her travail. This island, however, being out of\nsight, has not committed itself.\n\n_Pos_. I see.\u2014Island, be still! Rise once more from the depths; and\nthis time there must be no sinking. Henceforth you are _terra firma_;\nit will be your happiness to receive my brother's twin children,\nfairest of the Gods.\u2014Tritons, you will have to convey Leto across. Let\nall be calm.\u2014As to that serpent who is frightening her out of her\nsenses, wait till these children are born; they will soon avenge their\nmother.\u2014You can tell Zeus that all is ready. Delos stands firm: Leto\nhas only to come.\n\nF.\n\nXI\n\n_The Xanthus. The Sea_\n\n_Xan_. O Sea, take me to you; see how horribly I have been treated;\ncool my wounds for me.\n\n_Sea_. What is this, Xanthus? who has burned you?\n\n_Xan_. Hephaestus. Oh, I am burned to cinders! oh, oh, oh, I boil!\n\n_Sea_. What made him use his fire upon you?\n\n_Xan_. Why, it was all that son of your Thetis. He was slaughtering the\nPhrygians; I tried entreaties, but he went raging on, damming my stream\nwith their bodies; I was so sorry for the poor wretches, I poured down\nto see if I could make a flood and frighten him off them. But\nHephaestus happened to be about, and he must have collected every\nparticle of fire he had in Etna or anywhere else; on he came at me,\nscorched my elms and tamarisks, baked the poor fishes and eels, made me\nboil over, and very nearly dried me up altogether. You see what a state\nI am in with the burns.\n\n_Sea_. Indeed you are thick and hot, Xanthus, and no wonder; the dead\nmen's blood accounts for one, and the fire for the other, according to\nyour story. Well, and serve you right; assaulting my grandson, indeed!\npaying no more respect to the son of a Nereid than that!\n\n_Xan_. Was I not to take compassion on the Phrygians? they are my\nneighbours.\n\n_Sea_. And was Hephaestus not to take compassion on Achilles? He is the\nson of Thetis.\n\nH.\n\nXII\n\n_Doris. Thetis_\n\n_Dor_. Crying, dear?\n\n_The_. Oh, Doris, I have just seen a lovely girl thrown into a chest by\nher father, and her little baby with her; and he gave the chest to some\nsailors, and told them, as soon as they were far enough from the shore,\nto drop it into the water; he meant them to be drowned, poor things.\n\n_Dor_. Oh, sister, but why? What was it all about? Did you hear?\n\n_The_. Her father, Acrisius, wanted to keep her from marrying. And, as\nshe was so pretty, he shut her up in an iron room. And\u2014I don't know\nwhether it's true\u2014but they say that Zeus turned himself into gold, and\ncame showering down through the roof, and she caught the gold in her\nlap,\u2014and it was Zeus all the time. And then her father found out about\nit\u2014he is a horrid, jealous old man\u2014and he was furious, and thought she\nhad been receiving a lover; and he put her into the chest, the moment\nthe child was born.\n\n_Dor_. And what did she do then?\n\n_The_. She never said a word against her own sentence; _she_ was ready\nto submit: but she pleaded hard for the child's life, and cried, and\nheld him up for his grandfather to see; and there was the sweet babe,\nthat thought no harm, smiling at the waves. I am beginning again, at\nthe mere remembrance of it.\n\n_Dor_. You make me cry, too. And is it all over?\n\n_The_. No; the chest has carried them safely so far; it is by Seriphus.\n\n_Dor_. Then why should we not save them? We can put the chest into\nthose fishermen's nets, look; and then of course they will be hauled\nin, and come safe to shore.\n\n_The_. The very thing. She shall not die; nor the child, sweet\ntreasure!\n\nF.\n\nXIV\n\n_Triton. Iphianassa. Doris. Nereids_\n\n_Tri_. Well, ladies: so the monster you sent against the daughter of\nCepheus has got killed himself, and never done Andromeda any harm at\nall!\n\n_Nereid_. Who did it? I suppose Cepheus was just using his daughter as\na bait, and had a whole army waiting in ambush to kill him?\n\n_Tri_. No, no.\u2014Iphianassa, you remember Perseus, Danae's boy?\u2014they were\nboth thrown into the sea by the boy's grandfather, in that chest, you\nknow, and you took pity on them.\n\n_Iph_. I know; why, I suppose he is a fine handsome young fellow by\nnow?\n\n_Tri_. It was he who killed your monster.\n\n_Iph_. But why? This was not the way to show his gratitude.\n\n_Tri_. I'll tell you all about it. The king had sent him on this\nexpedition against the Gorgons, and when he got to Libya\u2014\n\n_Iph_. How did he get there? all by himself? he must have had some one\nto help him?\u2014it is a dangerous journey otherwise.\n\n_Tri_. He flew,\u2014Athene gave him wings.\u2014Well, so when he got to where\nthe Gorgons were living, he caught them napping, I suppose, cut off\nMedusa's head, and flew away.\n\n_Iph_. How could he see them? The Gorgons are a forbidden sight.\nWhoever looks at them will never look at any one else again.\n\n_Tri_. Athene held up her shield\u2014I heard him telling Andromeda and\nCepheus about it afterwards\u2014Athene showed him the reflection of the\nGorgon in her shield, which is as bright as any mirror; so he took hold\nof her hair in his left hand, grasped his scimetar with the right,\nstill looking at the reflection, cut off her head, and was off before\nher sisters woke up. Lowering his flight as he reached the Ethiopian\ncoast yonder, he caught sight of Andromeda, fettered to a jutting rock,\nher hair hanging loose about her shoulders; ye Gods, what loveliness\nwas there exposed to view! And first pity of her hard fate prompted him\nto ask the cause of her doom: but Fate had decreed the maiden's\ndeliverance, and presently Love stole upon him, and he resolved to save\nher. The hideous monster now drew near, and would have swallowed her:\nbut the youth, hovering above, smote him with the drawn scimetar in his\nright hand, and with his left uncovered the petrifying Gorgon's head:\nin one moment the monster was lifeless; all of him that had met that\ngaze was turned to stone. Then Perseus released the maiden from her\nfetters, and supported her, as with timid steps she descended from the\nslippery rock.\u2014And now he is to marry her in Cepheus's palace, and take\nher home to Argos; so that where she looked for death, she has found an\nuncommonly good match.\n\n_Iph_. I am not sorry to hear it. It is no fault of hers, if her mother\nhas the vanity to set up for our rival.\n\n_Dor_. Still, she _is_ Andromeda's mother; and we should have had our\nrevenge on her through the daughter.\n\n_Iph_. My dear, let bygones be bygones. What matter if a barbarian\nqueen's tongue runs away with her? She is sufficiently punished by the\nfright. So let us take this marriage in good part.\n\nF.\n\nXV\n\n_West Wind. South Wind_\n\n_W_. Such a splendid pageant I never saw on the waves, since the day I\nfirst blew. You were not there, Notus?\n\n_S_. Pageant, Zephyr? what pageant? and whose?\n\n_W_. You missed a most ravishing spectacle; such another chance you are\nnot likely to have.\n\n_S_. I was busy with the Red Sea; and I gave the Indian coasts a little\nairing too. So I don't know what you are talking about.\n\n_W_. Well, you know Agenor the Sidonian?\n\n_S_. Europa's father? what of him?\n\n_W_. Europa it is that I am going to tell you about.\n\n_S_. You need not tell me that Zeus has been in love with her this long\nwhile; that is stale news.\n\n_W_. We can pass the love, then, and get on to the sequel.\n\nEuropa had come down for a frolic on the beach with her playfellows.\nZeus transformed himself into a bull, and joined the game. A fine sight\nhe was\u2014spotless white skin, crumpled horns, and gentle eyes. He\ngambolled on the shore with them, bellowing most musically, till Europa\ntook heart of grace and mounted him. No sooner had she done it than,\nwith her on his back, Zeus made off at a run for the sea, plunged in,\nand began swimming; she was dreadfully frightened, but kept her seat by\nclinging to one of his horns with her left hand, while the right held\nher skirt down against the puffs of wind.\n\n_S_. A lovely sight indeed, Zephyr, in every sense\u2014Zeus swimming with\nhis darling on his back.\n\n_W_. Ay, but what followed was lovelier far.\n\nEvery wave fell; the sea donned her robe of peace to speed them on\ntheir way; we winds made holiday and joined the train, all eyes;\nfluttering Loves skimmed the waves, just dipping now and again a\nheedless toe\u2014in their hands lighted torches, on their lips the nuptial\nsong; up floated Nereids\u2014few but were prodigal of naked charms\u2014and\nclapped their hands, and kept pace on dolphin steeds; the Triton\ncompany, with every sea-creature that frights not the eye, tripped it\naround the maid; for Posidon on his car, with Amphitrite by him, led\nthem in festal mood, ushering his brother through the waves. But,\ncrowning all, a Triton pair bore Aphrodite, reclined on a shell,\nheaping the bride with all flowers that blow.\n\nSo went it from Phoenice even to Crete. But, when he set foot on the\nisle, behold, the bull was no more; 'twas Zeus that took Europa's hand\nand led her to the Dictaean Cave\u2014blushing and downward-eyed; for she\nknew now the end of her bringing.\n\nBut we plunged this way and that, and roused the still seas anew.\n\n_S_. Ah me, what sights of bliss! and I was looking at griffins, and\nelephants, and blackamoors!\n\nH.\n\n\n\nDIALOGUES OF THE DEAD\n\nI\n\n_Diogenes. Pollux_\n\n_Diog_. Pollux, I have a commission for you; next time you go up\u2014and I\nthink it is your turn for earth to-morrow\u2014if you come across Menippus\nthe Cynic\u2014you will find him about the Craneum at Corinth, or in the\nLyceum, laughing at the philosophers' disputes\u2014well, give him this\nmessage:\u2014Menippus, Diogenes advises you, if mortal subjects for\nlaughter begin to pall, to come down below, and find much richer\nmaterial; where you are now, there is always a dash of uncertainty in\nit; the question will always intrude\u2014who can be quite sure about the\nhereafter? Here, you can have your laugh out in security, like me; it\nis the best of sport to see millionaires, governors, despots, now mean\nand insignificant; you can only tell them by their lamentations, and\nthe spiritless despondency which is the legacy of better days. Tell him\nthis, and mention that he had better stuff his wallet with plenty of\nlupines, and any un-considered trifles he can snap up in the way of\npauper doles [Footnote: In the Greek, 'a Hecate's repast lying at a\nstreet corner.' 'Rich men used to make offerings to Hecate on the 30th\nof every month as Goddess of roads at street corners; and these\nofferings were at once pounced upon by the poor, or, as here, the\nCynics.' _Jacobitz_.] or lustral eggs. [Footnote: 'Eggs were often used\nas purificatory offerings and set out in front of the house purified.'\n_Id_.]\n\n_Pol_. I will tell him, Diogenes. But give me some idea of his\nappearance.\n\n_Diog_. Old, bald, with a cloak that allows him plenty of light and\nventilation, and is patched all colours of the rainbow; always\nlaughing, and usually gibing at pretentious philosophers.\n\n_Pol_. Ah, I cannot mistake him now.\n\n_Diog_. May I give you another message to those same philosophers?\n\n_Pol_. Oh, I don't mind; go on.\n\n_Diog_. Charge them generally to give up playing the fool, quarrelling\nover metaphysics, tricking each other with horn and crocodile puzzles\n[Footnote: See _Puzzles_ in Notes.] and teaching people to waste wit on\nsuch absurdities.\n\n_Pol_. Oh, but if I say anything against their wisdom, they will call\nme an ignorant blockhead.\n\n_Diog_. Then tell them from me to go to the devil.\n\n_Pol_. Very well; rely upon me.\n\n_Diog_. And then, my most obliging of Polluxes, there is this for the\nrich:\u2014O vain fools, why hoard gold? why all these pains over interest\nsums and the adding of hundred to hundred, when you must shortly come\nto us with nothing beyond the dead-penny?\n\n_Pol_. They shall have their message too.\n\n_Diog_. Ah, and a word to the handsome and strong; Megillus of Corinth,\nand Damoxenus the wrestler will do. Inform them that auburn locks, eyes\nbright or black, rosy cheeks, are as little in fashion here as tense\nmuscles or mighty shoulders; man and man are as like as two peas, tell\nthem, when it comes to bare skull and no beauty.\n\n_Pol_. That is to the handsome and strong; yes, I can manage that.\n\n_Diog_. Yes, my Spartan, and here is for the poor. There are a great\nmany of them, very sorry for themselves and resentful of their\nhelplessness. Tell them to dry their tears and cease their cries;\nexplain to them that here one man is as good as another, and they will\nfind those who were rich on earth no better than themselves. As for\nyour Spartans, you will not mind scolding them, from me, upon their\npresent degeneracy?\n\n_Pol_. No, no, Diogenes; leave Sparta alone; that is going too far;\nyour other commissions I will execute.\n\n_Diog_. Oh, well, let them off, if you care about it; but tell all the\nothers what I said.\n\nH.\n\nII\n\n_Before Pluto: Croesus, Midas, and Sardanapalus v. Menippus_\n\n_Cr_. Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our\nneighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we\nare going to migrate.\n\n_Pl_. Why, what harm does he do to your ghostly community?\n\n_Cr_. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry\nover the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be\nlaughing at us, and calling us rude names; 'slaves' and 'garbage,' he\nsays we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out.\u2014In short, he is\na nuisance.\n\n_Pl_. Menippus, what's this I hear?\n\n_Me_. All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not\ncontent with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on\ntalking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days. I\ntake a positive pleasure in annoying them.\n\n_Pl_. Yes, but you mustn't. They have had terrible losses; they feel it\ndeeply.\n\n_Me_. Pluto! you are not going to lend _your_ countenance to these\nwhimpering fools?\n\n_Pl_. It isn't that: but I won't have you quarrelling.\n\n_Me_. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no\nmisunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there\nshall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down.\n\n_Cr_. Presumption!\n\n_Me_. Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men\nto fall down before you, when you trampled on men's liberty, and forgot\nthere was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of\nteeth: for all is lost!\n\n_Cr_. Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps\u2014\n\n_Mid_. My gold\u2014\n\n_Sar_. My little comforts\u2014\n\n_Me_. That's right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I'll chime in\nwith a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments.\n\nF.\n\nIII\n\n_Menippus. Amphilochus. Trophonius_\n\n_Me_. Now I wonder how it is that you two dead men have been honoured\nwith temples and taken for prophets; those silly mortals imagine you\nare Gods.\n\n_Amp_. How can we help it, if they are fools enough to have such\nfancies about the dead?\n\n_Me_. Ah, they would never have had them, though, if you had not been\ncharlatans in your lifetime, and pretended to know the future and be\nable to foretell it to your clients.\n\n_Tro_. Well, Menippus, Amphilochus can take his own line, if he likes;\nas for me, I _am_ a Hero, and _do_ give oracles to any one who comes\ndown to me. It is pretty clear you were never at Lebadea, or you would\nnot be so incredulous.\n\n_Me_. What do you mean? I must go to Lebadea, swaddle myself up in\nabsurd linen, take a cake in my hand, and crawl through a narrow\npassage into a cave, before I could tell that you are a dead man, with\nnothing but knavery to differentiate you from the rest of us? Now, on\nyour seer-ship, what _is_ a Hero? I am sure _I_ don't know.\n\n_Tro_. He is half God, and half man.\n\n_Me_. So what is neither man (as you imply) nor God, is both at once?\nWell, at present what has become of your diviner half?\n\n_Tro_. He gives oracles in Boeotia.\n\n_Me_. What you may mean is quite beyond me; the one thing I know for\ncertain is that you are dead\u2014the whole of you.\n\nH.\n\nIV\n\n_Hermes. Charon_\n\n_Her_. Ferryman, what do you say to settling up accounts? It will\nprevent any unpleasantness later on.\n\n_Ch_. Very good. It does save trouble to get these things straight.\n\n_Her_. One anchor, to your order, five shillings.\n\n_Ch_. That is a lot of money.\n\n_Her_. So help me Pluto, it is what I had to pay. One rowlock-strap,\nfourpence.\n\n_Ch_. Five and four; put that down.\n\n_Her_. Then there was a needle, for mending the sail; ten-pence.\n\n_Ch_. Down with it.\n\n_Her_. Caulking-wax; nails; and cord for the brace. Two shillings the\nlot.\n\n_Ch_. They were worth the money.\n\n_Her_. That's all; unless I have forgotten anything. When will you pay\nit?\n\n_Ch_. I can't just now, Hermes; we shall have a war or a plague\npresently, and then the passengers will come shoaling in, and I shall\nbe able to make a little by jobbing the fares.\n\n_Her_. So for the present I have nothing to do but sit down, and pray\nfor the worst, as my only chance of getting paid?\n\n_Ch_. There is nothing else for it;\u2014very little business doing just\nnow, as you see, owing to the peace.\n\n_Her_. That is just as well, though it does keep me waiting for my\nmoney. After all, though, Charon, in old days men were men; you\nremember the state they used to come down in,\u2014all blood and wounds\ngenerally. Nowadays, a man is poisoned by his slave or his wife; or\ngets dropsy from overfeeding; a pale, spiritless lot, nothing like the\nmen of old. Most of them seem to meet their end in some plot that has\nmoney for its object.\n\n_Ch_. Ah; money is in great request.\n\n_Her_. Yes; you can't blame me if I am somewhat urgent for payment.\n\nF.\n\nV\n\n_Pluto. Hermes_\n\n_Pl_. You know that old, old fellow, Eucrates the millionaire\u2014no\nchildren, but a few thousand would-be heirs?\n\n_Her_. Yes\u2014lives at Sicyon. Well?\n\n_Pl_. Well, Hermes, he is ninety now; let him live as much longer,\nplease; I should like it to be more still, if possible; and bring me\ndown his toadies one by one, that young Charinus, Damon, and the rest\nof them.\n\n_Her_. It would seem so strange, wouldn't it?\n\n_Pl_. On the contrary, it would be ideal justice. What business have\nthey to pray for his death, or pretend to his money? they are no\nrelations. The most abominable thing about it is that they vary these\nprayers with every public attention; when he is ill, every one knows\nwhat they are after, and yet they vow offerings if he recovers; talk of\nversatility! So let him be immortal, and bring them away before him\nwith their mouths still open for the fruit that never drops.\n\n_Her_. Well, they _are_ rascals, and it would be a comic ending. He\nleads them a pretty life too, on hope gruel; he always looks more dead\nthan alive, but he is tougher than a young man. They have divided up\nthe inheritance among them, and feed on imaginary bliss.\n\n_Pl_. Just so; now he is to throw off his years like Iolaus, and\nrejuvenate, while they in the middle of their hopes find themselves\nhere with their dream-wealth left behind them. Nothing like making the\npunishment fit the crime.\n\n_Her_. Say no more, Pluto; I will fetch you them one after another;\nseven of them, is it?\n\n_Pl_. Down with them; and he shall change from an old man to a blooming\nyouth, and attend their funerals.\n\nH.\n\nVI\n\n_Terpsion. Pluto_\n\n_Ter_. Now is this fair, Pluto,\u2014that I should die at the age of thirty,\nand that old Thucritus go on living past ninety?\n\n_Pl_. Nothing could be fairer. Thucritus lives and is in no hurry for\nhis neighbours to die; whereas you always had some design against him;\nyou were waiting to step into his shoes.\n\n_Ter_. Well, an old man like that is past getting any enjoyment out of\nhis money; he ought to die, and make room for younger men.\n\n_Pl_. This is a novel principle: the man who can no longer derive\npleasure from his money is to die!\u2014Fate and Nature have ordered it\notherwise.\n\n_Ter_. Then they have ordered it wrongly. There ought to be a proper\nsequence according to seniority. Things are turned upside down, if an\nold man is to go on living with only three teeth in his head, half\nblind, tottering about with a pair of slaves on each side to hold him\nup, drivelling and rheumy-eyed, having no joy of life, a living tomb,\nthe derision of his juniors,\u2014and young men are to die in the prime of\ntheir strength and beauty. 'Tis contrary to nature. At any rate the\nyoung men have a right to know when the old are going to die, so that\nthey may not throw away their attentions on them for nothing, as is\nsometimes the case. The present arrangement is a putting of the cart\nbefore the horse.\n\n_Pl_. There is a great deal more sound sense in it than you suppose,\nTerpsion. Besides, what right have you young fellows got to be prying\nafter other men's goods, and thrusting yourselves upon your childless\nelders? You look rather foolish, when you get buried first; it tickles\npeople immensely; the more fervent your prayers for the death of your\naged friend, the greater is the general exultation when you precede\nhim. It has become quite a profession lately, this amorous devotion to\nold men and women,\u2014childless, of course; children destroy the illusion.\nBy the way though, some of the beloved objects see through your dirty\nmotives well enough by now; they have children, but they pretend to\nhate them, and so have lovers all the same. When their wills come to be\nread, their faithful bodyguard is not included: nature asserts itself,\nthe children get their rights, and the lovers realize, with gnashings\nof teeth, that they have been taken in.\n\n_Ter_. Too true! The luxuries that Thucritus has enjoyed at my expense!\nHe always looked as if he were at the point of death. I never went to\nsee him, but he would groan and squeak like a chicken barely out of the\nshell: I considered that he might step into his coffin at any moment,\nand heaped gift upon gift, for fear of being outdone in generosity by\nmy rivals; I passed anxious, sleepless nights, reckoning and arranging\nall; 'twas this, the sleeplessness and the anxiety, that brought me to\nmy death. And he swallows my bait whole, and attends my funeral\nchuckling.\n\n_Pl_. Well done, Thucritus! Long may you live to enjoy your wealth,\u2014and\nyour joke at the youngsters' expense; many a toady may you send hither\nbefore your own time comes!\n\n_Ter_. Now I think of it, it _would_ be a satisfaction if Charoeades\nwere to die before him.\n\n_Pl_. Charoeades! My dear Terpsion, Phido, Melanthus,\u2014every one of them\nwill be here before Thucritus,\u2014all victims of this same anxiety!\n\n_Ter_. That is as it should be. Hold on, Thucritus!\n\nF.\n\nVII\n\n_Zenophantus. Callidemides_\n\n_Ze_. Ah, Callidemides, and how did _you_ come by your end? As for me,\nI was free of Dinias's table, and there died of a surfeit; but that is\nstale news; you were there, of course.\n\n_Cal_. Yes, I was. Now there was an element of surprise about _my_\nfate. I suppose you know that old Ptoeodorus?\n\n_Ze_. The rich man with no children, to whom you gave most of your\ncompany?\n\n_Cal_. That is the man; he had promised to leave me his heir, and I\nused to show my appreciation. However, it went on such a time; Tithonus\nwas a juvenile to him; so I found a short cut to my property. I bought\na potion, and agreed with the butler that next time his master called\nfor wine (he is a pretty stiff drinker) he should have this ready in a\ncup and present it; and I was pledged to reward the man with his\nfreedom.\n\n_Ze_. And what happened? this is interesting.\n\n_Cal_. When we came from bath, the young fellow had two cups ready, one\nwith the poison for Ptoeodorus, and the other for me; but by some\nblunder he handed me the poisoned cup, and Ptoeodorus the plain; and\nbehold, before he had done drinking, there was I sprawling on the\nground, a vicarious corpse! Why are you laughing so, Zenophantus? I am\nyour friend; such mirth is unseemly.\n\n_Ze_. Well, it was such a humorous exit. And how did the old man\nbehave?\n\n_Cal_. He was dreadfully distressed for the moment; then he saw, I\nsuppose, and laughed as much as you over the butler's trick.\n\n_Ze_. Ah, short cuts are no better for you than for other people, you\nsee; the high road would have been safer, if not quite so quick.\n\nH.\n\nVIII\n\n_Cnemon. Damnippus_\n\n_Cne_. Why, 'tis the proverb fulfilled! The fawn hath taken the lion.\n\n_Dam_. What's the matter, Cnemon?\n\n_Cne_. The matter! I have been fooled, miserably fooled. I have passed\nover all whom I should have liked to make my heirs, and left my money\nto the wrong man.\n\n_Dam_. How was that?\n\n_Cne_. I had been speculating on the death of Hermolaus, the\nmillionaire. He had no children, and my attentions had been well\nreceived by him. I thought it would be a good idea to let him know that\nI had made my will in his favour, on the chance of its exciting his\nemulation.\n\n_Dam_. Yes; and Hermolaus?\n\n_Cne_. What _his_ will was, I don't know. I died suddenly,\u2014the roof\ncame down about my ears; and now Hermolaus is my heir. The pike has\nswallowed hook and bait.\n\n_Dam_. And your anglership into the bargain. The pit that you digged\nfor other\u2026.\n\n_Cue_. That's about the truth of the matter, confound it.\n\nF.\n\nIX\n\n_Simylus. Polystratus_\n\n_Si_. So here you are at last, Polystratus; you must be something very\nlike a centenarian.\n\n_Pol_. Ninety-eight.\n\n_Si_. And what sort of a life have you had of it, these thirty years?\nyou were about seventy when I died.\n\n_Pol_. Delightful, though you may find it hard to believe.\n\n_Si_. It is surprising that you could have any joy of your life\u2014old,\nweak, and childless, moreover.\n\n_Pol_. In the first place, I could do just what I liked; there were\nstill plenty of handsome boys and dainty women; perfumes were sweet,\nwine kept its bouquet, Sicilian feasts were nothing to mine.\n\n_Si_. This _is_ a change, to be sure; you were very economical in my\nday.\n\n_Pol_. Ah, but, my simple friend, these good things were presents\u2014came\nin streams. From dawn my doors were thronged with visitors, and in the\nday it was a procession of the fairest gifts of earth.\n\n_Si_. Why, you must have seized the crown after my death.\n\n_Pol_. Oh no, it was only that I inspired a number of tender passions.\n\n_Si_. Tender passions, indeed! what, you, an old man with hardly a\ntooth left in your head!\n\n_Pol_. Certainly; the first of our townsmen were in love with me. Such\nas you see me, old, bald, blear-eyed, rheumy, they delighted to do me\nhonour; happy was the man on whom my glance rested a moment.\n\n_Si_. Well, then, you had some adventure like Phaon's, when he rowed\nAphrodite across from Chios; your God granted your prayer and made you\nyoung and fair and lovely again.\n\n_Pol_. No, no; I was as you see me, and I was the object of all desire.\n\n_Si_. Oh, I give it up.\n\n_Pol_. Why, I should have thought you knew the violent passion for old\nmen who have plenty of money and no children.\n\n_Si_. Ah, now I comprehend your beauty, old fellow; it was the _Golden_\nAphrodite bestowed it.\n\n_Pol_. I assure you, Simylus, I had a good deal of satisfaction out of\nmy lovers; they idolized me, almost. Often I would be coy and shut some\nof them out. Such rivalries! such jealous emulations!\n\n_Si_. And how did you dispose of your fortune in the end?\n\n_Pol_. I gave each an express promise to make him my heir; he believed,\nand treated me to more attentions than ever; meanwhile I had another\ngenuine will, which was the one I left, with a message to them all to\ngo hang.\n\n_Si_. Who was the heir by this one? one of your relations, I suppose.\n\n_Pol_. Not likely; it was a handsome young Phrygian I had lately\nbought.\n\n_Si_. Age?\n\n_Pol_. About twenty.\n\n_Si_. Ah, I can guess his office.\n\n_Pol_. Well, you know, he deserved the inheritance much better than\nthey did; he was a barbarian and a rascal; but by this time he has the\nbest of society at his beck. So he inherited; and now he is one of the\naristocracy; his smooth chin and his foreign accent are no bars to his\nbeing called nobler than Codrus, handsomer than Nireus, wiser than\nOdysseus.\n\n_Si_. Well, _I_ don't mind; let him be Emperor of Greece, if he likes,\nso long as he keeps the property away from that other crew.\n\nH.\n\nX\n\n_Charon. Hermes. Various Shades_\n\n_Ch_. I'll tell you how things stand. Our craft, as you see, is small,\nand leaky, and three-parts rotten; a single lurch, and she will capsize\nwithout more ado. And here are all you passengers, each with his\nluggage. If you come on board like that, I am afraid you may have cause\nto repent it; especially those who have not learnt to swim.\n\n_Her_. Then how are we to make a trip of it?\n\n_Ch_. I'll tell you. They must leave all this nonsense behind them on\nshore, and come aboard in their skins. As it is, there will be no room\nto spare. And in future, Hermes, mind you admit no one till he has\ncleared himself of encumbrances, as I say. Stand by the gangway, and\nkeep an eye on them, and make them strip before you let them pass.\n\n_Her_. Very good. Well, Number One, who are you?\n\n_Men_. Menippus. Here are my wallet and staff; overboard with them. I\nhad the sense not to bring my cloak.\n\n_Her_. Pass on, Menippus; you're a good fellow; you shall have the seat\nof honour, up by the pilot, where you can see every one.\u2014Here is a\nhandsome person; who is he?\n\n_Char_. Charmoleos of Megara; the irresistible, whose kiss was worth a\nthousand pounds.\n\n_Her_. That beauty must come off,\u2014lips, kisses, and all; the flowing\nlocks, the blushing cheeks, the skin entire. That's right. Now we're in\nbetter trim;\u2014you may pass on.\u2014And who is the stunning gentleman in the\npurple and the diadem?\n\n_Lam_. I am Lampichus, tyrant of Gela.\n\n_Her_. And what is all this splendour doing here, Lampichus?\n\n_Lam_. How! would you have a tyrant come hither stripped?\n\n_Her_. A tyrant! That would be too much to expect. But with a shade we\nmust insist. Off with these things.\n\n_Lam_. There, then: away goes my wealth.\n\n_Her_. Pomp must go too, and pride; we shall be overfreighted else.\n\n_Lam_. At least let me keep my diadem and robes.\n\n_Her_. No, no; off they come!\n\n_Lam_. Well? That is all, as you see for yourself.\n\n_Her_. There is something more yet: cruelty, folly, insolence, hatred.\n\n_Lam_. There then: I am bare.\n\n_Her_. Pass on.\u2014And who may you be, my bulky friend?\n\n_Dam_. Damasias the athlete.\n\n_Her_. To be sure; many is the time I have seen you in the gymnasium.\n\n_Dam_. You have. Well, I have peeled; let me pass.\n\n_Her_. Peeled! my dear sir, what, with all this fleshy encumbrance?\nCome, off with it; we should go to the bottom if you put one foot\naboard. And those crowns, those victories, remove them.\n\n_Dam_. There; no mistake about it this time; I am as light as any shade\namong them.\n\n_Her_. That's more the kind of thing. On with you.\u2014Crato, you can take\noff that wealth and luxury and effeminacy; and we can't have that\nfuneral pomp here, nor those ancestral glories either; down with your\nrank and reputation, and any votes of thanks or inscriptions you have\nabout you; and you need not tell us what size your tomb was; remarks of\nthat kind come heavy.\n\n_Cra_. Well, if I must, I must; there's no help for it.\n\n_Her_. Hullo! in full armour? What does this mean? and why this trophy?\n\n_A General_. I am a great conqueror; a valiant warrior; my country's\npride.\n\n_Her_. The trophy may stop behind; we are at peace; there is no demand\nfor arms.\u2014Whom have we here? whose is this knitted brow, this flowing\nbeard? 'Tis some reverend sage, if outside goes for anything; he\nmutters; he is wrapped in meditation.\n\n_Men_. That's a philosopher, Hermes; and an impudent quack not the\nbargain. Have him out of that cloak; you will find something to amuse\nyou underneath it.\n\n_Her_. Off with your clothes first; and then we will see to the rest.\nMy goodness, what a bundle: quackery, ignorance, quarrelsomeness,\nvainglory; idle questionings, prickly arguments, intricate conceptions;\nhumbug and gammon and wishy-washy hair-splittings without end; and\nhullo! why here's avarice, and self-indulgence, and impudence! luxury,\neffeminacy and peevishness!\u2014Yes, I see them all; you need not try to\nhide them. Away with falsehood and swagger and superciliousness; why,\nthe three-decker is not built that would hold you with all this\nluggage.\n\n_A Philosopher_. I resign them all, since such is your bidding.\n\n_Men_. Have his beard off too, Hermes; only look what a ponderous bush\nof a thing! There's a good five pounds' weight there.\n\n_Her_. Yes; the beard must go.\n\n_Phil_. And who shall shave me?\n\n_Her_. Menippus here shall take it off with the carpenter's axe; the\ngangway will serve for a block.\n\n_Men_. Oh, can't I have a saw, Hermes? It would be much better fun.\n\n_Her_. The axe must serve.\u2014Shrewdly chopped!\u2014Why, you look more like a\nman and less like a goat already.\n\n_Men_. A little off the eyebrows?\n\n_Her_. Why, certainly; he has trained them up all over his forehead,\nfor reasons best known to himself.\u2014Worm! what, snivelling? afraid of\ndeath? Oh, get on board with you.\n\n_Men_. He has still got the biggest thumper of all under his arm.\n\n_Her_. What's that?\n\n_Men_. Flattery; many is the good turn that has done him.\n\n_Phil_. Oh, all right, Menippus; suppose you leave your independence\nbehind you, and your plain\u2014speaking, and your indifference, and your\nhigh spirit, and your jests!\u2014No one else here has a jest about him.\n\n_Her_. Don't you, Menippus! you stick to them; useful commodities,\nthese, on shipboard; light and handy.\u2014You rhetorician there, with your\nverbosities and your barbarisms, your antitheses and balances and\nperiods, off with the whole pack of them.\n\n_Rhet_. Away they go.\n\n_Her_. All's ready. Loose the cable, and pull in the gangway; haul up\nthe anchor; spread all sail; and, pilot, look to your helm. Good luck\nto our voyage!\u2014What are you all whining about, you fools? You\nphilosopher, late of the beard,\u2014you're as bad as any of them.\n\n_Phil_. Ah, Hermes: I had thought that the soul was immortal.\n\n_Men_. He lies: that is not the cause of his distress.\n\n_Her_. What is it, then?\n\n_Men_. He knows that he will never have a good dinner again; never\nsneak about at night with his cloak over his head, going the round of\nthe brothels; never spend his mornings in fooling boys out of their\nmoney, under the pretext of teaching them wisdom.\n\n_Phil_. And pray are _you_ content to be dead?\n\n_Men_. It may be presumed so, as I sought death of my own accord.\u2014By\nthe way, I surely heard a noise, as if people were shouting on the\nearth?\n\n_Her_. You did; and from more than one quarter.\u2014There are people\nrunning in a body to the Town-hall, exulting over the death of\nLampichus; the women have got hold of his wife; his infant children\nfare no better,\u2014the boys are giving them handsome pelting. Then again\nyou hear the applause that greets the orator Diophantus, as he\npronounces the funeral oration of our friend Crato. Ah yes, and that's\nDamasias's mother, with her women, striking up a dirge. No one has tear\nfor you, Menippus; your remains are left in peace. Privileged person!\n\n_Men_. Wait a bit: before long you will hear the mournful howl of dogs,\nand the beating of crows' wings, as they gather to perform my funeral\nrites.\n\n_Her_. I like your spirit.\u2014However, here we are in port. Away with you\nall to the judgement-seat; it is straight ahead. The ferryman and I\nmust go back for a fresh load.\n\n_Men_. Good voyage to you, Hermes.\u2014Let us be getting on; what are you\nall waiting for? We have got to face the judge, sooner or later; and by\nall accounts his sentences are no joke; wheels, rocks, vultures are\nmentioned. Every detail of our lives will now come to light!\n\nF.\n\nXI\n\n_Crates. Diogenes_\n\n_Cra_. Did you know Moerichus of Corinth, Diogenes? A shipowner,\nrolling in money, with a cousin called Aristeas, nearly as rich. He had\na Homeric quotation:\u2014Wilt thou heave me? shall I heave thee?\n\n[Footnote: Homer, Il. xxiii. 724. When Ajax and Odysseus have wrestled\nfor some time without either's producing any impression, and the\nspectators are getting tired of it, the former proposes a change in\ntactics. \"Let us hoist\u2014try you with me or I with you.\" The idea\nevidently is that each in turn is to offer only a passive resistance,\nand let his adversary try to fling him thus.' _Leaf_.]\n\n_Diog_. What was the point of it?\n\n_Cra_. Why, the cousins were of equal age, expected to succeed to each\nother's wealth, and behaved accordingly. They published their wills,\neach naming the other sole heir in case of his own prior decease. So it\nstood in black and white, and they vied with each other in showing that\ndeference which the relation demands. All the prophets, astrologers,\nand Chaldean dream-interpreters alike, and Apollo himself for that\nmatter, held different views at different times about the winner; the\nthousands seemed to incline now to Aristeas's side, now to Moerichus's.\n\n_Diog_. And how did it end? I am quite curious.\n\n_Cra_. They both died on the same day, and the properties passed to\nEunomius and Thrasycles, two relations who had never had a presentiment\nof it. They had been crossing from Sicyon to Cirrha, when they were\ntaken aback by a squall from the north-west, and capsized in\nmid-channel.\n\n_Diog_. Cleverly done. Now, when we were alive, we never had such\ndesigns on one another. I never prayed for Antisthenes's death, with a\nview to inheriting his staff\u2014though it was an extremely serviceable\none, which he had cut himself from a wild olive; and I do not credit\nyou, Crates, with ever having had an eye to my succession; it included\nthe tub, and a wallet with two pints of lupines in it.\n\n_Cra_. Why, no; these things were superfluities to me\u2014and to yourself,\nindeed. The real necessities you inherited from Antisthenes, and I from\nyou; and in those necessities was more grandeur and majesty than in the\nPersian Empire.\n\n_Diog_. You allude to\u2014-\n\n_Cra_. Wisdom, independence, truth, frankness, freedom.\n\n_Diog_. To be sure; now I think of it, I did inherit all this from\nAntisthenes, and left it to you with some addition.\n\n_Cra_. Others, however, were not interested in such property; no one\npaid us the attentions of an expectant heir; they all had their eyes on\ngold, instead.\n\n_Diog_. Of course; they had no receptacle for such things as we could\ngive; luxury had made them so leaky\u2014as full of holes as a worn-out\npurse. Put wisdom, frankness, or truth into them, and it would have\ndropped out; the bottom of the bag would have let them through, like\nthe perforated cask into which those poor Danaids are always pouring.\nGold, on the other hand, they could grip with tooth or nail or somehow.\n\n_Cra_. Result: our wealth will still be ours down here; while they will\narrive with no more than one penny, and even that must be left with the\nferryman.\n\nH.\n\nXII\n\n_Alexander. Hannibal. Minos. Scipio_\n\n_Alex_. Libyan, I claim precedence of you. I am the better man.\n\n_Han_. Pardon me.\n\n_Alex_. Then let Minos decide.\n\n_Mi_. Who are you both?\n\n_Alex_. This is Hannibal, the Carthaginian: I am Alexander, the son of\nPhilip.\n\n_Mi_. Bless me, a distinguished pair! And what is the quarrel about?\n\n_Alex_. It is a question of precedence. He says he is the better\ngeneral: and I maintain that neither Hannibal nor (I might almost add)\nany of my predecessors was my equal in strategy; all the world knows\nthat.\n\n_Mi_. Well, you shall each have your say in turn: the Libyan first.\n\n_Han_. Fortunately for me, Minos, I have mastered Greek since I have\nbeen here; so that my adversary will not have even that advantage of\nme. Now I hold that the highest praise is due to those who have won\ntheir way to greatness from obscurity; who have clothed themselves in\npower, and shown themselves fit for dominion. I myself entered Spain\nwith a handful of men, took service under my brother, and was found\nworthy of the supreme command. I conquered the Celtiberians, subdued\nWestern Gaul, crossed the Alps, overran the valley of the Po, sacked\ntown after town, made myself master of the plains, approached the\nbulwarks of the capital, and in one day slew such a host, that their\nfinger-rings were measured by bushels, and the rivers were bridged by\ntheir bodies. And this I did, though I had never been called a son of\nAmmon; I never pretended to be a god, never related visions of my\nmother; I made no secret of the fact that I was mere flesh and blood.\nMy rivals were the ablest generals in the world, commanding the best\nsoldiers in the world; I warred not with Medes or Assyrians, who fly\nbefore they are pursued, and yield the victory to him that dares take\nit.\n\nAlexander, on the other hand, in increasing and extending as he did the\ndominion which he had inherited from his father, was but following the\nimpetus given to him by Fortune. And this conqueror had no sooner\ncrushed his puny adversary by the victories of Issus and Arbela, than\nhe forsook the traditions of his country, and lived the life of a\nPersian; accepting the prostrations of his subjects, assassinating his\nfriends at his own table, or handing them over to the executioner. I in\nmy command respected the freedom of my country, delayed not to obey her\nsummons, when the enemy with their huge armament invaded Libya, laid\naside the privileges of my office, and submitted to my sentence without\na murmur. Yet I was a barbarian all unskilled in Greek culture; I could\nnot recite Homer, nor had I enjoyed the advantages of Aristotle's\ninstruction; I had to make a shift with such qualities as were mine by\nnature.\u2014It is on these grounds that I claim the pre-eminence. My rival\nhas indeed all the lustre that attaches to the wearing of a diadem,\nand\u2014I know not\u2014for Macedonians such things may have charms: but I\ncannot think that this circumstance constitutes a higher claim than the\ncourage and genius of one who owed nothing to Fortune, and everything\nto his own resolution.\n\n_Mi_. Not bad, for a Libyan.\u2014Well, Alexander, what do you say to that?\n\n_Alex_. Silence, Minos, would be the best answer to such confident\nself-assertion. The tongue of Fame will suffice of itself to convince\nyou that I was a great prince, and my opponent a petty adventurer. But\nI would have you consider the distance between us. Called to the throne\nwhile I was yet a boy, I quelled the disorders of my kingdom, and\navenged my father's murder. By the destruction of Thebes, I inspired\nthe Greeks with such awe, that they appointed me their\ncommander-in-chief; and from that moment, scorning to confine myself to\nthe kingdom that I inherited from my father, I extended my gaze over\nthe entire face of the earth, and thought it shame if I should govern\nless than the whole. With a small force I invaded Asia, gained a great\nvictory on the Granicus, took Lydia, lonia, Phrygia,\u2014in short, subdued\nall that was within my reach, before I commenced my march for Issus,\nwhere Darius was waiting for me at the head of his myriads. You know\nthe sequel: yourselves can best say what was the number of the dead\nwhom on one day I dispatched hither. The ferryman tells me that his\nboat would not hold them; most of them had to come across on rafts of\ntheir own construction. In these enterprises, I was ever at the head of\nmy troops, ever courted danger. To say nothing of Tyre and Arbela, I\npenetrated into India, and carried my empire to the shores of Ocean; I\ncaptured elephants; I conquered Porus; I crossed the Tanais, and\nworsted the Scythians\u2014no mean enemies\u2014in a tremendous cavalry\nengagement. I heaped benefits upon my friends: I made my enemies taste\nmy resentment. If men took me for a god, I cannot blame them; the\nvastness of my undertakings might excuse such a belief. But to\nconclude. I died a king: Hannibal, a fugitive at the court of the\nBithynian Prusias\u2014fitting end for villany and cruelty. Of his Italian\nvictories I say nothing; they were the fruit not of honest legitimate\nwarfare, but of treachery, craft, and dissimulation. He taunts me with\nself-indulgence: my illustrious friend has surely forgotten the\npleasant time he spent in Capua among the ladies, while the precious\nmoments fleeted by. Had I not scorned the Western world, and turned my\nattention to the East, what would it have cost me to make the bloodless\nconquest of Italy, and Libya, and all, as far West as Gades? But\nnations that already cowered beneath a master were unworthy of my\nsword.\u2014I have finished, Minos, and await your decision; of the many\narguments I might have used, these shall suffice.\n\n_Sci_. First, Minos, let me speak.\n\n_Mi_. And who are you, friend? and where do you come from?\n\n_Sci_. I am Scipio, the Roman general, who destroyed Carthage, and\ngained great victories over the Libyans.\n\n_Mi_. Well, and what have you to say?\n\n_Sci_. That Alexander is my superior, and I am Hannibal's, having\ndefeated him, and driven him to ignominious flight. What impudence is\nthis, to contend with Alexander, to whom I, your conqueror, would not\npresume to compare myself!\n\n_Mi_. Honestly spoken, Scipio, on my word! Very well, then: Alexander\ncomes first, and you next; and I think we must say Hannibal third. And\na very creditable third, too.\n\nF.\n\nXIII\n\n_Diogenes. Alexander_\n\n_Diog_. Dear me, Alexander, _you_ dead like the rest of us?\n\n_Alex_. As you see, sir; is there anything extraordinary in a mortal's\ndying?\n\n_Diog_. So Ammon lied when he said you were his son; you were Philip's\nafter all.\n\n_Alex_. Apparently; if I had been Ammon's, I should not have died.\n\n_Diog_. Strange! there were tales of the same order about Olympias too.\nA serpent visited her, and was seen in her bed; we were given to\nunderstand that that was how you came into the world, and Philip made a\nmistake when he took you for his.\n\n_Alex_. Yes, I was told all that myself; however, I know now that my\nmother's and the Ammon stories were all moonshine.\n\n_Diog_. Their lies were of some practical value to you, though; your\ndivinity brought a good many people to their knees. But now, whom did\nyou leave your great empire to?\n\n_Alex_. Diogenes, I cannot tell you. I had no time to leave any\ndirections about it, beyond just giving Perdiccas my ring as I died.\nWhy are you laughing?\n\n_Diog_. Oh, I was only thinking of the Greeks' behaviour; directly you\nsucceeded, how they flattered you! their elected patron, generalissimo\nagainst the barbarian; one of the twelve Gods according to some;\ntemples built and sacrifices offered to the Serpent's son! If I may\nask, where did your Macedonians bury you?\n\n_Alex_. I have lain in Babylon a full month to-day; and Ptolemy of the\nGuards is pledged, as soon as he can get a moment's respite from\npresent disturbances, to take and bury me in Egypt, there to be\nreckoned among the Gods.\n\n_Diog_. I have some reason to laugh, you see; still nursing vain hopes\nof developing into an Osiris or Anubis! Pray, your Godhead, put these\nexpectations from you; none may re-ascend who has once sailed the lake\nand penetrated our entrance; Aeacus is watchful, and Cerberus an\nawkward customer. But there is one thing I wish you would tell me: how\ndo you like thinking over all the earthly bliss you left to come\nhere\u2014your guards and armour-bearers and lieutenant-governors, your\nheaps of gold and adoring peoples, Babylon and Bactria, your huge\nelephants, your honour and glory, those conspicuous drives with\nwhite-cinctured locks and clasped purple cloak? does the thought of\nthem _hurt_? What, crying? silly fellow! did not your wise Aristotle\ninclude in his instructions any hint of the insecurity of fortune's\nfavours?\n\n_Alex_. Wise? call him the craftiest of all flatterers. Allow me to\nknow a little more than other people about Aristotle; his requests and\nhis letters came to _my_ address; _I_ know how he profited by my\npassion for culture; how he would toady and compliment me, to be sure!\nnow it was my beauty\u2014that too is included under The Good; now it was my\ndeeds and my money; for money too he called a Good\u2014he meant that he was\nnot going to be ashamed of taking it. Ah, Diogenes, an impostor; and a\npast master at it too. For me, the result of his wisdom is that I am\ndistressed for the things you catalogued just now, as if I had lost in\nthem the chief Goods.\n\n_Diog_. Wouldst know thy course? I will prescribe for your distress.\nOur flora, unfortunately, does not include hellebore; but you take\nplenty of Lethe-water\u2014good, deep, repeated draughts; that will relieve\nyour distress over the Aristotelian Goods. Quick; here are Clitus,\nCallisthenes, and a lot of others making for you; they mean to tear you\nin pieces and pay you out. Here, go the opposite way; and remember,\nrepeated draughts.\n\nH.\n\nXIV\n\n_Philip. Alexander_\n\n_Phil_. You cannot deny that you are my son this time, Alexander; you\nwould not have died if you had been Ammon's.\n\n_Alex_. I knew all the time that you, Philip, son of Amyntas, were my\nfather. I only accepted the statement of the oracle because I thought\nit was good policy.\n\n_Phil_. What, to suffer yourself to be fooled by lying priests?\n\n_Alex_. No, but it had an awe-inspiring effect upon the barbarians.\nWhen they thought they had a God to deal with, they gave up the\nstruggle; which made their conquest a simple matter.\n\n_Phil_. And whom did _you_ ever conquer that was worth conquering? Your\nadversaries were ever timid creatures, with their bows and their\ntargets and their wicker shields. It was other work conquering the\nGreeks: Boeotians, Phocians, Athenians; Arcadian hoplites, Thessalian\ncavalry, javelin-men from Elis, peltasts of Mantinea; Thracians,\nIllyrians, Paeonians; to subdue these was something. But for gold-laced\nwomanish Medes and Persians and Chaldaeans,\u2014why, it had been done\nbefore: did you never hear of the expedition of the Ten Thousand under\nClearchus? and how the enemy would not even come to blows with them,\nbut ran away before they were within bow-shot?\n\n_Alex_. Still, there were the Scythians, father, and the Indian\nelephants; they were no joke. And _my_ conquests were not gained by\ndissension or treachery; I broke no oath, no promise, nor ever\npurchased victory at the expense of honour. As to the Greeks, most of\nthem joined me without a struggle; and I dare say you have heard how I\nhandled Thebes.\n\n_Phil_. I know all about that; I had it from Clitus, whom you ran\nthrough the body, in the middle of dinner, because he presumed to\nmention my achievements in the same breath with yours. They tell me too\nthat you took to aping the manners of your conquered Medes; abandoned\nthe Macedonian cloak in favour of the _candys_, assumed the upright\ntiara, and exacted oriental prostrations from Macedonian freemen! This\nis delicious. As to your brilliant matches, and your beloved\nHephaestion, and your scholars in lions' cages,\u2014the less said the\nbetter. I have only heard one thing to your credit: you respected the\nperson of Darius's beautiful wife, and you provided for his mother and\ndaughters; there you acted like a king.\n\n_Alex_. And have you nothing to say of my adventurous spirit, father,\nwhen I was the first to leap down within the ramparts of Oxydracae, and\nwas covered with wounds?\n\n_Phil_. Not a word. Not that it is a bad thing, in my opinion, for a\nking to get wounded occasionally, and to face danger at the head of his\ntroops: but this was the last thing that you were called upon to do.\nYou were passing for a God; and your being wounded, and carried off the\nfield on a litter, bleeding and groaning, could only excite the\nridicule of the spectators: Ammon stood convicted of quackery, his\noracle of falsehood, his priests of flattery. The son of Zeus in a\nswoon, requiring medical assistance! who could help laughing at the\nsight? And now that you have died, can you doubt that many a jest is\nbeing cracked on the subject of your divinity, as men contemplate the\nGod's corpse laid out for burial, and already going the way of all\nflesh? Besides, your achievements lose half their credit from this very\ncircumstance which you say was so useful in facilitating your\nconquests: nothing you did could come up to your divine reputation.\n\n_Alex_. The world thinks otherwise. I am ranked with Heracles and\nDionysus; and, for that matter, I took Aornos, which was more than\neither of them could do.\n\n_Phil_. There spoke the son of Ammon. Heracles and Dionysus, indeed!\nYou ought to be ashamed of yourself, Alexander; when will you learn to\ndrop that bombast, and know yourself for the shade that you are?\n\nF.\n\nXV\n\n_Antilochus. Achilles_\n\n_Ant_. Achilles, what you were saying to Odysseus the other day about\ndeath was very poor-spirited; I should have expected better things from\na pupil of Chiron and Phoenix. I was listening; you said you would\nrather be a servant on earth to some poor hind 'of scanty livelihood\npossessed,' than king of all the dead. Such sentiments might have been\nvery well in the mouth of a poor-spirited cowardly Phrygian,\ndishonourably in love with life: for the son of Peleus, boldest of all\nHeroes, so to vilify himself, is a disgrace; it gives the lie to all\nyour life; you might have had a long inglorious reign in Phthia, and\nyour own choice was death and glory.\n\n_Ach_. In those days, son of Nestor, I knew not this place; ignorant\nwhether of those two was the better, I esteemed that flicker of fame\nmore than life; now I see that it is worthless, let folk up there make\nwhat verses of it they will. 'Tis dead level among the dead,\nAntilochus; strength and beauty are no more; we welter all in the same\ngloom, one no better than another; the shades of Trojans fear me not,\nAchaeans pay me no reverence; each may say what he will; a man is a\nghost, 'or be he churl, or be he peer.' It irks me; I would fain be a\nservant, and alive.\n\n_Ant_. But what help, Achilles? 'tis Nature's decree that by all means\nall die. We must abide by her law, and not fret at her commands.\nConsider too how many of us are with you here; Odysseus comes ere long;\nhow else? Is there not comfort in the common fate? 'tis something not\nto suffer alone. See Heracles, Meleager, and many another great one;\nthey, methinks, would not choose return, if one would send them up to\nserve poor destitute men.\n\n_Ach_. Ay, your intent is friendly; but I know not, the thought of the\npast life irks me\u2014and each of you too, if I mistake not. And if you\nconfess it not, the worse for you, smothering your pain.\n\n_Ant_. Not the worse, Achilles; the better; for we see that speech is\nunavailing. Be silent, bear, endure\u2014that is our resolve, lest such\nlongings bring mockery on us, as on you.\n\nH.\n\nXVI\n\n_Diogenes. Heracles_\n\n_Diog_. Surely this is Heracles I see? By his godhead, 'tis no other!\nThe bow, the club, the lion's-skin, the giant frame; 'tis Heracles\ncomplete. Yet how should this be?\u2014a son of Zeus, and mortal? I say,\nMighty Conqueror, are you dead? I used to sacrifice to you in the other\nworld; I understood you were a God!\n\n_Her_. Thou didst well. Heracles is with the Gods in Heaven,\n\nAnd hath white-ankled Hebe there to wife.\n\n\nI am his phantom.\n\n_Diog_. His phantom! What then, can one half of any one be a God, and\nthe other half mortal?\n\n_Her_. Even so. The God still lives. 'Tis I, his counterpart, am dead.\n\n_Diog_. I see. You're a dummy; he palms you off upon Pluto, instead of\ncoming himself. And here are you, enjoying _his_ mortality!\n\n_Her_. 'Tis somewhat as thou hast said.\n\n_Diog_. Well, but where were Aeacus's keen eyes, that he let a\ncounterfeit Heracles pass under his very nose, and never knew the\ndifference?\n\n_Her_. I was made very like to him.\n\n_Diog_. I believe you! Very like indeed, no difference at all! Why, we\nmay find it's the other way round, that you are Heracles, and the\nphantom is in Heaven, married to Hebe!\n\n_Her_. Prating knave, no more of thy gibes; else thou shalt presently\nlearn how great a God calls me phantom.\n\n_Diog_. H'm. That bow looks as if it meant business. And yet,\u2014what have\nI to fear now? A man can die but once. Tell me, phantom,\u2014by your great\nSubstance I adjure you\u2014did you serve him in your present capacity in\nthe upper world? Perhaps you were one individual during your lives, the\nseparation taking place only at your deaths, when he, the God, soared\nheavenwards, and you, the phantom, very properly made your appearance\nhere?\n\n_Her_. Thy ribald questions were best unanswered. Yet thus much thou\nshalt know.\u2014All that was Amphitryon in Heracles, is dead; I am that\nmortal part. The Zeus in him lives, and is with the Gods in Heaven.\n\n_Diog_. Ah, now I see! Alcmena had twins, you mean,\u2014Heracles the son of\nZeus, and Heracles the son of Amphitryon? You were really half-bothers\nall the time?\n\n_Her_. Fool! not so. We twain were one Heracles.\n\n_Diog_. It's a little difficult to grasp, the two Heracleses packed\ninto one. I suppose you must have been like a sort of Centaur, man and\nGod all mixed together?\n\n_Her_. And are not all thus composed of two elements,\u2014the body and the\nsoul? What then should hinder the soul from being in Heaven, with Zeus\nwho gave it, and the mortal part\u2014myself\u2014among the dead?\n\n_Diog_. Yes, yes, my esteemed son of Amphitryon,\u2014that would be all very\nwell if you were a body; but you see you are a phantom, you have no\nbody. At this rate we shall get three Heracleses.\n\n_Her_. _Three_?\n\n_Diog_. Yes; look here. One in Heaven: one in Hades, that's you, the\nphantom: and lastly the body, which by this time has returned to dust.\nThat makes three. Can you think of a good father for number Three?\n\n_Her_. Impudent quibbler! And who art _thou_?\n\n_Diog_. I am Diogenes's phantom, late of Sinope. But my original, I\nassure you, is not 'among th' immortal Gods,' but here among dead men;\nwhere he enjoys the best of company, and snaps my fingers at Homer and\nall hair-splitting.\n\nF.\n\nXVII\n\n_Menippus. Tantalus_\n\n_Me_. What are you crying out about, Tantalus? standing at the edge and\nwhining like that!\n\n_Tan_. Ah, Menippus, I thirst, I perish!\n\n_Me_. What, not enterprise enough to bend down to it, or scoop up some\nin your palm?\n\n_Tan_. It is no use bending down; the water shrinks away as soon as it\nsees me coming. And if I do scoop it up and get it to my mouth, the\noutside of my lips is hardly moist before it has managed to run through\nmy fingers, and my hand is as dry as ever.\n\n_Me_. A very odd experience, that. But by the way, why do you want to\ndrink? you have no body\u2014the part of you that was liable to hunger and\nthirst is buried in Lydia somewhere; how can you, the spirit, hunger or\nthirst any more?\n\n_Tan_. Therein lies my punishment\u2014soul thirsts as if it were body.\n\n_Me_. Well, let that pass, as you say thirst is your punishment. But\nwhy do you mind it? are you afraid of _dying_, for want of drink? I do\nnot know of any second Hades; can you die to this one, and go further?\n\n_Tan_. No, that is quite true. But you see this is part of the\nsentence: I must long for drink, though I have no need of it.\n\n_Me_. There is no meaning in that. There _is_ a draught you need,\nthough; some neat hellebore is what _you_ want; you are suffering from\na converse hydrophobia; you are not afraid of water, but you are of\nthirst.\n\n_Tan_. I would as lief drink hellebore as anything, if I could but\ndrink.\n\n_Me_. Never fear, Tantalus; neither you nor any other ghost will ever\ndo that; it is impossible, you see; just as well we have not all got a\npenal thirst like you, with the water running away from us.\n\nH.\n\nXVIII\n\n_Menippus. Hermes_\n\n_Me_. Where are all the beauties, Hermes? Show me round; I am a\nnew-comer.\n\n_Her_. I am busy, Menippus. But look over there to your right, and you\nwill see Hyacinth, Narcissus, Nireus, Achilles, Tyro, Helen, Leda,\u2014all\nthe beauties of old.\n\n_Me_. I can only see bones, and bare skulls; most of them are exactly\nalike.\n\n_Her_. Those bones, of which you seem to think so lightly, have been\nthe theme of admiring poets.\n\n_Me_. Well, but show me Helen; I shall never be able to make her out by\nmyself.\n\n_Her_. This skull is Helen.\n\n_Me_. And for this a thousand ships carried warriors from every part of\nGreece; Greeks and barbarians were slain, and cities made desolate.\n\n_Her_. Ah, Menippus, you never saw the living Helen; or you would have\nsaid with Homer,\n\n  Well might they suffer grievous years of toil\n  Who strove for such a prize.\n\n\nWe look at withered flowers, whose dye is gone from them, and what can\nwe call them but unlovely things? Yet in the hour of their bloom these\nunlovely things were things of beauty.\n\n_Me_. Strange, that the Greeks could not realize what it was for which\nthey laboured; how short-lived, how soon to fade.\n\n_Her_. I have no time for moralizing. Choose your spot, where you will,\nand lie down. I must go to fetch new dead.\n\nF.\n\nXIX\n\n_Aeacus. Protesilaus. Menelaus. Paris_\n\n_Aea_. Now then, Protesilaus, what do you mean by assaulting and\nthrottling Helen?\n\n_Pro_. Why, it was all her fault that I died, leaving my house half\nbuilt, and my bride a widow.\n\n_Aea_. You should blame Menelaus, for taking you all to Troy after such\na light-o'-love.\n\n_Pro_. That is true; he shall answer it.\n\n_Me_. No, no, my dear sir; Paris surely is the man; he outraged all\nrights in carrying off his host's wife with him. _He_ deserves\nthrottling, if you like, and not from you only, but from Greeks and\nbarbarians as well, for all the deaths he brought upon them.\n\n_Pro_. Ah, now I have it. Here, you\u2014you _Paris! you_ shall not escape\nmy clutches.\n\n_Pa_. Oh, come, sir, you will never wrong one of the same gentle craft\nas yourself. Am I not a lover too, and a subject of your deity? against\nlove you know (with the best will in the world) how vain it is to\nstrive; 'tis a spirit that draws us whither it will.\n\n_Pro_. There is reason in that. Oh, would that I had Love himself here\nin these hands!\n\n_Aea_. Permit me to charge myself with his defence. He does not\nabsolutely deny his responsibility for Paris's love; but that for your\ndeath he refers to yourself, Protesilaus. You forgot all about your\nbride, fell in love with fame, and, directly the fleet touched the\nTroad, took that rash senseless leap, which brought you first to shore\nand to death.\n\n_Pro_. Now it is my turn to correct, Aeacus. The blame does not rest\nwith me, but with Fate; so was my thread spun from the beginning.\n\n_Aea_. Exactly so; then why blame our good friends here?\n\nH.\n\nXX\n\n_Menippus. Aeacus. Various Shades_\n\n_Me_. In Pluto's name, Aeacus, show me all the sights of Hades.\n\n_Aea_. That would be rather an undertaking, Menippus. However, you\nshall see the principal things. Cerberus here you know already, and the\nferryman who brought you over. And you saw the Styx on your way, and\nPyriphlegethon.\n\n_Me_. Yes, and you are the gate-keeper; I know all that; and I have\nseen the King and the Furies. But show me the men of ancient days,\nespecially the celebrities.\n\n_Aea_. This is Agamemnon; this is Achilles; near him, Idomeneus; next\ncomes Odysseus; then Ajax, Diomede, and all the great Greeks.\n\n_Me_. Why, Homer, Homer, what is this? All your great heroes flung down\nupon the earth, shapeless, undistinguishable; mere meaningless dust;\n'strengthless heads,' and no mistake.\u2014Who is this one, Aeacus?\n\n_Aea_. That is Cyrus; and here is Croesus; beyond him Sardanapalus, and\nbeyond him again Midas. And yonder is Xerxes.\n\n_Me_. Ha! and it was before this creature that Greece trembled? this is\nour yoker of Hellesponts, our designer of Athos-canals?\u2014Croesus too! a\nsad spectacle! As to Sardanapalus, I will lend him a box on the ear,\nwith your permission.\n\n_Aea_. And crack his skull, poor dear! Certainly not.\n\n_Me_. Then I must content myself with spitting in his ladyship's face.\n\n_Aea_. Would you like to see the philosophers?\n\n_Me_. I should like it of all things.\n\n_Aea_. First comes Pythagoras.\n\n_Me_. Good-day, Euphorbus, _alias_ Apollo, _alias_ what you will.\n\n_Py_. Good-day, Menippus.\n\n_Me_. What, no golden thigh nowadays?\n\n_Py_. Why, no. I wonder if there is anything to eat in that wallet of\nyours?\n\n_Me_. Beans, friend; you don't like beans.\n\n_Py_. Try me. My principles have changed with my quarters. I find that\ndown here our parents' heads are in no way connected with beans.\n\n_Aea_. Here is Solon, the son of Execestides, and there is Thales. By\nthem are Pittacus, and the rest of the sages, seven in all, as you see.\n\n_Me_. The only resigned and cheerful countenances yet. Who is the one\ncovered with ashes, like a loaf baked in the embers? He is all over\nblisters.\n\n_Aea_. That is Empedocles. He was half-roasted when he got here from\nEtna.\n\n_Me_. Tell me, my brazen-slippered friend, what induced you to jump\ninto the crater?\n\n_Em_. I did it in a fit of melancholy.\n\n_Me_. Not you. Vanity, pride, folly; these were what burnt you up,\nslippers and all; and serve you right. All that ingenuity was thrown\naway, too: your death was detected.\u2014Aeacus, where is Socrates?\n\n_Aea_. He is generally talking nonsense with Nestor and Palamedes.\n\n_Me_. But I should like to see him, if he is anywhere about.\n\n_Aea_. You see the bald one?\n\n_Me_. They are all bald; that is a distinction without a difference.\n\n_Aea_. The snub-nosed one.\n\n_Me_. There again: they are all snub-nosed.\n\n_Soc_. Do you want me, Menippus?\n\n_Me_. The very man I am looking for.\n\n_Soc_. How goes it in Athens?\n\n_Me_. There are a great many young men there professing philosophy; and\nto judge from their dress and their walk, they should be perfect in it.\n\n_Soc_. I have seen many such.\n\n_Me_. For that matter, I suppose you saw Aristippus arrive, reeking\nwith scent; and Plato, the polished flatterer from Sicilian courts?\n\n_Soc_. And what do they think about _me_ in Athens?\n\n_Me_. Ah, you are fortunate in that respect. You pass for a most\nremarkable man, omniscient in fact. And all the time\u2014if the truth must\nout\u2014you know absolutely nothing.\n\n_Soc_. I told them that myself: but they would have it that that was my\nirony.\n\n_Me_. And who are your friends?\n\n_Soc_. Charmides; Phaedrus; the son of Clinias.\n\n_Me_. Ha, ha! still at your old trade; still an admirer of beauty.\n\n_Soc_. How could I be better occupied? Will you join us?\n\n_Me_. No, thank you; I am off, to take up my quarters by Croesus and\nSardanapalus. I expect huge entertainment from their outcries.\n\n_Aea_. I must be off, too; or some one may escape. You shall see the\nrest another day, Menippus.\n\n_Me_. I need not detain you. I have seen enough.\n\nF.\n\nXXI\n\n_Menippus. Cerberus_\n\n_Me_. My dear coz\u2014for Cerberus and Cynic are surely related through the\ndog\u2014I adjure you by the Styx, tell me how Socrates behaved during the\ndescent. A God like you can doubtless articulate instead of barking, if\nhe chooses.\n\n_Cer_. Well, while he was some way off, he seemed quite unshaken; and I\nthought he was bent on letting the people outside realize the fact too.\nThen he passed into the opening and saw the gloom; I at the same time\ngave him a touch of the hemlock, and a pull by the leg, as he was\nrather slow. Then he squalled like a baby, whimpered about his\nchildren, and, oh, I don't know what he didn't do.\n\n_Me_. So _he_ was one of the theorists, was he? His indifference was a\nsham?\n\n_Cer_. Yes; it was only that he accepted the inevitable, and put a bold\nface on it, pretending to welcome the universal fate, by way of\nimpressing the bystanders. All that sort are the same, I tell you\u2014bold\nresolute fellows as far as the entrance; it is inside that the real\ntest comes.\n\n_Me_. What did you think of _my_ performance?\n\n_Cer_. Ah, Menippus, you were the exception; you are a credit to the\nbreed, and so was Diogenes before you. You two came in without any\ncompulsion or pushing, of your own free will, with a laugh for\nyourselves and a curse for the rest.\n\nF.\n\nXXII\n\n_Charon. Menippus. Hermes_\n\n_Ch_. Your fare, you rascal.\n\n_Me_. Bawl away, Charon, if it gives you any pleasure.\n\n_Ch_. I brought you across: give me my fare.\n\n_Me_. I can't, if I haven't got it.\n\n_Ch_. And who is so poor that he has not got a penny?\n\n_Me_. I for one; I don't know who else.\n\n_Ch_. Pay: or, by Pluto, I'll strangle you.\n\n_Me_. And I'll crack your skull with this stick.\n\n_Ch_. So you are to come all that way for nothing?\n\n_Me_. Let Hermes pay for me: he put me on board.\n\n_Her_. I dare say! A fine time I shall have of it, if I am to pay for\nthe shades.\n\n_Ch_. I'm not going to let you off.\n\n_Me_. You can haul up your ship and wait, for all I care. If I have not\ngot the money, I can't pay you, can I?\n\n_Ch_. You knew you ought to bring it?\n\n_Me_. I knew that: but I hadn't got it. What would you have? I ought\nnot to have died, I suppose?\n\n_Ch_. So you are to have the distinction of being the only passenger\nthat ever crossed gratis?\n\n_Me_. Oh, come now: gratis! I took an oar, and I baled; and I didn't\ncry, which is more than can be said for any of the others.\n\n_Ch_. That's neither here nor there. I must have my penny; it's only\nright.\n\n_Me_. Well, you had better take me back again to life.\n\n_Ch_. Yes, and get a thrashing from Aeacus for my pains! I like that.\n\n_Me_. Well, don't bother me.\n\n_Ch_. Let me see what you have got in that wallet.\n\n_Me_. Beans: have some?\u2014and a Hecate's supper.\n\n_Ch_. Where did you pick up this Cynic, Hermes? The noise he made on\nthe crossing, too! laughing and jeering at all the rest, and singing,\nwhen every one else was at his lamentations.\n\n_Her_. Ah, Charon, you little know your passenger! Independence, every\ninch of him: he cares for no one. 'Tis Menippus.\n\n_Ch_. Wait till I catch you\u2014-\n\n_Me_. Precisely; I'll wait\u2014till you catch me again.\n\nF.\n\nXXIII\n\n_Protesilaus. Pluto. Persephone_\n\n_Pro_. Lord, King, our Zeus! and thou, daughter of Demeter! Grant a\nlover's boon!\n\n_Pl_. What do you want? who are you?\n\n_Pro_. Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, of Phylace, one of the Achaean\nhost, the first that died at Troy. And the boon I ask is release and\none day's life.\n\n_Pl_. Ah, friend, that is the love that all these dead men love, and\nnone shall ever win.\n\n_Pro_. Nay, dread lord, 'tis not life I love, but the bride that I left\nnew wedded in my chamber that day I sailed away\u2014ah me, to be slain by\nHector as my foot touched land! My lord, that yearning gives me no\npeace. I return content, if she might look on me but for an hour.\n\n_Pl_. Did you miss your dose of Lethe, man?\n\n_Pro_. Nay, lord; but this prevailed against it.\n\n_Pl_. Oh, well, wait a little; she will come to you one day; it is so\nsimple; no need for you to be going up.\n\n_Pro_. My heart is sick with hope deferred; thou too, O Pluto, hast\nloved; thou knowest what love is.\n\n_Pl_. What good will it do you to come to life for a day, and then\nrenew your pains?\n\n_Pro_. I think to win her to come with me, and bring two dead for one.\n\n_Pl_. It may not be; it never has been.\n\n_Pro_. Bethink thee, Pluto. 'Twas for this same cause that ye gave\nOrpheus his Eurydice; and Heracles had interest enough to be granted\nAlcestis; she was of my kin.\n\n_Pl_. Would you like to present that bare ugly skull to your fair\nbride? will she admit you, when she cannot tell you from another man? I\nknow well enough; she will be frightened and run from you, and you will\nhave gone all that way for nothing.\n\n_Per_. Husband, doctor that disease yourself: tell Hermes, as soon as\nProtesilaus reaches the light, to touch him with his wand, and make him\nyoung and fair as when he left the bridal chamber.\n\n_Pl_. Well, I cannot refuse a lady. Hermes, take him up and turn him\ninto a bridegroom. But mind, you sir, a strictly temporary one.\n\nH.\n\nXXIV\n\n_Diogenes. Mausolus_\n\n_Diog_. Why so proud, Carian? How are you better than the rest of us?\n\n_Mau_. Sinopean, to begin with, I was a king; king of all Caria, ruler\nof many Lydians, subduer of islands, conqueror of well-nigh the whole\nof Ionia, even to the borders of Miletus. Further, I was comely, and of\nnoble stature, and a mighty warrior. Finally, a vast tomb lies over me\nin Halicarnassus, of such dimensions, of such exquisite beauty as no\nother shade can boast. Thereon are the perfect semblances of man and\nhorse, carved in the fairest marble; scarcely may a temple be found to\nmatch it. These are the grounds of my pride: are they inadequate?\n\n_Diog_. Kingship\u2014beauty\u2014heavy tomb; is that it?\n\n_Mau_. It is as you say.\n\n_Diog_. But, my handsome Mausolus, the power and the beauty are no\nlonger there. If we were to appoint an umpire now on the question of\ncomeliness, I see no reason why he should prefer your skull to mine.\nBoth are bald, and bare of flesh; our teeth are equally in evidence;\neach of us has lost his eyes, and each is snub-nosed. Then as to the\ntomb and the costly marbles, I dare say such a fine erection gives the\nHalicarnassians something to brag about and show off to strangers: but\nI don't see, friend, that you are the better for it, unless it is that\nyou claim to carry more weight than the rest of us, with all that\nmarble on the top of you.\n\n_Mau_. Then all is to go for nothing? Mausolus and Diogenes are to rank\nas equals?\n\n_Diog_. Equals! My dear sir, no; I don't say that. While Mausolus is\ngroaning over the memories of earth, and the felicity which he supposed\nto be his, Diogenes will be chuckling. While Mausolus boasts of the\ntomb raised to him by Artemisia, his wife and sister, Diogenes knows\nnot whether he has a tomb or no\u2014the question never having occurred to\nhim; he knows only that his name is on the tongues of the wise, as one\nwho lived the life of a man; a higher monument than yours, vile Carian\nslave, and set on firmer foundations.\n\nF.\n\nXXV\n\n_Nireus. Thersites. Menippus_\n\n_Ni_. Here we are; Menippus shall award the palm of beauty. Menippus,\nam I not better-looking than he?\n\n_Me_. Well, who are you? I must know that first, mustn't I?\n\n_Ni_. Nireus and Thersites.\n\n_Me_. Which is which? I cannot tell that yet.\n\n_Ther_. One to me; I am like you; you have no such superiority as Homer\n(blind, by the way) gave you when he called you the handsomest of men;\nhe might peak my head and thin my hair, our judge finds me none the\nworse. Now, Menippus, make up your mind which is handsomer.\n\n_Ni_. I, of course, I, the son of Aglaia and Charopus,\n\nComeliest of all that came 'neath Trojan walls.\n\n\n_Me_. But not comeliest of all that come 'neath the earth, as far as I\nknow. Your bones are much like other people's; and the only difference\nbetween your two skulls is that yours would not take much to stove it\nin. It is a tender article, something short of masculine.\n\n_Ni_. Ask Homer what I was, when I sailed with the Achaeans.\n\n_Me_. Dreams, dreams. I am looking at what you are; what you were is\nancient history.\n\n_Ni_. Am I not handsomer here, Menippus?\n\n_Me_. You are not handsome at all, nor any one else either. Hades is a\ndemocracy; one man is as good as another here.\n\n_Ther_. And a very tolerable arrangement too, if you ask me.\n\nH.\n\nXXVI\n\n_Menippus. Chiron_\n\n_Me_. I have heard that you were a god, Chiron, and that you died of\nyour own choice?\n\n_Chi_. You were rightly informed. I am dead, as you see, and might have\nbeen immortal.\n\n_Me_. And what should possess you, to be in love with Death? He has no\ncharm for most people.\n\n_Chi_. You are a sensible fellow; I will tell you. There was no further\nsatisfaction to be had from immortality.\n\n_Me_. Was it not a pleasure merely to live and see the light?\n\n_Chi_. No; it is variety, as I take it, and not monotony, that\nconstitutes pleasure. Living on and on, everything always the same;\nsun, light, food, spring, summer, autumn, winter, one thing following\nanother in unending sequence,\u2014I sickened of it all. I found that\nenjoyment lay not in continual possession; that deprivation had its\nshare therein.\n\n_Me_. Very true, Chiron. And how have you got on since you made Hades\nyour home?\n\n_Chi_. Not unpleasantly. I like the truly republican equality that\nprevails; and as to whether one is in light or darkness, that makes no\ndifference at all. Then again there is no hunger or thirst here; one is\nindependent of such things.\n\n_Me_. Take care, Chiron! You may be caught in the snare of your own\nreasonings.\n\n_Chi_. How should that be?\n\n_Me_. Why, if the monotony of the other world brought on satiety, the\nmonotony here may do the same. You will have to look about for a\nfurther change, and I fancy there is no third life procurable.\n\n_Chi_. Then what is to be done, Menippus?\n\n_Me_. Take things as you find them, I suppose, like a sensible fellow,\nand make the best of everything.\n\nF.\n\nXXVII\n\n_Diogenes. Antisthenes. Crates_\n\n_Diog_. Now, friends, we have plenty of time; what say you to a stroll?\nwe might go to the entrance and have a look at the new-comers\u2014what they\nare and how they behave.\n\n_Ant_. The very thing. It will be an amusing sight\u2014some weeping, some\nimploring to be let go, some resisting; when Hermes collars them, they\nwill stick their heels in and throw their weight back; and all to no\npurpose.\n\n_Cra_. Very well; and meanwhile, let me give you my experiences on the\nway down.\n\n_Diog_. Yes, go on, Crates; I dare say you saw some entertaining\nsights.\n\n_Cra_. We were a large party, of which the most distinguished were\nIsmenodorus, a rich townsman of ours, Arsaces, ruler of Media, and\nOroetes the Armenian. Ismenodorus had been murdered by robbers going to\nEleusis over Cithaeron, I believe. He was moaning, nursing his wound,\napostrophizing the young children he had left, and cursing his\nfoolhardiness. He knew Cithaeron and the Eleutherae district were all\ndevastated by the wars, and yet he must take only two servants with\nhim\u2014with five bowls and four cups of solid gold in his baggage, too.\nArsaces was an old man of rather imposing aspect; he expressed his\nfeelings in true barbaric fashion, was exceedingly angry at being\nexpected to walk, and kept calling for his horse. In point of fact it\nhad died with him, it and he having been simultaneously transfixed by a\nThracian pikeman in the fight with the Cappadocians on the Araxes.\nArsaces described to us how he had charged far in advance of his men,\nand the Thracian, standing his ground and sheltering himself with his\nbuckler, warded off the lance, and then, planting his pike, transfixed\nman and horse together.\n\n_Ant_. How could it possibly be done simultaneously?\n\n_Cra_. Oh, quite simple. The Median was charging with his thirty-foot\nlance in front of him; the Thracian knocked it aside with his buckler;\nthe point glanced by; then he knelt, received the charge on his pike,\npierced the horse's chest\u2014the spirited beast impaling itself by its own\nimpetus\u2014, and finally ran Arsaces through groin and buttock. You see\nwhat happened; it was the horse's doing rather than the man's. However,\nArsaces did not at all appreciate equality, and wanted to come down on\nhorseback. As for Oroetes, he was so tender-footed that he could not\nstand, far less walk. That is the way with all the Medes\u2014once they are\noff their horses, they go delicately on tiptoe as if they were treading\non thorns. He threw himself down, and there he lay; nothing would\ninduce him to get up; so the excellent Hermes had to pick him up and\ncarry him to the ferry; how I laughed!\n\n_Ant_. When _I_ came down, I did not keep with the crowd; I left them\nto their blubberings, ran on to the ferry, and secured a comfortable\nseat for the passage. Then as we crossed, they were divided between\ntears and sea-sickness, and gave me a merry time of it.\n\n_Diog_. You two have described your fellow passengers; now for mine.\nThere came down with me Blepsias, the Pisatan usurer, Lampis, an\nAcarnanian freelance, and the Corinthian millionaire Damis. The last\nhad been poisoned by his son, Lampis had cut his throat for love of the\ncourtesan Myrtium, and the wretched Blepsias is supposed to have died\nof starvation; his awful pallor and extreme emaciation looked like it.\nI inquired into the manner of their deaths, though I knew very well.\nWhen Damis exclaimed upon his son, 'You only have your deserts,' I\nremarked,\u2014'an old man of ninety living in luxury yourself with your\nmillion of money, and fobbing off your eighteen-year son with a few\npence! As for you, sir Acarnanian'\u2014he was groaning and cursing\nMyrtium\u2014, 'why put the blame on Love? it belongs to yourself; you were\nnever afraid of an enemy\u2014took all sorts of risks in other people's\nservice\u2014and then let yourself be caught, my hero, by the artificial\ntears and sighs of the first wench you came across.' Blepsias uttered\nhis own condemnation, without giving me time to do it for him: he had\nhoarded his money for heirs who were nothing to him, and been fool\nenough to reckon on immortality. I assure you it was no common\nsatisfaction I derived from their whinings.\n\nBut here we are at the gate; we must keep our eyes open, and get the\nearliest view. Lord, lord, what a mixed crowd! and all in tears except\nthese babes and sucklings. Why, the hoary seniors are all lamentation\ntoo; strange! has madam Life given them a love-potion? I must\ninterrogate this most reverend senior of them all.\u2014Sir, why weep,\nseeing that you have died full of years? has your excellency any\ncomplaint to make, after so long a term? Ah, but you were doubtless a\nking.\n\n_Pauper_. Not so.\n\n_Diog_. A provincial governor, then?\n\n_Pauper_. No, nor that.\n\n_Diog_. I see; you were wealthy, and do not like leaving your boundless\nluxury to die.\n\n_Pauper_. You are quite mistaken; I was near ninety, made a miserable\nlivelihood out of my line and rod, was excessively poor, childless, a\ncripple, and had nearly lost my sight.\n\n_Diog_. And you still wished to live?\n\n_Pauper_. Ay, sweet is the light, and dread is death; would that one\nmight escape it!\n\n_Diog_. You are beside yourself, old man; you are like a child kicking\nat the pricks, you contemporary of the ferryman. Well, we need wonder\nno more at youth, when age is still in love with life; one would have\nthought it should court death as the cure for its proper ills.\u2014And now\nlet us go our way, before our loitering here brings suspicion on us:\nthey may think we are planning an escape.\n\nH.\n\nXXVIII\n\n_Menippus. Tiresias_\n\n_Me_. Whether you are blind or not, Tiresias, would be a difficult\nquestion. Eyeless sockets are the rule among us; there is no telling\nPhineus from Lynceus nowadays. However, I know that you were a seer,\nand that you enjoy the unique distinction of having been both man and\nwoman; I have it from the poets. Pray tell me which you found the more\npleasant life, the man's or the woman's?\n\n_Ti_. The woman's, by a long way; it was much less trouble. Women have\nthe mastery of men; and there is no fighting for them, no manning of\nwalls, no squabbling in the assembly, no cross-examination in the\nlaw-courts.\n\n_Me_. Well, but you have heard how Medea, in Euripides, compassionates\nher sex on their hard lot\u2014on the intolerable pangs they endure in\ntravail? And by the way\u2014Medea's words remind me did you ever have a\nchild, when you were a woman, or were you barren?\n\n_Ti_. What do you mean by that question, Menippus?\n\n_Me_. Oh, nothing; but I should like to know, if it is no trouble to\nyou.\n\n_Ti_. I was not barren: but I did not have a child, exactly.\n\n_Me_. No; but you might have had. That's all I wanted to know.\n\n_Ti_. Certainly.\n\n_Me_. And your feminine characteristics gradually vanished, and you\ndeveloped a beard, and became a man? Or did the change take place in a\nmoment?\n\n_Ti_. Whither does your question tend? One would think you doubted the\nfact.\n\n_Me_. And what should I do but doubt such a story? Am I to take it in,\nlike a nincompoop, without asking myself whether it is possible or not?\n\n_Ti_. At that rate, I suppose you are equally incredulous when you hear\nof women being turned into birds or trees or beasts,\u2014Aedon for\ninstance, or Daphne, or Callisto?\n\n_Me_. If I fall in with any of these ladies, I will see what they have\nto say about it. But to return, friend, to your own case: were you a\nprophet even in the days of your femininity? or did manhood and\nprophecy come together?\n\n_Ti_. Pooh, you know nothing of the matter. I once settled a dispute\namong the Gods, and was blinded by Hera for my pains; whereupon Zeus\nconsoled me with the gift of prophecy.\n\n_Me_. Ah, you love a lie still, Tiresias. But there, 'tis your trade.\nYou prophets! There is no truth in you.\n\nF.\n\nXXIX\n\n_Agamemnon. Ajax_\n\n_Ag_. If you went mad and wrought your own destruction, Ajax, in\ndefault of that you designed for us all, why put the blame on Odysseus?\nWhy would you not vouchsafe him a look or a word, when he came to\nconsult Tiresias that day? you stalked past your old comrade in arms as\nif he was beneath your notice.\n\n_Aj_. Had I not good reason? My madness lies at the door of my solitary\nrival for the arms.\n\n_Ag_. Did you expect to be unopposed, and carry it over us all without\na contest?\n\n_Aj_. Surely, in such a matter. The armour was mine by natural right,\nseeing I was Achilles's cousin. The rest of you, his undoubted\nsuperiors, refused to compete, recognizing my claim. It was the son of\nLaertes, he that I had rescued scores of times when he would have been\ncut to pieces by the Phrygians, who set up for a better man and a\nstronger claimant than I.\n\n_Ag_. Blame Thetis, then, my good sir; it was she who, instead of\ndelivering the inheritance to the next of kin, brought the arms and\nleft the ownership an open question.\n\n_Aj_. No, no; the guilt was in claiming them\u2014alone, I mean.\n\n_Ag_. Surely, Ajax, a mere man may be forgiven the sin of coveting\nhonour\u2014that sweetest bait for which each one of us adventured; nay, and\nhe outdid you there, if a Trojan verdict counts.\n\n_Aj_. Who inspired that verdict [Footnote: Athene is meant. The\nallusion is to Homer, _Od. xi. 547_, a passage upon the contest for the\narms of Achilles, in which Odysseus states that 'The judges were the\nsons of the Trojans, and Pallas Athene.']? I know, but about the Gods\nwe may not speak. Let that pass; but cease to hate Odysseus? 'tis not\nin my power, Agamemnon, though Athene's self should require it of me.\n\nH.\n\nXXX\n\n_Minos. Sostratus_\n\n_Mi_. Sostratus, the pirate here, can be dropped into Pyriphlegethon,\nHermes; the temple-robber shall be clawed by the Chimera; and lay out\nthe tyrant alongside of Tityus, there to have his liver torn by the\nvultures. And you honest fellows can make the best of your way to\nElysium and the Isles of the Blest; this it is to lead righteous lives.\n\n_Sos_. A word with you, Minos. See if there is not some justice in my\nplea.\n\n_Mi_. What, more pleadings? Have you not been convicted of villany and\nmurder without end?\n\n_Sos_. I have. Yet consider whether my sentence is just.\n\n_Mi_. Is it just that you should have your deserts? If so, the sentence\nis just.\n\n_Sos_. Well, answer my questions; I will not detain you long.\n\n_Mi_. Say on, but be brief; I have other cases waiting for me.\n\n_Sos_. The deeds of my life\u2014were they in my own choice, or were they\ndecreed by Fate?\n\n_Mi_. Decreed, of course.\n\n_Sos_. Then all of us, whether we passed for honest men or rogues, were\nthe instruments of Fate in all that we did?\n\n_Mi_. Certainly; Clotho prescribes the conduct of every man at his\nbirth.\n\n_Sos_. Now suppose a man commits a murder under compulsion of a power\nwhich he cannot resist, an executioner, for instance, at the bidding of\na judge, or a bodyguard at that of a tyrant. Who is the murderer,\naccording to you?\n\n_Mi_. The judge, of course, or the tyrant. As well ask whether the\nsword is guilty, which is but the tool of his anger who is prime mover\nin the affair.\n\n_Sos_. I am indebted to you for a further illustration of my argument.\nAgain: a slave, sent by his master, brings me gold or silver; to whom\nam I to be grateful? who goes down on my tablets as a benefactor?\n\n_Mi_. The sender; the bringer is but his minister.\n\n_Sos_. Observe then your injustice! You punish us who are but the\nslaves of Clotho's bidding, and reward these, who do but minister to\nanother's beneficence. For it will never be said that it was in our\npower to gainsay the irresistible ordinances of Fate?\n\n_Mi_. Ah, Sostratus; look closely enough, and you will find plenty of\ninconsistencies besides these. However, I see you are no common pirate,\nbut a philosopher in your way; so much you have gained by your\nquestions. Let him go, Hermes; he shall not be punished after that. But\nmind, Sostratus, you must not put it into other people's heads to ask\nquestions of this kind.\n\nF.\n\n\n\nMENIPPUS\n\nA NECROMANTIC EXPERIMENT\n\n_Menippus. Philonides_\n\n_Me_. All hail, my roof, my doors, my hearth and home! How sweet again\nto see the light and thee!\n\n_Phi_. Menippus the cynic, surely; even so, or there are visions about.\nMenippus, every inch of him. What has he been getting himself up like\nthat for? sailor's cap, lyre, and lion-skin? However, here goes.\u2014How\nare you, Menippus? where do _you_ spring from? You have disappeared\nthis long time.\n\n_Me_. Death's lurking-place I leave, and those dark gates Where Hades\ndwells, a God apart from Gods.\n\n_Phi_. Good gracious! has Menippus died, all on the quiet, and come to\nlife for a second spell?\n\n_Me_. Not so; a _living_ guest in Hades I.\n\n_Phi_. But what induced you to take this queer original journey?\n\n_Me_. Youth drew me on\u2014too bold, too little wise.\n\n_Phi_. My good man, truce to your heroics; get off those iambic stilts,\nand tell me in plain prose what this get-up means; what did you want\nwith the lower regions? It is a journey that needs a motive to make it\nattractive.\n\n_Me_. Dear friend, to Hades' realms I needs must go, To counsel with\nTiresias of Thebes.\n\n_Phi_. Man, you must be mad; or why string verses instead of talking\nlike one friend with another?\n\n_Me_. My dear fellow, you need not be so surprised. I have just been in\nEuripides's and Homer's company; I suppose I am full to the throat with\nverse, and the numbers come as soon as I open my mouth. But how are\nthings going up here? what is Athens about?\n\n_Phi_. Oh, nothing new; extortion, perjury, forty per cent,\nface-grinding.\n\n_Me_. Poor misguided fools! they are not posted up in the latest\nlower-world legislation; the recent decrees against the rich will be\ntoo much for all their evasive ingenuity.\n\n_Phi_. Do you mean to say the lower world has been making new\nregulations for us?\n\n_Me_. Plenty of them, I assure you. But I may not publish them, nor\nreveal secrets; the result might be a suit for impiety in the court of\nRhadamanthus.\n\n_Phi_. Oh now, Menippus, in Heaven's name, no secrets between friends!\nyou know I am no blabber; and I am initiated, if you come to that.\n\n_Me_. 'Tis a hard thing you ask, and a perilous; yet for you I must\nventure it. It was resolved, then, that these rich who roll in money\nand keep their gold under lock and key like a Danae\u2014-\n\n_Phi_. Oh, don't come to the decrees yet; begin at the beginning. I am\nparticularly curious about your object in going, who showed you the\nway, and the whole story of what you saw and heard down there; you are\na man of taste, and sure not to have missed anything worth looking at\nor listening to.\n\n_Me_. I can refuse you nothing, you see; what is one to do, when a\nfriend insists? Well, I will show you first the state of mind which put\nme on the venture. When I was a boy, and listened to Homer's and\nHesiod's tales of war and civil strife\u2014and they do not confine\nthemselves to the Heroes, but include the Gods in their descriptions,\nadulterous Gods, rapacious Gods, violent, litigious, usurping,\nincestuous Gods\u2014, well, I found it all quite proper, and indeed was\nintensely interested in it. But as I came to man's estate, I observed\nthat the laws flatly contradicted the poets, forbidding adultery,\nsedition, and rapacity. So I was in a very hazy state of mind, and\ncould not tell what to make of it. The Gods would surely never have\nbeen guilty of such behaviour if they had not considered it good; and\nyet law-givers would never have recommended avoiding it, if avoidance\nhad not seemed desirable.\n\nIn this perplexity, I determined to go to the people they call\nphilosophers, put myself in their hands, and ask them to make what they\nwould of me and give me a plain reliable map of life. This was my idea\nin going to them; but the effort only shifted me from the frying-pan\ninto the fire; it was just among these that my inquiry brought the\ngreatest ignorance and bewilderment to light; they very soon convinced\nme that the real golden life is that of the man in the street. One of\nthem would have me do nothing but seek pleasure and ensue it; according\nto him, Happiness was pleasure. Another recommended the exact\ncontrary\u2014toil and moil, bring the body under, be filthy and squalid,\ndisgusting and abusive\u2014concluding always with the tags from Hesiod\nabout Virtue, or something about indefatigable pursuit of the ideal.\nAnother bade me despise money, and reckon the acquisition of it as a\nthing indifferent; he too had his contrary, who declared wealth a good\nin itself. I will spare you their metaphysics; I was sickened with\ndaily doses of Ideas, Incorporeal Things, Atoms, Vacua, and a multitude\nmore. The extraordinary thing was that people maintaining the most\nopposite views would each of them produce convincing plausible\narguments; when the same thing was called hot and cold by different\npersons, there was no refuting one more than the other, however well\none knew that it could not be hot and cold at once. I was just like a\nman dropping off to sleep, with his head first nodding forward, and\nthen jerking back.\n\nYet that absurdity is surpassed by another. I found by observation that\nthe practice of these same people was diametrically opposed to their\nprecepts. Those who preached contempt of wealth would hold on to it\nlike grim death, dispute about interest, teach for pay, and sacrifice\neverything to the main chance, while the depreciators of fame directed\nall their words and deeds to nothing else but fame; pleasure, which had\nall their private devotions, they were almost unanimous in condemning.\n\nThus again disappointed of my hope, I was in yet worse case than\nbefore; it was slight consolation to reflect that I was in numerous and\nwise and eminently sensible company, if I was a fool still, all astray\nin my quest of Truth. One night, while these thoughts kept me\nsleepless, I resolved to go to Babylon and ask help from one of the\nMagi, Zoroaster's disciples and successors; I had been told that by\nincantations and other rites they could open the gates of Hades, take\ndown any one they chose in safety, and bring him up again. I thought\nthe best thing would be to secure the services of one of these, visit\nTiresias the Boeotian, and learn from that wise seer what is the best\nlife and the right choice for a man of sense. I got up with all speed\nand started straight for Babylon. When I arrived, I found a wise and\nwonderful Chaldean; he was white-haired, with a long imposing beard,\nand called Mithrobarzanes. My prayers and supplications at last induced\nhim to name a price for conducting me down.\n\nTaking me under his charge, he commenced with a new moon, and brought\nme down for twenty-nine successive mornings to the Euphrates, where he\nbathed me, apostrophizing the rising sun in a long formula, of which I\nnever caught much; he gabbled indistinctly, like bad heralds at the\nGames; but he appeared to be invoking spirits. This charm completed, he\nspat thrice upon my face, and I went home, not letting my eyes meet\nthose of any one we passed. Our food was nuts and acorns, our drink\nmilk and hydromel and water from the Choaspes, and we slept out of\ndoors on the grass. When he thought me sufficiently prepared, he took\nme at midnight to the Tigris, purified and rubbed me over, sanctified\nme with torches and squills and other things, muttering the charm\naforesaid, then made a magic circle round me to protect me from ghosts,\nand finally led me home backwards just as I was; it was now time to\narrange our voyage.\n\nHe himself put on a magic robe, Median in character, and fetched and\ngave me the cap, lion's skin, and lyre which you see, telling me if I\nwere asked my name not to say Menippus, but Heracles, Odysseus, or\nOrpheus.\n\n_Phi_. What was that for? I see no reason either for the get-up or for\nthe choice of names.\n\n_Me_. Oh, obvious enough; there is no mystery in that. He thought that\nas these three had gone down alive to Hades before us, I might easily\nelude Aeacus's guard by borrowing their appearance, and be passed as an\n_habitue_; there is good warrant in the theatre for the efficiency of\ndisguise.\n\nDawn was approaching when we went down to the river to embark; he had\nprovided a boat, victims, hydromel, and all necessaries for our mystic\nenterprise. We put all aboard, and then,\n\nTroubled at heart, with welling tears, we went.\n\n\nFor some distance we floated down stream, until we entered the marshy\nlake in which the Euphrates disappears. Beyond this we came to a\ndesolate, wooded, sunless spot; there we landed, Mithrobarzanes leading\nthe way, and proceeded to dig a pit, slay our sheep, and sprinkle their\nblood round the edge. Meanwhile the Mage, with a lighted torch in his\nhand, abandoning his customary whisper, shouted at the top of his voice\nan invocation to all spirits, particularly the Poenae and Erinyes,\n\nHecat's dark might, and dread Persephone,\n\n\nwith a string of other names, outlandish, unintelligible, and\npolysyllabic.\n\nAs he ended, there was a great commotion, earth was burst open by the\nincantation, the barking of Cerberus was heard far off, and all was\novercast and lowering;\n\nQuaked in his dark abyss the King of Shades;\n\n\nfor almost all was now unveiled to us, the lake, and Phlegethon, and\nthe abode of Pluto. Undeterred, we made our way down the chasm, and\ncame upon Rhadamanthus half dead with fear. Cerberus barked and looked\nlike getting up; but I quickly touched my lyre, and the first note\nsufficed to lull him. Reaching the lake, we nearly missed our passage\nfor that time, the ferry-boat being already full; there was incessant\nlamentation, and all the passengers had wounds upon them; mangled legs,\nmangled heads, mangled everything; no doubt there was a war going on.\nNevertheless, when good Charon saw the lion's skin, taking me for\nHeracles, he made room, was delighted to give me a passage, and showed\nus our direction when we got off.\n\nWe were now in darkness; so Mithrobarzanes led the way, and I followed\nholding on to him, until we reached a great meadow of asphodel, where\nthe shades of the dead, with their thin voices, came flitting round us.\nWorking gradually on, we reached the court of Minos; he was sitting on\na high throne, with the Poenae, Avengers, and Erinyes standing at the\nsides. From another direction was being brought a long row of persons\nchained together; I heard that they were adulterers, procurers,\npublicans, sycophants, informers, and all the filth that pollutes the\nstream of life. Separate from them came the rich and usurers, pale,\npot-bellied, and gouty, each with a hundredweight of spiked collar upon\nhim. There we stood looking at the proceedings and listening to the\npleas they put in; their accusers were orators of a strange and novel\nspecies.\n\n_Phi_. Who, in God's name? shrink not; let me know all.\n\n_Me_. It has not escaped your observation that the sun projects certain\nshadows of our bodies on the ground.\n\n_Phi_. How should it have?\n\n_Me_. These, when we die, are the prosecutors and witnesses who bring\nhome to us our conduct on earth; their constant attendance and absolute\nattachment to our persons secures them high credit in the witness-box.\n\nWell, Minos carefully examined each prisoner, and sent him off to the\nplace of the wicked to receive punishment proportionate to his\ntransgressions. He was especially severe upon those who, puffed up with\nwealth and authority, were expecting an almost reverential treatment;\nhe could not away with their ephemeral presumption and\nsuperciliousness, their failure to realize the mortality of themselves\nand their fortunes. Stripped of all that made them glorious, of wealth\nand birth and power, there they stood naked and downcast,\nreconstructing their worldly blessedness in their minds like a dream\nthat is gone; the spectacle was meat and drink to me; any that I knew\nby sight I would come quietly up to, and remind him of his state up\nhere; what a spirit had his been, when morning crowds lined his hall,\nexpectant of his coming, being jostled or thrust out by lacqueys! at\nlast my lord Sun would dawn upon them, in purple or gold or rainbow\nhues, not unconscious of the bliss he shed upon those who approached,\nif he let them kiss his breast or his hand. These reminders seemed to\nannoy them.\n\nMinos, however, did allow his decision to be influenced in one case.\nDionysius of Syracuse was accused by Dion of many unholy deeds, and\ndamning evidence was produced by his shadow; he was on the point of\nbeing chained to the Chimera, when Aristippus of Cyrene, whose name and\ninfluence are great below, got him off on the ground of his constant\ngenerosity as a patron of literature.\n\nWe left the court at last, and came to the place of punishment. Many a\npiteous sight and sound was there\u2014cracking of whips, shrieks of the\nburning, rack and gibbet and wheel; Chimera tearing, Cerberus\ndevouring; all tortured together, kings and slaves, governors and\npaupers, rich and beggars, and all repenting their sins. A few of them,\nthe lately dead, we recognized. These would turn away and shrink from\nobservation; or if they met our eyes, it would be with a slavish\ncringing glance\u2014how different from the arrogance and contempt that had\nmarked them in life! The poor were allowed half-time in their tortures,\nrespite and punishment alternating. Those with whom legend is so busy I\nsaw with my eyes\u2014Ixion, Sisyphus, the Phrygian Tantalus in all his\nmisery, and the giant Tityus\u2014how vast, his bulk covering a whole field!\n\nLeaving these, we entered the Acherusian plain, and there found the\ndemi-gods, men and women both, and the common dead, dwelling in their\nnations and tribes, some of them ancient and mouldering, 'strengthless\nheads,' as Homer has it, others fresh, with substance yet in them,\nEgyptians chiefly, these\u2014so long last their embalming drugs. But to\nknow one from another was no easy task; all are so like when the bones\nare bared; yet with pains and long scrutiny we could make them out.\nThey lay pell-mell in undistinguished heaps, with none of their earthly\nbeauties left. With all those anatomies piled together as like as could\nbe, eyes glaring ghastly and vacant, teeth gleaming bare, I knew not\nhow to tell Thersites from Nireus the beauty, beggar Irus from the\nPhaeacian king, or cook Pyrrhias from Agamemnon's self. Their ancient\nmarks were gone, and their bones alike\u2014uncertain, unlabelled,\nindistinguishable.\n\nWhen I saw all this, the life of man came before me under the likeness\nof a great pageant, arranged and marshalled by Chance, who distributed\ninfinitely varied costumes to the performers. She would take one and\narray him like a king, with tiara, bodyguard, and crown complete;\nanother she dressed like a slave; one was adorned with beauty, another\ngot up as a ridiculous hunchback; there must be all kinds in the show.\nOften before the procession was over she made individuals exchange\ncharacters; they could not be allowed to keep the same to the end;\nCroesus must double parts and appear as slave and captive; Maeandrius,\nstarting as slave, would take over Polycrates's despotism, and be\nallowed to keep his new clothes for a little while. And when the\nprocession is done, every one disrobes, gives up his character with his\nbody, and appears, as he originally was, just like his neighbour. Some,\nwhen Chance comes round collecting the properties, are silly enough to\nsulk and protest, as though they were being robbed of their own instead\nof only returning loans. You know the kind of thing on the stage\u2014tragic\nactors shifting as the play requires from Creon to Priam, from Priam to\nAgamemnon; the same man, very likely, whom you saw just now in all the\nmajesty of Cecrops or Erechtheus, treads the boards next as a slave,\nbecause the author tells him to. The play over, each of them throws off\nhis gold-spangled robe and his mask, descends from the buskin's height,\nand moves a mean ordinary creature; his name is not now Agamemnon son\nof Atreus or Creon son of Menoeceus, but Polus son of Charicles of\nSunium or Satyrus son of Theogiton of Marathon. Such is the condition\nof mankind, or so that sight presented it to me.\n\n_Phi_. Now, if a man occupies a costly towering sepulchre, or leaves\nmonuments, statues, inscriptions behind him on earth, does not this\nplace him in a class above the common dead?\n\n_Me_. Nonsense, my good man; if you had looked on Mausolus himself\u2014the\nCarian so famous for his tomb\u2014, I assure you, you would never have\nstopped laughing; he was a miserable unconsidered unit among the\ngeneral mass of the dead, flung aside in a dusty hole, with no profit\nof his sepulchre but its extra weight upon him. No, friend, when Aeacus\ngives a man his allowance of space\u2014and it never exceeds a foot's\nbreadth\u2014, he must be content to pack himself into its limits. You might\nhave laughed still more if you had beheld the kings and governors of\nearth begging in Hades, selling salt fish for a living, it might be, or\ngiving elementary lessons, insulted by any one who met them, and cuffed\nlike the most worthless of slaves. When I saw Philip of Macedon, I\ncould not contain myself; some one showed him to me cobbling old shoes\nfor money in a corner. Many others were to be seen begging\u2014people like\nXerxes, Darius, or Polycrates.\n\n_Phi_. These royal downfalls are extraordinary almost\u2014incredible. But\nwhat of Socrates, Diogenes, and such wise men?\n\n_Me_. Socrates still goes about proving everybody wrong, the same as\never; Palamedes, Odysseus, Nestor, and a few other conversational\nshades, keep him company. His legs, by the way, were still puffy and\nswollen from the poison. Good Diogenes pitches close to Sardanapalus,\nMidas, and other specimens of magnificence. The sound of their\nlamentations and better-day memories keeps him in laughter and spirits;\nhe is generally stretched on his back roaring out a noisy song which\ndrowns lamentation; it annoys them, and they are looking out for a new\npitch where he may not molest them.\n\n_Phi_. I am satisfied. And now for that decree which you told me had\nbeen passed against the rich.\n\n_Me_. Well remembered; that was what I meant to tell you about, but I\nhave somehow got far astray. Well, during my stay the presiding\nofficers gave notice of an assembly on matters of general interest. So,\nwhen I saw every one flocking to it, I mingled with the shades and\nconstituted myself a member. Various measures were decided upon, and\nlast came this question of the rich. Many grave accusations were\npreferred against them, including violence, ostentation, pride,\ninjustice; and at last a popular speaker rose and moved this decree.\n\nDECREE\n\n'Whereas the rich are guilty of many illegalities on earth, harrying\nand oppressing the poor and trampling upon all their rights, it is the\npleasure of the Senate and People that after death they shall be\npunished in their bodies like other malefactors, but their souls shall\nbe sent on earth to inhabit asses, until they have passed in that shape\na quarter-million of years, generation after generation, bearing\nburdens under the tender mercies of the poor; after which they shall be\npermitted to die. Mover of this decree\u2014Cranion son of Skeletion of the\ndeme Necysia in the Alibantid [Footnote: The four names are formed from\nwords meaning skull, skeleton, corpse, anatomy.] tribe.' The decree\nread, a formal vote was taken, in which the people accepted it. A snort\nfrom Brimo and a bark from Cerberus completed the proceedings according\nto the regular form.\n\nSo went the assembly. And now, in pursuance of my original design, I\nwent to Tiresias, explained my case fully, and implored him to give me\nhis views upon the best life. He is a blind little old man, pale and\nweak-voiced. He smiled and said:\u2014'My son, the cause of your perplexity,\nI know, is the fact that doctors differ; but I may not enlighten you;\nRhadamanthus forbids.' 'Ah, say not so, father,' I exclaimed; 'speak\nout, and leave me not to wander through life in a blindness worse than\nyours.' So he drew me apart to a considerable distance, and whispered\nin my ear:\u2014'The life of the ordinary man is the best and most prudent\nchoice; cease from the folly of metaphysical speculation and inquiry\ninto origins and ends, utterly reject their clever logic, count all\nthese things idle talk, and pursue one end alone\u2014how you may do what\nyour hand finds to do, and go your way with ever a smile and never a\npassion.'\n\nSo he, and sought the lawn of asphodel.\n\n\nIt was now late, and I told Mithrobarzanes that our work was done, and\nwe might reascend. 'Very well, Menippus,' said he, 'I will show you an\neasy short cut.' And taking me to a place where the darkness was\nespecially thick, he pointed to a dim and distant ray of light\u2014a mere\npencil admitted through a chink. 'There,' he said, 'is the shrine of\nTrophonius, from which the Boeotian inquirers start; go up that way,\nand you will be on Grecian soil without more ado.' I was delighted,\ntook my leave of the Mage, crawled with considerable difficulty through\nthe aperture, and found myself, sure enough, at Lebadea.\n\nH.\n\n\n\nCHARON\n\n_Hermes. Charon_\n\n_Her_. So gay, Charon? What makes you leave your ferry to come up here?\nYou are quite a stranger in the upper world.\n\n_Ch_. I thought I should like to see what life is like; what men do\nwith it, and what are these blessings of which they all lament the loss\nwhen they come down to us. Never one of them has made the passage\ndry-eyed. So I got leave from Pluto to take a day off, like that\nThessalian lad [Footnote: See Protesilaus in Notes.], you know; and\nhere I am, in the light of day. I am in luck, it seems, to fall in with\nyou. You will show me round, of course, and point out all that is to be\nseen, as you know all about it.\n\n_Her_. I have no time, good ferryman. I am bound on certain errands of\nthe Upper Zeus, certain human matters. He is short-tempered: any\nloitering on my part, and he may hand me over to you Powers of Darkness\nfor good and all; or treat me as he did Hephaestus the other day\u2014hurl\nme down headlong from the threshold of Heaven; there would be a pair of\nlame cupbearers then, to amuse the gods.\n\n_Ch_. And you would leave an old messmate wandering at large on the\nface of the earth? Think of the cruises we have sailed together, the\ncargoes you and I have handled! You might remember one thing, son of\nMaia; I have never set you down to bale or row. You lie sprawling about\nthe deck, you great strong lubber, snoring away, or chatting the whole\ntrip through with any communicative shade you can find; and the old man\nplies both oars at once. Come, stand by me, like a true son of Zeus as\nyou are, and show me all the ins and outs, there's a dear lad. I want\nto see something of life before I go back, and if you leave me in the\nlurch, I shall be no better off than a blind man: _he_ comes to grief\nbecause he is always in the dark, and, contrariwise, _I_ can make\nnothing of it in the light. Do me this good turn, and I'll not forget\nit.\n\n_Her_. Clearly this is to be a flogging matter for me. There will go\nsome shrewd knocks to the settlement of this reckoning. However, I must\ngive you a helping hand. What is one to do, when a friend is so\npressing? Now, as to going over everything thoroughly, it is out of the\nquestion; it would take us years. Meanwhile, I should have the\nhue-and-cry out after me, you would be neglecting your ghostly work,\nPluto would lose the shades that you ought to be shipping over all that\ntime, and Aeacus would never take a single toll, and would be\nproportionately furious. We have only to think, therefore, of\ncontriving you a general view of what is going on.\n\n_Ch_. You must do the best you can for me. I know nothing of the\nmatter, being a stranger up here.\n\n_Her_. The main thing is to get an elevation from which you may see in\nevery direction. If you could come up to Heaven, we should be saved any\nfurther trouble; you would then have a good bird's-eye view of\neverything. But it would be sacrilege for one so conversant with\nphantoms to set foot in the courts of Zeus. Let us lose no time,\ntherefore, in looking out a good high mountain.\n\n_Ch_. You know what I sometimes say to you on the ship, Hermes.\u2014If a\nsudden gust strikes the sail from a new quarter, and the waves are\nrising high, you landsmen know not what to make of it; you are for\ntaking in sail, or slackening the sheet, or letting her go before the\nwind, and then I tell you not to trouble your heads, for _I_ know what\nto do. Well, now it is your turn; you are sailing this ship; do as you\nthink best, and I'll sit quiet, as a passenger should, and obey orders.\n\n_Her_. Just so; leave it to me, and I will find a good look-out. How\nwould Caucasus do? Or is Parnassus higher? Olympus, perhaps, is higher\nthan either of them. Olympus! stay, that reminds me; I have a happy\nthought. But there is work for two here; I shall want your assistance.\n\n_Ch_. Give your orders, I'll bear a hand, to the best of my ability.\n\n_Her_. Homer tells us how the sons of Aloeus [Footnote: See _Olus_ in\nNotes.] (they were but two, like ourselves) took it into their heads,\nwhen they were yet children, to drag up Ossa from its foundations, and\nplant it on the top of Olympus, and then Pelion on the top of all; they\nthought that would serve as a ladder for getting into heaven. The two\nboys were rightly punished for their presumption. But _we_ have no\ndesign against the Gods: why should not we take the hint, and make an\nerection of mountains piled one on the top of another? From such a\nheight we should get a better view.\n\n_Ch_. What, shall we two be able to lift Pelion or Ossa?\n\n_Her_. Why not? We are gods; I should hope we are as good as those two\ninfants.\n\n_Ch_. Yes; but I should never have thought we could do such a job as\nthat.\n\n_Her_. Ah, my dear Charon, you don't understand these things; you have\nno imagination. To the lofty spirit of Homer this is simplicity itself.\nJust a couple of lines, and the mountains are in place;\u2014we have only to\nwalk up. I wonder you make such a marvel of this. You know Atlas, of\ncourse? He holds up the entire heaven by himself, Gods and all. And I\ndare say you have heard how my brother Heracles relieved him once, and\ntook the burden on his own shoulders for a time?\n\n_Ch_. Yes, I have heard it. But you and the poets best know whether it\nis true.\n\n_Her_. Oh, perfectly true. What should induce wise men to lie?\u2014Come,\nlet us get to work on Ossa first; for so the masterbuilder directs:\n\n  Ossa first;\n  On Ossa leafy Pelion.\n\n\nThere! What think you of this? Is it suave work? is it poetry? I must\nrun up, and see whether we shall want another storey. Oh dear, we are\nno way up as yet. On the East, it is all I can do to make out Ionia and\nLydia; on the West is nothing but Italy and Sicily; on the North,\nnothing to be seen beyond the Danube; and on the South, Crete, none too\nclear. It looks to me as if we should want Oeta, my nautical friend;\nand Parnassus into the bargain.\n\n_Ch_. So be it; but take care not to make the height too great for the\nwidth; or down we shall come, ladder and all, and pay our footing in\nthe Homeric school of architecture with a cracked crown apiece.\n\n_Her_. No fear; all will be safe enough. Pass Oeta along. Now trundle\nParnassus up. There; I'll go up again\u2026. That's better! A fine view. You\ncan come now.\n\n_Ch_. Give me a hand up, Hermes. This _is_ an erection, and no mistake!\n\n_Her_. Well, you know, you would see everything. Safety is one thing,\nmy friend, and sight-seeing is another. Here is my hand; hang on, and\nkeep clear of the slippery bits. There, now _you_ are up. Let us sit\ndown; here are two peaks, one for each of us. Now take a general look\nround at the prospect.\n\n_Ch_. I see a vast stretch of land, and a huge lake surrounding it, and\nmountains, and rivers bigger than Cocytus and Pyriphlegethon; and men,\ntiny little things! and I suppose their dens.\n\n_Her. Dens_? Those are cities!\n\n_Ch_. I tell you what it is, Hermes; all this is no use. Here have we\nbeen shifting about Parnassus (Castalia and all complete), and Oeta,\nand these others, and we might have spared ourselves the trouble!\n\n_Her_. How so?\n\n_Ch_. Why, I can make nothing out up here. These cities and mountains\nlook for all the world like a map. It is _men_ that I am after; I want\nto see what they do, and hear what they say. That is what I was\nlaughing about just now, when first you met me, and asked me what the\njoke was. I had heard something that tickled me hugely.\n\n_Her_. And what might that be?\n\n_Ch_. One of them had been asked by a friend to dinner, I think it was,\nthe next day. 'Depend on it,' says he, 'I'll be with you.' And before\nthe words were out of his mouth, down came a tile\u2014started somehow from\nthe roof\u2014and he was a dead man! Ha, ha, thought I, _that_ promise will\nnever be kept. So I think I shall go down again; I want to see and\nhear.\n\n_Her_. Sit where you are. I will soon put that right; you shall see\nwith the best; Homer has a charm for this too. Now, the moment I say\nthe lines, there must be no more dull eyes; all must be clear as\ndaylight. Don't forget!\n\n_Ch_. Say on.\n\n_Her_.\n\n  See, from before thine eyes I lift the veil;\n  So shalt thou clearly know both God and man.\n\n\nWell? Are the eyes any better?\n\n_Ch_. A marvellous improvement! Lynceus is blind to me. Now, the next\nthing I want is information. I have some questions to ask. Will you\nhave them couched in the Homeric style, to convince you that I am not\nwholly unversed in his poems?\n\n_Her_. And how should you know anything of Homer? A seaman, chained to\nthe oar!\n\n_Ch_. Come, come; no abuse of my profession. The fact is, when he died,\nand I ferried him over, I heard a good many of his ballads, and a few\nof them still run in my head. There was a pretty stiff gale on at the\ntime, too. You see, he began singing a song about Posidon, which boded\nno good to us mariners,\u2014how Posidon gathered the clouds, and stirred\nthe depths with his trident, as with a ladle, and roused the whirlwind,\nand a good deal more (enough to raise a storm of itself),\u2014when suddenly\nthere came a black squall which nearly capsized the boat. The poet was\nextremely ill, and disgorged such an avalanche of minstrelsy (Scylla,\nCharybdis, the Cyclops, all came up bodily), that I had no difficulty\nin preserving a few snatches. I should like to know, for instance,\n\n  Who is yon hero, stout and strong and tall,\n  O'ertopping all mankind by head and shoulders?\n\n\n_Her_. That is Milo of Croton, the athlete. He has just picked up a\nbull, and is carrying it along the race-course; and the Greeks are\napplauding him.\n\n_Ch_. It would be more to the point, if they were to offer their\ncongratulations to _me_. I shall presently be picking up Milo himself,\nand putting him into my boat; that will be after he has had his fall\nfrom Death, that most invincible of antagonists, who will have him on\nhis back before he knows what is happening. We shall hear a sad tale\nthen, no doubt, of the crowns and the applause he has left behind him.\nMeanwhile, he is mightily elated over the bull exploit, and the\ndistinction it has won him. What is one to think? Does it ever occur to\nhim that he must _die_ some day?\n\n_Her_. How should he think of death? He is at his zenith.\n\n_Ch_. Well, never mind him. We shall have sport enough with him before\nlong; he will come aboard with no strength left to pick up a gnat, let\nalone a bull. But pray,\n\n  Who is yon haughty hero?\n  No Greek, to judge by his dress.\n\n\n_Her_. That is Cyrus, son of Cambyses, who transferred to the Persians\nthe ancient empire of the Medes. He has lately conquered Assyria, and\nreduced Babylon; and now it looks as if he meditated an invasion of\nLydia, to complete his dominion by the overthrow of Croesus.\n\n_Ch_. And whereabouts is Croesus?\n\n_Her_. Look over there. You see the great city with the triple wall?\nThat is Sardis. And there, look, is Croesus himself, reclining on a\ngolden couch, and conversing with Solon the Athenian. Shall we listen\nto what they are saying?\n\n_Ch_. Yes, let us.\n\n_Cr. Stranger, you have now seen my stores of treasure, my heaps of\nbullion, and all my riches. Tell me therefore, whom do you account the\nhappiest of mankind_?\n\n_Ch_. What will Solon say, I wonder?\n\n_Her_. Trust Solon; he will not disgrace himself.\n\n_So_. _Croesus, few men are happy. Of those whom I know, the happiest,\nI think, were Cleobis and Biton, the sons of the Argive priestess_.\n\n_Ch_. Ah, he means those two who yoked themselves to a waggon, and drew\ntheir mother to the temple, and died the moment after. It was but the\nother day.\n\n_Cr_. _Ah. So they are first on the list. And who comes next_?\n\n_So_. _Tellus the Athenian, who lived a righteous life, and died for\nhis country_.\n\n_Cr_. _And where do I come, reptile_?\n\n_So_. _That I am unable to say at present, Croesus; I must see you end\nyour days first. Death is the sure test;\u2014a happy end to a life of\nhappiness_.\n\n_Ch_. Bravo, Solon; _you_ have not forgotten us! As you say, Charon's\nferry is the proper place for the decision of these questions.\u2014But who\nare these men whom Croesus is sending out? And what have they got on\ntheir shoulders?\n\n_Her_. Those are bars of gold; they are going to Delphi, to pay for an\noracle, which oracle will presently be the ruin of Croesus. But oracles\nare a hobby of his.\n\n_Ch_. Oh, so that is _gold_, that glittering yellow stuff, with just a\ntinge of red in it. I have often heard of gold, but never saw it\nbefore.\n\n_Her_. Yes, that is the stuff there is so much talking and squabbling\nabout.\n\n_Ch_. Well now, I see no advantages about it, unless it is an advantage\nthat it is heavy to carry.\n\n_Her_. Ah, you do not know what it has to answer for; the wars and\nplots and robberies, the perjuries and murders; for this men will\nendure slavery and imprisonment; for this they traffic and sail the\nseas.\n\n_Ch_. For this stuff? Why, it is not much different from copper. I know\ncopper, of course, because I get a penny from each passenger.\n\n_Her_. Yes, but copper is plentiful, and therefore not much esteemed by\nmen. Gold is found only in small quantities, and the miners have to go\nto a considerable depth for it. For the rest, it comes out of the\nearth, just the same as lead and other metals.\n\n_Ch_. What fools men must be, to be enamoured of an object of this\nsallow complexion; and of such a weight!\n\n_Her_. Well, Solon, at any rate, seems to have no great affection for\nit. See, he is making merry with Croesus and his outlandish\nmagnificence. I think he is going to ask him a question. Listen.\n\n_So_. _Croesus, will those bars be any use to Apollo, do you think?_\n\n_Cr_. _Any use! Why there is nothing at Delphi to be compared to them._\n\n_So_. _And that is all that is wanting to complete his happiness,\neh?\u2014some bar gold?_\n\n_Cr_. _Undoubtedly._\n\n_So_. _Then they must be very hard up in Heaven, if they have to send\nall the way to Lydia for their gold supply?_\n\n_Cr_. _Where else is gold to be had in such abundance as with us?_\n\n_So_. _Now is any iron found in Lydia?_\n\n_Cr_. _Not much._\n\n_So_. _Ah; so you are lacking in the more valuable metal._\n\n_Cr_. _More valuable? Iron more valuable than gold?_\n\n_So_. _Bear with me, while I ask you a few questions, and I will\nconvince you it is so._\n\n_Cr_. _Well?_\n\n_So_. _Of protector and protege, which is the better man?_\n\n_Cr_. _The protector, of course._\n\n_So_. _Now in the event of Cyrus's invading Lydia\u2014there is some talk of\nit\u2014shall you supply your men with golden swords? or will iron be\nrequired, on the occasion?_\n\n_Cr_. _Oh, iron._\n\n_So_. _Iron accordingly you must have, or your gold would be led\ncaptive into Persia?_\n\n_Cr_. _Blasphemer!_\n\n_So_. _Oh, we will hope for the best. But it is clear, on your own\nadmission, that iron is better than gold._\n\n_Cr_. _And what would you have me do? Recall the gold, and offer the\nGod bars of iron?_\n\n_So_. _He has no occasion for iron either. Your offering (be the metal\nwhat it may) will fall into other hands than his. It will be snapped up\nby the Phocians, or the Boeotians, or the God's own priests; or by some\ntyrant or robber. Your goldsmiths have no interest for Apollo._\n\n_Cr_. _You are always having a stab at my wealth. It is all envy!_\n\n_Her_. This blunt sincerity is not to the Lydian's taste. Things are\ncome to a strange pass, he thinks, if a poor man is to hold up his\nhead, and speak his mind in this frank manner! He will remember Solon\npresently, when the time comes for Cyrus to conduct him in chains to\nthe pyre. I heard Clotho, the other day, reading over the various\ndooms. Among other things, Croesus was to be led captive by Cyrus, and\nCyrus to be murdered by the queen of the Massagetae. There she is: that\nScythian woman, riding on a white horse; do you see?\n\n_Ch_. Yes.\n\n_Her_. That is Tomyris. She will cut off Cyrus's head, and put it into\na wine-skin filled with blood. And do you see his son, the boy there?\nThat is Cambyses. He will succeed to his father's throne; and, after\ninnumerable defeats in Libya and Ethiopia, will finally slay the god\nApis, and die a raving madman.\n\n_Ch_. What fun! Why, at this moment no one would presume to meet their\neyes; from such a height do they look down on the rest of mankind. Who\nwould believe that before long one of them will be a captive, and the\nother have his head in a bottle of blood?\u2014But who is that in the purple\nrobe, Hermes?\u2014the one with the diadem? His cook has just been cleaning\na fish, and is now handing him a ring,\u2014\"in yonder sea-girt isle\";\n\"'tis, sure, some king.\"\n\n_Her_.Ha, ha! A parody, this time.\u2014That is Polycrates, tyrant of Samos.\nHe is extremely well pleased with his lot: yet that slave who now\nstands at his side will betray him to the satrap Oroetes, and he will\nbe crucified. It will not take long to overturn _his_ prosperity, poor\nman! This, too, I had from Clotho.\n\n_Ch_. I like Clotho; she is a lady of spirit. Have at them, madam! Off\nwith their heads! To the cross with them! Let them know that they are\nmen. And let them be exalted in the meantime; the higher they mount,\nthe heavier will be the fall. I shall have a merry time of it\nhereafter, identifying their naked shades, as they come aboard; no more\npurple robes then; no tiaras; no golden couches!\n\n_Her_. So much for royalty; and now to the common herd. Do you see\nthem, Charon;\u2014on their ships and on the field of battle; crowding the\nlaw-courts and following the plough; usurers here, beggars there?\n\n_Ch_. I see them. What a jostling life it is! What a world of ups and\ndowns! Their cities remind me of bee-hives. Every man keeps a sting for\nhis neighbour's service; and a few, like wasps, make spoil of their\nweaker brethren. But what are all these misty shapes that beset them on\nevery side?\n\n_Her_. Hopes, Fears, Follies, Pleasures, Greeds, Hates, Grudges, and\nsuch like. They differ in their habits. The Folly is a domestic\ncreature, with vested rights of its own. The same with the Grudge, the\nHate, the Envy, the Greed, the Know-not, and the What's-to-do. But the\nFear and the Hope fly overhead. The Fear swoops on its prey from above;\nsometimes it is content with startling a man out of his wits, sometimes\nit frightens him in real earnest. The Hope hovers almost within reach,\nand just when a man thinks he is going to catch it, off it flies, and\nleaves him gaping\u2014like Tantalus in the water, you know. Now look\nclosely, and you will make out the Fates up aloft, spinning each man\nhis spindle-full; from that spindle a man hangs by a narrow thread. Do\nyou see what looks like a cobweb, coming down to each man from the\nspindles?\n\n_Ch_. I see each has a very slight thread. They are mostly entangled,\none with another, and that other with a third.\n\n_Her_. Of course they are. Because the first man has got to be murdered\nby the second, and he by the third; or again, B is to be A's heir (A's\nthread being the shorter), and C is to be B's. That is what the\nentangling means. But you see what thin threads they all have to depend\non. Now here is one drawn high up into the air; presently his thread\nwill snap, when the weight becomes too much for it, and down he will\ncome with a bang: whereas yonder fellow hangs so low that when he does\nfall it makes no noise; his next-door neighbours will scarcely hear him\ndrop.\n\n_Ch_. How absurd it all is!\n\n_Her_. My dear Charon, there is no word for the absurdity of it. They\ndo take it all so seriously, that is the best of it; and then, long\nbefore they have finished scheming, up comes good old Death, and whisks\nthem off, and all is over! You observe that he has a fine staff of\nassistants at his command;\u2014agues, consumptions, fevers, inflammations,\nswords, robbers, hemlock, juries, tyrants,\u2014not one of which gives them\na moment's concern so long as they are prosperous; but when they come\nto grief, then it is Alack! and Well-a-day! and Oh dear me! If only\nthey would start with a clear understanding that they are mortal, that\nafter a brief sojourn on the earth they will wake from the dream of\nlife, and leave all behind them,\u2014they would live more sensibly, and not\nmind dying so much. As it is, they get it into their heads that what\nthey possess they possess for good and all; the consequence is, that\nwhen Death's officer calls for them, and claps on a fever or a\nconsumption, they take it amiss; the parting is so wholly unexpected.\nYonder is a man building his house, urging the workmen to use all\ndispatch. How would he take the news, that he was just to see the roof\non and all complete, when he would have to take his departure, and\nleave all the enjoyment to his heir?\u2014hard fate, not once to sup beneath\nit! There again is one rejoicing over the birth of a son; the child is\nto inherit his grandfather's name, and the father is celebrating the\noccasion with his friends. He would not be so pleased, if he knew that\nthe boy was to die before he was eight years old! It is natural enough:\nhe sees before him some happy father of an Olympian victor, and has no\neyes for his neighbour there, who is burying a child; _that_ thin-spun\nthread escapes his notice. Behold, too, the money-grubbers, whom the\naforesaid Death's-officers will never permit to be money-spenders; and\nthe noble army of litigant neighbours!\n\n_Ch_. Yes! I see it all; and I ask myself, what is the satisfaction in\nlife? What is it that men bewail the loss of? Take their kings; they\nseem to be best off, though, as you say, they have their happiness on a\nprecarious tenure; but apart from that, we shall find their pleasures\nto be outweighed by the vexations inseparable from their position\u2014worry\nand anxiety, flattery here, conspiracy there, enmity everywhere; to say\nnothing of the tyranny of Sorrow, Disease, and Passion, with whom there\nis confessedly no respect of persons. And if the king's lot is a hard\none, we may make a pretty shrewd guess at that of the commoner. Come\nnow, I will give you a similitude for the life of man. Have you ever\nstood at the foot of a waterfall, and marked the bubbles rising to the\nsurface and gathering into foam? Some are quite small, and break as\nsoon as they are born. Others last longer; new ones come to join them,\nand they swell up to a great size: yet in the end they burst, as surely\nas the rest; it cannot be otherwise. There you have human life. All men\nare bubbles, great or small, inflated with the breath of life. Some are\ndestined to last for a brief space, others perish in the very moment of\nbirth: but all must inevitably burst.\n\n_Her_. Homer compares mankind to leaves. Your simile is full as good as\nhis.\n\n_Ch_. And being the things they are, they do\u2014the things you see;\nsquabbling among themselves, and contending for dominion and power and\nriches, all of which they will have to leave behind them, when they\ncome down to us with their penny apiece. Now that we are up here, how\nwould it be for me to cry out to them at the top of my voice, to\nabstain from their vain endeavours, and live with the prospect of Death\nbefore their eyes? 'Fools' (I might say), 'why so much in earnest? Rest\nfrom your toils. You will not live for ever. Nothing of the pomp of\nthis world will endure; nor can any man take anything hence when he\ndies. He will go naked out of the world, and his house and his lands\nand his gold will be another's, and ever another's.' If I were to call\nout something of this sort, loud enough for them to hear, would it not\ndo some good? Would not the world be the better for it?\n\n_Her_. Ah, my poor friend, you know not what you say. Ignorance and\ndeceit have done for them what Odysseus did for his crew when he was\nafraid of the Sirens; they have waxed men's ears up so effectually,\nthat no drill would ever open them. How then should they hear you? You\nmight shout till your lungs gave way. Ignorance is as potent here as\nthe waters of Lethe are with you. There are a few, to be sure, who from\na regard for Truth have refused the wax process; men whose eyes are\nopen to discern good and evil.\n\n_Ch_. Well then, we might call out to _them_?\n\n_Her_. There again: where would be the use of telling them what they\nknow already? See, they stand aloof from the rest of mankind, and scoff\nat all that goes on; nothing is as they would have it. Nay, they are\nevidently bent on giving life the slip, and joining you. Their\ncondemnations of folly make them unpopular here.\n\n_Ch_. Well done, my brave boys! There are not many of them, though,\nHermes.\n\n_Her_. These must serve. And now let us go down.\n\n_Ch_. There is still one thing I had a fancy to see. Show me the\nreceptacles into which they put the corpses, and your office will have\nbeen discharged.\n\n_Her_. Ah, _sepulchres_, those are called, or _tombs_, or _graves_.\nWell, do you see those mounds, and columns, and pyramids, outside the\nvarious city walls? Those are the store-chambers of the dead.\n\n_Ch_. Why, they are putting flowers on the stones, and pouring costly\nessences upon them. And in front of some of the mounds they have piled\nup faggots, and dug trenches. Look: there is a splendid banquet laid\nout, and they are burning it all; and pouring wine and mead, I suppose\nit is, into the trenches! What does it all mean?\n\n_Her_. What satisfaction it affords to their friends in Hades, I am\nunable to say. But the idea is, that the shades come up, and get as\nclose as they can, and feed upon the savoury steam of the meat, and\ndrink the mead in the trench.\n\n_Ch_. Eat and drink, when their skulls are dry bone? But I am wasting\nmy breath: you bring them down every day;\u2014_you_ can say whether they\nare likely ever to get up again, once they are safely underground! That\nwould be too much of a good thing! You would have your work cut out for\nyou and no mistake, if you had not only to bring them down, but also to\ntake them up again when they wanted a drink. Oh, fools and blockheads!\nYou little know how we arrange matters, or what a gulf is set betwixt\nthe living and the dead!\n\n  The buried and unburied, both are Death's.\n  He ranks alike the beggar and the king;\n  Thersites sits by fair-haired Thetis' son.\n  Naked and withered roam the fleeting shades\n  Together through the fields of asphodel.\n\n\n_Her_. Bless me, what a deluge of Homer! And now I think of it, I must\nshow you Achilles's tomb. There it is on the Trojan shore, at Sigeum.\nAnd across the water is Rhoeteum, where Ajax lies buried.\n\n_Ch_. Rather small tombs, considering. Now show me the great cities,\nthose that we hear talked about in Hades; Nineveh, Babylon, Mycenae,\nCleonae, and Troy itself. I shipped numbers across from there, I\nremember. For ten years running I had no time to haul my boat up and\nclean it.\n\n_Her_. Why, as to Nineveh, it is gone, friend, long ago, and has left\nno trace behind it; there is no saying whereabouts it may have been.\nBut there is Babylon, with its fine battlements and its enormous wall.\nBefore long it will be as hard to find as Nineveh. As to Mycenae and\nCleonae, I am ashamed to show them to you, let alone Troy. You will\nthrottle Homer, for certain, when you get back, for puffing them so.\nThey were prosperous cities, too, in their day; but they have gone the\nway of all flesh. Cities, my friend, die, just like men; stranger\nstill, so do rivers! Inachus is gone from Argos\u2014not a puddle left.\n\n_Ch_. Oh, Homer, Homer! You and your 'holy Troy,' and your 'city of\nbroad streets,' and your 'strong-walled Cleonae'!\u2014By the way, what is\nthat battle going on over there? What are they murdering one another\nabout?\n\n_Her_. It is between the Argives and the Lacedaemonians. The general\nwho lies there half-dead, writing an inscription on the trophy with his\nown blood, is Othryades.\n\n_Ch_. And what were they fighting for?\n\n_Her_. For the field of battle, neither more nor less.\n\n_Ch_. The fools! Not to know that though each one of them should win to\nhimself a whole Peloponnesus, he will get but a bare foot of ground\nfrom Aeacus! As to yonder plain, one nation will till it after another,\nand many a time will that trophy be turned up by the plough.\n\n_Her_. Even so. And now let us get down, and put these mountains to\nrights again. After which, I must be off on my errand, and you back to\nyour ferry. You will see me there before long, with the day's\ncontingent of shades.\n\n_Ch_. I am much obliged to you, Hermes; the service shall be\nperpetuated in my records. Thanks to you, my outing has been a success.\nDear, dear, what a world it is!\u2014And never a word of Charon!\n\nF.\n\n\n\nOF SACRIFICE\n\nMethinks that man must lie sore stricken under the hand of sorrow, who\nhas not a smile left for the folly of his superstitious brethren, when\nhe sees them at work on sacrifice and festival and worship of the gods,\nhears the subject of their prayers, and marks the nature of their\ncreed. Nor, I fancy, will a smile be all. He will first have a question\nto ask himself: Is he to call them devout worshippers or very outcasts,\nwho think so meanly of God as to suppose that he can require anything\nat the hand of man, can take pleasure in their flattery, or be wounded\nby their neglect? Thus the afflictions of the Calydonians, that long\ntale of misery and violence, ending with the death of Meleager\u2014all is\nattributed to the resentment of Artemis, at Oeneus's neglect in not\ninviting her to a feast. She must have taken the disappointment very\nmuch to heart. I fancy I see her, poor Goddess, left all alone in\nHeaven, after the rest have set out for Calydon, brooding darkly over\nthe fine spread at which she will not be present. Those Ethiopians,\ntoo; privileged, thrice-happy mortals! Zeus, one supposes, is not\nunmindful of the handsome manner in which they entertained him and all\nhis family for twelve days running. With the Gods, clearly, nothing\ngoes for nothing. Each blessing has its price. Health is to be had,\nsay, for a calf; wealth, for a couple of yoke of oxen; a kingdom, for a\nhecatomb. A safe conduct from Troy to Pylos has fetched as much as nine\nbulls, and a passage from Aulis to Troy has been quoted at a princess.\nFor six yoke of oxen and a robe, Athene sold Hecuba a reprieve for\nTroy; and it is to be presumed that a cock, a garland, a handful of\nfrankincense, will each buy something.\n\nChryses, that experienced divine and eminent theologian, seems to have\nrealized this principle. Returning from his fruitless visit to\nAgamemnon, he approaches Apollo with the air of a creditor, and demands\nrepayment of his loan. His attitude is one of remonstrance, almost,\n'Good Apollo,' he cries, 'here have I been garlanding your temple,\nwhere never garland hung before, and burning unlimited thigh-pieces of\nbulls and goats upon your altars: yet when I suffer wrong, you take no\nheed; you count my benefactions as nothing worth.' The God is quite put\nout of countenance: he seizes his bow, settles down in the harbour and\nsmites the Achaeans with shafts of pestilence, them and their mules and\ntheir dogs.\n\nAnd now that I have mentioned Apollo, I cannot refrain from an allusion\nto certain other passages in his life, which are recorded by the sages.\nWith his unfortunate love affairs\u2014the sad end of Hyacinth, and the\ncruelty of Daphne\u2014we are not concerned. But when that vote of censure\nwas passed on him for the slaughter of the Cyclopes, he was dismissed\nfrom Heaven, and condemned to share the fortunes of men upon earth. It\nwas then that he served Admetus in Thessaly, and Laomedon in Phrygia;\nand in the latter service he was not alone. He and Posidon together,\nsince better might not be, made bricks and built the walls of Troy; and\ndid not even get their full wages;\u2014the Phrygian, it is said, remained\ntheir debtor for no less a sum than five-and-twenty shillings Trojan,\nand odd pence. These, and yet holier mysteries than these, are the high\nthemes of our poets. They tell of Hephaestus and of Prometheus; of\nCronus and Rhea, and well-nigh all the family of Zeus. And as they\nnever commence their poems without bespeaking the assistance of the\nMuses, we must conclude that it is under that divine inspiration that\nthey sing, how Cronus unmanned his father Uranus, and was king in his\nroom; and how, like Argive Thyestes, he swallowed his own children; and\nhow thereafter Rhea saved Zeus by the fraud of the stone, and the child\nwas exposed in Crete, and suckled by a goat, as Telephus was by a hind,\nand Cyrus the Great by a bitch; and how he dethroned his father, and\nthrew him into prison, and was king; and of his many wives, and how\nfinally (like a Persian or an Assyrian) he married his own sister Hera;\nand of his love adventures, and how he peopled the Heaven with gods,\nay, and with demi-gods, the rogue! for he wooed the daughters of earth,\nappearing to them now in a shower of gold, now in the form of a bull or\na swan or an eagle; a very Proteus for versatility. Once, and only\nonce, he conceived within his own brain, and gave birth to Athene. For\nDionysus, they say, he tore from the womb of Semele before the fire had\nyet consumed her, and hid the child within his thigh, till the time of\ntravail was come.\n\nSimilarly, we find Hera conceiving without external assistance, and\ngiving birth to Hephaestus; no child of fortune he, but a base\nmechanic, living all his life at the forge, soot-begrimed as any\nstoker. He is not even sound of limb; he has been lame ever since Zeus\nthrew him down from Heaven. Fortunately for us the Lemnians broke his\nfall, or there would have been an end of him, as surely as there was of\nAstyanax when he was flung from the battlements. But Hephaestus is\nnothing to Prometheus. Who knows not the sorrows of that officious\nphilanthropist? How he too fell a victim to the wrath of Zeus, and was\ncarried into Scythia, and nailed up on Caucasus, with an eagle to keep\nhim company and make daily havoc of his liver? However, _there_ was a\nreckoning settled, at any rate. But Rhea, now! We cannot, I think, pass\nover her conduct unnoticed. It is surely most discreditable;\u2014a lady of\nher venerable years, the mother of such a family, still feeling the\npangs of love and jealousy, and carrying her beloved Attis about with\nher in the lion-drawn car,\u2014and he so ill qualified to play the lover's\npart! After that, we can but wink, if we find Aphrodite making a slip,\nor Selene time after time pulling up in mid-career to pay a visit to\nEndymion.\n\nBut enough of scandal. Borne on the wings of poesy, let us take flight\nfor Heaven itself, as Homer and Hesiod have done before us, and see how\nall is disposed up there. The vault is of brass on the under side, as\nwe know from Homer. But climb over the edge, and take a peep up. You\nare now actually in Heaven. Observe the increase of light; here is a\npurer Sun, and brighter stars; daylight is everywhere, and the floor is\nof gold. We arrive first at the abode of the Seasons; they are the\nfortresses of Heaven. Then we have Iris and Hermes, the servants and\nmessengers of Zeus; and next Hephaestus's smithy, which is stocked with\nall manner of cunning contrivances. Last come the dwellings of the\nGods, and the palace of Zeus. All are the work of Hephaestus; and noble\nwork it is.\n\nHard by the throne of Zeus\n\n\n(I suppose we must adapt our language to our altitude)\n\nsit all the gods.\n\n\nTheir eyes are turned downwards; intently they search every corner of\nthe earth; is there nowhere a fire to be seen, or the steam of burnt-\nofferings\n\n... in eddying clouds upborne?\n\n\nIf a sacrifice is going forward, all mouths are open to feast upon the\nsmoke; like flies they settle on the altar to drink up the trickling\nstreams of blood. If they are dining at home, nectar and ambrosia is\nthe bill of fare. In ancient days, mortals have eaten and drunk at\ntheir table. Such were Ixion and Tantalus; but they forgot their\nmanners, and talked too much. They are paying the penalty for it to\nthis day; and since then mortals have been excluded from Heaven.\n\nThe life of the Gods being such as I have described, our religious\nordinances are in admirable harmony with the divine requirements. Our\nfirst care has been to supply each God with his sacred grove, his holy\nhill, and his own peculiar bird or plant. The next step was to assign\nthem their various sacred cities. Apollo has the freedom of Delphi and\nDelos, Athene that of Athens (there is no disputing _her_ nationality);\nHera is an Argive, Rhea a Mygdonian, Aphrodite a Paphian. As for Zeus,\nhe is a Cretan born and bred\u2014and buried, as any native of that island\nwill show you. It was a mistake of ours to suppose that Zeus was\ndispensing the thunder and the rain and the rest of it;\u2014he has been\nlying snugly underground in Crete all this time. As it would never have\ndone to leave the Gods without a hearth and home, temples were now\nerected, and the services of Phidias, Polyclitus, and Praxiteles were\ncalled in to create images in their likeness. Chance glimpses of their\noriginals (but where obtained I know not) enabled these artists to do\njustice to the beard of Zeus, the perpetual youth of Apollo, the down\non Hermes's cheek, Posidon's sea-green hair, and Athene's flashing\neyes; with the result that on entering the temple of Zeus men believe\nthat they see before them, not Indian ivory, nor gold from a Thracian\nmine, but the veritable son of Cronus and Rhea, translated to earth by\nthe hand of Phidias, with instructions to keep watch over the deserted\nplains of Pisa, and content with his lot, if, once in four years, a\nspectator of the games can snatch a moment to pay him sacrifice.\n\nAnd now the altars stand ready; proclamation has been made, and\nlustration duly performed. The victims are accordingly brought\nforward\u2014an ox from the plough, a ram or a goat, according as the\nworshipper is a farmer, a shepherd, or a goatherd; sometimes it is only\nfrankincense or a honey cake; nay, a poor man may conciliate the God by\nmerely kissing his hand. But it is with the priests that we are\nconcerned. They first make sure that the victim is without blemish, and\nworthy of the sacrificial knife; then they crown him with garlands and\nlead him to the altar, where he is slaughtered before the God's eyes,\nto the broken accompaniment of his own sanctimonious bellowings, most\nmusical, most melancholy. The delight of the Gods at such a spectacle,\nwho can doubt?\n\nAccording to the proclamation, no man shall approach the holy ground\nwith _unclean hands_. Yet there stands the priest himself, wallowing in\ngore; handling his knife like a very Cyclops, drawing out entrails and\nheart, sprinkling the altar with blood,\u2014in short, omitting no detail of\nhis holy office. Finally, he kindles fire, and sets the victim bodily\nthereon, sheep or goat, unfleeced, unflayed. A godly steam, and fit for\ngodly nostrils, rises heavenwards, and drifts to each quarter of the\nsky. The Scythian, by the way, will have nothing to do with paltry\ncattle: he offers _men_ to Artemis; and the offering is appreciated.\n\nBut all this, and all that Assyria, Phrygia, and Lydia can show,\namounts to nothing much. If you would see the Gods in their glory, fit\ndenizens of Heaven, you must go to Egypt. There you will find that Zeus\nhas sprouted ram's horns, our old friend Hermes has the muzzle of a\ndog, and Pan is perfect goat; ibis, crocodile, ape,\u2014each is a God in\ndisguise.\n\nAnd wouldst thou know the truth that lurks herein?\n\n\nIf so, you will find no lack of sages and scribes and shaven priests to\ninform you (after expulsion of the _profanum vulgus_) how, when the\nGiants and their other enemies rose against them, the Gods fled to\nEgypt to hide themselves, and there took the form of goat and ram, of\nbird and reptile, which forms they preserve to this day. Of all this\nthey have documentary evidence, dating from thousands of years back,\nstored up in their temples. Their sacrifices differ from others only in\nthis respect, that they go into mourning for the victim, slaying him\nfirst, and beating their breasts for grief afterwards, and (in some\nparts) burying him as soon as he is killed. When their great god Apis\ndies, off comes every man's hair, however much he values himself on it;\nthough he had the purple lock of Nisus, it would make no difference: he\nmust show a sad crown on the occasion, if he die for it. It is as the\nresult of an election that each succeeding Apis leaves his pasture for\nthe temple; his superior beauty and majestic bearing prove that he is\nsomething more than bull.\n\nOn such absurdities as these, such vulgar credulity, remonstrance would\nbe thrown away; a Heraclitus would best meet the case, or a Democritus;\nfor the ignorance of these men is as laughable as their folly is\ndeplorable.\n\nF.\n\n\n\nSALE OF CREEDS\n\n[Footnote: The distinction between the personified creeds or\nphilosophies here offered for sale, and their various founders or\nprincipal exponents, is but loosely kept up. Not only do most of the\ncreeds bear the names of their founders, but some are even credited\nwith their physical peculiarities and their personal experiences.]\n\n_Zeus. Hermes. Several Dealers. Creeds_.\n\n_Zeus_. Now get those benches straight there, and make the place fit to\nbe seen. Bring up the lots, one of you, and put them in line. Give them\na rub up first, though; we must have them looking their best, to\nattract bidders. Hermes, you can declare the sale-room open, and a\nwelcome to all comers.\u2014_For Sale! A varied assortment of Live Creeds.\nTenets of every description.\u2014Cash on delivery; or credit allowed on\nsuitable security_.\n\n_Hermes_. Here they come, swarming in. No time to lose; we must not\nkeep them waiting.\n\n_Zeus_. Well, let us begin.\n\n_Her_. What are we to put up first?\n\n_Zeus_. The Ionic fellow, with the long hair. He seems a showy piece of\ngoods.\n\n_Her_. Step up, Pythagoreanism, and show yourself.\n\n_Zeus_. Go ahead.\n\n_Her_. Now here is a creed of the first water. Who bids for this\nhandsome article? What gentleman says Superhumanity? Harmony of the\nUniverse! Transmigration of souls! Who bids?\n\n_First Dealer_. He looks all right. And what can he do?\n\n_Her_. Magic, music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, jugglery.\nProphecy in all its branches.\n\n_First D_. Can I ask him some questions?\n\n_Her_. Ask away, and welcome.\n\n_First D_. Where do you come from?\n\n_Py_. Samos.\n\n_First D_. Where did you get your schooling?\n\n_Py_. From the sophists in Egypt.\n\n_First D_. If I buy you, what will you teach me?\n\n_Py_. Nothing. I will remind you.\n\n_First D_. Remind me?\n\n_Py_. But first I shall have to cleanse your soul of its filth.\n\n_First D_. Well, suppose the cleansing process complete. How is the\nreminding done?\n\n_Py_. We shall begin with a long course of silent contemplation. Not a\nword to be spoken for five years.\n\n_First D_. You would have been just the creed for Croesus's son! But\n_I_ have a tongue in my head; I have no ambition to be a statue. And\nafter the five years' silence?\n\n_Py_. You will study music and geometry.\n\n_First D_. A charming recipe! The way to be wise: learn the guitar.\n\n_Py_. Next you will learn to count.\n\n_First D_. I can do that already.\n\n_Py_. Let me hear you.\n\n_First D_. One, two, three, four,\u2014\n\n_Py_. There you are, you see. _Four_ (as you call it) is _ten_. Four\nthe perfect triangle. Four the oath of our school.\n\n_First D_. Now by Four, most potent Four!\u2014higher and holier mysteries\nthan these I never heard.\n\n_Py_. Then you will learn of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water; their action,\ntheir movement, their shapes.\n\n_First D_. Have Fire and Air and Water _shapes_?\n\n_Py_. Clearly. That cannot move which lacks shape and form You will\nalso find that God is a number; an intelligence; a harmony.\n\n_First D_. You surprise me.\n\n_Py_. More than this, you have to learn that you yourself are not the\nperson you appear to be.\n\n_First D_. What, I am some one else, not the I who am speaking to you?\n\n_Py_. You are that you now: but you have formerly inhabited another\nbody, and borne another name. And in course of time you will change\nonce more.\n\n_First D_. Why then I shall be immortal, and take one shape after\nanother? But enough of this. And now what is your diet?\n\n_Py_. Of living things I eat none. All else I eat, except beans.\n\n_First D_. And why no beans? Do you dislike them?\n\n_Py_. No. But they are sacred things. Their nature is a mystery.\nConsider them first in their generative aspect; take a green one and\npeel it, and you will see what I mean. Again, boil one and expose it to\nmoonlight for a proper number of nights, and you have\u2014blood. What is\nmore, the Athenians use beans to vote with.\n\n_First D_. Admirable! A very feast of reason. Now just strip, and let\nme see what you are like. Bless me, here is a creed with a golden\nthigh! He is no mortal, he is a God. I must have him at any price. What\ndo you start him at?\n\n_Her_. Forty pounds.\n\n_First D_. He is mine for forty pounds.\n\n_Zeus_. Take the gentleman's name and address.\n\n_Her_. He must come from Italy, I should think; Croton or Tarentum, or\none of the Greek towns in those parts. But he is not the only buyer.\nSome three hundred of them have clubbed together.\n\n_Zeus_. They are welcome to him. Now up with the next.\n\n_Her_. What about yonder grubby Pontian? [Footnote: See _Diogenes_ in\nNotes.]\n\n_Zeus_. Yes, he will do.\n\n_Her_. You there with the wallet and cloak; come along, walk round the\nroom. Lot No. 2. A most sturdy and valiant creed, free-born. What\noffers?\n\n_Second D_. Hullo, Mr. Auctioneer, are you going to sell a free man?\n\n_Her_. That was the idea.\n\n_Second D_. Take care, he may have you up for kidnapping. This might be\nmatter for the Areopagus.\n\n_Her_. Oh, he would as soon be sold as not. He feels just as free as\never.\n\n_Second D_. But what is one to do with such a dirty fellow? He is a\npitiable sight. One might put him to dig perhaps, or to carry water.\n\n_Her_. That he can do and more. Set him to guard your house, and you\nwill find him better than any watch-dog.\u2014They call him Dog for short.\n\n_Second D_. Where does he come from? and what is his method?\n\n_Her_. He can best tell you that himself.\n\n_Second D_. I don't like his looks. He will probably snarl if I go near\nhim, or take a snap at me, for all I know. See how he lifts his stick,\nand scowls; an awkward-looking customer!\n\n_Her_. Don't be afraid. He is quite tame.\n\n_Second D_. Tell me, good fellow, where do you come from?\n\n_Dio_. Everywhere.\n\n_Second D_. What does that mean?\n\n_Dio_. It means that I am a citizen of the world.\n\n_Second D_. And your model?\n\n_Dio_. Heracles.\n\n_Second D_. Then why no lion's-skin? You have the orthodox club.\n\n_Dio_. My cloak is my lion's-skin. Like Heracles, I live in a state of\nwarfare, and my enemy is Pleasure; but unlike him I am a volunteer. My\npurpose is to purify humanity.\n\n_Second D_. A noble purpose. Now what do I understand to be your strong\nsubject? What is your profession?\n\n_Dio_. The liberation of humanity, and the treatment of the passions.\nIn short, I am the prophet of Truth and Candour.\n\n_Second D_. Well, prophet; and if I buy you, how shall you handle my\ncase?\n\n_Dio_. I shall commence operations by stripping off your superfluities,\nputting you into fustian, and leaving you closeted with Necessity. Then\nI shall give you a course of hard labour. You will sleep on the ground,\ndrink water, and fill your belly as best you can. Have you money? Take\nmy advice and throw it into the sea. With wife and children and country\nyou will not concern yourself; there will be no more of that nonsense.\nYou will exchange your present home for a sepulchre, a ruin, or a tub.\nWhat with lupines and close-written tomes, your knapsack will never be\nempty; and you will vote yourself happier than any king. Nor will you\nesteem it any inconvenience, if a flogging or a turn of the rack should\nfall to your lot.\n\n_Second D_. How! Am I a tortoise, a lobster, that I should be flogged\nand feel it not?\n\n_Dio_. You will take your cue from Hippolytus; _mutates mutandis_.\n\n_Second D_. How so?\n\n_Dio_. 'The heart may burn, the tongue knows nought thereof'.\n[Footnote: Hippolytus (in Euripides's play of that name) is reproached\nwith having broken an oath, and thus defends himself: 'The tongue hath\nsworn: the heart knew nought thereof.'] Above all, be bold, be\nimpudent; distribute your abuse impartially to king and commoner. They\nwill admire your spirit. You will talk the Cynic jargon with the true\nCynic snarl, scowling as you walk, and walking as one should who\nscowls; an epitome of brutality. Away with modesty, good-nature, and\nforbearance. Wipe the blush from your cheek for ever. Your\nhunting-ground will be the crowded city. You will live alone in its\nmidst, holding communion with none, admitting neither friend nor guest;\nfor such would undermine your power. Scruple not to perform the deeds\nof darkness in broad daylight: select your love-adventures with a view\nto the public entertainment: and finally, when the fancy takes you,\nswallow a raw cuttle-fish, and die. Such are the delights of Cynicism.\n\n_Second D_. Oh, vile creed! Monstrous creed! Avaunt!\n\n_Dio_. But look you, it is all so easy; it is within every man's reach.\nNo education is necessary, no nonsensical argumentation. I offer you a\nshort cut to Glory. You may be the merest clown\u2014cobbler, fishmonger,\ncarpenter, money-changer; yet there is nothing to prevent your becoming\nfamous. Given brass and boldness, you have only to learn to wag your\ntongue with dexterity.\n\n_Second D_. All this is of no use to me. But I might make a sailor or a\ngardener of you at a pinch; that is, if you are to be had cheap.\nThree-pence is the most I can give.\n\n_Her_. He is yours, to have and to hold. And good riddance to the\nbrawling foul-mouthed bully. He is a slanderer by wholesale.\n\n_Zeus_. Now for the Cyrenaic, the crowned and purple-robed.\n\n_Her_. Attend please, gentlemen all. A most valuable article, this, and\ncalls for a long purse. Look at him. A sweet thing in creeds. A creed\nfor a king. Has any gentleman a use for the Lap of Luxury? Who bids?\n\n_Third D_. Come and tell me what you know. If you are a practical\ncreed, I will have you.\n\n_Her_. Please not to worry him with questions, sir. He is drunk, and\ncannot answer; his tongue plays him tricks, as you see.\n\n_Third D_. And who in his senses would buy such an abandoned reprobate?\nHow he smells of scent! And how he slips and staggers about! Well, you\nmust speak for him, Hermes. What can he do? What is his line?\n\n_Her_. Well, for any gentleman who is not strait-laced, who loves a\npretty girl, a bottle, and a jolly companion, he is the very thing. He\nis also a past master in gastronomy, and a connoisseur in\nvoluptuousness generally. He was educated at Athens, and has served\nroyalty in Sicily [Footnote: See _Aristippus_ in Notes.], where he had\na very good character. Here are his principles in a nutshell: Think the\nworst of things: make the most of things: get all possible pleasure out\nof things.\n\n_Third D_. You must look for wealthier purchasers. My purse is not\nequal to such a festive creed.\n\n_Her_. Zeus, this lot seems likely to remain on our hands.\n\n_Zeus_. Put it aside, and up with another. Stay, take the pair from\nAbdera and Ephesus; the creeds of Smiles and Tears. They shall make one\nlot.\n\n_Her_. Come forward, you two. Lot No. 4. A superlative pair. The\nsmartest brace of creeds on our catalogue.\n\n_Fourth D_. Zeus! What a difference is here! One of them does nothing\nbut laugh, and the other might be at a funeral; he is all tears.\u2014You\nthere! what is the joke?\n\n_Democr_. You ask? You and your affairs are all one vast joke.\n\n_Fourth D_. So! You laugh at us? Our business is a toy?\n\n_Democr_. It is. There is no taking it seriously. All is vanity. Mere\ninterchange of atoms in an infinite void.\n\n_Fourth D_. _Your_ vanity is infinite, if you like. Stop that laughing,\nyou rascal.\u2014And you, my poor fellow, what are you crying for? I must\nsee what I can make of you.\n\n_Heracl_. I am thinking, friend, upon human affairs; and well may I\nweep and lament, for the doom of all is sealed. Hence my compassion and\nmy sorrow. For the present, I think not of it; but the future!\u2014the\nfuture is all bitterness. Conflagration and destruction of the world. I\nweep to think that nothing abides. All things are whirled together in\nconfusion. Pleasure and pain, knowledge and ignorance, great and small;\nup and down they go, the playthings of Time.\n\n_Fourth D_. And what is Time?\n\n_Heracl_. A child; and plays at draughts and blindman's-bluff.\n\n_Fourth D_. And men?\n\n_Heracl_. Are mortal Gods.\n\n_Fourth D_. And Gods?\n\n_Heracl_. Immortal men.\n\n_Fourth D_. So! Conundrums, fellow? Nuts to crack? You are a very\noracle for obscurity.\n\n_Heracl_. Your affairs do not interest me.\n\n_Fourth D_. No one will be fool enough to bid for you at that rate.\n\n_Heracl_. Young and old, him that bids and him that bids not, a murrain\nseize you all!\n\n_Fourth D_. A sad case. He will be melancholy mad before long. Neither\nof these is the creed for my money.\n\n_Her_. No one bids.\n\n_Zeus_. Next lot.\n\n_Her_. The Athenian there? Old Chatterbox?\n\n_Zeus_. By all means.\n\n_Her_. Come forward!\u2014A good sensible creed this. Who buys Holiness?\n\n_Fifth D_. Let me see. What are you good for?\n\n_Soc_. I teach the art of love.\n\n_Fifth D_. A likely bargain for me! I want a tutor for my young Adonis.\n\n_Soc_. And could he have a better? The love I teach is of, the spirit,\nnot of the flesh. Under my roof, be sure, a boy will come to no harm.\n\n_Fifth D_. Very unconvincing that. A teacher of the art of love, and\nnever meddle with anything but the spirit? Never use the opportunities\nyour office gives you?\n\n_Soc_. Now by Dog and Plane-tree, it is as I say!\n\n_Fifth D_. Heracles! What strange Gods are these?\n\n_Soc_. Why, the Dog is a God, I suppose? Is not Anubis made much of in\nEgypt? Is there not a Dog-star in Heaven, and a Cerberus in the lower\nworld?\n\n_Fifth D_. Quite so. My mistake. Now what is your manner of life?\n\n_Soc_. I live in a city of my own building; I make my own laws, and\nhave a novel constitution of my own.\n\n_Fifth D._ I should like to hear some of your statutes.\n\n_Soc_. You shall hear the greatest of them all. No woman shall be\nrestricted to one husband. Every man who likes is her husband.\n\n_Fifth D_. What! Then the laws of adultery are clean swept away?\n\n_Soc_. I should think they were! and a world of hair-splitting with\nthem.\n\n_Fifth D_. And what do you do with the handsome boys?\n\n_Soc_. Their kisses are the reward of merit, of noble and spirited\nactions.\n\n_Fifth D_. Unparalleled generosity!\u2014And now, what are the main features\nof your philosophy?\n\n_Soc_. Ideas and types of things. All things that you see, the earth\nand all that is upon it, the sea, the sky,\u2014each has its counterpart in\nthe invisible world.\n\n_Fifth D_. And where are they?\n\n_Soc_. Nowhere. Were they anywhere, they were not what they are.\n\n_Fifth D_. I see no signs of these 'types' of yours.\n\n_Soc_. Of course not; because you are spiritually blind. _I_ see the\ncounterparts of all things; an invisible you, an invisible me;\neverything is in duplicate.\n\n_Fifth D_. Come, such a shrewd and lynx-eyed creed is worth a bid. Let\nme see. What do you want for him?\n\n_Her_. Five hundred.\n\n_Fifth D_. Done with you. Only I must settle the bill another day.\n\n_Her_. What name?\n\n_Fifth D_. Dion; of Syracuse.\n\n_Her_. Take him, and much good may he do you. Now I want Epicureanism.\nWho offers for Epicureanism? He is a disciple of the laughing creed and\nthe drunken creed, whom we were offering just now. But he has one extra\naccomplishment\u2014impiety. For the rest, a dainty, lickerish creed.\n\n_Sixth D_. What price?\n\n_Her_. Eight pounds.\n\n_Sixth D_. Here you are. By the way, you might let me know what he\nlikes to eat.\n\n_Her_. Anything sweet. Anything with honey in it. Dried figs are his\nfavourite dish.\n\n_Sixth D_. That is all right. We will get in a supply of Carian\nfig-cakes.\n\n_Zeus_. Call the next lot. Stoicism; the creed of the sorrowful\ncountenance, the close-cropped creed.\n\n_Her_. Ah yes, several customers, I fancy, are on the look-out for him.\nVirtue incarnate! The very quintessence of creeds! Who is for universal\nmonopoly?\n\n_Seventh D_. How are we to understand that?\n\n_Her_. Why, here is monopoly of wisdom, monopoly of beauty, monopoly of\ncourage, monopoly of justice. Sole king, sole orator, sole legislator,\nsole millionaire.\n\n_Seventh D_. And I suppose sole cook, sole tanner, sole carpenter, and\nall that?\n\n_Her_. Presumably.\n\n_Seventh D_. Regard me as your purchaser, good fellow, and tell me all\nabout yourself. I dare say you think it rather hard to be sold for a\nslave?\n\n_Chrys_. Not at all. These things are beyond our control. And what is\nbeyond our control is indifferent.\n\n_Seventh D_. I don't see how you make that out.\n\n_Chrys_. What! Have you yet to learn that of _indifferentia_ some are\n_praeposita_ and others _rejecta_?\n\n_Seventh D_. Still I don't quite see.\n\n_Chrys_. No; how should you? You are not familiar with our terms. You\nlack the _comprehensio visi_. The earnest student of logic knows this\nand more than this. He understands the nature of subject, predicate,\nand contingent, and the distinctions between them.\n\n_Seventh D_. Now in Wisdom's name, tell me, pray, what is a predicate?\nwhat is a contingent? There is a ring about those words that takes my\nfancy.\n\n_Chrys_. With all my heart. A man lame in one foot knocks that foot\naccidentally against a stone, and gets a cut. Now the man is _subject_\nto lameness; which is the _predicate_. And the cut is a _contingency_.\n\n_Seventh D_. Oh, subtle! What else can you tell me?\n\n_Chrys_. I have verbal involutions, for the better hampering,\ncrippling, and muzzling of my antagonists. This is performed by the use\nof the far-famed syllogism.\n\n_Seventh D_. Syllogism! I warrant him a tough customer.\n\n_Chrys_. Take a case. You have a child?\n\n_Seventh D_. Well, and what if I have?\n\n_Chrys_. A crocodile catches him as he wanders along the bank of a\nriver, and promises to restore him to you, if you will first guess\ncorrectly whether he means to restore him or not. Which are you going\nto say?\n\n_Seventh D_. A difficult question. I don't know which way I should get\nhim back soonest. In Heaven's name, answer for me, and save the child\nbefore he is eaten up.\n\n_Chrys_. Ha, ha. I will teach you far other things than that.\n\n_Seventh D_. For instance?\n\n_Chrys_. There is the 'Reaper.' There is the 'Rightful Owner.' Better\nstill, there is the 'Electra' and the 'Man in the Hood.'\n\n_Seventh D_. Who was he? and who was Electra?\n\n_Chrys_. She was _the_ Electra, the daughter of Agamemnon, to whom the\nsame thing was known and unknown at the same time. She knew that\nOrestes was her brother: yet when he stood before her she did not know\n(until he revealed himself) that her brother was Orestes. As to the Man\nin the Hood, he will surprise you considerably. Answer me now: do you\nknow your own father?\n\n_Seventh D_. Yes.\n\n_Chrys_. Well now, if I present to you a man in a hood, shall you know\nhim? eh?\n\n_Seventh D_. Of course not.\n\n_Chrys_. Well, but the Man in the Hood is your father. You don't know\nthe Man in the Hood. Therefore you don't know your own father.\n\n_Seventh D_. Why, no. But if I take his hood off, I shall get at the\nfacts. Now tell me, what is the end of your philosophy? What happens\nwhen you reach the goal of virtue?\n\n_Chrys_. In regard to things external, health, wealth, and the like, I\nam then all that Nature intended me to be. But there is much previous\ntoil to be undergone. You will first sharpen your eyes on minute\nmanuscripts, amass commentaries, and get your bellyful of outlandish\nterms. Last but not least, it is forbidden to be wise without repeated\ndoses of hellebore.\n\n_Seventh D_. All this is exalted and magnanimous to a degree. But what\nam I to think when I find that you are also the creed of cent-per-cent,\nthe creed of the usurer? Has _he_ swallowed his hellebore? is _he_ made\nperfect in virtue?\n\n_Chrys_. Assuredly. On none but the wise man does usury sit well.\nConsider. His is the art of putting two and two together, and usury is\nthe art of putting interest together. The two are evidently connected,\nand one as much as the other is the prerogative of the true believer;\nwho, not content, like common men, with simple interest, will also take\ninterest _upon_ interest. For interest, as you are probably aware, is\nof two kinds. There is simple interest, and there is its offspring,\ncompound interest. Hear Syllogism on the subject. 'If I take simple\ninterest, I shall also take compound. But I _shall_ take simple\ninterest: therefore I shall take compound.'\n\n_Seventh D_. And the same applies to the fees you take from your\nyouthful pupils? None but the true believer sells virtue for a fee?\n\n_Chrys_. Quite right. I take the fee in my pupil's interest, not\nbecause I want it. The world is made up of diffusion and accumulation.\nI accordingly practise my pupil in the former, and myself in the\nlatter.\n\n_Seventh D_. But it ought to be the other way. The pupil ought to\naccumulate, and you, 'sole millionaire,' ought to diffuse.\n\n_Chrys_. Ha! you jest with me? Beware of the shaft of insoluble\nsyllogism.\n\n_Seventh D_. What harm can that do?\n\n_Chrys_. It cripples; it ties the tongue, and turns the brain. Nay, I\nhave but to will it, and you are stone this instant.\n\n_Seventh D_. Stone! You are no Perseus, friend?\n\n_Chrys_. See here. A stone is a body?\n\n_Seventh D_. Yes.\n\n_Chrys_. Well, and an animal is a body?\n\n_Seventh D_. Yes.\n\n_Chrys_. And you are an animal?\n\n_Seventh D_. I suppose I am.\n\n_Chrys_. Therefore you are a body. Therefore a stone.\n\n_Seventh D_. Mercy, in Heaven's name! Unstone me, and let me be flesh\nas heretofore.\n\n_Chrys_. That is soon done. Back with you into flesh! Thus: Is every\nbody animate?\n\n_Seventh D_. No.\n\n_Chrys_. Is a stone animate?\n\n_Seventh D_. No.\n\n_Chrys_. Now, you are a body?\n\n_Seventh D_. Yes.\n\n_Chrys_. And an animate body?\n\n_Seventh D_. Yes.\n\n_Chrys_. Then being animate, you cannot be a stone.\n\n_Seventh D_. Ah! thank you, thank you. I was beginning to feel my limbs\ngrowing numb and solidifying like Niobe's. Oh, I must have you. What's\nto pay?\n\n_Her_. Fifty pounds.\n\n_Seventh D_. Here it is.\n\n_Her_. Are you sole purchaser?\n\n_Seventh D_. Not I. All these gentlemen here are going shares.\n\n_Her_. A fine strapping lot of fellows, and will do the 'Reaper'\ncredit.\n\n_Zeus_. Don't waste time. Next lot,\u2014the Peripatetic!\n\n_Her_. Now, my beauty, now, Affluence! Gentlemen, if you want Wisdom\nfor your money, here is a creed that comprises all knowledge.\n\n_Eighth D_. What is he like?\n\n_Her_. He is temperate, good-natured, easy to get on with; and his\nstrong point is, that he is twins.\n\n_Eighth D_. How can that be?\n\n_Her_. Why, he is one creed outside, and another inside. So remember,\nif you buy him, one of him is called Esoteric, and the other Exoteric.\n\n_Eighth D_. And what has he to say for himself?\n\n_Her_. He has to say that there are three kinds of good: spiritual,\ncorporeal, circumstantial.\n\n_Eighth D_. _There's_ something a man can understand. How much is he?\n\n_Her_. Eighty pounds.\n\n_Eighth D_. Eighty pounds is a long price.\n\n_Her_. Not at all, my dear sir, not at all. You see, there is some\nmoney with him, to all appearance. Snap him up before it is too late.\nWhy, from him you will find out in no time how long a gnat lives, to\nhow many fathoms' depth the sunlight penetrates the sea, and what an\noyster's soul is like.\n\n_Eighth D_. Heracles! Nothing escapes him.\n\n_Her_. Ah, these are trifles. You should hear some of his more abstruse\nspeculations, concerning generation and birth and the development of\nthe embryo; and his distinction between man, the laughing creature, and\nthe ass, which is neither a laughing nor a carpentering nor a shipping\ncreature.\n\n_Eighth D_. Such knowledge is as useful as it is ornamental. Eighty\npounds be it, then.\n\n_Her_. He is yours.\n\n_Zeus_. What have we left?\n\n_Her_. There is Scepticism. Come along, Pyrrhias, and be put up.\nQuick's the word. The attendance is dwindling; there will be small\ncompetition. Well, who buys Lot 9?\n\n_Ninth D_. I. Tell me first, though, what do you know?\n\n_Sc_. Nothing.\n\n_Ninth D_. But how's that?\n\n_Sc_. There does not appear to me to _be_ anything.\n\n_Ninth D_. Are not _we_ something?\n\n_Sc_. How do I know that?\n\n_Ninth D_. And you yourself?\n\n_Sc_. Of that I am still more doubtful.\n\n_Ninth D_. Well, you _are_ in a fix! And what have you got those scales\nfor?\n\n_Sc_. I use them to weigh arguments in, and get them evenly balanced,\nThey must be absolutely equal\u2014not a feather-weight to choose between\nthem; then, and not till then, can I make uncertain which is right.\n\n_Ninth D_. What else can you turn your hand to?\n\n_Sc_. Anything; except catching a runaway.\n\n_Ninth D_. And why not that?\n\n_Sc_. Because, friend, everything eludes my grasp.\n\n_Ninth D_. I believe you. A slow, lumpish fellow you seem to be. And\nwhat is the end of your knowledge?\n\n_Sc_. Ignorance. Deafness. Blindness.\n\n_Ninth D_. What! sight and hearing both gone?\n\n_Sc_. And with them judgement and perception, and all, in short, that\ndistinguishes man from a worm.\n\n_Ninth D_. You are worth money!\u2014What shall we say for him?\n\n_Her_. Four pounds.\n\n_Ninth D_. Here it is. Well, fellow; so you are mine?\n\n_Sc_. I doubt it.\n\n_Ninth D_. Nay, doubt it not! You are bought and paid for.\n\n_Sc_. It is a difficult case\u2026. I reserve my decision.\n\n_Ninth D_. Now, come along with me, like a good slave.\n\n_Sc_. But how am I to know whether what you say is true?\n\n_Ninth D_. Ask the auctioneer. Ask my money. Ask the spectators.\n\n_Sc_. Spectators? But can we be sure there are any?\n\n_Ninth D_. Oh, I'll send you to the treadmill. That will convince you\nwith a vengeance that I am your master.\n\n_Sc_. Reserve your decision.\n\n_Ninth D_. Too late. It is given.\n\n_Her_. Stop that wrangling and go with your purchaser. Gentlemen, we\nhope to see you here again to-morrow, when we shall be offering some\nlots suitable for plain men, artisans, and shopkeepers.\n\nF.\n\n\n\nTHE FISHER\n\nA RESURRECTION PIECE\n\n_Lucian or Parrhesiades. Socrates, Empedocles. Plato. Chrysippus.\nDiogenes. Aristotle. Other Philosophers. Platonists. Pythagoreans.\nStoics. Peripatetics. Epicureans. Academics. Philosophy. Truth.\nTemperance. Virtue. Syllogism. Exposure. Priestess of Athene_.\n\n\n_Soc_. Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod him with\nclods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leave him\nno way out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it! Shoulder\nto shoulder, close the ranks;\n\nLet wallet succour wallet, staff aid staff!\n\n\nWe are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed. You,\nDiogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; stand firm,\nall of you. Let him reap the fruits of his reveling. What, Epicurus,\nAristippus, tired already? 'tis too soon; ye sages,\n\nBe men; relume that erstwhile furious wrath!\n\n\nAristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you,\nvillain. You shall soon know a little more about the characters you\nhave assailed. Now, what shall we do with him? it must be rather an\nelaborate execution, to meet all our claims upon him; he owes a\nseparate death to every one of us.\n\n_First Phil_. Impale him, say I.\n\n_Second Phil_. Yes, but scourge him first.\n\n_Third Phil_. Tear out his eyes.\n\n_Fourth Phil_. Ah, but first out with the offending tongue.\n\n_Soc_. What say you, Empedocles?\n\n_Emp_. Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him to vilify his\nbetters.\n\n_Pl_. 'Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to\n\nFind death, dashed all to pieces on the rock;\n\n\nso each might have taken a piece home with him.\n\n_Lu_. Forbear; spare me; I appeal to the God of suppliants.\n\n_Soc_. Too late; no loophole is left you now. And you know your Homer:\n\n'Twixt men and lions, covenants are null.'\n\n\n_Lu_. Why, it is in Homer's name that I ask my boon. You will perhaps\npay reverence to his lines, and listen to a selection from him:\n\n  Slay not; no churl is he; a ransom take\n  Of bronze and gold, whereof wise hearts are fain.\n\n\n_Pl_. Why, two can play at that game; _exempli gratia_,\n\n  Reviler, babble not of gold, nor nurse\n  Hope of escape from these our hands that hold thee.\n\n\n_Lu_. Ah me, ah me! my best hopes dashed, with Homer! Let me fly to\nEuripides; it may be he will protect me:\n\nLeave him his life; the suppliant's life is sacred.\n\n\n_Pl_. Does this happen to be Euripides too\u2014\n\nEvil men evil treated is no evil?\n\n\n_Lu_. And will you slay me now for nought but words?\n\n_Pl_. Most certainly; our author has something on that point too:\n\n  Unbridled lips\n  And folly's slips\n  Invite Fate's whips.\n\n\n_Lu_. Oh, very well; as you are all set on murdering me, and escape is\nimpossible, do at least tell me who you are, and what harm I have done\nyou; it must be something irreparable, to judge by your relentless\nmurderous pursuit.\n\n_Pl_. What harm you have done us, vile fellow? your own conscience and\nyour fine dialogues will tell you; you have called Philosophy herself\nbad names, and as for us, you have subjected us to the indignity of a\npublic auction, and put up wise men\u2014ay, and free men, which is more\u2014for\nsale. We have reason to be angry; we have got a short leave of absence\nfrom Hades, and come up against you\u2014Chrysippus here, Epicurus and\nmyself, Aristotle yonder, the taciturn Pythagoras, Diogenes and all of\nus that your dialogues have made so free with.\n\n_Lu_. Ah, I breathe again. Once hear the truth about my conduct to you,\nand you will never put me to death. You can throw away those stones.\nOr, no, keep them; you shall have a better mark for them presently.\n\n_Pl_. This is trifling. This day thou diest; nay, even now,\n\nA suit of stones shalt don, thy livery due.\n\n\n_Lu_. Believe me, good gentlemen, I have been at much pains on your\nbehalf; to slay me is to slay one who should rather be selected for\ncommendation a kindred spirit, a well-wisher, a man after your own\nheart, a promoter, if I may be bold to say it, of your pursuits. See to\nit that you catch not the tone of our latter-day philosophers, and be\nthankless, petulant, and hard of heart, to him that deserves better of\nyou.\n\n_Pl_. Talk of a brazen front! So to abuse us is to oblige us. I believe\nyou are under the delusion that you are really talking to slaves; after\nthe insolent excesses of your tongue, do you propose to chop gratitude\nwith us?\n\n_Lu_. How or when was I ever insolent to you? I have always been an\nadmirer of philosophy, your panegyrist, and a student of the writings\nyou left. All that comes from my pen is but what you give me; I\ndeflower you, like a bee, for the behoof of mankind; and then there is\npraise and recognition; they know the flowers, whence and whose the\nhoney was, and the manner of my gathering; their surface feeling is for\nmy selective art, but deeper down it is for you and your meadow, where\nyou put forth such bright blooms and myriad dyes, if one knows but how\nto sort and mix and match, that one be not in discord with another.\nCould he that had found you such have the heart to abuse those\nbenefactors to whom his little fame was due? then he must be a Thamyris\nor Eurytus, defying the Muses who gave his gift of song, or challenging\nApollo with the bow, forgetful from whom he had his marksmanship.\n\n_Pl_. All this, good sir, is quite according to the principles of\nrhetoric; that is to say, it is clean contrary to the facts; your\nunscrupulousness is only emphasized by this adding of insult to injury;\nyou confess that your arrows are from our quiver, and you use them\nagainst us; your one aim is to abuse us. This is our reward for showing\nyou that meadow, letting you pluck freely, fill your bosom, and depart.\nFor this alone you richly deserve death.\n\n_Lu_. There; your ears are partial; they are deaf to the right. Why, I\nwould never have believed that personal feeling could affect a Plato, a\nChrysippus, an Aristotle; with you, of all men, I thought there was dry\nlight. But, dear sirs, do not condemn me unheard; give me trial first.\nWas not the principle of your establishing\u2014that the law of the stronger\nwas not the law of the State, and that differences should be settled in\ncourt after due hearing of both sides? Appoint a judge, then; be you my\naccusers, by your own mouths or by your chosen representative; and let\nme defend my own case; then if I be convicted of wrong, and that be the\ncourt's decision, I shall get my deserts, and you will have no violence\nupon your consciences. But if examination shows me spotless and\nirreproachable, the court will acquit me, and then turn you your wrath\nupon the deceivers who have excited you against me.\n\n_Pl_. Ah, every cock to his own dunghill! You think you will hoodwink\nthe jury and get off. I hear you are a lawyer, an advocate, an old hand\nat a speech. Have you any judge to suggest who will be proof against\nsuch an experienced corrupter as you?\n\n_Lu_. Oh, be reassured. The official I think of proposing is no\nsuspicious, dubious character likely to sell a verdict. What say you to\nforming the court yourselves, with Philosophy for your President?\n\n_Pl_. Who is to prosecute, if we are the jury?\n\n_Lu_. Oh, you can do both; I am not in the least afraid; so much\nstronger is my case; the defence wins, hands down.\n\n_Pl_. Pythagoras, Socrates, what do you think? perhaps the man's appeal\nto law is not unreasonable.\n\n_Soc_. No; come along, form the court, fetch Philosophy, and see what\nhe has to say for himself. To condemn unheard is a sadly crude\nproceeding, not for us; leave that to the hasty people with whom might\nis right. We shall give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme if we stone\na man without a hearing, professed lovers of justice as we are. We\nshall have to keep quiet about Anytus and Meletus, my accusers, and the\njury on that occasion, if we cannot spare an hour to hear this fellow\nbefore he suffers.\n\n_Pl_. Very true, Socrates. We will go and fetch Philosophy. The\ndecision shall be hers, and we will accept it, whatever it is.\n\n_Lu_. Why, now, my masters, you are in a better and more law-abiding\nmood. However, keep those stones, as I said; you will need them in\ncourt. But where is Philosophy to be found? I do not know where she\nlives, myself. I once spent a long time wandering about in search of\nher house, wishing to make her acquaintance. Several times I met some\nlong-bearded people in threadbare cloaks who professed to be fresh from\nher presence; I took their word for it, and asked them the way; but\nthey knew considerably less about it than I, and either declined to\nanswer, by way of concealing their ignorance, or else pointed to one\ndoor after another. I have never been able to find the right one to\nthis day.\n\nMany a time, upon some inward prompting or external offer of guidance,\nI have come to a door with the confident hope that this time I really\nwas right; there was such a crowd flowing in and out, all of solemn\npersons decently habited and thoughtful-faced; I would insinuate myself\ninto the press and go in too. What I found would be a woman who was not\nreally natural, however skillfully she played at beauty unadorned; I\ncould see at once that the apparent _neglige_ of her hair was studied\nfor effect, and the folds of her dress not so careless as they looked.\nOne could tell that nature was a scheme of decoration with her, and\nartlessness an artistic device. The white lead and the rouge did not\nabsolutely defy detection, and her talk betrayed her real vocation; she\nliked her lovers to appreciate her beauty, had a ready hand for\npresents, made room by her side for the rich, and hardly vouchsafed her\npoorer lovers a distant glance. Now and then, when her dress came a\nlittle open by accident, I saw that she had on a massive gold necklace\nheavier than a penal collar. That was enough for me; I would retrace my\nsteps, sincerely pitying the unfortunates whom she led by the\u2014beard,\nand their Ixion embracings of a phantom.\n\n_Pl_. You are right there; the door is not conspicuous, nor generally\nknown. However, we need not go to her house; we will wait for her here\nin the Ceramicus. I should think it is near her hour for coming back\nfrom the Academy, and taking her walk in the Poecile; she is very\nregular; to be sure, here she comes. Do you see the orderly, rather\nprim lady there, with the kindly look in her eyes, and the slow\nmeditative walk?\n\n_Lu_. I see several answering the description so far as looks and walk\nand clothes go. Yet among them all the real lady Philosophy can be but\none.\n\n_Pl_. True; but as soon as she opens her lips you will know.\n\n_Philos_. Dear me, what are Plato and Chrysippus and Aristotle doing up\nhere, and the rest of them\u2014a living dictionary of my teachings? Alive\nagain? how is this? have things been going wrong down there? you look\nangry. And who is your prisoner? a rifler of tombs? A murderer? a\ntemple-robber?\n\n_Pl_. Worse yet, Philosophy. He has dared to slander your most sacred\nself, and all of us who have been privileged to impart anything from\nyou to posterity.\n\n_Philos_. And did you lose your tempers over abusive words? Did you\nforget how Comedy handled me at the Dionysia, and how I yet counted her\na friend? Did I ever sue her, or go and remonstrate? Or did I let her\nenjoy her holidays in the harmless old-fashioned way? I know very well\nthat a jest spoils no real beauty, but rather improves it; so gold is\npolished by hard rubs, and shines all the brighter for it. But you seem\nto have grown passionate and censorious. Come, why are you strangling\nhim like that?\n\n_Pl_. We have got this one day's leave, and come after him to give him\nhis deserts. Rumours had reached us of the things he used to say about\nus in his lectures.\n\n_Philos_. And are you going to kill him without a trial or a hearing? I\ncan see he wishes to say something.\n\n_Pl_. No; we decided to refer it all to you. If you will accept the\ntask, the decision shall be yours.\n\n_Philos_. Sir, what is your wish?\n\n_Lu_. The same, dear Mistress; for none but you can find the truth. It\ncost me much entreaty to get the case reserved for you.\n\n_Pl_. You call her Mistress now, scoundrel; the other day you were\nmaking out Philosophy the meanest of things, when before that great\naudience you let her several doctrines go for a pitiful threepence\napiece.\n\n_Philos_. It may be that it was not Ourself he then reviled, but some\nimpostors who practised vile arts in our name.\n\n_Pl_. The truth will soon come to light, if you will hear his defence.\n\n_Philos_. Come we to the Areopagus\u2014or better, to the Acropolis, where\nthe panorama of Athens will be before us.\n\nLadies, will you stroll in the Poecile meanwhile? I will join you when\nI have given judgement.\n\n_Lu_. Who are these, Philosophy? methinks their appearance is seemly as\nyour own.\n\n_Philos_. This with the masculine features is Virtue; then there is\nTemperance, and Justice by her side. In front is Culture; and this\nshadowy creature with the indefinite complexion is Truth.\n\n_Lu_. I do not see which you mean.\n\n_Philos_. Not see her? over there, all naked and unadorned, shrinking\nfrom observation, and always slipping out of sight.\n\n_Lu_. Now I just discern her. But why not bring them all with you?\nthere would be a fullness and completeness about that commission. Ah\nyes, and I should like to brief Truth on my behalf.\n\n_Philos_. Well thought of; come, all of you; you will not mind sitting\nthrough a single case\u2014in which we have a personal interest, too?\n\n_Truth_. Go on, the rest of you; it is superfluous for me to hear what\nI know all about before.\n\n_Philos_. But, Truth dear, your presence will be useful to us; you will\nshow us what to think.\n\n_Truth_. May I bring my two favourite maids, then?\n\n_Philos_. And as many more as you like.\n\n_Truth_. Come with me, Freedom and Frankness; this poor little adorer\nof ours is in trouble without any real reason; we shall be able to get\nhim out of it. Exposure, my man, we shall not want you.\n\n_Lu_. Ah yes, Mistress, let us have him, of all others; my opponents\nare no ordinary ruffians; they are people who make a fine show and are\nhard to expose; they have always some back way out of a difficulty; we\nmust have Exposure.\n\n_Philos_. Yes, we must, indeed; and you had better bring Demonstration\ntoo.\n\n_Truth_. Come all of you, as you are such important legal persons.\n\n_Ar_. What is this? Philosophy, he is employing Truth against us!\n\n_Philos_. And are Plato and Chrysippus and Aristotle afraid of her\nlying on his behalf, being who she is?\n\n_Pl_. Oh, well, no; only he is a sad plausible rogue; he will take her\nin.\n\n_Philos_. Never fear; no wrong will be done, with madam Justice on the\nbench by us. Let us go up.\n\nPrisoner, your name?\n\n_Lu_. Parrhesiades, son of Alethion, son of Elenxicles.*\n\n[Footnote: i.e. Free-speaker, son of Truthful, son of Exposure.]\n\n\n_Philos_. And your country?\n\n_Lu_. I am a Syrian from the Euphrates, my lady. But is the question\nrelevant? Some of my accusers I know to be as much barbarians by blood\nas myself; but character and culture do not vary as a man comes from\nSoli or Cyprus, Babylon or Stagira. However, even one who could not\ntalk Greek would be none the worse in your eyes, so long as his\nsentiments were right and just.\n\n_Philos_. True, the question was unnecessary.\n\nBut what is your profession? that at least is essential.\n\n_Lu_. I profess hatred of pretension and imposture, lying, and pride;\nthe whole loathsome tribe of them I hate; and you know how numerous\nthey are.\n\n_Philos_. Upon my word, you must have your hands full at this\nprofession!\n\n_Lu_. I have; you see what general dislike and danger it brings upon\nme. However, I do not neglect the complementary branch, in which love\ntakes the place of hate; it includes love of truth and beauty and\nsimplicity and all that is akin to love. But the subjects for this\nbranch of the profession are sadly few; those of the other, for whom\nhatred is the right treatment, are reckoned by the thousand. Indeed\nthere is some danger of the one feeling being atrophied, while the\nother is over-developed.\n\n_Philos_. That should not be; they run in couples, you know. Do not\nseparate your two branches; they should have unity in diversity.\n\n_Lu_. You know better than I, Philosophy. My way is just to hate a\nvillain, and love and praise the good.\n\n_Philos_. Well, well. Here we are at the appointed place. We will hold\nthe trial in the forecourt of Athene Polias. Priestess, arrange our\nseats, while we salute the Goddess.\n\n_Lu_. Polias, come to my aid against these pretenders, mindful of the\ndaily perjuries thou hearest from them. Their deeds too are revealed to\nthee alone, in virtue of thy charge. Thou hast now thine hour of\nvengeance. If thou see me in evil case, if blacks be more than whites,\nthen cast thou thy vote and save me!\n\n_Philos_. So. Now we are seated, ready to hear your words. Choose one\nof your number, the best accuser you may, make your charge, and bring\nyour proofs. Were all to speak, there would be no end. And you,\nParrhesiades, shall afterwards make your defence.\n\n_Ch_. Plato, none of us will conduct the prosecution better than you.\nYour thoughts are heaven-high, your style the perfect Attic; grace and\npersuasion, insight and subtlety, the cogency of well-ordered proof\u2014all\nthese are gathered in you. Take the spokesman's office and say what is\nfitting on our behalf. Call to memory and roll in one all that ever you\nsaid against Gorgias, Polus, Hippias, Prodicus; you have now to do with\na worse than them. Let him taste your irony; ply him with your keen\nincessant questions; and if you will, perorate with the mighty Zeus\ncharioting his winged car through Heaven, and grudging if this fellow\nget not his deserts.\n\n_Pl_. Nay, nay; choose one of more strenuous temper\u2014Diogenes,\nAntisthenes, Crates, or yourself, Chrysippus. It is no time now for\nbeauty or literary skill; controversial and forensic resource is what\nwe want. This Parrhesiades is an orator.\n\n_Diog_. Let me be accuser; no need for long speeches here. Moreover, I\nwas the worst treated of all; threepence was my price the other day.\n\n_Pl_. Philosophy, Diogenes will speak for us. But mind, friend, you are\nnot to represent yourself alone, but think of us all. If we have any\nprivate differences of doctrine, do not go into that; never mind now\nwhich of us is right, but keep your indignation for Philosophy's wrongs\nand the names he has called her. Leave alone the principles we differ\nabout, and maintain what is common to us all. Now mark, you stand for\nus all; on you our whole fame depends; shall it come out majestic, or\nin the semblance he has given it?\n\n_Diog_. Never fear; nothing shall be omitted; I speak for all.\nPhilosophy may be softened by his words\u2014she was ever gentle and\nforgiving\u2014_she_ may be minded to acquit him; but the fault shall not be\nmine; I will show him that our staves are more than ornaments.\n\n_Philos_. Nay, take not that way; words, not bludgeons; 'tis better so.\nBut no delay now; your time-allowance has begun; and the court is all\nattention.\n\n_Lu_. Philosophy, let the rest take their seats and vote with you,\nleaving Diogenes as sole accuser.\n\n_Philos_. Have you no fears of their condemning you?\n\n_Lu_. None whatever; I wish to increase my majority, that is all.\n\n_Philos_. I commend your spirit. Gentlemen, take your seats. Now,\nDiogenes.\n\n_Diog_. With our lives on earth, Philosophy, you are acquainted; I need\nnot dwell long upon them. Of myself I say nothing; but Pythagoras,\nPlato, Aristotle, Chrysippus, and the rest\u2014who knows not the benefits\nthat they conferred on mankind? I will come at once, then, to the\ninsults to which we have been subjected by the thrice accursed\nParrhesiades. He was, by his own account, an advocate; but he has left\nthe courts and the fame there to be won, and has availed himself of all\nthe verbal skill and proficiency so acquired for a campaign of abuse\nagainst us. We are impostors and deceivers; his audiences must ridicule\nand scorn us for nobodies. Did I say 'nobodies'? he has made us an\nabomination, rather, in the eyes of the vulgar, and yourself with us,\nPhilosophy. Your teachings are balderdash and rubbish; the noblest of\nyour precepts to us he parodies, winning for himself applause and\napproval, and for us humiliation. For so it is with the great public;\nit loves a master of flouts and jeers, and loves him in proportion to\nthe grandeur of what he assails; you know how it delighted long ago in\nAristophanes and Eupolis, when they caricatured our Socrates on the\nstage, and wove farcical comedies around him. But they at least\nconfined themselves to a single victim, and they had the charter of\nDionysus; a jest might pass at holiday time, and the laughing God might\nbe well pleased.\n\nBut this fellow gets together an upper-class audience, gives long\nthought to his preparations, writes down his slanders in a thick\nnotebook, and uplifts his voice in vituperation of Plato, Pythagoras,\nAristotle, Chrysippus, and in short all of us; _he_ cannot plead\nholiday time, nor yet any private grievance; he might perhaps be\nforgiven if he had done it in self-defence; but it was he that opened\nhostilities. Worst of all, Philosophy, he shelters himself under your\nname, entices Dialogue from our company to be his ally and mouthpiece,\nand induces our good comrade Menippus to collaborate constantly with\nhim; Menippus, more by token, is the one deserter and absentee on this\noccasion.\n\nDoes he not then abundantly deserve his fate? What conceivable defence\nis open to him, after his public defamation of all that is noblest? On\nthe public which listened to him, too, the spectacle of his condign\npunishment will have a healthy effect; we shall see no more ridicule of\nPhilosophy. Tame submission to insult would naturally enough be taken,\nnot for moderation, but for insensibility and want of spirit. Who could\nbe expected to put up with his last performance? He brought us to\nmarket like a gang of slaves, and handed us over to the auctioneer.\nSome, I believe, fetched high prices; but others went for four or five\npounds, and as for me\u2014confound his impudence, threepence! And fine fun\nthe audience had out of it! We did well to be angry; we have come from\nHades; and we ask you to give us satisfaction for this abominable\noutrage.\n\n_Resurgents_. Hear, hear! well spoken, Diogenes; well and loyally.\n\n_Philos_. Silence in court! Time the defence. Parrhesiades, it is now\nyour turn; they are timing you; so proceed.\n\n_Par_. Philosophy, Diogenes has been far indeed from exhausting his\nmaterial; the greater part of it, and the more strongly expressed, he\nhas passed by, for reasons best known to himself. I refer to statements\nof mine which I am as far from denying that I made as from having\nprovided myself with any elaborate defence of them. Any of these that\nhave been omitted by him, and not previously emphasized by myself, I\npropose now to quote; this will be the best way to show you who were\nthe persons that I sold by auction and inveighed against as pretenders\nand impostors; please to concentrate your vigilance on the truth or\nfalsehood of my descriptions. If what I say is injurious or severe,\nyour censure will be more fairly directed at the perpetrators than at\nthe discoverer of such iniquities. I had no sooner realized the odious\npractices which his profession imposes on an advocate\u2014the deceit,\nfalsehood, bluster, clamour, pushing, and all the long hateful list,\nthan I fled as a matter of course from these, betook myself to your\ndear service, Philosophy, and pleased myself with the thought of a\nremainder of life spent far from the tossing waves in a calm haven\nbeneath your shadow.\n\nAt my first peep into your realm, how could I but admire yourself and\nall these your disciples? there they were, legislating for the perfect\nlife, holding out hands of help to those that would reach it,\ncommending all that was fairest and best; fairest and best\u2014but a man\nmust keep straight on for it and never slip, must set his eyes\nunwaveringly on the laws that you have laid down, must tune and test\nhis life thereby; and that, Zeus be my witness, there are few enough in\nthese days of ours to do.\n\nSo I saw how many were in love, not with Philosophy, but with the\ncredit it brings; in the vulgar externals, so easy for any one to ape,\nthey showed a striking resemblance to the real article, perfect in\nbeard and walk and attire; but in life and conduct they belied their\nlooks, read your lessons backwards, and degraded their profession. Then\nI was wroth; methought it was as though some soft womanish actor on the\ntragic stage should give us Achilles or Theseus or Heracles himself; he\ncannot stride nor speak out as a Hero should, but minces along under\nhis enormous mask; Helen or Polyxena would find him too realistically\nfeminine to pass for them; and what shall an invincible Heracles say?\nWill he not swiftly pound man and mask together into nothingness with\nhis club, for womanizing and disgracing him?\n\nWell, these people were about as fit to represent you, and the\ndegradation of it all was too much for me. Apes daring to masquerade as\nheroes! emulators of the ass at Cyme! The Cymeans, you know, had never\nseen ass or lion; so the ass came the lion over them, with the aid of a\nborrowed skin and his most awe-inspiring bray; however, a stranger who\nhad often seen both brought the truth to light with a stick. But what\nmost distressed me, Philosophy, was this: when one of these people was\ndetected in rascality, impropriety, or immorality, every one put it\ndown to philosophy, and to the particular philosopher whose name the\ndelinquent took in vain without ever acting on his principles; the\nliving rascal disgraced you, the long dead; for you were not there in\nthe flesh to point the contrast; so, as it was clear enough that _his_\nlife was vile and disgusting, your case was given away by association\nwith his, and you had to share his disgrace.\n\nThis spectacle, I say, was too much for me; I began exposing them, and\ndistinguishing between them and you; and for this good work you now\narraign me. So then, if I find one of the Initiated betraying and\nparodying the Mysteries of the two Goddesses, and if I protest and\ndenounce him, the transgression will be mine? There is something wrong\nthere; why, at the Games, if an actor who has to present Athene or\nPosidon or Zeus plays his part badly, derogating from the divine\ndignity, the stewards have him whipped; well, the Gods are not angry\nwith them for having the officers whip the man who wears their mask and\ntheir attire; I imagine they approve of the punishment. To play a slave\nor a messenger badly is a trifling offence, but to represent Zeus or\nHeracles to the spectators in an unworthy manner\u2014that is a crime and a\nsacrilege.\n\nI can indeed conceive nothing more extraordinary than that so many of\nthem should get themselves absolutely perfect in your words, and then\nlive precisely as if the sole object of reading and studying them had\nbeen to reverse them in practice. All their professions of despising\nwealth and appearances, of admiring nothing but what is noble, of\nsuperiority to passion, of being proof against splendour, and\nassociating with its owners only on equal terms\u2014how fair and wise and\nlaudable they all are! But they take pay for imparting them, they are\nabashed in presence of the rich, their lips water at sight of coin;\nthey are dogs for temper, hares for cowardice, apes for imitativeness,\nasses for lust, cats for thievery, cocks for jealousy. They are a\nperfect laughing-stock with their strivings after vile ends, their\njostling of each other at rich men's doors, their attendance at crowded\ndinners, and their vulgar obsequiousness at table. They swill more than\nthey should and would like to swill more than they do, they spoil the\nwine with unwelcome and untimely disquisitions, and they cannot carry\ntheir liquor. The ordinary people who are present naturally flout them,\nand are revolted by the philosophy which breeds such brutes.\n\nWhat is so monstrous is that every man of them says he has no needs,\nproclaims aloud that wisdom is the only wealth, and directly afterwards\ncomes begging and makes a fuss if he is refused; it would hardly be\nstranger to see one in kingly attire, with tall tiara, crown, and all\nthe attributes of royalty, asking his inferiors for a little something\nmore. When they want to get something, we hear a great deal, to be\nsure, about community of goods\u2014how wealth is a thing indifferent\u2014and\nwhat is gold and silver?\u2014neither more nor less worth than pebbles on\nthe beach. But when an old comrade and tried friend needs help and\ncomes to them with his modest requirements, ah, then there is silence\nand searchings of heart, unlearning of tenets and flat renunciation of\ndoctrines. All their fine talk of friendship, with Virtue and The Good,\nhave vanished and flown, who knows whither? they were winged words in\nsad truth, empty phantoms, only meant for daily conversational use.\n\nThese men are excellent friends so long as there is no gold or silver\nfor them to dispute the possession of; exhibit but a copper or two, and\npeace is broken, truce void, armistice ended; their books are blank,\ntheir Virtue fled, and they so many dogs; some one has flung a bone\ninto the pack, and up they spring to bite each other and snarl at the\none which has pounced successfully. There is a story of an Egyptian\nking who taught some apes the sword-dance; the imitative creatures very\nsoon picked it up, and used to perform in purple robes and masks; for\nsome time the show was a great success, till at last an ingenious\nspectator brought some nuts in with him and threw them down. The apes\nforgot their dancing at the sight, dropped their humanity, resumed\ntheir apehood, and, smashing masks and tearing dresses, had a free\nfight for the provender. Alas for the _corps de ballet_ and the gravity\nof the audience!\n\nThese people are just those apes; it is they that I reviled; and I\nshall never cease exposing and ridiculing them; but about you and your\nlike\u2014for there _are_, in spite of all, some true lovers of philosophy\nand keepers of your laws\u2014about you or them may I never be mad enough to\nutter an injurious or rude word! Why, what could I find to say? what is\nthere in your lives that lends itself to such treatment? but those\npretenders deserve my detestation, as they have that of heaven. Why,\ntell me, all of you, what have such creatures to do with you? Is there\na trace in their lives of kindred and affinity? Does oil mix with\nwater? If they grow their beards and call themselves philosophers and\nlook solemn, do these things make them like you? I could have contained\nmyself if there had been any touch of plausibility in their acting; but\nthe vulture is more like the nightingale than they like philosophers.\nAnd now I have pleaded my cause to the best of my ability. Truth, I\nrely upon you to confirm my words.\n\n_Philos_. Parrhesiades, retire to a further distance. Well, and our\nverdict? How think you the man has spoken?\n\n_Truth_. Ah, Philosophy, while he was speaking I was ready to sink\nthrough the ground; it was all so true. As I listened, I could identify\nevery offender, and I was fitting caps all the time\u2014this is so-and-so,\nthat is the other man, all over. I tell you they were all as plain as\nin a picture\u2014speaking likenesses not of their bodies only, but of their\nvery souls.\n\n_Tem_. Yes, Truth, I could not help blushing at it.\n\n_Philos_. What say you, gentlemen?\n\n_Res_. Why, of course, that he is acquitted of the charge, and stands\nrecorded as our friend and benefactor. Our case is just that of the\nTrojans, who entertained the tragic actor only to find him reciting\ntheir own calamities. Well, recite away, our tragedian, with these\npests of ours for dramatis personae.\n\n_Diog_. I too, Philosophy, give him my need of praise; I withdraw my\ncharges, and count him a worthy friend.\n\n_Philos_. I congratulate you, Parrhesiades; you are unanimously\nacquitted, and are henceforth one of us.\n\n_Par_. Your humble servant. Or no, I must find more tragic words to fit\nthe solemnity of the occasion:\n\n  Victorious might\n  My life's path light,\n  And ever strew with garlands bright!\n\n\n_Vir_. Well, now we come to our second course; let us have in the other\npeople and try them for their insults. Parrhesiades shall accuse them\neach in turn.\n\n_Par_. Well said, Virtue. Syllogism, my boy, put your head out over the\ncity and summon the philosophers.\n\n_Syl_. Oyez, oyez! All philosophers to the Acropolis to make their\ndefence before Virtue, Philosophy, and Justice.\n\n_Par_. The proclamation does not bring them in flocks, does it? They\nhave their reasons for keeping clear of Justice. And a good many of\nthem are too busy with their rich friends. If you want them all to\ncome, Syllogism, I will tell you what to say.\n\n_Philos_. No, no; call them yourself, Parrhesiades, in your own way.\n\n_Par_. Quite a simple matter. Oyez, oyez! All who profess philosophy\nand hold themselves entitled to the name of philosopher shall appear on\nthe Acropolis for largesse; 8 pounds, with a sesame cake, to each. A\nlong beard shall qualify for a square of compressed figs, in addition.\nEvery applicant to have with him, of temperance, justice, and\nself-control, any that he is in possession of, it being clearly\nunderstood that these are not indispensable, and, of syllogisms, a\ncomplete set of five, these being the condition precedent of wisdom.\n\n  Two golden talents in the midst are set,\n  His prize who wrangles best amongst his peers.\n\n\nJust look! the ascent packed with a pushing crowd, at the very first\nsound of my 8 pounds. More of them along the Pelasgicum, more by the\ntemple of Asclepius, a bigger crowd still over the Areopagus. Why,\npositively there are a few at the tomb of Talos; and see those putting\nladders against the temple of Castor and Pollux; up they climb, buzzing\nand clustering like a swarm of bees. In Homeric phrase, on this side\nare exceeding many, and on that\n\nTen thousand, thick as leaves and flowers in spring.\n\n\nNoisily they settle, the Acropolis is covered with them in a trice;\neverywhere wallet and beard, flattery and effrontery, staves and greed,\nlogic and avarice. The little company which came up at the first\nproclamation is swamped beyond recovery, swallowed up in these later\ncrowds; it is hopeless to find them, because of the external\nresemblance. That is the worst of it, Philosophy; you are really open\nto censure for not marking and labelling them; these impostors are\noften more convincing than the true philosophers.\n\n_Philos_. It shall be done before long; at present let us receive them.\n\n_Platon_. Platonists first!\n\n_Pyth_. No, no; Pythagoreans first; our master is senior.\n\n_Stoics_. Rubbish! the Porch is the best.\n\n_Peri_. Now, now, this is a question of money; Peripatetics first\nthere!\n\n_Epic_. Hand over those cakes and fig-squares; as to the money,\nEpicureans will not mind waiting till the last.\n\n_Acad_. Where are the two talents? none can touch the Academy at a\nwrangle; we will soon show you that.\n\n_Stoics_. Not if we know it.\n\n_Philos_. Cease your strife. Cynics there, no more pushing! And keep\nthose sticks quiet. You have mistaken the nature of this summons. We\nthree, Philosophy, Virtue, and Truth, are about to decide which are the\ntrue philosophers; that done, those whose lives are found to be in\naccord with our pleasure will be made happy by our award; but the\nimpostors who are not truly of our kin we shall crush as they deserve,\nthat they may no more make vain claims to what is too high for them.\nHa! you fly? In good truth they do, jumping down the crags, most of\nthem. Why, the Acropolis is deserted, except for\u2014yes, a few have stood\ntheir ground and are not afraid of the judgement.\n\nAttendants, pick up the wallet which yonder flying Cynic has dropped.\nLet us see what it contains\u2014beans? a book? some coarse crust?\n\n_Par_. Oh dear no. Here is gold; some scent; a mirror; dice.\n\n_Philos_. Ah, good honest man! such were his little necessaries for the\nphilosophic life, such his title to indulge in general abuse and\ninstruct his neighbours.\n\n_Par_. There you have them. The problem before you is, how the general\nignorance is to be dispersed, and other people enabled to discriminate\nbetween the genuine and the other sort. Find the solution, Truth; for\nindeed it concerns you; Falsehood must not prevail; shall Ignorance\nshield the base while they counterfeit the good, and you never know it?\n\n_Truth_. I think we had better give Parrhesiades this commission; he\nhas been shown an honest man, our friend and your true admirer,\nPhilosophy. Let him take Exposure with him and have interviews with all\nwho profess philosophy; any genuine scion that he finds let him crown\nwith olive and entertain in the Banqueting Hall; and for the\nrascals\u2014ah, how many!\u2014who are only costume philosophers, let him pull\ntheir cloaks off them, clip their beards short with a pair of common\ngoatshears, and mark their foreheads or brand them between the\neyebrows; the design on the branding iron to be a fox or an ape.\n\n_Philos_. Well planned, Truth. And, Parrhesiades, here is a test for\nyou; you know how young eagles are supposed to be tested by the sun;\nwell, our candidates have not got to satisfy us that they can look at\nlight, of course; but put gold, fame, and pleasure before their eyes;\nwhen you see one remain unconscious and unattracted, there is your man\nfor the olive; but when one looks hard that way, with a motion of his\nhand in the direction of the gold, first off with his beard, and then\noff with him to the brander.\n\n_Par_. I will follow your instructions, Philosophy; you will soon find\na large majority ornamented with fox or ape, and very few with olive.\nIf you like, though, I will get some of them up here for you to see.\n\n_Philos_. What do you mean? bring them back after that stampede?\n\n_Par_. Oh yes, if the priestess will lend me the line I see there and\nthe Piraean fisherman's votive hook; I will not keep them long.\n\n_Priestess_. You can have them; and the rod to complete the equipment.\n\n_Par_. Thanks; now quickly, please, a few dried figs and a handful of\ngold.\n\n_Priestess_. There.\n\n_Philos_. What _is_ all this about?\n\n_Priestess_. He has baited his hook with the figs and gold, and is\nsitting on the parapet dangling it over the city.\n\n_Philos_. What _are_ you doing, Parrhesiades? do you think you are\ngoing to fish up stones from the Pelasgicum?\n\n_Par_. Hush! I wait till I get a bite. Posidon, the fisherman's friend,\nand you, dear Amphitrite, send me good fishing!\n\nAh, a fine bass; no, it is not; it is a gilthead.\n\n_Expo_. A shark, you mean; there, see, he is getting near the hook,\nopen-mouthed too. He scents the gold; now he is close\u2014touching\u2014he has\nit; up with him!\n\n_Par_. Give me a hand with the line, Exposure; here he is. Now, my best\nof fishes, what do we make of you? _Salmo Cynicus_, that is what _you_\nare. Good gracious, what teeth! Aha, my brave fish, caught snapping up\ntrifles in the rocks, where you thought you could lurk unobserved? But\nnow you shall hang by the gills for every one to look at you. Pull out\nhook and bait. Why, the hook is bare; he has not been long assimilating\nthe figs, eh? and the gold has gone down too.\n\n_Diog_. Make him disgorge; we want the bait for some more.\n\n_Par_. There, then. Now, Diogenes, do you know who it is? has the\nfellow anything to do with you?\n\n_Diog_. Nothing whatever.\n\n_Par_. Well, what do you put him at? threepence was the price fixed the\nother day.\n\n_Diog_. Too much. His flavour and his looks are intolerable\u2014a coarse\nworthless brute. Drop him head first over the rock, and catch another.\nBut take care your rod does not bend to breaking point.\n\n_Par_. No fear; they are quite light\u2014about the weight of a gudgeon.\n\n_Diog_. About the weight and about the wit. However, up with them.\n\n_Par_. Look; what is this one? a sole? flat as a plate, thin as one of\nhis own fillets; he gapes for the hook; down it goes; we have him; up\nhe comes.\n\n_Diog_. What is he?\n\n_Expo_. His plateship would be a Platonist.\n\n_Pl_. You too after the gold, villain?\n\n_Par_. Well, Plato? what shall we do with him?\n\n_Pl_. Off with him from the same rock.\n\n_Diog_. Try again.\n\n_Par_. Ah, here is a lovely one coming, as far as one can judge in deep\nwater, all the colours of the rainbow, with gold bars across the back.\nDo you see, Exposure? this is the sham Aristotle. There he is; no, he\nhas shied. He is having a good look round; here he comes again; his\njaws open; caught! haul up.\n\n_Ar_. You need not apply to me; I do not know him.\n\n_Par_. Very well, Aristotle; over he goes.\n\nHullo! I see a whole school of them together, all one colour, and\ncovered with spines and horny scales, as tempting to handle as a\nhedgehog. We want a net for these; but we have not got one. Well, it\nwill do if we pull up one out of the lot. The boldest of them will no\ndoubt try the hook.\n\n_Expo_. You had better sheathe a good bit of the line before you let it\ndown; else he will gorge the gold and then saw the line through.\n\n_Par_. There it goes. Posidon grant me a quick catch! There now! they\nare fighting for the bait, a lot of them together nibbling at the figs,\nand others with their teeth well in the gold. That is right; one\nsoundly hooked. Now let me see, what do _you_ call yourself? And yet\nhow absurd to try and make a fish speak; they are dumb. Exposure, tell\nus who is his master,\n\n_Expo_. Chrysippus.\n\n_Par_. Ah, he must have a master with gold in his name, must he?\nChrysippus, tell me seriously, do you know these men? are you\nresponsible for the way they live?\n\n_Ch_. My dear Parrhesiades, I take it ill that you should suggest any\nconnexion between me and such creatures.\n\n_Par_. Quite right, and like you. Over he goes head first like the\nothers; if one tried to eat him, those spines might stick in one's\nthroat.\n\n_Philos_. You have fished long enough, Parrhesiades; there are so many\nof them, one might get away with gold, hook and all, and you have the\npriestess to pay. Let us go for our usual stroll; and for all you it is\ntime to be getting back to your place, if you are not to outstay your\nleave. Parrhesiades, you and Exposure can go the rounds now, and crown\nor brand as I told you.\n\n_Par_. Good, Philosophy. Farewell, ye best of men. Come, Exposure, to\nour commission. Where shall we go first? the Academy, do you think, or\nthe Porch?\n\n_Expo_. We will begin with the Lyceum.\n\n_Par_. Well, it makes no difference. I know well enough that wherever\nwe go there will be few crowns wanted, and a good deal of branding.\n\nH.\n\n\n\nVOYAGE TO THE LOWER WORLD\n\n_Charon. Clotho. Hermes. Shades. Rhadamanthus. Tisiphone. Lamp. Bed_\n\n_Cha_. You see how it is, Clotho; here has all been ship-shape and\nready for a start this long time; the hold baled out, the mast stepped,\nthe sail hoisted, every oar in its rowlock; it is no fault of mine that\nwe don't weigh anchor and sail. 'Tis Hermes keeps us; he should have\nbeen here long ago. Not a passenger on board, as you may see; and we\nmight have made the trip three times over by this. Evening is coming on\nnow; and never a penny taken all day! I know how it will be: Pluto will\nthink _I_ have been wanting to my work. It is not I that am to blame,\nbut our fine gentleman of a supercargo. He is just like any mortal: he\nhas taken a drink of their Lethe up there, and forgotten to come back\nto us. He'll be wrestling with the lads, or playing on his lyre, or\ngiving his precious gift of the gab a good airing; or he's off after\nplunder, the rascal, for what I know: 'tis all in the day's work with\nhim. He is getting too independent: he ought to remember that he\nbelongs to us, one half of him.\n\n_Clo_. Well, well, Charon; perhaps he has been busy: Zeus may have had\nsome particular occasion for his services in the upper world; _he_ has\nthe use of him too, remember.\n\n_Cha_. That doesn't say that he should make use of him beyond what's\nreasonable. Hermes is common property. We have never kept him here when\nhe was due to go. No, I know what it is. In these parts of ours all is\nmist and gloom and darkness, and nothing to be had but asphodel and\nlibations and sacrificial cakes and meats. Yonder in Heaven, all's\nbright, with plenty of ambrosia, and no end of nectar. Small wonder\nthat he likes to loiter there. When he leaves us, 'tis on wings; it is\nas though he escaped from prison. But when the time comes for return,\nhe tramps it on foot, and has much ado to get here at all.\n\n_Clo_. Well, never mind now; here he comes, look, and a fine host of\npassengers with him; a fine flock, rather; he hustles them along with\nhis staff like so many goats. But what's this? One of them is bound,\nand another enjoying the joke; and there is one with a wallet slung\nbeside him, and a stick in his hand; a cantankerous-looking fellow; he\nkeeps the rest moving. And just look at Hermes! Bathed in perspiration,\nand his feet covered with dust! See how he pants; he is quite out of\nbreath. What is the matter, Hermes? Tell us all about it; you seem\ndisturbed.\n\n_Her_. The matter is that this rascal ran away; I had to go after him,\nand had well nigh played you false for this trip, I can tell you.\n\n_Clo_. Why, who is he? What did he want to run away for?\n\n_Her_. His motive is sufficiently clear: he had a preference for\nremaining alive. He is some king or tyrant, as I gather from his\npiteous allusions to blessedness no longer his.\n\n_Clo_. And the fool actually tried to run away, and thought to prolong\nhis life when the thread of Fate was exhausted?\n\n_Her_. Tried! He would have got clean away, but for that capital fellow\nthere with the club; he gave me a hand, and we caught and bound him.\nThe whole way along, from the moment that Atropus handed him over to\nme, he dragged and hung back, and dug his heels into the ground: it was\nno easy work getting him along. Every now and then he would take to\nprayers and entreaties: Would I let him go just for a few minutes? he\nwould make it worth my while. Of course I was not going to do that; it\nwas out of the question.\u2014Well, we had actually got to the very pit's\nmouth, when somehow or other this double-dyed knave managed to slip\noff, whilst I was telling over the Shades to Aeacus, as usual, and he\nchecking them by your sister's invoice. The consequence was, we were\none short of tally. Aeacus raised his eyebrows. 'Hermes,' he said,\n'everything in its right place: no larcenous work here, please. You\nplay enough of those tricks in Heaven. We keep strict accounts here:\nnothing escapes us. The invoice says 1,004; there it is in black and\nwhite. You have brought me one short, unless you say that Atropus was\ntoo clever for you.' I coloured up at that; and then all at once I\nremembered what had happened on the way, and when I looked round and\nthis fellow was nowhere to be seen, I knew that he must have made off,\nand I set off after him along the road to the upper world, as fast as I\ncould go. My worthy friend here volunteered for the service; so we made\na race of it, and caught the runaway just as he got to Taenarum! It was\na near thing.\n\n_Clo_. There now, Charon! And we were beginning to accuse Hermes of\nneglect.\n\n_Cha_. Well, and why are we waiting here, as if there had not been\nenough delay already?\n\n_Clo_. True. Let them come aboard. I'll to my post by the gangway, with\nmy notebook, and take their names and countries as they come up, and\ndetails of their deaths; and you can stow them away as you get\nthem.\u2014Hermes, let us have those babies in first; I shall get nothing\nout of them.\n\n_Her_. Here, skipper. Three hundred of them, including those that were\nexposed.\n\n_Cha_. A precious haul, on my word!\u2014These are but green grapes, Hermes.\n\n_Her_. Who next, Clotho? The Unwept?\n\n_Clo_. Ah! I take you.\u2014Yes, up with the old fellows. I have no time\nto-day for prehistoric research. All over sixty, pass on! What's the\nmatter with them? They don't hear me; they are deaf with age. I think\nyou will have to pick them up, like the babies, and get them along that\nway.\n\n_Her_. Here they are; fine well-matured fruit, gathered in due season;\nthree hundred and ninety-eight of them.\n\n_Cha_. Nay, nay; these are no better than raisins.\n\n_Clo_. Bring up the wounded next, Hermes. _Now_ I can get to work. Tell\nme how you were killed. Or no; I had better look at my notes, and call\nyou over. Eighty-four due to be killed in battle yesterday, in Mysia,\nThese to include Gobares, son of Oxyartes.\n\n_Her_. Adsunt.\n\n_Clo_. The seven who killed themselves for love. Also Theagenes, the\nphilosopher, for love of the Megarian courtesan.\n\n_Her_. Here they are, look.\n\n_Clo_. And the rival claimants to thrones, who slew one another?\n\n_Her_. Here!\n\n_Clo_. And the one murdered by his wife and her paramour?\n\n_Her_. Straight in front of you.\n\n_Clo_. Now the victims of the law,\u2014the cudgelled and the crucified. And\nwhere are those sixteen who were killed by robbers?\n\n_Her_. Here; you may know them by their wounds. Am I to bring the women\ntoo?\n\n_Clo_. Yes, certainly; and all who were shipwrecked; it is the same\nkind of death. And those who died of fever, bring them too, the doctor\nAgathocles and all. Then there was a Cynic philosopher, who was to have\nsuccumbed to a dinner with Dame Hecate, eked out with sacrificial eggs\nand a raw cuttlefish; where is he?\n\n_Cy_. Here I stand this long time, my good Clotho.\u2014Now what had I done\nto deserve such a weary spell of life? You gave me pretty nearly a\nspindleful of it. I often tried to cut the thread and away; but somehow\nit never would give.\n\n_Clo_. I left you as a censor and physician of human frailties; pass\non, and good luck to you.\n\n_Cy_. No, by Zeus! First let us see our captive safe on board. Your\njudgement might be perverted by his entreaties.\n\n_Clo_. Let me see; who is he?\n\n_Her_. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes; tyrant.\n\n_Clo_. Come up, Megapenthes.\n\n_Me_. Nay, nay, my lady Clotho; suffer me to return for a little while,\nand I will come of my own accord, without waiting to be summoned.\n\n_Clo_. What do you want to go for?\n\n_Me_. I crave permission to complete my palace; I left the building\nhalf-finished.\n\n_Clo_. Pooh! Come along.\n\n_Me_. Oh Fate, I ask no long reprieve. Vouchsafe me this one day, that\nI may inform my wife where my great treasure lies buried.\n\n_Clo_. Impossible. 'Tis Fate's decree.\n\n_Me_. And all that money is to be thrown away?\n\n_Clo_. Not thrown away. Be under no uneasiness. Your cousin Megacles\nwill take charge of it.\n\n_Me_. Oh, monstrous! My enemy, whom from sheer good nature I omitted to\nput to death?\n\n_Clo_. The same. He will survive you for rather more than forty years;\nin the full enjoyment of your harem, your wardrobe, and your treasure.\n\n_Me_. It is too bad of you, Clotho, to hand over my property to my\nworst enemy.\n\n_Clo_. My dear sir, it was Cydimachus's property first, surely? You\nonly succeeded to it by murdering him, and butchering his children\nbefore his eyes.\n\n_Me_. Yes, but it was mine after that.\n\n_Clo_. Well, and now your term of possession expires.\n\n_Me_. A word in your ear, madam; no one else must hear this.\u2014Sirs,\nwithdraw for a space.\u2014Clotho, if you will let me escape, I pledge\nmyself to give you a quarter of a million sterling this very day.\n\n_Clo_. Ha, ha! So your millions are still running in your head?\n\n_Me_. Shall I throw in the two mixing-bowls that I got by the murder of\nCleocritus? They weigh a couple of tons apiece; refined gold!\n\n_Clo_. Drag him up. We shall never get him to come on board by himself.\n\n_Me_. I call you all to witness! My city-wall, my docks, remain\nunfinished. I only wanted five days more to complete them.\n\n_Clo_. Never mind. It will be another's work now.\n\n_Me_. Stay! One request I can make with a clear conscience.\n\n_Clo_. Well?\n\n_Me_. Suffer me only to complete the conquest of Persia; \u2026 and to\nimpose tribute on Lydia; \u2026 and erect a colossal monument to myself, \u2026\nand inscribe thereon the military achievements of my life. Then let me\ndie.\n\n_Clo_. Creature, this is no single day's reprieve: you would want\nsomething like twenty years.\n\n_Me_. Oh, but I am quite prepared to give security for my expeditious\nreturn. Nay, I could provide a substitute, if preferred\u2014my\nwell-beloved!\n\n_Clo_. Wretch! How often have you prayed that he might survive you!\n\n_Me_. That was a long time ago. Now,\u2014I see a better use for him.\n\n_Clo_. But he is due to be here, shortly, let me tell you. He is to be\nput to death by the new sovereign.\n\n_Me_. Well, Clotho, I hope you will not refuse my last request.\n\n_Clo_. Which is?\n\n_Me_. I should like to know how things will be, now that I am gone.\n\n_Clo_. Certainly; you shall have that mortification. Your wife will\npass into the hands of Midas, your slave; he has been her gallant for\nsome time past.\n\n_Me_. A curse on him! 'Twas at her request that I gave him his freedom.\n\n_Clo_. Your daughter will take her place in the harem of the present\nmonarch. Then all the old statues and portraits which the city set up\nin your honour will be overturned,\u2014to the entertainment, no doubt, of\nthe spectators.\n\n_Me_. And will no friend resent these doings?\n\n_Clo_. Who was your friend? Who had any reason to be? Need I explain\nthat the cringing courtiers who lauded your every word and deed were\nactuated either by hope or by fear\u2014time-servers every man of them, with\na keen eye to the main chance?\n\n_Me_. And these are they whose feasts rang with my name! who, as they\npoured their libations, invoked every blessing on my head! Not one but\nwould have died before me, could he have had his will; nay, they swore\nby no other name.\n\n_Clo_. Yes; and you dined with one of them yesterday, and it cost you\nyour life. It was that last cup you drank that brought you here.\n\n_Me_. Ah, I noticed a bitter taste.\u2014But what was his object?\n\n_Clo_. Oh, you want to know too much. It is high time you came on\nboard.\n\n_Me_. Clotho, I had a particular reason for desiring one more glimpse\nof daylight. I have a burning grievance!\n\n_Clo_. And what is that? Something of vast importance, I make no doubt.\n\n_Me_. It is about my slave Carion. The moment he knew of my death, he\ncame up to the room where I lay; it was late in the evening; he had\nplenty of time in front of him, for not a soul was watching by me; he\nbrought with him my concubine Glycerium (an old affair, this, I\nsuspect), closed the door, and proceeded to take his pleasure with her,\nas if no third person had been in the room! Having satisfied the\ndemands of passion, he turned his attention to me. 'You little\nvillain,' he cried, 'many's the flogging I've had from you, for no\nfault of mine!' And as he spoke he plucked out my hair and smote me on\nthe face. 'Away with you,' he cried finally, spitting on me, 'away to\nthe place of the damned!'\u2014and so withdrew. I burned with resentment:\nbut there I lay stark and cold, and could do nothing. That baggage\nGlycerium, too, hearing footsteps approaching, moistened her eyes and\npretended she had been weeping for me; and withdrew sobbing, and\nrepeating my name.\u2014If I could but get hold of them\u2014\n\n_Clo_. Never mind what you would do to them, but come on board. The\nhour is at hand when you must appear before the tribunal.\n\n_Me_. And who will presume to give his vote against a tyrant?\n\n_Clo_. Against a tyrant, who indeed? Against a Shade, Rhadamanthus will\ntake that liberty. He is strictly impartial, as you will presently\nobserve, in adapting his sentences to the requirements of individual\ncases. And now, no more delay.\n\n_Me_. Dread Fate, let me be some common man,\u2014some pauper! I have been a\nking,\u2014let me be a slave! Only let me live!\n\n_Clo_. Where is the one with the stick? Hermes, you and he must drag\nhim up feet foremost. He will never come up by himself.\n\n_Her_. Come along, my runagate. Here you are, skipper. And I say, keep\nan eye\u2014\n\n_Cha_. Never fear. We'll lash him to the mast.\n\n_Me_. Look you, I must have the seat of honour.\n\n_Clo_. And why exactly?\n\n_Me_. Can you ask? Was I not a tyrant, with a guard of ten thousand\nmen?\n\n_Cy_. Oh, dullard! And you complain of Carion's pulling your hair! Wait\ntill you get a taste of this stick; you shall know what it is to be a\ntyrant.\n\n_Me_. What, shall a Cynic dare to raise his staff against me? Sirrah,\nhave you forgotten the other day, when I had all but nailed you to the\ncross, for letting that sharp censorious tongue of yours wag too\nfreely?\n\n_Cynic_. Well, and now it is your turn to be nailed,\u2014to the mast.\n\n_Mi_. And what of me, mistress? Am I to be left out of the reckoning?\nBecause I am poor, must I be the last to come aboard?\n\n_Clo_. Who are you?\n\n_Mi_. Micyllus the cobbler.\n\n_Clo_. A cobbler, and cannot wait your turn? Look at the tyrant: see\nwhat bribes he offers us, only for a short reprieve. It is very strange\nthat delay is not to your fancy too.\n\n_Mi_. It is this way, my lady Fate. I find but cold comfort in that\npromise of the Cyclops: 'Outis shall be eaten last,' said he; but first\nor last, the same teeth are waiting. And then, it is not the same with\nme as with the rich. Our lives are what they call 'diametrically\nopposed.' This tyrant, now, was thought happy while he lived; he was\nfeared and respected by all: he had his gold and his silver; his fine\nclothes and his horses and his banquets; his smart pages and his\nhandsome ladies,\u2014and had to leave them all. No wonder if he was vexed,\nand felt the tug of parting. For I know not how it is, but these things\nare like birdlime: a man's soul sticks to them, and will not easily\ncome away; they have grown to be a part of him. Nay, 'tis as if men\nwere bound in some chain that nothing can break; and when by sheer\nforce they are dragged away, they cry out and beg for mercy. They are\nbold enough for aught else, but show them this same road to Hades, and\nthey prove to be but cowards. They turn about, and must ever be looking\nback at what they have left behind them, far off though it be,\u2014like men\nthat are sick for love. So it was with the fool yonder: as we came\nalong, he was for running away; and now he tires you with his\nentreaties. As for me, I had no stake in life; lands and horses, money\nand goods, fame, statues,\u2014I had none of them; I could not have been in\nbetter trim: it needed but one nod from Atropus,\u2014I was busied about a\nboot at the time, but down I flung knife and leather with a will,\njumped up, and never waited to get my shoes, or wash the blacking from\nmy hands, but joined the procession there and then, ay, and headed it,\nlooking ever forward; I had left nothing behind me that called for a\nbackward glance. And, on my word, things begin to look well already.\nEqual rights for all, and no man better than his neighbour; that is\nhugely to my liking. And from what I can learn there is no collecting\nof debts in this country, and no taxes; better still, no shivering in\nwinter, no sickness, no hard knocks from one's betters. All is peace.\nThe tables are turned: the laugh is with us poor men; it is the rich\nthat make moan, and are ill at ease.\n\n_Clo_. To be sure, I noticed that you were laughing, some time ago.\nWhat was it in particular that excited your mirth?\n\n_Mi_. I'll tell you, best of Goddesses. Being next door to a tyrant up\nthere, I was all eyes for what went on in his house; and he seemed to\nme neither more nor less than a God. I saw the embroidered purple, the\nhost of courtiers, the gold, the jewelled goblets, the couches with\ntheir feet of silver: and I thought, this is happiness. As for the\nsweet savour that arose when his dinner was getting ready, it was too\nmuch for me; such blessedness seemed more than human. And then his\nproud looks and stately walk and high carriage, striking admiration\ninto all beholders! It seemed almost as if he must be handsomer than\nother men, and a good eighteen inches taller. But when he was dead, he\nmade a queer figure, with all his finery gone; though I laughed more at\nmyself than at him: there had I been worshipping mere scum on no better\nauthority than the smell of roast meat, and reckoning happiness by the\nblood of Lacedaemonian sea-snails! There was Gniphon the usurer, too,\nbitterly reproaching himself for having died without ever knowing the\ntaste of wealth, leaving all his money to his nearest relation and\nheir-at-law, the spendthrift Rhodochares, when he might have had the\nenjoyment of it himself. When I saw him, I laughed as if I should never\nstop: to think of him as he used to be, pale, wizened, with a face full\nof care, his fingers the only rich part of him, for they had the\ntalents to count,\u2014scraping the money together bit by bit, and all to be\nsquandered in no time by that favourite of Fortune, Rhodochares!\u2014But\nwhat are we waiting for now? There will be time enough on the voyage to\nenjoy their woebegone faces, and have our laugh out.\n\n_Clo_. Come on board, and then the ferryman can haul up the anchor.\n\n_Cha_. Now, now! What are you doing here? The boat is full. You wait\ntill to-morrow. We can bring you across in the morning.\n\n_Mi_. What right have you to leave me behind,\u2014a shade of twenty-four\nhours' standing? I tell you what it is, I shall have you up before\nRhadamanthus. A plague on it, she's moving! And here I shall be left\nall by myself. Stay, though: why not swim across in their wake? No\nmatter if I get tired; a dead man will scarcely be drowned. Not to\nmention that I have not a penny to pay my fare.\n\n_Clo_. Micyllus! Stop! You must not come across that way; Heaven\nforbid!\n\n_Mi_. Ha, ha! I shall get there first, and I shouldn't wonder.\n\n_Clo_. This will never do. We must get to him, and pick him up\u2026.\nHermes, give him a hand up.\n\n_Cha_. And where is he to sit now he is here? We are full up, as you\nmay see.\n\n_Her_. What do you say to the tyrant's shoulders?\n\n_Clo_. A good idea that.\n\n_Cha_. Up with you then; and make the rascal's back ache. And now, good\nluck to our voyage!\n\n_Cy_. Charon, I may as well tell you the plain truth at once. The penny\nfor my fare is not forthcoming; I have nothing but my wallet, look, and\nthis stick. But if you want a hand at baling, here I am; or I could\ntake an oar; only give me a good stout one, and you shall have no fault\nto find with me.\n\n_Cha_. To it, then; and I'll ask no other payment of you.\n\n_Cy_. Shall I tip them a stave?\n\n_Cha_. To be sure, if you have a sea-song about you.\n\n_Cy_. I have several. Look here though, an opposition is starting: a\nsong of lamentation. It will throw me out.\n\n_Sh_. Oh, my lands, my lands!\u2014Ah, my money, my money!\u2014Farewell, my fine\npalace!\u2014The thousands that fellow will have to squander!\u2014Ah, my\nhelpless children!\u2014To think of the vines I planted last year! Who, ah\nwho, will pluck the grapes?\u2014-\n\n_Her_. Why, Micyllus, have _you_ never an Oh or an Ah? It is quite\nimproper that any shade should cross the stream, and make no moan.\n\n_Mi_. Get along with you. What have I to do with Ohs and Ahs? I'm\nenjoying the trip!\n\n_Her_. Still, just a groan or two. It's expected.\n\n_Mi_. Well, if I must, here goes.\u2014Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah,\nSoles, old Soles!\u2014Oh, ancient Boots!\u2014Woe's me! Never again shall I sit\nempty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a winter's\nday, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl, will be\nanother's: whose, ah! whose?\n\n_Her_. Yes, that will do. We are nearly there.\n\n_Cha_. Wait a bit! Fares first, please. Your fare, Micyllus; every one\nelse has paid; one penny.\n\n_Mi_. You don't expect to get a penny out of the poor cobbler? You're\njoking, Charon; or else this is what they call a 'castle in the air.' I\nknow not whether your penny is square or round.\n\n_Cha_. A fine paying trip this, I must say! However,\u2014all ashore! I must\nfetch the horses, cows, dogs, and other livestock. Their turn comes\nnow.\n\n_Clo_. You can take charge of them for the rest of the way, Hermes. I\nam crossing again to see after the Chinamen, Indopatres and\nHeramithres. They have been fighting about boundaries, and have killed\none another by this time.\n\n_Her_. Come, shades, let us get on;\u2014follow me, I mean, in single file.\n\n_Mi_. Bless me, how dark it is! Where is handsome Megillus _now_? There\nwould be no telling Simmiche from Phryne. All complexions are alike\nhere, no question of beauty, greater or less. Why, the cloak I thought\nso shabby before passes muster here as well as royal purple; the\ndarkness hides both alike. Cyniscus, whereabouts are you?\n\n_Cy_. Use your ears; here I am. We might walk together. What do you\nsay?\n\n_Mi_. Very good; give me your hand.\u2014I suppose you have been admitted to\nthe mysteries at Eleusis? That must have been something like this, I\nshould think?\n\n_Cy_. Pretty much. Look, here comes a torch-bearer; a grim, forbidding\ndame. A Fury, perhaps?\n\n_Mi_. She looks like it, certainly.\n\n_Her_. Here they are, Tisiphone. One thousand and four.\n\n_Ti_. It is time we had them. Rhadamanthus has been waiting.\n\n_Rhad_. Bring them up, Tisiphone. Hermes, you call out their names as\nthey are wanted.\n\n_Cy_. Rhadamanthus, as you love your father Zeus, have me up first for\nexamination.\n\n_Rhad_. Why?\n\n_Cy_. There is a certain shade whose misdeeds on earth I am anxious to\ndenounce. And if my evidence is to be worth anything, you must first be\nsatisfied of my own character and conduct.\n\n_Rhad_. Who are you?\n\n_Cy_. Cyniscus, your worship; a student of philosophy.\n\n_Rhad_. Come up for judgement; I will take you first. Hermes, summon\nthe accusers.\n\n_Her_. If any one has an accusation to bring against Cyniscus here\npresent, let him come forward.\n\n_Cy_. No one stirs!\n\n_Rhad_. Ah, but that is not enough, my friend. Off with your clothes; I\nmust have a look at your brands.\n\n_Cy_. Brands? Where will you find them?\n\n_Rhad_. Never yet did mortal man sin, but he carried about the secret\nrecord thereof, branded on his soul.\n\n_Cy_. Well, here I am stripped. Now for the 'brands.'\n\n_Rhad_. Clean from head to heel, except three or four very faint marks,\nscarcely to be made out. Ah! what does this mean? Here is place after\nplace that tells of the iron; all rubbed out apparently, or cut out.\nHow do you explain this, Cyniscus? How did you get such a clean skin\nagain?\n\n_Cy_. Why, in old days, when I knew no better, I lived an evil life,\nand acquired thereby a number of brands. But from the day that I began\nto practise philosophy, little by little I washed out all the scars\nfrom my soul,\u2014thanks to the efficiency of that admirable lotion.\n\n_Rhad_. Off with you then to the Isles of the Blest, and the excellent\ncompany you will find there. But we must have your impeachment of the\ntyrant before you go. Next shade, Hermes!\n\n_Mi_. Mine is a very small affair, too, Rhadamanthus; I shall not keep\nyou long. I have been stripped all this time; so do take me next.\n\n_Rhad_. And who may you be?\n\n_Mi_. Micyllus the cobbler.\n\n_Rhad_. Very well, Micyllus. As clean as clean could be; not a mark\nanywhere. You may join Cyniscus. Now the Tyrant.\n\n_Her_. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes, wanted! Where are you off to? This\nway! You there, the Tyrant! Up with him, Tisiphone, neck and crop.\n\n_Rhad_. Now, Cyniscus, your accusation and your proofs. Here is the\nparty.\n\n_Cy_. There is in fact no need of an accusation. You will very soon\nknow the man by the marks upon him. My words however may serve to\nunveil him, and to show his character in a clearer light. With the\nconduct of this monster as a private citizen, I need not detain you.\nSurrounded with a bodyguard, and aided by unscrupulous accomplices, he\nrose against his native city, and established a lawless rule. The\npersons put to death by him without trial are to be counted by\nthousands, and it was the confiscation of their property that gave him\nhis enormous wealth. Since then, there is no conceivable iniquity which\nhe has not perpetrated. His hapless fellow-citizens have been subjected\nto every form of cruelty and insult. Virgins have been seduced, boys\ncorrupted, the feelings of his subjects outraged in every possible way.\nHis overweening pride, his insolent bearing towards all who had to do\nwith him, were such as no doom of yours can adequately requite. A man\nmight with more security have fixed his gaze upon the blazing sun, than\nupon yonder tyrant. As for the refined cruelty of his punishments, it\nbaffles description; and not even his familiars were exempt. That this\naccusation has not been brought without sufficient grounds, you may\neasily satisfy yourself, by summoning the murderer's victims.\u2014Nay, they\nneed no summons; see, they are here; they press round as though they\nwould stifle him. Every man there, Rhadamanthus, fell a prey to his\niniquitous designs. Some had attracted his attention by the beauty of\ntheir wives; others by their resentment at the forcible abduction of\ntheir children; others by their wealth; others again by their\nunderstanding, their moderation, and their unvarying disapproval of his\nconduct.\n\n_Rhad_. Villain, what have you to say to this?\n\n_Me_. I committed the murders referred to. As for the rest, the\nadulteries and corruptions and seductions, it is all a pack of lies.\n\n_Cy_. I can bring witnesses to these points too, Rhadamanthus.\n\n_Rhad_. Witnesses, eh?\n\n_Cy_. Hermes, kindly summon his Lamp and Bed. They will appear in\nevidence, and state what they know of his conduct.\n\n_Her_. Lamp and Bed of Megapenthes, come into court. Good, they respond\nto the summons.\n\n_Rhad_. Now, tell us all you know about Megapenthes. Bed, you speak\nfirst.\n\n_Bed_. All that Cyniscus said is true. But really, Mr. Rhadamanthus, I\ndon't quite like to speak about it; such strange things used to happen\noverhead.\n\n_Rhad_. Why, your unwillingness to speak is the most telling evidence\nof all!\u2014Lamp, now let us have yours.\n\n_Lamp_. What went on in the daytime I never saw, not being there. As\nfor his doings at night, the less said the better. I saw some very\nqueer things, though, monstrous queer. Many is the time I have stopped\ntaking oil on purpose, and tried to go out. But then he used to bring\nme close up. It was enough to give any lamp a bad character.\n\n_Rhad_. Enough of verbal evidence. Now, just divest yourself of that\npurple, and we will see what you have in the way of brands. Goodness\ngracious, the man's a positive network! Black and blue with them! Now,\nwhat punishment can we give him? A bath in Pyriphlegethon? The tender\nmercies of Cerberus, perhaps?\n\n_Cy_. No, no. Allow me,\u2014I have a novel idea; something that will just\nsuit him.\n\n_Rhad_. Yes? I shall be obliged to you for a suggestion.\n\n_Cy_. I fancy it is usual for departed spirits to take a draught of the\nwater of Lethe?\n\n_Rhad_. Just so.\n\n_Cy_. Let him be the sole exception.\n\n_Rhad_. What is the idea in that?\n\n_Cy_. His earthly pomp and power for ever in his mind; his fingers ever\nbusy on the tale of blissful items;\u2014'tis a heavy sentence!\n\n_Rhad_. True. Be this the tyrant's doom. Place him in fetters at\nTantalus's side,\u2014never to forget the things of earth.\n\nF.\n\nTHE END","title":"The Works of Lucian of Samosata \u2014 Volume 01","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":87865}