{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6829/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6829","id":"gutenberg_6829","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6829","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Lucian, of Samosata -- Translations into English"],"text":"THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA\n\n\nComplete with exceptions specified in the preface\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nH. W. FOWLER AND F. G. FOWLER\n\nVOLUME III\n\nOF FOUR VOLUMES\n\nWhat work nobler than transplanting foreign thought into the barren\ndomestic soil? except indeed planting thought of your own, which\nthe fewest are privileged to do.\u2014_Sartor Resartus_.\n\nAt each flaw, be this your first thought: the author doubtless said\nsomething quite different, and much more to the point. And then you\nmay hiss _me_ off, if you will.\u2014LUCIAN, _Nigrinus_, 9.\n\n(LUCIAN) The last great master of Attic eloquence and Attic wit.\u2014\n_Lord Macaulay_.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOL. III\n\n\nLIFE OF DEMONAX\n\nA PORTRAIT-STUDY\n\nDEFENCE OF THE \u2018PORTRAIT-STUDY\u2019\n\nTOXARIS: A DIALOGUE OF FRIENDSHIP\n\nZEUS CROSS-EXAMINED\n\nZEUS TRAGOEDUS\n\nTHE COCK\n\nICAROMENIPPUS, AN AERIAL EXPEDITION\n\nTHE DOUBLE INDICTMENT\n\nTHE PARASITE, A DEMONSTRATION THAT SPONGING IS A PROFESSION\n\nANACHARSIS, A DISCUSSION OF PHYSICAL TRAINING\n\nOF MOURNING\n\nTHE RHETORICIAN\u2019S VADE MECUM\n\nTHE LIAR\n\nDIONYSUS, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE\n\nHERACLES, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE\n\nSWANS AND AMBER\n\nTHE FLY, AN APPRECIATION\n\nREMARKS ADDRESSED TO AN ILLITERATE BOOK-FANCIER\n\nALPHABETICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF DEMONAX\n\n\nIt was in the book of Fate that even this age of ours should not be\ndestitute entirely of noteworthy and memorable men, but produce a\nbody of extraordinary power, and a mind of surpassing wisdom. My\nallusions are to Sostratus the Boeotian, whom the Greeks called,\nand believed to be, Heracles; and more particularly to the\nphilosopher Demonax. I saw and marvelled at both of them, and with\nthe latter I long consorted. I have written of Sostratus elsewhere\n[Footnote: The life of Sostratus is not extant.], and described his\nstature and enormous strength, his open-air life on Parnassus,\nsleeping on the grass and eating what the mountain afforded, the\nexploits that bore out his surname\u2014robbers exterminated, rough\nplaces made smooth, and deep waters bridged.\n\nThis time I am to write of Demonax, with two sufficient ends in\nview: first, to keep his memory green among good men, as far as in\nme lies; and secondly, to provide the most earnest of our rising\ngeneration, who aspire to philosophy, with a contemporary pattern,\nthat they may not be forced back upon the ancients for worthy\nmodels, but imitate this best\u2014if I am any judge\u2014of all\nphilosophers.\n\nHe came of a Cyprian family which enjoyed considerable property and\npolitical influence. But his views soared above such things as\nthese; he claimed nothing less than the highest, and devoted\nhimself to philosophy. This was not due to any exhortations of\nAgathobulus, his predecessor Demetrius, or Epictetus. He did indeed\nenjoy the converse of all these, as well as of Timocrates of\nHeraclea, that wise man whose gifts of expression and of\nunderstanding were equal. It was not, however, to the exhortations\nof any of these, but to a natural impulse towards the good, an\ninnate yearning for philosophy which manifested itself in childish\nyears, that he owed his superiority to all the things that ordinary\nmen pursue. He took independence and candour for his guiding\nprinciples, lived himself an upright, wholesome, irreproachable\nlife, and exhibited to all who saw or heard him the model of his\nown disposition and philosophic sincerity.\n\nHe was no half-baked enthusiast either; he had lived with the\npoets, and knew most of them by heart; he was a practised speaker;\nhe had a knowledge of philosophic principles not of the superficial\nskin-deep order; he had developed and hardened his body by exercise\nand toil, and, in short, had been at the pains to make himself\nevery man\u2019s equal at every point. He was consistent enough, when he\nfound that he could no longer suffice to himself, to depart\nvoluntarily from life, leaving a great reputation behind him among\nthe true nobility of Greece.\n\nInstead of confining himself to a single philosophic school, he\nlaid them all under contribution, without showing clearly which of\nthem he preferred; but perhaps he was nearest akin to Socrates;\nfor, though he had leanings as regards externals and plain living\nto Diogenes, he never studied effect or lived for the applause and\nadmiration of the multitude; his ways were like other people\u2019s; he\nmounted no high horse; he was just a man and a citizen. He indulged\nin no Socratic irony; but his discourse was full of Attic grace;\nthose who heard it went away neither disgusted by servility nor\nrepelled by ill-tempered censure, but on the contrary lifted out of\nthemselves by charity, and encouraged to more orderly, contented,\nhopeful lives.\n\nHe was never known to shout or be over vehement or angry, even when\nhe had to correct; he touched offences, but pardoned offenders,\nsaying that the doctors\u2019 was the right model, who treat sickness\nbut are not angry with the sick. It is human, he thought, to err,\nbut divine (whether in God or man) to put the error right.\n\nA life of this sort left him without wants of his own; but he was\nalways ready to render any proper service to his friends\u2014including\nreminders to those among them who passed for fortunate, how brief\nwas their tenure of what they so prided themselves upon. To all, on\nthe other hand, who repined at poverty, resented exile, or\ncomplained of old age or bad health, he administered laughing\nconsolation, and bade them not forget how soon their troubles would\nbe over, the distinction between good and bad be obsolete, and long\nfreedom succeed to short-lived distress.\n\nHe was fond of playing peace-maker between brothers at variance, or\npresiding over the restoration of marital harmony. He could say a\nword in season, too, before an agitated political assembly, which\nwould turn the scale in favour of patriotic duty. Such was the\ntemper that philosophy produced in him, kindly, mild, and cheerful.\n\nNothing ever grieved him except the illness or death of a friend,\nfriendship being the one among blessings that he put highest; and\nindeed he was every man\u2019s friend, counting among his kindred\nwhatever had human shape. Not that there were no degrees in the\npleasure different people\u2019s society gave him; but he avoided none,\nexcept those who seemed so far astray that they could get no good\nfrom him. And every word or act in which these principles took\nshape might have been dictated by the Graces and Aphrodite; for \u2018on\nhis lips Persuasion sat,\u2019 as the play has it.\n\nAccordingly he was regarded with reverence at Athens, both by the\ncollective assembly and by the officials; he always continued to be\na person of great consequence in their eyes. And this though most\nof them had been at first offended with him, and hated him as\nheartily as their ancestors had Socrates. Besides his candour and\nindependence, there had been found Anytuses and Meletuses to repeat\nthe historic charges: _he had never been known to sacrifice, and\nhe made himself singular by avoiding initiation at Eleusis_. On\nthis occasion he showed his courage by appearing in a garland and\nfestal attire, and then pleading his cause before the people with a\ndash of unwonted asperity infused into his ordinary moderate tone.\nOn the count of never having sacrificed to Athene, \u2018Men of Athens,\u2019\nhe said, \u2018there is nothing wonderful in this; it was only that I\ngave the Goddess credit for being able to do very well without\nsacrifices from me.\u2019 And in the matter of the Mysteries, his reason\nfor not following the usual practice was this: if the Mysteries\nturned out to be bad, he would never be able to keep quiet about it\nto the uninitiated, but must dissuade them from the ceremony;\nwhile, if they were good, humanity would tempt him to divulge them.\nThe Athenians, stone in hand already, were at once disarmed, and\nfrom that time onwards paid him honour and respect, which\nultimately rose to reverence. Yet he had opened his case with a\nbitter enough reproof: \u2018Men of Athens, you see me ready garlanded;\nproceed to sacrifice me, then; your former offering [Footnote:\ni.e., Socrates.] was deficient in this formality.\u2019\n\nI will now give some specimens of his pointed and witty sayings,\nwhich may begin with his answers to Favorinus. The latter had heard\nthat he made fun of his lectures, and in particular of the\nsentimental verses with which they were garnished, and which\nDemonax thought contemptible, womanish, and quite unsuited to\nphilosophy. So he came and asked him: \u2018Who, pray, are you, that you\nshould pour scorn upon me?\u2019 \u2018I am the possessor of a critical pair\nof ears,\u2019 was the answer. The sophist had not had enough;\n\u2018_You_ are no infant,\u2019 he went on, \u2018but a philosopher, it\nseems; may one ask what marks the transformation?\u2019 \u2018The marks of\nmanhood,\u2019 said Demonax.\n\nAnother time the same person came up and asked him what school of\nphilosophy he belonged to. \u2018Who told you I was a philosopher?\u2019 was\nall he said. But as he left him, he had a good laugh to himself,\nwhich Favorinus observing, demanded what he was laughing at; \u2018I was\nonly amused by your taking a man for a philosopher because he wears\na beard, when you have none yourself.\u2019\n\nWhen Sidonius, who had a great reputation at Athens as a teacher,\nwas boasting that he was conversant with all the philosophic\nsystems\u2014but I had better quote his words. \u2018Let Aristotle call, and\nI follow to the Lyceum; Plato, and I hurry to the Academy; Zeno,\nand I make my home in the Porch; Pythagoras, and I keep the rule of\nsilence.\u2019 Then rose Demonax from among the audience: \u2018Sidonius,\nPythagoras calls.\u2019\n\nA pretty girlish young man called Python, son of some Macedonian\ngrandee, once by way of quizzing him asked a riddling question and\ninvited him to show his acumen over it. \u2018I only see one thing, dear\nchild,\u2019 he said, \u2018and that is, that you are a _fair_ logician.\u2019\nThe other lost his temper at this equivoque, and threatened him:\n\u2018You shall see in a minute what a man can do.\u2019 \u2018Oh, you keep a man,\ndo you?\u2019 was Demonax\u2019s smiling retort.\n\nHe once, for daring to laugh at an athlete who displayed himself in\ngay clothes because he had won an Olympic victory, received a blow\non the head with a stone, which drew blood. The bystanders were all\nas angry as if they had themselves been the victims, and set up a\nshout\u2014\u2018The Proconsul! the Proconsul!\u2019 \u2018Thank you, gentlemen,\u2019 said\nDemonax, \u2018but I should prefer the doctor.\u2019\n\nHe once picked up a little gold charm in the road as he walked, and\nposted a notice in the market-place stating that the loser could\nrecover his property, if he would call upon Demonax and give\nparticulars of the weight, material, and workmanship. A handsome\nyoung exquisite came, professing to have lost it. The philosopher\nsoon saw that it was a got-up story; \u2018Ah, my boy,\u2019 he said, \u2018you\nwill do very well, if you lose your other charms as little as you\nhave lost this one.\u2019\n\nA Roman senator at Athens once presented his son, who had great\nbeauty of a soft womanish type. \u2018My son salutes you, sir,\u2019 he said.\nTo which Demonax answered, \u2018A pretty lad, worthy of his father, and\nextremely like his mother.\u2019\n\nA cynic who emphasized his principles by wearing a bear\u2019s skin he\ninsisted on addressing not by his name of Honoratus, but as Bruin.\n\nAsked for a definition of Happiness, he said that only the free was\nhappy. \u2018Well,\u2019 said the questioner, \u2018there is no lack of free\nmen.\u2019\u2014\u2018I count no man free who is subject to hopes and fears.\u2019\u2014\n\u2018You ask impossibilities; of these two we are all very much the\nslaves.\u2019 \u2018Once grasp the nature of human affairs,\u2019 said Demonax,\n\u2018and you will find that they justify neither hope nor fear, since\nboth pain and pleasure are to have an end.\u2019\n\nPeregrine Proteus was shocked at his taking things so lightly, and\ntreating mankind as a subject for humour: \u2018You have no teeth,\nDemonax.\u2019 \u2018And you, Peregrine, have no bowels.\u2019\n\nA physical philosopher was discoursing about the antipodes; Demonax\ntook his hand, and led him to a well, in which he showed him his\nown reflection: \u2018Do you want us to believe that the antipodes are\nlike _that_?\u2019\n\nA man once boasted that he was a wizard, and possessed of mighty\ncharms whereby he could get what he chose out of anybody. \u2018Will it\nsurprise you to learn that I am a fellow-craftsman?\u2019 asked Demonax;\n\u2018pray come with me to the baker\u2019s, and you shall see a single\ncharm, just one wave of my magic wand, induce him to bestow several\nloaves upon me.\u2019 Current coin, he meant, is as good a magician as\nmost.\n\nThe great Herodes, mourning the untimely death of Pollux, used to\nhave the carriage and horses got ready, and the place laid at\ntable, as though the dead were going to drive and eat. To him came\nDemonax, saying that he brought a message from Pollux. Herodes,\ndelighted with the idea that Demonax was humouring his whim like\nother people, asked what it was that Pollux required of him. \u2018He\ncannot think why you are so long coming to him.\u2019\n\nWhen another person kept himself shut up in the dark, mourning his\nson, Demonax represented himself to him as a magician: he would\ncall up the son\u2019s ghost, the only condition being that he should be\ngiven the names of three people who had never had to mourn. The\nfather hum\u2019d and ha\u2019d, unable, doubtless, to produce any such\nperson, till Demonax broke in: \u2018And have you, then, a monopoly of\nthe unendurable, when you cannot name a man who has not some grief\nto endure?\u2019\n\nHe often ridiculed the people who use obsolete and uncommon words\nin their lectures. One of these produced a bit of Attic purism in\nanswer to some question he had put. \u2018My dear sir,\u2019 he said, \u2018the\ndate of my question is to-day; that of your answer is _temp_.\n_Bell_. _Troj_.\u2019\n\nA friend asking him to come to the temple of Asclepius, there to\nmake prayer for his son, \u2018Poor deaf Asclepius!\u2019 he exclaimed; \u2018can\nhe not hear at this distance?\u2019\n\nHe once saw two philosophers engaged in a very unedifying game of\ncross questions and crooked answers. \u2018Gentlemen,\u2019 said he, \u2018here is\none man milking a billy-goat, and another catching the proceeds in\na sieve.\u2019\n\nWhen Agathocles the Peripatetic vaunted himself as the first and\nonly dialectician, he asked him how he could be the first, if he\nwas the only, or the only, if he was the first.\n\nThe consular Cethegus, on his way to serve under his father in\nAsia, said and did many foolish things. A friend describing him as\na great ass, \u2018Not even a _great_ ass,\u2019 said Demonax.\n\nWhen Apollonius was appointed professor of philosophy in the\nImperial household, Demonax witnessed his departure, attended by a\ngreat number of his pupils. \u2018Why, here is Apollonius with all his\nArgonauts,\u2019 he cried.\n\nAsked whether he held the soul to be immortal, \u2018Dear me, yes,\u2019 he\nsaid; \u2018everything is.\u2019\n\nHe remarked a propos of Herodes that Plato was quite right about\nour having more than one soul; the same soul could not possibly\ncompose those splendid declamations, and have places laid for\nRegilla and Pollux after their death.\n\nHe was once bold enough to ask the assembled people, when he heard\nthe sacred proclamation, why they excluded barbarians from the\nMysteries, seeing that Eumolpus, the founder of them, was a\nbarbarian from Thrace.\n\nWhen he once had a winter voyage to make, a friend asked how he\nliked the thought of being capsized and becoming food for fishes.\n\u2018I should be very unreasonable to mind giving them a meal,\nconsidering how many they have given me.\u2019\n\nTo a rhetorician who had given a very poor declamation he\nrecommended constant practice. \u2018Why, I am always practising to\nmyself,\u2019 says the man. \u2018Ah, that accounts for it; you are\naccustomed to such a foolish audience.\u2019\n\nObserving a soothsayer one day officiating for pay, he said: \u2018I\ncannot see how you can ask pay. If it is because you can change the\ncourse of Fate, you cannot possibly put the figure high enough: if\neverything is settled by Heaven, and not by you, what is the good\nof your soothsaying?\u2019\n\nA hale old Roman once gave him a little exhibition of his skill in\nfence, taking a clothes-peg for his mark. \u2018What do you think of my\nplay, Demonax?\u2019 he said. \u2018Excellent, so long as you have a wooden\nman to play with.\u2019\n\nEven for questions meant to be insoluble he generally had a shrewd\nanswer at command. Some one tried to make a fool of him by asking,\nIf I burn a hundred pounds of wood, how many pounds of smoke shall\nI get? \u2018Weigh the ashes; the difference is all smoke.\u2019\n\nOne Polybius, an uneducated man whose grammar was very defective,\nonce informed him that he had received Roman citizenship from the\nEmperor. \u2018Why did he not make you a Greek instead?\u2019 asked Demonax.\n\nSeeing a decorated person very proud of his broad stripe, he\nwhispered in his ear, while he took hold of and drew attention to\nthe cloth, \u2018This attire did not make its original wearer anything\nbut a sheep.\u2019\n\nOnce at the bath the water was at boiling point, and some one\ncalled him a coward for hesitating to get in. \u2018What,\u2019 said he, \u2018is\nmy country expecting me to do my duty?\u2019\n\nSome one asked him what he took the next world to be like. \u2018Wait a\nbit, and I will send you the information.\u2019\n\nA minor poet called Admetus told him he had inserted a clause in\nhis will for the inscribing on his tomb of a monostich, which I\nwill give:\n\n  Admetus\u2019 husk earth holds, and Heaven himself.\n\n\u2018What a beautiful epitaph, Admetus!\u2019 said Demonax, \u2018and what a pity\nit is not up yet!\u2019\n\nThe shrunk shanks of old age are a commonplace; but when his\nreached this state, some one asked him what was the matter with\nthem. \u2018Ah,\u2019 he said with a smile, \u2018Charon has been having a bite at\nthem.\u2019\n\nHe interrupted a Spartan who was scourging his servant with, \u2018Why\nconfer on your slave the privilege of Spartans [Footnote: See\n_Spartans_ in Notes.] like yourself?\u2019 He observed to one Danae,\nwho was bringing a suit against her brother, \u2018Have the law of him\nby all means; it was another Danae whose father was called the\nLawless. [Footnote: See _Danae_ in Notes.]\n\nHe waged constant warfare against all whose philosophy was not\npractical, but for show. So when he saw a cynic, with threadbare\ncloak and wallet, but a braying-pestle instead of a staff,\nproclaiming himself loudly as a follower of Antisthenes, Crates,\nand Diogenes, he said: \u2018Tell us no lies; your master is the\nprofessor of braying.\u2019\n\nNoticing how foul play was growing among the athletes, who often\nsupplemented the resources of boxing and wrestling with their\nteeth, he said it was no wonder that the champions\u2019 partisans had\ntaken to describing them as lions.\n\nThere was both wit and sting in what he said to the proconsul. The\nlatter was one of the people who take all the hair off their bodies\nwith pitch-plaster. A cynic mounted a block of stone and cast this\npractice in his teeth, suggesting that it was for immoral purposes.\nThe proconsul in a rage had the man pulled down, and was on the\npoint of condemning him to be beaten or banished, when Demonax, who\nwas present, pleaded for him on the ground that he was only\nexercising the traditional cynic licence. \u2018Well,\u2019 said the\nproconsul, \u2018I pardon him this time at your request; but if he\noffends again, what shall I do to him?\u2019 \u2018Have him depilated,\u2019 said\nDemonax.\n\nAnother person, entrusted by the Emperor with the command of\nlegions and the charge of a great province, asked him what was the\nway to govern well. \u2018Keep your temper, say little, and hear much.\u2019\n\nAsked whether he ate honey-cakes, \u2018Do you suppose,\u2019 he said, \u2018that\nbees only make honey for fools?\u2019\n\nNoticing near the Poecile a statue minus a hand, he said it had\ntaken Athens a long time to get up a bronze to Cynaegirus.\n\nAlluding to the lame Cyprian Rufinus, who was a Peripatetic and\nspent much time in the Lyceum walks, \u2018What presumption,\u2019 he\nexclaimed, \u2018for a cripple to call himself a Walking Philosopher!\u2019\n\nEpictetus once urged him, with a touch of reproof, to take a wife\nand raise a family\u2014for it beseemed a philosopher to leave some one\nto represent him after the flesh. But he received the home thrust:\n\u2018Very well, Epictetus; give me one of your daughters.\u2019\n\nHis remark to Herminus the Aristotelian is equally worth recording.\nHe was aware that this man\u2019s character was vile and his misdeeds\ninnumerable, and yet his mouth was always full of Aristotle and his\nten predicaments. \u2018Certainly, Herminus,\u2019 he said, \u2018no predicament\nis too bad for you.\u2019\n\nWhen the Athenians were thinking, in their rivalry with Corinth, of\nstarting gladiatorial shows, he came forward and said: \u2018Men of\nAthens, before you pass this motion, do not forget to destroy the\naltar of Pity.\u2019\n\nOn the occasion of his visiting Olympia, the Eleans voted a bronze\nstatue to him. But he remonstrated: \u2018It will imply a reproach to\nyour ancestors, men of Elis, who set up no statue to Socrates or\nDiogenes.\u2019\n\nI once heard him observe to a learned lawyer that laws were not of\nmuch use, whether meant for the good or for the bad; the first do\nnot need them, and upon the second they have no effect.\n\nThere was one line of Homer always on his tongue:\n\n  Idle or busy, death takes all alike.\n\nHe had a good word for Thersites, as a cynic and a leveller.\n\nAsked which of the philosophers was most to his taste, he said: \u2018I\nadmire them all; Socrates I revere, Diogenes I admire, Aristippus I\nlove.\u2019\n\nHe lived to nearly a hundred, free from disease and pain, burdening\nno man, asking no man\u2019s favour, serving his friends, and having no\nenemies. Not Athens only, but all Greece was so in love with him\nthat as he passed the great would give him place and there would be\na general hush. Towards the end of his long life he would go\nuninvited into the first house that offered, and there get his\ndinner and his bed, the household regarding it as the visit of some\nheavenly being which brought them a blessing. When they saw him go\nby, the baker-wives would contend for the honour of supplying him,\nand a happy woman was the actual donor. Children too used to call\nhim father, and bring him offerings of fruit.\n\nParty spirit was once running high at Athens; he came into the\nassembly, and his mere appearance was enough to still the storm.\nWhen he saw that they were ashamed, he departed again without\nhaving uttered a word.\n\nWhen he found that he was no longer able to take care of himself,\nhe repeated to his friends the tag with which the heralds close the\nfestival:\n\n  The games are done,\n  The crowns all won;\n  No more delay,\n  But haste away,\n\nand from that moment abstaining from food, left life as cheerfully\nas he had lived it.\n\nWhen the end was near, he was asked his wishes about burial. \u2018Oh,\ndo not trouble; scent will summon my undertakers.\u2019 Well, but it\nwould be indecent for the body of so great a man to feed birds and\ndogs. \u2018Oh, no harm in making oneself useful in death to anything\nthat lives.\u2019\n\nHowever, the Athenians gave him a magnificent public funeral, long\nlamented him, worshipped and garlanded the stone seat on which he\nhad been wont to rest when tired, accounting the mere stone\nsanctified by him who had sat upon it. No one would miss the\nfuneral ceremony, least of all any of the philosophers. It was\nthese who bore him to the grave.\n\nI have made but a small selection of the material available; but it\nmay serve to give readers some idea of this great man\u2019s character.\n\n\n\n\nA PORTRAIT-STUDY\n\n_Lycinus. Polystratus_\n\n\n_Ly_. Polystratus, I know now what men must have felt like\nwhen they saw the Gorgon\u2019s head. I have just experienced the same\nsensation, at the sight of a most lovely woman. A little more, and\nI should have realized the legend, by being turned to stone; I am\nbenumbed with admiration.\n\n_Poly_. Wonderful indeed must have been the beauty, and\nterrible the power of the woman who could produce such an\nimpression on Lycinus. Tell me of this petrifying Medusa. Who is\nshe, and whence? I would see her myself. You will not grudge me\nthat privilege? Your jealousy will not take alarm at the prospect\nof a rival petrifaction at your side?\n\n_Ly_. Well, I give you fair warning: one distant glimpse of\nher, and you are speechless, motionless as any statue. Nay, that is\na light affliction: the mortal wound is not dealt till _her_\nglance has fallen on _you_. What can save you then? She will\nlead you in chains, hither and thither, as the magnet draws the\nsteel.\n\n_Poly_. Enough! You would make her more than human. And now\ntell me who she is.\n\n_Ly_. You think I am exaggerating: I fear you will have but a\npoor opinion of my eloquence when you see her as she is\u2014so far\nabove my praise. _Who_ she is, I cannot say: but to judge from\nthe splendour of her surroundings, her retinue, her host of eunuchs\nand maids, she must be of no ordinary rank.\n\n_Poly_. And you never even asked her name?\n\n_Ly_. Why no; but she is from Ionia; because, as she passed, I\nheard one of the bystanders speak aside to his neighbour: \u2018See, he\nexclaimed, \u2018what Smyrna can produce! And what wonder, if the\nfairest of Ionian cities has given birth to the fairest of women?\u2019\nI thought he must come from Smyrna himself, he was so proud of her.\n\n_Poly_. There you acted your stony part to perfection. As you\ncould neither follow her, nor make inquiries of the Smyrnaean, it\nonly remains for you to describe her as best you can, on the chance\nof my recognizing her.\n\n_Ly_. You know not what you ask. It is not in the power of\nwords\u2014certainly not of _my_ words\u2014to portray such wondrous\nbeauty; scarcely could an Apelles, a Zeuxis, a Parrhasius,\u2014a\nPhidias or an Alcamenes, do justice to it; as for my flimsy\nworkmanship, it will but insult the original.\n\n_Poly_. Well, never mind; what was she like? There can be no\nharm in trying your hand. What if the portrait be somewhat out of\ndrawing?\u2014the critic is your good friend.\n\n_Ly_. I think my best way out of it will be to call in the aid\nof some of the old masters I have named: let them fashion the\nlikeness for me.\n\n_Poly_. Well, but\u2014will they come? They have been dead so\nlong.\n\n_Ly_. That is easily managed: but you must not mind answering\nme a few questions.\n\n_Poly_. You have but to ask.\n\n_Ly_. Were you ever at Cnidus?\n\n_Poly_. I was.\n\n_Ly_. Then you have seen the _Aphrodite_, of course?\n\n_Poly_. That masterpiece of Praxiteles\u2019s art! I have.\n\n_Ly_. And heard the story they tell there,\u2014of the man who\nfell in love with the statue, and contrived to get shut into the\ntemple alone, and there enjoyed such favours as a statue is able to\nbestow.\u2014But that is neither here nor there.\u2014You have seen the\nCnidian _Aphrodite_, anyhow; now I want to know whether you\nhave also seen our own _Aphrodite of the Gardens_,\u2014the Alcamenes.\n\n_Poly_. I must be a dullard of dullards, if that most\nexquisite of Alcamenes\u2019s works had escaped my notice.\n\n_Ly_. I forbear to ask whether in the course of your many\nvisits to the Acropolis you ever observed the _Sosandra_ of\nCalamis. [Footnote: This statue is usually identified with one of\nAphrodite by the same sculptor, mentioned in Pausanias. Soteira\n(\u2018saviour\u2019) is known as an epithet of Aphrodite: but Sosandra\n(\u2018man-saving\u2019) is explained as a nickname of the particular statue,\nin playful allusion to Callias, the donor, who was apparently\nindebted to Aphrodite for his success with a certain Elpinice.]\n\n_Poly_. Frequently.\n\n_Ly_. That is really enough for my purpose. But I should just\nlike to know what you consider to be Phidias\u2019s best work.\n\n_Poly_. Can you ask?\u2014The Lemnian _Athene_, which bears\nthe artist\u2019s own signature; oh, and of course the _Amazon_\nleaning on her spear.\n\n_Ly_. I approve your judgement. We shall have no need of other\nartists: I am now to cull from each of these its own peculiar\nbeauty, and combine all in a single portrait.\n\n_Poly_. And how are you going to do that?\n\n_Ly_. It is quite simple. All we have to do is to hand over\nour several types to Reason, whose care it must be to unite them in\nthe most harmonious fashion, with due regard to the consistency, as\nto the variety, of the result.\n\n_Poly_. To be sure; let Reason take her materials and begin.\nWhat will she make of it, I wonder? Will she contrive to put all\nthese different types together without their clashing?\n\n_Ly_. Well, look; she is at work already. Observe her procedure.\nShe begins with our Cnidian importation, from which she takes only\nthe head; with the rest she is not concerned, as the statue is\nnude. The hair, the forehead, the exquisite eyebrows, she will keep\nas Praxiteles has rendered them; the eyes, too, those soft, yet\nbright-glancing eyes, she leaves unaltered. But the cheeks and the\nfront of the face are taken from the \u2018Garden\u2019 Goddess; and so are\nthe lines of the hands, the shapely wrists, the delicately-tapering\nfingers. Phidias and the Lemnian _Athene_ will give the outline of\nthe face, and the well-proportioned nose, and lend new softness to\nthe cheeks; and the same artist may shape her neck and closed lips,\nto resemble those of his _Amazon_. Calamis adorns her with\nSosandra\u2019s modesty, Sosandra\u2019s grave half-smile; the decent seemly\ndress is Sosandra\u2019s too, save that the head must not be veiled. For\nher stature, let it be that of Cnidian _Aphrodite_; once more we\nhave recourse to Praxiteles.\u2014What think you, Polystratus? Is it a\nlovely portrait?\n\n_Poly_. Assuredly it will be, when it is perfected. At present, my\nparagon of sculptors, one element of loveliness has escaped your\ncomprehensive grasp.\n\n_Ly_. What is that?\n\n_Poly_. A most important one. You will agree with me that\ncolour and tone have a good deal to do with beauty? that black\nshould _be_ black, white be white, and red play its blushing\npart? It looks to me as if the most important thing of all were\nstill lacking.\n\n_Ly_. Well, how shall we manage? Call in the painters, perhaps,\nselecting those who were noted for their skill in mixing and laying\non their colours? Be it so: we will have Polygnotus, Euphranor of\ncourse, Apelles and Aetion; they can divide the work between them.\nEuphranor shall colour the hair like his _Hera\u2019s_; Polygnotus the\ncomely brow and faintly blushing cheek, after his _Cassandra_ in\nthe Assembly-room at Delphi. Polygnotus shall also paint her\nrobe,\u2014of the finest texture, part duly gathered in, but most of it\nfloating in the breeze. For the flesh-tints, which must be neither\ntoo pale nor too high-coloured, Apelles shall copy his own\n_Campaspe_. And lastly, Aetion shall give her _Roxana\u2019s_ lips. Nay,\nwe can do better: have we not Homer, best of painters, though a\nEuphranor and an Apelles be present? Let him colour all like the\nlimbs of Menelaus, which he says were \u2018ivory tinged with red.\u2019 He\ntoo shall paint her calm \u2018ox-eyes,\u2019 and the Theban poet shall help\nhim to give them their \u2018violet\u2019 hue. Homer shall add her smile, her\nwhite arms, her rosy finger-tips, and so complete the resemblance\nto golden Aphrodite, to whom he has compared Brises\u2019 daughter with\nfar less reason. So far we may trust our sculptors and painters and\npoets: but for her crowning glory, for the grace\u2014nay, the choir of\nGraces and Loves that encircle her\u2014who shall portray them?\n\n_Poly_. This was no earthly vision, Lycinus; surely she must\nhave dropped from the clouds.\u2014And what was she doing?\n\n_Ly_. In her hands was an open scroll; half read (so I surmised)\nand half to be read. As she passed, she was making some remark to\none of her company; what it was I did not catch. But when she\nsmiled, ah! then, Polystratus, I beheld teeth whose whiteness,\nwhose unbroken regularity, who shall describe? Imagine a lovely\nnecklace of gleaming pearls, all of a size; and imagine those\ndazzling rows set off by ruby lips. In that glimpse, I realized\nwhat Homer meant by his \u2018carven ivory.\u2019 Other women\u2019s teeth differ\nin size; or they project; or there are gaps: here, all was equality\nand evenness; pearl joined to pearl in unbroken line. Oh, \u2019twas a\nwondrous sight, of beauty more than human.\n\n_Poly_. Stay. I know now whom you mean, as well from your\ndescription as from her nationality. You said that there were\neunuchs in her train?\n\n_Ly_. Yes; and soldiers too.\n\n_Poly_. My simple friend, the lady you have been describing is\na celebrity, and possesses the affections of an Emperor.\n\n_Ly_. And her name?\n\n_Poly_. Adds one more to the list of her charms; for it is the\nsame as that of Abradatas\u2019s wife. [Footnote: See _Panthea_ in\nNotes.] You know Xenophon\u2019s enthusiastic account of that beautiful\nand virtuous woman?\u2014you have read it a dozen times.\n\n_Ly_. Yes; and every time I read it, it is as if she stood\nbefore me. I almost hear her uttering the words the historian has\nput into her mouth, and see her arming her husband and sending him\nforth to battle.\n\n_Poly_. Ah, my dear Lycinus, _this_ lady has passed you\nbut once, like a lightning flash; and your praises, I perceive, are\nall for those external charms that strike the eye. You are yet a\nstranger to her nobility of soul; you know not that higher, more\ngod-like beauty. _I_ am her fellow-countryman, I know her, and\nhave conversed with her many times. You are aware that gentleness,\nhumanity, magnanimity, modesty, culture, are things that I prize\nmore than beauty-and rightly; to do otherwise would be as absurd as\nto value raiment above the body. Where physical perfection goes\nhand-in-hand with spiritual excellence, there alone (as I maintain)\nis true beauty. I could show you many a woman whose outward\nloveliness is marred by what is within; who has but to open her\nlips, and beauty stands confessed a faded, withered thing, the\nmean, unlovely handmaid of that odious mistress, her soul. Such\nwomen are like Egyptian temples: the shrine is fair and stately,\nwrought of costly marble, decked out with gilding and painting: but\nseek the God within, and you find an ape\u2014an ibis\u2014a goat\u2014a cat.\nOf how many women is the same thing true! Beauty unadorned is not\nenough: and her true adornments are not purple and jewels, but\nthose others that I have mentioned, modesty, courtesy, humanity,\nvirtue and all that waits on virtue.\n\n_Ly_. Why then, Polystratus, you shall give me story for story,\ngood measure, shaken together, out of your abundance: paint me the\nportrait of her soul, that I may be no more her half-admirer.\n\n_Poly_. This will be no light task, my friend. It is one thing\nto commend what all the world can see, and quite another to reveal\nwhat is hidden. I too shall want help with my portrait. Nor will\nsculptors and painters suffice me: I must have philosophers; it is\nby their canons that I must adjust the proportions of the figure,\nif I am to attain to the perfection of ancient models.\n\nTo begin then. Of her clear, liquid voice Homer might have said,\nwith far more truth than of aged Nestor\u2019s, that\n\n  honey from those lips distilled.\n\nThe pitch, exquisitely soft, as far removed from masculine bass as\nfrom ultra-feminine treble, is that of a boy before his voice\nbreaks; sweet, seductive, suavely penetrating; it ceases, and still\nvibrating murmurs play, echo-like, about the listener\u2019s ears, and\nPersuasion leaves her honeyed track upon his mind. But oh! the joy,\nto hear her sing, and sing to the lyre\u2019s accompaniment. Let swans\nand halcyons and cicalas then be mute. There is no music like hers;\nPhilomela\u2019s self, \u2018full-throated songstress\u2019 though she be, is all\nunskilled beside her. Methinks Orpheus and Amphion, whose spell\ndrew even lifeless things to hear them, would have dropped their\nlyres and stood listening in silence to that voice. What should\nThracian Orpheus, what should Amphion, whose days upon Cithaeron\nwere divided betwixt his lyre and his herd,\u2014what should they know\nof true concord, of accurate rhythm, of accentuation and time, of\nthe harmonious adaptation of lyre and voice, of easy and graceful\nexecution? Yes; once hear her sing, Lycinus, and you will know\nsomething of Sirens as well as of Gorgons: you have experienced\npetrifaction; you will next learn what it is to stand entranced,\nforgetting country and kindred. Wax will not avail you: her song\nwill penetrate through all; for therein is every grace that\nTerpsichore, Melpomene, Calliope herself, could inspire. In a word,\nimagine that you hear such notes as should issue from those lips,\nthose teeth that you have seen. Her perfect intonation, her pure\nIonic accent, her ready Attic eloquence, need not surprise you;\nthese are her birthright; for is not Smyrna Athens\u2019 daughter? And\nwhat more natural than that she should love poetry, and make it her\nchief study? Homer is her fellow citizen.\u2014There you have my first\nportrait; the portrait of a sweet-voiced songstress, though it\nfall far short of its original. And now for others. For I do not\npropose to make one of many, as you did. I aim higher: the complex\npicture of so many beauties wrought into one, however artful be the\ncomposition, cannot escape inconsistency: with me, each separate\nvirtue of her soul shall sit for its own portrait.\n\n_Ly_. What a banquet awaits me! Here, assuredly, is good\nmeasure. Mete it out; I ask for nothing better.\n\n_Poly_. I proceed then to the delineation of Culture, the\nconfessed mistress of all mental excellences, particularly of all\nacquired ones: I must render her features in all their manifold\nvariety; not even here shall my portraiture be inferior to your\nown. I paint her, then, with every grace that Helicon can give.\nEach of the Muses has but her single accomplishment, be it tragedy\nor history or hymn: all these Culture shall have, and with them the\ngifts of Hermes and of Apollo. The poet\u2019s graceful numbers, the\norator\u2019s persuasive power, the historian\u2019s learning, the sage\u2019s\ncounsel, all these shall be her adornments; the colours shall be\nimperishable, and laid on with no niggardly brush. It is not my\nfault, if I am unable to point to any classical model for the\nportrait: the records of antiquity afford no precedent for a\nculture so highly developed.\u2014May I hang this beside the other? I\nthink it is a passable likeness.\n\n_Ly_. Passable! My dear Polystratus, it is sublime;\nexquisitely finished in every line.\n\n_Poly_. Next I have to depict Wisdom; and here I shall have\noccasion for many models, most of them ancient; one comes, like the\nlady herself, from Ionia. The artists shall be Aeschines and\nSocrates his master, most realistic of painters, for their heart\nwas in their work. We could choose no better model of wisdom than\nMilesian Aspasia, the admired of the admirable \u2018Olympian\u2019 [Footnote:\nSee _Pericles_ in Notes.]; her political knowledge and insight,\nher shrewdness and penetration, shall all be transferred to our\ncanvas in their perfect measure. Aspasia, however, is only\npreserved to us in miniature: _our_ proportions must be those\nof a colossus.\n\n_Ly_. Explain.\n\n_Poly_. The portraits will be alike, but not on the same\nscale. There is a difference between the little republic of ancient\nAthens, and the Roman Empire of to-day; and there will be the same\ndifference in _scale_ (however close the resemblance in other\nrespects) between our huge canvas and that miniature. A second and\na third model may be found in Theano, and in the poetess of Lesbos;\nnay, we may add Diotima too. Theano shall give grandeur to the\npicture, Sappho elegance; and Diotima shall be represented as well\nby her wisdom and sagacity, as by the qualities for which Socrates\ncommended her. The portrait is complete. Let it be hung.\n\n_Ly_. \u2019Tis a fine piece of work. Proceed.\n\n_Poly_. Courtesy, benevolence: that is now my subject. I have\nto show forth her gentle disposition, her graciousness to\nsuppliants. She shall appear in the likeness of Theano\u2014Antenor\u2019s\nTheano this time\u2014, of Arete and her daughter Nausicaa, and of\nevery other who in her high station has borne herself with\nconstancy. Next comes constancy of another kind,\u2014constancy in\nlove; its original, the daughter of Icarius, \u2018constant\u2019 and \u2018wise,\u2019\nas Homer draws her; am I doing more than justice to his Penelope?\nAnd there is another: our lady\u2019s namesake, Abradatas\u2019s wife; of her\nwe have already spoken.\n\n_Ly_. Once more, noble work, Polystratus. And now your task\nmust be drawing to a close: here is a whole soul depicted; its\nevery virtue praised.\n\n_Poly_. Not yet: the highest praise remains. Born to magnificence,\nshe clothes not herself in the pride of wealth; listens not to\nFortune\u2019s flattering tale, who tells her she is more than human;\nbut walks upon the common ground, far removed from all thought of\narrogance and ostentation. Every man is her equal; her greeting,\nher smile are for all who approach her; and how acceptable is the\nkindness of a superior, when it is free from every touch of\ncondescension! When the power of the great turns not to insolence\nbut to beneficence, we feel that Fortune has bestowed her gifts\naright. Here alone Envy has no place. For how should one man grudge\nanother his prosperity when he sees him using it with moderation,\nnot, like the Homeric Ate, an oppressor of the weak, trampling on\nmen\u2019s necks? It is otherwise with those meaner souls\u2014victims of\ntheir own ignoble vanity\u2014, who, when Fortune has raised them\nsuddenly beyond their hopes into her winged aerial car, know no\nrest, can never look behind them, but must ever press upwards. To\nsuch the end soon comes: Icarus-like, with melted wax and moulting\nfeathers, they fall headlong into the billows, a derision to\nmankind. The Daedaluses use their waxen wings with moderation: they\nare but men; they husband their strength accordingly, and are\ncontent to fly a little higher than the waves,\u2014so little that the\nsun never finds them dry; and that prudence is their salvation.\n\nTherein lies this lady\u2019s highest praise. She has her reward: all\nmen pray that her wings may never droop, and that blessings may\nincrease upon her.\n\n_Ly_. And may the prayer be granted! She deserves every\nblessing: she is not outwardly fair alone, like Helen, but has a\nsoul within more fair, more lovely than her body. It is a fitting\ncrown to the happiness of our benevolent and gracious Emperor, that\nin his day such a woman should be born; should be his, and her\naffections his. It is blessedness indeed, to possess one of whom we\nmay say with Homer that she contends with golden Aphrodite in\nbeauty, and in works is the equal of Athene. Who of womankind shall\nbe compared to her\n\n  In comeliness, in wit, in goodly works?\n\n_Poly_. Who indeed?\u2014Lycinus, I have a proposal to make. Let\nus combine our portraits, yours of the body and mine of the soul,\nand throw them into a literary form, for the enjoyment of our\ngeneration and of all posterity. Such a work will be more enduring\nthan those of Apelles and Parrhasius and Polygnotus; it will be far\nremoved from creations of wood and wax and colour, being inspired\nby the Muses, in whom alone is that true portraiture that shows\nforth in one likeness a lovely body and a virtuous soul.\n\n\n\n\nDEFENCE OF THE \u2018PORTRAIT-STUDY\u2019\n\n_Polystratus_. _Lycinus_\n\n\n_Poly_. Well, here is the lady\u2019s comment. _Your pages are most kind\nand complimentary, I am sure, Lycinus. No one would have so\nover-praised me who had not felt kindly towards me. But if you\nwould know my real feeling, here it is. I never do much like the\ncomplaisant; they always strike me as insincere and wanting in\nfrankness. But when it comes to a set panegyric, in which my much\nmagnified virtues are painted in glaring colours, I blush and would\nfain stop my ears, and feel that I am rather being made fun of than\ncommended.\n\nPraise is tolerable up to the point at which the object of it can\nstill believe in the existence of the qualities attributed to him;\npass that point, and he is revolted and finds the flatterer out. Of\ncourse I know there are plenty of people who are glad enough to\nhave non-existent qualities added to their praises; who do not mind\nbeing called young and lusty in their decline, or Nireuses and\nPhaons though they are hideous; who, Pelias-like, expect praise to\nmetamorphose or rejuvenate them.\n\nBut they are mistaken. Praise would indeed be a most precious\ncommodity if there were any way of converting its extravagances\ninto solid fact. But there being none, they can only be compared to\nan ugly man on whom one should clap a beautiful mask, and who\nshould then be proud of those looks that any one could take from\nhim and break to pieces; revealed in his true likeness, he would be\nonly the more ridiculous for the contrast between casket and\ntreasure. Or, if you will, imagine a little man on stilts measuring\nheights with people who have eighteen inches the better of him in\nstocking feet_.\n\nAnd then she told this story. There was a noble lady, fair and\ncomely in all respects except that she was short and ill-proportioned.\nA poet wrote an ode in her honour, and included among her beauties\nthat of tallness; her slender height was illustrated from the poplar.\nShe was in ecstasies, as though the verses were making her grow, and\nkept waving her hand. Which the poet seeing, and realizing her\nappetite for praise, recited the lines again and again, till at last\none of the company whispered in his ear, \u2018Stop, my good man; you will\nbe making her get up.\u2019\n\nShe added a similar but still more absurd anecdote of Stratonice\nthe wife of Seleucus, who offered a talent to the poet who should\nbest celebrate her hair. As a matter of fact she was bald, with not\na hair to call her own. But what matter what her head was like, or\nthat every one knew how a long illness had treated her? she\nlistened to these abandoned poets telling of hyacinthine locks,\nplaiting thick tresses, and making imaginary curls as crisp as\nparsley.\n\nAll such surrenders to flattery were laughed to scorn, with the\naddition that many people were just as fond of being flattered and\nfooled by portrait-painters as these by verbal artists. _What\nthese people look for in a painter_ (she said) _is readiness\nto improve nature: Some of them insist upon the artist\u2019s taking a\nlittle off their noses, deepening the shade of their eyes, or\notherwise idealizing them to order; it quite escapes them that the\ngarlands they afterwards put on the picture are offered to another\nperson who bears no relation to themselves_.\n\nAnd so she went on, finding much in your composition to approve,\nbut displeased in particular with your likening her to Hera and\nAphrodite. _Such comparisons are far too high for me_, she\nsaid, _or indeed for any of womankind. Why, I would not have had\nyou put me on a level with women of the Heroic Age, with a\nPenelope, an Arete, a Theano; how much less with the chief of the\nGoddesses. Where the Gods are concerned_ (she continued; and\nmark her here), _I am very apprehensive and timid. I fear that to\naccept a panegyric like this would be to make a Cassiopeia of\nmyself; though indeed_ she _only challenged the Nereids, and\nstopped short of Hera and Aphrodite_.\n\nSo, Lycinus, she insisted that you must recast all this; otherwise\nshe must call the Goddesses to witness that you had written against\nher wishes, and leave you to the knowledge that the piece would be\nan annoyance to her, if it circulated in its present shape, so\nlacking in reverence and piety. The outrage on reverence would be\nput down to her, if she allowed herself to be likened to her of\nCnidus and her of the Garden. She would have you bear in mind the\nclose of your discourse, where you spoke of the unassuming modesty\nthat attempted no superhuman flights, but kept near the earth. It\nwas inconsistent with that to take the same woman up to heaven and\ncompare her with Goddesses.\n\nShe would like to be allowed as much sense as Alexander; he, when\nhis architect proposed to transform Mount Athos into a vast image\nof the King with a pair of cities in his hands, shrank from the\ngrandiose proposal; such presumption was beyond him; such patent\nmegalomania must be suppressed; leave Athos alone, he said, and do\nnot degrade a mighty mountain to the similitude of a poor human\nbody. This only showed the greatness of Alexander, and itself\nconstituted in the eyes of all future generations a monument higher\nthan any Athos; to be able to scorn so extraordinary an honour was\nitself magnanimity.\n\nSo she commends your work of art, and your selective method, but\ncannot recognize the likeness. She does not come up to the\ndescription, nor near it, for indeed no woman could. Accordingly\nshe sends you back your laudation, and pays homage to the originals\nfrom which you drew it. Confine your praises within the limits of\nhumanity; if the shoe is too big, it may chance to trip her up.\nThen there was another point which I was to impress upon you.\n\n_I often hear_, she said,\u2014_but whether it is true, you men\nknow better than I\u2014that at Olympia the victors are not allowed to\nhave their statues set up larger than life; the Stewards see to it\nthat no one transgresses this rule, examining the statues even more\nscrupulously than they did the competitor\u2019s qualification. Take\ncare that we do not get convicted of false proportions, and find\nour statue thrown down by the Stewards_.\n\nAnd now I have given you her message. It is for you, Lycinus, to\noverhaul your work, and by removing these blemishes avoid the\noffence. They shocked and made her nervous as I read; she kept on\naddressing the Goddesses in propitiatory words; and such feelings\nmay surely be permitted to her sex. For that matter, to be quite\nfrank, I shared them to some extent. At the first hearing I found\nno offence; but as soon as she put her finger on the fault, I began\nto agree. You know what happens with visible objects; if we look at\nthem at close quarters, just under our eyes, I mean, we distinguish\nnothing clearly; but stepping back to the right distance, we get a\nclear conception of what is right and what is wrong about them.\nThat was my experience here.\n\nAfter all, to compare a mortal to Hera and Aphrodite is cheapening\nthe Goddesses, and nothing else. In such comparisons the small is\nnot so much magnified as the great is diminished and reduced. If a\ngiant and a dwarf were walking together, and their heights had to\nbe equalized, no efforts of the dwarf could effect it, however much\nhe stood on tiptoe; the giant must stoop and make himself out\nshorter than he is. So in this sort of portraiture: the human is\nnot so much exalted by the similitude as the divine is belittled\nand pulled down. If indeed a lack of earthly beauties forced the\nartist upon scaling Heaven, he might perhaps be acquitted of\nblasphemy; but your enterprise was so needless; why Aphrodite and\nHera, when you have all mortal beauty to choose from?\n\nPrune and chasten, then, Lycinus. All this is not quite like you,\nwho never used to be over-ready with your commendation; you seem to\nhave gone now to the opposite extreme of prodigality, and developed\nfrom a niggard into a spendthrift of praise. Do not be ashamed to\nmake alterations in what you have already published, either. They\nsay Phidias did as much after finishing his Olympian Zeus. He stood\nbehind the doors when he had opened them for the first time to let\nthe work be seen, and listened to the comments favourable or the\nreverse. One found the nose too broad, another the face too long,\nand so on. When the company was gone, he shut himself up again to\ncorrect and adapt his statue to the prevailing taste. Advice so\nmany-headed was not to be despised; the many must after all see\nfurther than the one, though that one be Phidias. There is the\ncounsel of a friend and well-wisher to back up the lady\u2019s message.\n\n_Ly_. Why, Polystratus, I never knew what an orator you were.\nAfter that eloquent close-packed indictment of my booklet, I almost\ndespair of the defence. You and she were not quite judicial,\nthough; you less than she, in condemning the accused when its\ncounsel was not in court. It is always easy to win a walk-over,\nyou know; so no wonder we were convicted, not being allowed to\nspeak or given the ear of the court. But, still more monstrous, you\nwere accusers and jury at once. Well, what am I to do? accept the\nverdict and hold my tongue? pen a palinode like Stesichorus? or\nwill you grant an appeal?\n\n_Poly_. Surely, if you have anything to say for yourself. For\nyou will be heard not by opponents, as you say, but by friends.\nIndeed, my place is with you in the dock.\n\n_Ly_. How I wish I could, have spoken in her own presence!\nthat would have been far better; but I must do it by proxy.\nHowever, if you will report me to her as well as you did her to me,\nI will adventure.\n\n_Poly_. Trust me to do justice to the defence; but put it\nshortly, in mercy to my memory.\n\n_Ly_. So severe an indictment should by rights be met at\nlength; but for your sake I will cut it short. Put these\nconsiderations before her from me, then.\n\n_Poly_. No, not that way, please. Make your speech, just as\nthough she were listening, and I will reproduce you to her.\n\n_Ly_. Very well, then. She is here; she has just delivered the\noration which you have described to me; it is now counsel\u2019s turn.\nAnd yet\u2014I must confide my feelings to you\u2014you have made my\nundertaking somehow more formidable; you see the beads gather on my\nbrow; my courage goes; I seem to see her there; my situation\nbewilders me. Yet begin I will; how can I draw back when she is\nthere?\n\n_Poly_. Ah, but her face promises a kindly hearing; see how\nbright and gracious. Pluck up heart, man, and begin.\n\n_Ly_. Most noble lady, in what you term the great and excessive\npraise that I bestowed upon you, I find no such high testimony to\nyour merits as that which you have borne yourself by your surprise\nat the attribution of divinity. That one thing surpasses all that I\nhave said of you, and my only excuse for not having added this\ntrait to my portrait is that I was not aware of it; if I had been,\nno other should have had precedence of it. In this light I find\nmyself, far from exaggerating, to have fallen much short of the\ntruth. Consider the magnitude of this omission, the convincing\ndemonstration of a sterling character and a right disposition which\nI lost; for those will be the best in human relations who are most\nearnest in their dealings with the divine. Why, were it decided\nthat I must correct my words and retouch my statue, I should do it\nnot by presuming to take away from it, but by adding this as its\ncrowning grace. But from another point of view I have a great debt\nof gratitude to acknowledge. I commend your natural modesty, and\nyour freedom from that vanity and pride which so exalted a position\nas yours might excuse. The best witness to my correctness is just\nthe exception that you have taken to my words. That instead of\nreceiving the praise I offered as your right you should be\ndisturbed at it and call it excessive, is the proof of your\nunassuming modesty. Nevertheless, the more you reveal that this is\nyour view of praise, the stronger proof you give of your own\nworthiness to be praised. You are an exact illustration of what\nDiogenes said when some one asked him how he might become famous:\u2014\n\u2018by despising fame.\u2019 So if I were asked who most deserve praise, I\nshould answer, Those who refuse it.\n\nBut I am perhaps straying from the point. What I have to defend is\nthe having likened you, in giving your outward form, to the Cnidian\nand the Garden _Aphrodite_, to _Hera_ and _Athene_; such\ncomparisons you find out of all proportion. I will deal directly\nwith them, then. It has indeed been said long ago that poets and\npainters are irresponsible; that is still more true, I conceive, of\npanegyrists, even humble prose ones like myself who are not run\naway with by their metre. Panegyric is a chartered thing, with no\nstandard quantitative measure to which it must conform; its one and\nonly aim is to express deep admiration and set its object in the\nmost enviable light. However, I do not intend to take that line of\ndefence; you might think I did so because I had no other open.\n\nBut I have. I refer you to the proper formula of panegyric, which\nrequires the author to introduce illustrations, and depends mainly\non their goodness for success. Now this goodness is shown not when\nthe illustration is just like the thing illustrated, nor yet when\nit is inferior, but when it is as high above it as may be. If in\npraising a dog one should remark that it was bigger than a fox or a\ncat, would you regard him as a skilful panegyrist? certainly not.\nOr if he calls it the equal of a wolf, he has not made very much of\nit so either. Where is the right thing to be found? why, in\nlikening the dog\u2019s size and spirit to the lion\u2019s. So the poet who\nwould praise Orion\u2019s dog called it the lion-queller. There you have\nthe perfect panegyric of the dog. Or take Milo of Croton, Glaucus\nof Carystus, or Polydamas; to say of them by way of panegyric that\neach of them was stronger than a woman would be to make oneself a\nlaughing-stock; one man instead of the woman would not much mend\nmatters. But what, pray, does a famous poet make of Glaucus?\u2014\n\n  To match those hands not e\u2019en the might\n   Of Pollux\u2019 self had dared;\n  Alcmena\u2019s son, that iron wight,\n   Had shrunk\u2014\n\nSee what Gods he equals him to, or rather what Gods he puts him\nabove. And Glaucus took no exception to being praised at the\nexpense of his art\u2019s patron deities; nor yet did they send any\njudgement on athlete or poet for irreverence; both continued to be\nhonoured in Greece, one for his might, and the other for this even\nmore than for his other odes. Do not be surprised, then, that when\nI wished to conform to the canons of my art and find an\nillustration, I took an exalted one, as reason was that I should.\n\nYou used the word flattery. To dislike those who practise it is\nonly what you should do, and I honour you for it. But I would have\nyou distinguish between panegyric proper and the flatterer\u2019s\nexaggeration of it. The flatterer praises for selfish ends,\ncares little for truth, and makes it his business to magnify\nindiscriminately; most of his effects consist in lying additions of\nhis own; he thinks nothing of making Thersites handsomer than\nAchilles, or telling Nestor he is younger than any of the host; he\nwill swear Croesus\u2019s son hears better than Melampus, and give\nPhineus better sight than Lynceus, if he sees his way to a profit\non the lie. But the panegyrist pure and simple, instead of lying\noutright, or inventing a quality that does not exist, takes the\nvirtues his subject really does possess, though possibly not in\nlarge measure, and makes the most of them. The horse is really\ndistinguished among the animals we know for light-footed speed;\nwell, in praising a horse, he will hazard:\n\n  The corn-stalks brake not \u2018neath his airy tread.\n\nHe will not be frightened of \u2018whirlwind-footed steeds.\u2019 If his\ntheme is a noble house, with everything handsome about it,\n\n  Zeus on Olympus dwells in such a home,\n\nwe shall be told. But your flatterer would use that line about the\nswineherd\u2019s hovel, if he saw a chance of getting anything out of\nthe swineherd. Demetrius Poliorcetes had a flatterer called\nCynaethus who, when he was gravelled for lack of matter, found some\nin a cough that troubled his patron\u2014he cleared his throat so\nmusically!\n\nThere you have one criterion: flatterers do not draw the line at a\nlie if it will please their patrons; panegyrists aim merely at\nbringing into relief what really exists. But there is another great\ndifference: the flatterers exaggerate as much as ever they can; the\npanegyrists in the midst of exaggeration observe the limitations of\ndecency. And now that you have one or two of the many tests for\nflattery and panegyric proper, I hope you will not treat all praise\nas suspect, but make distinctions and assign each specimen to its\ntrue class.\n\nBy your leave I will proceed to apply the two definitions to what I\nwrote; which of them fits it? If it had been an ugly woman that I\nlikened to the Cnidian statue, I should deserve to be thought a\ntoady, further gone in flattery than Cynaethus. But as it was one\nfor whose charms I can call all men to witness, my shot was not so\nfar out.\n\nNow you will perhaps say\u2014nay, you have said already\u2014Praise my\nbeauty, if you will; but the praise should not have been of that\ninvidious kind which compares a woman to Goddesses. Well, I will\nkeep truth at arm\u2019s length no longer; I did _not_, dear lady,\ncompare you to Goddesses, but to the handiwork in marble and bronze\nand ivory of certain good artists. There is no impiety, surely, in\nillustrating mortal beauty by the work of mortal hands\u2014unless you\ntake the thing that Phidias fashioned to be indeed Athene, or\nPraxiteles\u2019s not much later work at Cnidus to be the heavenly\nAphrodite. But would that be quite a worthy conception of divine\nbeings? I take the real presentment of them to be beyond the reach\nof human imitation.\n\nBut granting even that it had been the actual Goddesses to whom I\nlikened you, it would be no new track, of which I had been the\npioneer; it had been trodden before by many a great poet, most of\nall by your fellow citizen Homer, who will kindly now come and\nshare my defence, on pain of sharing my sentence. I will ask him,\nthen\u2014or rather you for him; for it is one of your merits to have\nall his finest passages by heart\u2014what think you, then, of his\nsaying about the captive Briseis that in her mourning for Patroclus\nshe was \u2018Golden Aphrodite\u2019s peer\u2019? A little further on, Aphrodite\nalone not meeting the case, it is:\n\n  So spake that weeping dame, a match for Goddesses.\n\nWhen he talks like that, do you take offence and fling the book\naway, or has _he_ your licence to expatiate in panegyric?\nWhether he has yours or not, he has that of all these centuries,\nwherein not a critic has found fault with him for it, not he\nthat dared to scourge his statue [Footnote: Zoilus, called\nHomeromastix.], not he whose marginal pen [Footnote: Aristarclius.]\nbastarded so many of his verses. Now, shall he have leave to match\nwith Golden Aphrodite a barbarian woman, and her in tears, while I,\nlest I should describe the beauty that you like not to hear of, am\nforbidden to compare certain images to a lady who is ever bright\nand smiling\u2014that beauty which mortals share with Gods?\n\nWhen he had Agamemnon in hand, he was most chary of divine\nsimilitudes, to be sure! what economy and moderation in his use of\nthem! Let us see\u2014eyes and head from Zeus, belt from Ares, chest\nfrom Posidon; why, he deals the man out piecemeal among the host of\nHeaven. Elsewhere, Agamemnon is \u2018like baleful Ares\u2019; others have\ntheir heavenly models; Priam\u2019s son (a Phrygian, mark) is \u2018of form\ndivine,\u2019 the son of Peleus is again and again \u2018a match for Gods.\u2019\nBut let us come back to the feminine instances You remember, of\ncourse,\n\n  \u2014a match\n  For Artemis or golden Aphrodite;\n\nand\n\n  Like Artemis adown the mountain slope.\n\nBut he does not even limit himself to comparing the whole man to a\nGod; Euphorbus\u2019s mere hair is called like the Graces\u2014when it is\ndabbled with blood, too. In fact the practice is so universal that\nno branch of poetry can do without its ornaments from Heaven.\nEither let all these be blotted, or let me have the same licence.\nMoreover, illustration is so irresponsible that Homer allows\nhimself to convey his compliments to Goddesses by using creatures\ninferior to them. Hera is ox-eyed. Another poet colours Aphrodite\u2019s\neyes from the violet. As for fingers like the rose, it takes but\nlittle of Homer\u2019s society to bring us acquainted with them.\n\nStill, so far we do not get beyond mere looks; a man is only called\n_like_ a God. But think of the wholesale adaptation of their\nnames, by Dionysiuses, Hephaestions, Zenos, Posidoniuses,\nHermaeuses. Leto, wife of Evagoras, King of Cyprus, even dispensed\nwith adaptation; but her divine namesake, who could have turned her\ninto stone like Niobe, took no offence. What need to mention that\nthe most religious race on earth, the Egyptian, never tires of\ndivine names? most of those it uses hail from Heaven.\n\nConsequently, there is not the smallest occasion for you to be\nnervous about the panegyric. If what I wrote contains anything\noffensive to the deity, you are not responsible, unless you\nconsider we are responsible for all that goes in at our ears; no, I\nshall pay the penalty\u2014as soon as the Gods have settled with Homer\nand the other poets. Ah, and they have not done so yet with the\nbest of all philosophers [Footnote: Lucian\u2019s \u2018best of all\nphilosophers\u2019 might be Plato, who is their spokesman in \u2018The\nFisher\u2019 (see Sections 14, 22), or Epicurus, in the light of two\npassages in the \u2018Alexander\u2019 (Sections 47, 61) in which he almost\ndeclares himself an Epicurean. The exact words are not found in\nPlato, though several similar expressions are quoted; words of\nEpicurus appear to be translated in Cicero, _De nat. Deorum_,\nBook I, xviii s. f., hominis esse specie deos confitendum est: we\nmust admit that the Gods are in the image of man.], for saying that\nman is a likeness of God. But now, though I could say much more,\nmadam, I must have compassion upon Polystratus\u2019s memory, and cease.\n\n_Poly_. I am not so sure I am equal to it, Lycinus, as it is.\nYou have made it long, and exceeded your time limit. However, I\nwill do my best. See, I scurry off with my fingers in my ears, that\nno alien sound may find its way in to disturb the arrangement; I do\nnot want to be hissed by my audience.\n\n_Ly_. Well, the responsibility for a correct report lies with\nyou alone. And having now duly instructed you, I will retire for\nthe present. But when the verdict is brought into court, I will be\nthere to learn the result.\n\n\n\n\nTOXARIS: A DIALOGUE OF FRIENDSHIP\n\n_Mnesippus_. _Toxaris_\n\n\n_Mne_. Now, Toxaris: do you mean to tell me that you people\nactually _sacrifice_ to Orestes and Pylades? do you take them\nfor Gods?\n\n_Tox_. Sacrifice to them? of course we do. It does not follow\nthat we think they are Gods: they were good men.\n\n_Mne_. And in Scythia \u2018good men\u2019 receive sacrifice just the\nsame as Gods?\n\n_Tox_. Not only that, but we honour them with feasts and\npublic gatherings.\n\n_Mne_. But what do you expect from them? They are shades now,\nso their goodwill can be no object.\n\n_Tox_. Why, as to that, I think it may be just as well to have\na good understanding even with shades. But that is not all: in\nhonouring the dead we consider that we are also doing the best we\ncan for the living. Our idea is that by preserving the memory of\nthe noblest of mankind, we induce many people to follow their\nexample.\n\n_Mne_. Ah, there you are right. But what could you find to\nadmire in Orestes and Pylades, that you should exalt them to\ngodhead? They were strangers to you: strangers, did I say? they\nwere enemies! Why, when they were shipwrecked on your coast, and\nyour ancestors laid hands on them, and took them off to be\nsacrificed to Artemis, they assaulted the gaolers, overpowered the\ngarrison, slew the king, carried off the priestess, laid impious\nhands on the Goddess herself, and so took ship, snapping their\nfingers at Scythia and her laws. If you honour men for this kind of\nthing, there will be plenty of people to follow their example, and\nyou will have your hands full. You may judge for yourselves, from\nancient precedent, whether it will suit you to have so many\nOresteses and Pyladeses putting into your ports. It seems to me\nthat it will soon end in your having no religion left at all: God\nafter God will be expatriated in the same manner, and then I\nsuppose you will supply their place by deifying their kidnappers,\nthus rewarding sacrilege with sacrifice. If this is not your motive\nin honouring Orestes and Pylades, I shall be glad to know what\nother service they have rendered you, that you should change your\nminds about them, and admit them to divine honours. Your ancestors\ndid their best to offer them up to Artemis: you offer up victims to\nthem. It seems an absurd inconsistency.\n\n_Tox_. Now, in the first place, the incident you refer to is\nvery much to their credit. Think of those two entering on that vast\nundertaking by themselves: sailing away from their country to the\ndistant Euxine [Footnote: See _Euxine_ in Notes.]\u2014that sea\nunknown in those days to the Greeks, or known only to the\nArgonauts\u2014unmoved by the stories they heard of it, undeterred by\nthe inhospitable name it then bore, which I suppose referred to the\nsavage nations that dwelt upon its shores; think of their\ncourageous bearing after they were captured; how escape alone would\nnot serve them, but they must avenge their wrong upon the king, and\ncarry Artemis away over the seas. Are not these admirable deeds,\nand shall not the doers be counted as Gods by all who esteem\nprowess? However, this is not our motive in giving them divine\nhonours.\n\n_Mne_. Proceed. What else of godlike and sublime was in their\nconduct? Because from the seafaring point of view, there are any\nnumber of merchants whose divinity I will maintain against theirs:\nthe Phoenicians, in particular, have sailed to every port in Greek\nand foreign waters, let alone the Euxine, the Maeotian Lake and the\nBosphorus; year after year they explore every coast, only returning\nhome at the approach of winter. Hucksters though they be for the\nmost part, and fishmongers, you must deify them all, to be\nconsistent.\n\n_Tox_. Now, now, Mnesippus, listen to me, and you shall see\nhow much more candid we barbarians are in our valuation of good men\nthan you Greeks. In Argos and Mycenae there is not so much as a\nrespectable tomb raised to Orestes and Pylades: in Scythia, they\nhave their temple, which is very appropriately dedicated to the two\nfriends in common, their sacrifices, and every honour. The fact of\ntheir being foreigners does not prevent us from recognizing their\nvirtues. We do not inquire into the nationality of noble souls: we\ncan hear without envy of the illustrious deeds of our enemies; we\ndo justice to their merits, and count them Scythians in deed if not\nin name. What particularly excites our reverent admiration in the\npresent case is the unparalleled loyalty of the two friends; in\nthem we have a model from which every man may learn how he must\nshare good and evil fortune with his friends, if he would enjoy the\nesteem of all good Scythians. The sufferings they endured with and\nfor one another our ancestors recorded on a brazen pillar in the\nOresteum; and they made it law, that the education of their\nchildren should begin with committing to memory all that is\ninscribed thereon. More easily shall a child forget his own\nfather\u2019s name than be at fault in the achievements of Orestes and\nPylades. Again, in the temple corridor are pictures by the artists\nof old, illustrating the story set forth on the pillar. Orestes is\nfirst shown on shipboard, with his friend at his side. Next, the\nship has gone to pieces on the rocks; Orestes is captured and\nbound; already Iphigenia prepares the two victims for sacrifice.\nBut on the opposite wall we see that Orestes has broken free;\nhe slays Thoas and many a Scythian; and the last scene shows\nthem sailing away, with Iphigenia and the Goddess; the Scythians\nclutch vainly at the receding vessel; they cling to the rudder,\nthey strive to clamber on board; at last, utterly baffled,\nthey swim back to the shore, wounded or terrified. It is at this\npoint in their conflict with the Scythians that the devotion of the\nfriends is best illustrated: the painter makes each of them\ndisregard his own enemies, and ward off his friend\u2019s assailants,\nseeking to intercept the arrows before they can reach him, and\ncounting lightly of death, if he can save his friend, and receive in\nhis own person the wounds that are meant for the other. Such\ndevotion, such loyal and loving partnership in danger, such true and\nsteadfast affection, we held to be more than human; it indicated a\nspirit not to be found in common men. While the gale is prosperous,\nwe all take it very much amiss if our friends will not share equally\nwith us: but let the wind shift ever so little, and we leave them to\nweather the storm by themselves. I must tell you that in Scythia no\nquality is more highly esteemed than this of friendship; there is\nnothing on which a Scythian prides himself so much as on sharing the\ntoils and dangers of his friend; just as nothing is a greater\nreproach among us than treachery to a friend. We honour Orestes and\nPylades, then, because they excelled in the Scythian virtue of\nloyalty, which we place above all others; and it is for this that we\nhave bestowed on them the name of Coraci, which in our language\nmeans spirits of friendship.\n\n_Mne_. Ah, Toxaris, so archery is not the only accomplishment\nof the Scythians, I find; they excel in rhetorical as well as in\nmilitary skill. You have persuaded me already that you were right in\ndeifying Orestes and Pylades, though I thought differently just now.\nI had no conception, either, what a painter you were. Your\ndescription of the pictures in the Oresteum was most vivid;\u2014that\nbattle-scene, and the way in which the two intercepted one another\u2019s\nwounds. Only I should never have thought that the Scythians would\nset such a high value on friendship: they are such a wild,\ninhospitable race; I should have said they had more to do with anger\nand hatred and enmity than with friendship, even for their nearest\nrelations, judging by what one is told; it is said, for instance,\nthat they devour their fathers\u2019 corpses.\n\n_Tox_. Well, which of the two is the more dutiful and pious in\ngeneral, Greek or Scythian, we will not discuss just now: but that\nwe are more loyal friends than you, and that we treat friendship\nmore seriously, is easily shown. Now please do not be angry with me,\nin the name of all your Gods: but I am going to mention a few points\nI have observed during my stay in this country. I can see that you\nare all admirably well qualified to talk about friendship: but\nwhen it comes to putting your words into practice, there is a\nconsiderable falling off; it is enough for you to have demonstrated\nwhat an excellent thing friendship is, and somehow or other, at the\ncritical moment, you make off, and leave your fine words to look\nafter themselves. Similarly, when your tragedians represent this\nsubject on the stage, you are loud in your applause; the spectacle\nof one friend risking his life for another generally brings tears to\nyour eyes: but you are quite incapable of rendering any such signal\nservices yourselves; once let your friends get into difficulties,\nand all those tragic reminiscences take wing like so many dreams;\nyou are then the very image of the silent mask which the actor has\nthrown aside: its mouth is open to its fullest extent, but not a\nsyllable does it utter. It is the other way with us: we are as much\nsuperior to you in the practice of friendship, as we are inferior in\nexpounding the theory of it.\n\nNow, what do you say to this proposal? let us leave out of the\nquestion all the cases of ancient friendship that either of us\nmight enumerate (there you would have the advantage of me: you\ncould produce all the poets on your side, most credible of\nwitnesses, with their Achilles and Patroclus, their Theseus and\nPirithous, and others, all celebrated in the most charming verses);\nand instead let each of us advance a few instances of devotion that\nhave occurred within his own experience, among our respective\ncountrymen; these we will relate in detail, and whoever can show\nthe best friendships is the winner, and announces his country as\nvictorious. Mighty issues are at stake: I for my part would rather\nbe worsted in single combat, and lose my right hand, as the\nScythian custom is, than yield to any man on the question of\nfriendship, above all to a Greek; for am I not a Scythian?\n\n_Mne_. I have got my work cut out for me, if I am to engage an\nold soldier like Toxaris, with a whole arsenal of keen words at his\ncommand. Well, I am not such a craven as to decline the challenge,\nwhen my country\u2019s honour is at stake. Could those two overcome the\nhost of Scythians represented in the legend, and in the ancient\npictures you have just described so impressively,\u2014and shall\nGreece, her peoples and her cities, be condemned for want of one to\nplead her cause? Strange indeed, if that were so; I should deserve\nto lose not my hand like you, but my tongue. Well now, is the\nnumber of friendships to be limited, or does wealth of instances\nitself constitute one claim to superiority?\n\n_Tox_. Oh no; number counts for nothing, that must be understood.\nWe have the same number, and it is simply a question whether\nyours are better and more pointed than mine; if they are, of\ncourse, the wounds you inflict will be the more deadly, and I\nshall be the first to succumb.\n\n_Mne_. Very well. Let us fix the number: I say five each.\n\n_Tox_. Five be it, and you begin. But you must be sworn first:\nbecause the subject naturally lends itself to fictitious treatment;\nthere is no checking anything. When you have sworn, it would be\nimpious to doubt your word.\n\n_Mne_. Very well, if you think it necessary. Have you any\npreference among our Gods? How would the God of Friendship meet the\ncase?\n\n_Tox_. Excellently; and when my turn comes, I will employ the\nnational oath of the Scythians.\n\n_Mne_. Zeus the God of Friendship be my witness, that all I\nshall now relate is derived either from my own experience, or from\nsuch careful inquiry as I was able to make of others; and is free\nfrom all imaginative additions of my own. I will begin with, the\nfriendship of Agathocles and Dinias. The story is well known in\nIonia. This Agathocles was a native of Samos, and lived not many\nyears ago. Though his conduct showed him to be the best of friends,\nhe was of no better family and in no better circumstances than the\ngenerality of the Samians. From boyhood he had been the friend of\nDinias, the son of Lyson, an Ephesian. Dinias, it seems, was\nenormously wealthy, and as his wealth was newly acquired, it is not\nto be wondered at that he had plenty of acquaintances besides\nAgathocles; persons who were quite qualified to share his\npleasures, and to be his boon-companions, but who were very far\nindeed from being friends. For some time Agathocles\u2014little as he\ncared for such a life\u2014played his convivial part with the rest,\nDinias making no distinction between him and the parasites.\nFinally, however, he took to finding fault with his friend\u2019s\nconduct, and gave great offence: his continual allusions to\nDinias\u2019s ancestry, and his exhortations to him to husband the\nfortune which had cost his father such labour to acquire, seemed to\nhis friend to be in indifferent taste. He gave up asking Agathocles\nto join in his revels, contented himself with the company of his\nparasites, and sought to elude his friend\u2019s observation. Well, the\nmisguided youth was presently persuaded by his flatterers that he\nhad made a conquest of Chariclea, the wife of Demonax, an eminent\nEphesian, holding the highest office in that city. He was kept well\nsupplied with billets-doux, half-faded flowers, bitten apples, and\nall the stock-in-trade of those intriguing dames whose business it\nis to fan an artificial passion that vanity has inspired. There is\nno more seductive bait to young men who value themselves on their\npersonal attractions, than the belief that they have made an\nimpression; they are sure to fall into the trap. Chariclea was a\ncharming little woman, but sadly wanting in reserve: any one might\nenjoy her favours, and on the easiest of terms; the most casual\nglance was sure to meet with encouragement; there was never any\nfear of a repulse from Chariclea. With more than professional\nskill, she could draw on a hesitating lover till his subjugation\nwas complete: then, when she was sure of him, she had a variety of\ndevices for inflaming his passion: she could storm, and she could\nflatter; and flattery would be succeeded by contempt, or by a\nfeigned preference for his rival;\u2014in short, her resources were\ninfinite; she was armed against her lovers at every point. This was\nthe lady whom Dinias\u2019s parasites now associated with them; they\nplayed their subordinate part well, and between them fairly hustled\nthe boy into a passion for Chariclea. Such a finished mistress of\nthe art of perdition, who had ruined plenty of victims before, and\nacted love-scenes and swallowed fine fortunes without number, was\nnot likely to let this simple inexperienced youth out of her\nclutches: she struck her talons into him on every side, and secured\nher quarry so effectually, that she was involved in his\ndestruction,\u2014to say nothing of the miseries of the hapless victim.\nShe got to work at once with the billets-doux. Her maid was for\never coming with news of tears and sleepless nights: \u2018her poor\nmistress was ready to hang herself for love.\u2019 The ingenuous youth\nwas at length driven to conclude that his attractions were too much\nfor the ladies of Ephesus; he yielded to the girl\u2019s entreaties, and\nwaited upon her mistress. The rest, of course, was easy. How was he\nto resist this pretty woman, with her captivating manners, her\nwell-timed tears, her parenthetic sighs? Lingering farewells,\njoyful welcomes, judicious airs and graces, song and lyre,\u2014all\nwere brought to bear upon him. Dinias was soon a lost man, over\nhead and ears in love; and Chariclea prepared to give the finishing\nstroke. She informed him that he was about to become a father,\nwhich was enough in itself to inflame the amorous simpleton; and\nshe discontinued her visits to him; her husband, she said, had\ndiscovered her passion, and was watching her. This was altogether\ntoo much for Dinias: he was inconsolable; wept, sent messages by\nhis parasites, flung his arms about her statue\u2014a marble one which\nhe had had made\u2014, shrieked forth her name in loud lamentation, and\nfinally threw himself down upon the ground and rolled about in a\npositive frenzy. Her apples and her flowers drew forth presents\nwhich were on quite another scale of munificence: houses and farms,\nservants, exquisite fabrics, and gold to any extent. To make a long\nstory short, the house of Lyson, which had the reputation of being\nthe wealthiest in Ionia, was quite cleared out. No sooner was this\nthe case, than Chariclea abandoned Dinias, and went off in pursuit\nof a certain golden youth of Crete, irresistible as he, and not\nless gullible. Deserted alike by her and by his parasites (who\nfollowed the chase of the fortunate Cretan), Dinias presented\nhimself before Agathocles, who had long been aware of his friend\u2019s\nsituation. He swallowed his first feelings of embarrassment, and\nmade a clean breast of it all: his love, his ruin, his mistress\u2019s\ndisdain, his Cretan rival; and ended by protesting that without\nChariclea he could not live. Agathocles did not think it necessary\nto remind Dinias just then how he alone had been excluded from his\nfriendship, and how parasites had been preferred to him: instead,\nhe went off and sold his family residence in Samos\u2014the only\nproperty he possessed\u2014and brought him the proceeds, 750 pounds.\nDinias had no sooner received the money, than it became evident\nthat he had somehow recovered his good looks, in the opinion of\nChariclea: once more the maid-servant and the notes, with\nreproaches for his long neglect; once more, too, the throng of\nparasites; they saw that there were still pickings to be had.\nDinias arrived at her house, by agreement, at about bedtime, and\nwas already inside, when Demonax\u2014whether he had an understanding\nwith his wife in the matter, as some say, or had got his\ninformation independently\u2014sprang out from concealment, gave orders\nto his servants to make the door fast and to secure Dinias, and\nthen drew his sword, breathing fire and flagellation against the\nparamour. Dinias, realizing his danger, caught up a heavy bar that\nlay near, and dispatched Demonax with a blow on the temple; then,\nturning to Chariclea, he dealt blow after blow with the same\nweapon, and finally plunged her husband\u2019s sword into her body. The\ndomestics stood by, dumb with amazement and terror; and when at\nlength they attempted to seize him, he rushed at them with the\nsword, put them to flight, and slipped away from the fatal scene.\nThe rest of that night he and Agathocles spent at the latter\u2019s\nhouse, pondering on the deed and its probable consequences. The\nnews soon spread, and in the morning officers came to arrest\nDinias. He made no attempt to deny the murder, and was conducted\ninto the presence of the then Prefect of Asia, who sent him up to\nthe Emperor. He presently returned, under sentence of perpetual\nbanishment to Gyarus, one of the Cyclades. All this time,\nAgathocles had never left his side: with unfaltering devotion, he\naccompanied him to Italy, and was the only friend who stood by him\nin his trial. And now even in his banishment he would not desert\nhim, but condemned himself to share the sentence; and when the\nnecessaries of life failed them, he hired himself out as a diver in\nthe purple-fishery, and with the proceeds of his industry\nsupported Dinias and tended him in his sickness till the end. Even\nwhen all was over, he would not return to his own home, but\nremained on the island, thinking it shame even in death to desert\nhis friend. There you have the history of a Greek friendship, and\none of recent date; I think it can scarcely be as much as five\nyears ago that Agathocles died on Gyarus.\n\n_Tox_. I wish I were at liberty to doubt the truth of your\nstory: but alas! you speak under oath. Your Agathocles is a truly\nScythian friend; I only hope there are no more of the same kind to\ncome.\n\n_Mne_. See what you think of the next\u2014Euthydicus of Chalcidice. I\nheard his story from Simylus, a shipmaster of Megara, who vowed\nthat he had been an eyewitness of what he related. He set sail from\nItaly about the setting of the Pleiads, bound for Athens, with a\nmiscellaneous shipload of passengers, among whom were Euthydicus\nand his comrade Damon, also of Chalcidice. They were of about the\nsame age. Euthydicus was a powerful man, in robust health; Damon\nwas pale and weakly, and looked as if he were just recovering from\na long illness. They had a good voyage as far as Sicily: but they\nhad no sooner passed through the Straits into the Ionian Sea, than\na tremendous storm overtook them. I need not detain you with\ndescriptions of mountainous billows and whirlwinds and hail and the\nother adjuncts of a storm: suffice it to say, that they were\ncompelled to take in all sail, and trail cables after them to break\nthe force of the waves, and in this way made Zacynthus by about\nmidnight. At this point Damon, being seasick, as was natural in\nsuch a heavy sea, was leaning over the side, when (as I suppose) an\nunusually violent lurch of the vessel in his direction, combining\nwith the rush of water across the deck, hurled him headlong into\nthe sea. The poor wretch was not even naked, or he might have had a\nchance of swimming: it was all he could do to keep himself above\nwater, and get out a cry for help. Euthydicus was lying in his\nberth undressed. He heard the cry, flung himself into the sea, and\nsucceeded in overtaking the exhausted Damon; and a powerful\nmoonlight enabled those on deck to see him swimming at his side for\na considerable distance, and supporting him. \u2018We all felt for\nthem,\u2019 said Simylus, \u2018and longed to give them some assistance, but\nthe gale was too much for us: we did, however, throw out a number\nof corks and spars on the chance of their getting hold of some of\nthem, and being carried to shore; and finally we threw over the\ngangway, which was of some size.\u2019\u2014Now only think: could any man\ngive a surer proof of affection, than by throwing himself into a\nfurious sea like that to share the death of his friend? Picture to\nyourself the surging billows, the roar of crashing waters, the\nhissing foam, the darkness, the hopeless prospect: look at\nDamon,\u2014he is at his last gasp, he barely keeps himself up, he\nholds out his hands imploringly to his friend: and lastly look at\nEuthydicus, as he leaps into the water, and swims by his side, with\nonly one thought in his mind,\u2014Damon must not be the first to\nperish;\u2014and you will see that Euthydicus too was no bad friend.\n\n_Tox_. I tremble for their fate: were they drowned, or did\nsome miraculous providence deliver them?\n\n_Mne_. Oh, they were saved all right; and they are in Athens\nat this day, both of them, studying philosophy. Simylus\u2019s story\ncloses with the events of the night: Damon has fallen overboard,\nEuthydicus has jumped in to his rescue, and the pair are left\nswimming about till they are lost in the darkness. Euthydicus\nhimself tells the rest. It seems that first they came across some\npieces of cork, which helped to support them; and they managed with\nmuch ado to keep afloat, till about dawn they saw the gangway, swam\nup to it, clambered on, and were carried to Zacynthus without\nfurther trouble. These, I think, are passable instances of\nfriendship; and my third is no way inferior to them, as you shall\nhear.\n\nEudamidas of Corinth, though he was himself in very narrow\ncircumstances, had two friends who were well-to-do, Aretaeus his\nfellow townsman, and Charixenus of Sicyon. When Eudamidas died, he\nleft a will behind him which I dare say would excite most people\u2019s\nridicule: but what the generous Toxaris, with his respect for\nfriendship and his ambition to secure its highest honours for his\ncountry, may think of the matter, is another question. The terms of\nthe will\u2014but first I should explain that Eudamidas left behind him\nan aged mother and a daughter of marriageable years;\u2014the will,\nthen, was as follows: _To Aretaeus I bequeath my mother, to tend\nand to cherish in her old age: and to Charixenus my daughter, to\ngive in marriage with such dowry as his circumstances will admit\nof: and should anything befall either of the legatees, then let his\nportion pass to the survivor_. The reading of this will caused\nsome merriment among the hearers, who knew of Eudamidas\u2019s poverty,\nbut did not know anything of the friendship existing between him\nand his heirs. They went off much tickled at the handsome legacy\nthat Aretaeus and Charixenus (lucky dogs!) had come in for:\n\u2018Eudamidas,\u2019 as they expressed it, \u2018was apparently to have a death-\ninterest in the property of the legatees.\u2019 However, the latter had\nno sooner heard the will read, than they proceeded to execute the\ntestator\u2019s intentions. Charixenus only survived Eudamidas by five\ndays: but Aretaeus, most generous of heirs, accepted the double\nbequest, is supporting the aged mother at this day, and has only\nlately given the daughter in marriage, allowing to her and to his\nown daughter portions of 500 pounds each, out of his whole property\nof 1,250 pounds; the two marriages were arranged to take place on\nthe same day. What do you think of him, Toxaris? This is something\nlike friendship, is it not,\u2014to accept such a bequest as this, and\nto show such respect for a friend\u2019s last wishes? May we pass this\nas one of my five?\n\n_Tox_. Excellent as was the behaviour of Aretaeus, I admire\nstill more Eudamidas\u2019s confidence in his friends. It shows that he\nwould have done as much for them; even if nothing had been said\nabout it in their wills, he would have been the first to come\nforward and claim the inheritance as natural heir.\n\n_Mne_. Very true. And now I come to Number Four\u2014Zenothemis of\nMassilia, son of Charmoleos. He was pointed out to me when I was in\nItaly on public business: a fine, handsome man, and to all\nappearance well off. But by his side (he was just driving away on a\njourney) sat his wife, a woman of most repulsive appearance; all\nher right side was withered; she had lost one eye; in short, she\nwas a positive fright. I expressed my surprise that a man in the\nprime of manly beauty should endure to have such a woman seated by\nhim. My informant, who was a Massiliot himself, and knew how the\nmarriage had come about, gave me all the particulars. \u2018The father\nof this unsightly woman,\u2019 he said, \u2018was Menecrates; and he and\nZenothemis were friends in days when both were men of wealth and\nrank. The property of Menecrates, however, was afterwards\nconfiscated by the Six Hundred, and he himself disfranchised, on\nthe ground that he had proposed an unconstitutional measure; this\nbeing the regular penalty in Massilia for such offences. The\nsentence was in itself a heavy blow to Menecrates, and it was\naggravated by the sudden change from wealth to poverty and from\nhonour to dishonour. But most of all he was troubled about this\ndaughter: she was now eighteen years old, and it was time that he\nfound her a husband; yet with her unfortunate appearance it was not\nprobable that any one, however poor or obscure, would have taken\nher, even with all the wealth her father had possessed previous to\nhis sentence; it was said, too, that she was subject to fits at\nevery increase of the moon. He was bewailing his hard lot to\nZenothemis, when the latter interrupted him: \u201cMenecrates,\u201d he said,\n\u201cbe sure that you shall want for nothing, and that your daughter\nshall find a match suitable to her rank.\u201d So saying, he took his\nfriend by the hand, brought him into his house, assigned him a\nshare of his great wealth, and ordered a banquet to be prepared, at\nwhich he entertained Menecrates and his friends, giving the former\nto understand that he had prevailed upon one of his acquaintance to\nmarry the girl. When dinner was over, and libations had been poured\nto the Gods, Zenothemis filled a goblet and passed it to\nMenecrates: \u201cAccept,\u201d he cried, \u201cfrom your son-in-law the cup of\nfriendship. This day I wed your daughter Cydimache. The dowry I\nhave had long since; 60,000 pounds was the sum.\u201d _\u201cYou?\u201d_\nexclaimed Menecrates; \u201cHeaven forbid that I should be so mad as to\nsuffer you, in the pride of your youth, to be yoked to this\nunfortunate girl!\u201d But even while he spoke, Zenothemis was\nconducting his bride to the marriage-chamber, and presently\nreturned to announce that she was his wedded wife. Since that day,\nhe has lived with her on the most affectionate terms; and you see\nfor yourself that he takes her about with him wherever he goes. As\nto his being ashamed of his wife, one would rather 26 suppose that\nhe was proud of her; and his conduct in this respect shows how\nlightly he esteems beauty and wealth and reputation, in comparison\nwith friendship and his friend; for Menecrates is not less his\nfriend because the Six Hundred have condemned him. To be sure,\nFortune has already given him one compensation: his ugly wife has\nborne him a most beautiful child. Only a few days ago, he carried\nhis child into the Senate-house, crowned with an olive-wreath, and\ndressed in black, to excite the pity of the senators on his\ngrandfather\u2019s behalf: the babe smiled upon them, and clapped his\nlittle hands together, which so moved the senators that they\nrepealed the sentence against Menecrates, who is now reinstated in\nhis rights, thanks to the pleadings of his tiny advocate.\u2019\n\nSuch was the Massiliot\u2019s story. As you see, it was no slight\nservice that Zenothemis rendered to his friend; I fancy there are\nnot many Scythians who would do the same; they are said to be very\nnice even in their selection of concubines.\n\nI have still one friend to produce, and I think none is more worthy\nof remembrance than Demetrius of Sunium. He and Antiphilus of the\ndeme of Alopece had been playmates in their childhood, and grown up\nside by side. They subsequently took ship for Egypt, and carried on\ntheir studies there together, Demetrius practising the Cynic\nphilosophy under the famous sophist of Rhodes, while Antiphilus, it\nseems, was to be a doctor. Well, on one occasion Demetrius had gone\nup country to see the Pyramids, and the statue of Memnon. He had\nheard it said that the Pyramids in spite of their great height cast\nno shadow, and that a sound proceeded from the statue at sunrise:\nall this he wished to see and hear for himself, and he had now been\naway up the Nile six months. During his absence, Antiphilus, who\nhad remained behind (not liking the idea of the heat and the long\njourney), became involved in troubles which required all the\nassistance that faithful friendship could have rendered. He had a\nSyrian slave, whose name was also Syrus. This man had made common\ncause with a number of temple-robbers, had forced his way with them\ninto the temple of Anubis, and robbed the God of a pair of golden\ncups, a caduceus, also of gold, some silver images of Cynocephali\nand other treasures; all of which the rest entrusted to Syrus\u2019s\ncharge. Later on they were caught trying to dispose of some of\ntheir booty, and were taken up; and being put on the rack,\nimmediately confessed the whole truth. They were accordingly\nconducted to Antiphilus\u2019s house, where they produced the stolen\ntreasure from a dark corner under a bed. Syrus was immediately\narrested, and his master Antiphilus with him: the latter being\ndragged away from the very presence of his teacher during lecture-\ntime. There was none to help him: his former acquaintances turned\ntheir backs on the desecrator of Anubis\u2019s temple, and made it a\nmatter of conscience that they had ever sat at the same table with\nhim. As to his other two servants, they got together all his\nbelongings, and ran off.\n\nAntiphilus had now lain long in captivity. He was looked upon as\nthe vilest criminal of all in the prison; and the native gaoler, a\nsuperstitious man, considered that he was avenging the God\u2019s wrongs\nand securing his favour by harsh treatment of Antiphilus. His\nattempts to clear himself of the charge of sacrilege only served to\nset him in the light of a hardened offender, and materially to\nincrease the detestation in which he was held. His health was\nbeginning to give way under the strain, and no wonder: his bed was\nthe bare ground, and all night he was unable so much as to stretch\nhis legs, which were then secured in the stocks; in the daytime,\nthe collar and one manacle sufficed, but at night he had to submit\nto being bound hand and foot. The stench, too, and the closeness of\nthe dungeon, in which so many prisoners were huddled together\ngasping for breath, and the difficulty of getting any sleep, owing\nto the clanking of chains,\u2014all combined to make the situation\nintolerable to one who was quite unaccustomed to endure such\nhardships. At last, when Antiphilus had given up all hope, and\nrefused to take any nourishment, Demetrius arrived, ignorant of all\nthat had passed in his absence. He no sooner learnt the truth, than\nhe flew to the prison. It was now evening, and he was refused\nadmittance, the gaoler having long since bolted the door and\nretired to rest, leaving his slaves to keep guard. Morning came,\nand after many entreaties he was allowed to enter. Suffering had\naltered Antiphilus beyond recognition, and for long Demetrius\nsought him in vain: like men who seek their slain relatives on the\nday after a battle, when death has already changed them, he went\nfrom prisoner to prisoner, examining each in turn; and had he not\ncalled on Antiphilus by name, it would have been long before he\ncould have recognized him, so great was the change that misery had\nwrought. Antiphilus heard the voice, and uttered a cry; then, as\nhis friend approached, he brushed the dry matted hair from his\nface, and revealed his identity. At the unexpected sight of one\nanother, the two friends instantly fell down in a swoon. But\npresently Demetrius recovered, and raised Antiphilus from the\nground: he obtained from him an exact account of all that had\nhappened, and bade him be of good cheer; then, tearing his cloak in\ntwo, he threw one half over himself, and gave the other to his\nfriend, first ripping off the squalid, threadbare rags in which he\nwas clothed. From that hour, Demetrius was unfailing in his\nattendance. From early morning till noon, he hired himself out as a\nporter to the merchants in the harbour, and thus made a\nconsiderable wage. Returning to the prison when his work was over,\nhe would give a part of his earnings to the gaoler, thus securing\nhis obsequious goodwill, and the rest sufficed him amply for\nsupplying his friend\u2019s needs. For the remainder of the day, he\nwould stay by Antiphilus, administering consolation to him; and at\nnightfall made himself a litter of leaves near the prison door, and\nthere took his rest. So things went on for some time, Demetrius\nhaving free entrance to the prison, and Antiphilus\u2019s misery being\nmuch alleviated thereby. But presently a certain robber died in the\ngaol, apparently from the effects of poison; a strict watch was\nkept, and admittance was refused to all applicants alike, to the\ngreat distress of Demetrius, who could think of no other means of\nobtaining access to his friend than by going to the Prefect and\nprofessing complicity in the temple robbery. As the result of this\ndeclaration, he was immediately led off to prison, and with great\ndifficulty prevailed upon the gaoler after many entreaties to place\nhim next to Antiphilus, and under the same collar. It was now that\nhis devotion to his friend appeared in the strongest light. Ill\nthough he was himself, he thought nothing of his own sufferings:\nhis only care was to lighten the affliction of his friend, and to\nprocure him as much rest as possible; and the companionship in\nmisery certainly lightened their load. Finally an event happened\nwhich brought their misfortunes to an end. One of the prisoners had\nsomehow got hold of a file. He took a number of the others into his\nconfidence, filed through the chain which held them together by\nmeans of their collars, and set all at liberty. The guards being\nfew were easily slain; and the prisoners burst out of the gaol\n_en masse_. They then scattered, and each took refuge for the\nmoment where he could, most of them being subsequently recaptured.\nDemetrius and Antiphilus, however, remained in the prison, and even\nsecured Syrus when he was about to escape. The next morning the\nPrefect, hearing what had happened, sent men in pursuit of the\nother prisoners, and Demetrius and Antiphilus, being summoned to\nhis presence, were released from their fetters, and commended for\nnot having run away like the rest. The friends, however, declined\nto accept their dismissal on such terms: Demetrius protested loudly\nagainst the injustice which would be done to them if they were to\npass for criminals, who owed their discharge to mercy, or to their\ndiscretion in not having run away. They insisted that the judge\nshould examine carefully into the facts of their case. He at length\ndid so; and was convinced of their innocence, did justice to their\ncharacters, and, with a warm commendation of Demetrius\u2019s conduct,\ndismissed them; but not before he had expressed his regret at the\nunjust sentence under which they had suffered, and made each of\nthem a present from his own purse,\u2014400 pounds to Antiphilus, and\ntwice that sum to Demetrius. Antiphilus is still in Egypt at the\npresent time, but Demetrius went off to India to visit the\nBrahmins, leaving his 800 pounds with Antiphilus. He could now, he\nsaid, leave his friend with a clear conscience. His own wants were\nsimple, and as long as they continued so, he had no need of money:\non the other hand, Antiphilus, in his present easy circumstances,\nhad as little need of a friend.\n\nSee, Toxaris, what a Greek friend can do! You were so hard just now\nupon our rhetorical vanity, that I forbear to give you the\nadmirable pleadings of Demetrius in court: not one word did he say\nin his own behalf; all was for Antiphilus; he wept and implored,\nand sought to take all the guilt upon himself; till at last the\nconfession of Syrus under torture cleared them both. These loyal\nfriends whose stories I have related were the first that occurred\nto my memory; where I have given five instances, I might have given\nfifty. And now I am silent: it is your turn to speak. I need not\ntell you to make the most of your Scythians, and bring them out\ntriumphant if you can: you will do that for your own sake, if you\nset any value on that right hand of yours. Quit you, then, like a\nman. You would look foolish if, after your truly professional\npanegyric of Orestes and Pylades, your art were to fail you in your\ncountry\u2019s need.\n\n_Tox_. I honour you for your disinterested encouragement:\napparently you are under no uneasiness as to the loss of your\ntongue, in the event of my winning. Well, I will begin: and you\nwill get no flowery language from me; it is not our Scythian way,\nespecially when the deeds we handle dwarf description. Be prepared\nfor something very different from the subjects of your own eulogy:\nhere will be no marryings of ugly and dowerless women, no five-\nhundred-pound-portionings of friends\u2019 daughters, nor even\nsurrenderings of one\u2019s person to gaolers, with the certain prospect\nof a speedy release. These are very cheap manifestations; the\nlofty, the heroic, is altogether wanting. I have to speak of blood\nand war and death for friendship\u2019s sake; you will learn that all\nyou have related is child\u2019s-play, when compared with the deeds of\nthe Scythians. After all, it is natural enough: what should you do\nbut admire these trifles? Living in the midst of peace, you have no\nscope for the exhibition of an exalted friendship, just as in a\ncalm we cannot tell a good pilot from a bad; we must wait till a\nstorm comes; then we know. We, on the contrary, live in a state of\nperpetual warfare, now invading, now receding, now contending for\npasturage or booty. There is the true sphere of friendship; and\nthere is the reason that its ties among us are drawn so close;\nfriendship we hold to be the one invincible, irresistible weapon.\n\nBut before I begin, I should like to describe to you our manner of\nmaking friends. Friendships are not formed with us, as with you,\nover the wine-cups, nor are they determined by considerations of\nage or neighbourhood. We wait till we see a brave man, capable of\nvaliant deeds, and to him we all turn our attention. Friendship\nwith us is like courtship with you: rather than fail of our object,\nand undergo the disgrace of a rejection, we are content to urge our\nsuit patiently, and to give our constant attendance. At length a\nfriend is accepted, and the engagement is concluded with our most\nsolemn oath: \u2018to live together and if need be to die for one\nanother.\u2019 That vow is faithfully kept: once let the friends draw\nblood from their fingers into a cup, dip the points of their swords\ntherein, and drink of that draught together, and from that moment\nnothing can part them. Such a treaty of friendship may include\nthree persons, but no more: a man of many friends we consider to be\nno better than a woman who is at the service of every lover; we\nfeel no further security in a friendship that is divided between so\nmany objects.\n\nI will commence with the recent story of Dandamis. In our conflict\nwith the Sauromatae, Dandamis\u2019s friend Amizoces had been taken\ncaptive,\u2014oh, but first I must take the Scythian oath, as we agreed\nat the start. I swear by Wind and Scimetar that I will speak\nnothing but truth of the Scythian friendships.\n\n_Mne_. You need not have troubled to swear, as far as I am\nconcerned. However, you showed judgement in not swearing by a God.\n\n_Tox_. What can you mean? Wind and Scimetar not Gods? Are you\nnow to learn that life and death are the highest considerations\namong mankind? When we swear by Wind and Scimetar, we do so because\nWind is the cause of life and Scimetar of death.\n\n_Mne_. On that principle, you get a good many other Gods\nbesides Scimetar, and as good as he: there is Arrow, and Spear, and\nHemlock, and Halter, and so on. Death is a God who assumes many\nshapes; numberless are the roads that lead into his presence.\n\n_Tox_. Now you are just trying to spoil my story with these\nquibbling objections. I gave _you_ a fair hearing.\n\n_Mne_. You are quite right, Toxaris; it shall not occur again,\nbe easy on that score. I\u2019ll be so quiet, you would never know I was\nhere at all.\n\n_Tox_. Four days after Dandamis and Amizoces had shared the\ncup of blood, the Sauromatae invaded our territory with 10,000\nhorse, their infantry being estimated at three times that number.\nThe invasion was unexpected, and we were completely routed; many of\nour warriors were slain, and the rest taken captive, with the\nexception of a few who managed to swim across to the opposite bank\nof the river, on which half our host was encamped, with a part of\nthe waggons. The reason of this arrangement I do not know; but our\nleaders had seen good to divide our camp between the two banks of\nthe Tanais. The enemy at once set to work to secure their booty and\ncollect the captives; they plundered the camp, and took possession\nof the waggons, most of them with their occupants; and we had the\nmortification of seeing our wives and concubines mishandled before\nour very eyes. Amizoces was among the prisoners, and while he was\nbeing dragged along he called upon his friend by name, to witness\nhis captivity and to remember the cup of blood. Dandamis heard him,\nand without a moment\u2019s delay plunged into the river in the sight of\nall, and swam across to the enemy. The Sauromatae rushed upon him,\nand were about to transfix him with their raised javelins, when he\nraised the cry of Zirin. The man who pronounces that word is safe\nfrom their weapons: it indicates that he is the bearer of ransom,\nand he is received accordingly. Being conducted into the presence\nof their chief, he demanded the liberation of Amizoces, and was\ntold in reply, that his friend would only be released upon payment\nof a high ransom. \u2018All that was once mine,\u2019 said Dandamis, \u2018has\nbecome your booty: but if one who is stripped of all can have\nanything yet left to give, it is at your disposal. Name your terms:\ntake me, if you will, in his place, and use me as seems best to\nyou.\u2019 \u2018To detain the person of one who comes with the Zirin on his\nlips is out of the question: but you may take back your friend on\npaying me a part of your possessions.\u2019 \u2018What will you have?\u2019 asked\nDandamis. \u2018Your eyes,\u2019 was the reply. Dandamis submitted: his eyes\nwere plucked out, and the Sauromatae had their ransom. He returned\nleaning on his friend, and they swam across together, and reached\nus in safety.\n\nThere was comfort for all of us in this act of Dandamis. Our\ndefeat, it seemed, was no defeat, after all: our most precious\npossessions had escaped the hands of our enemies; loyal friendship,\nnoble resolution, these were still our own. On the Sauromatae it\nhad the contrary effect: they did not at all like the idea of\nengaging with such determined adversaries on equal terms; gaining\nan advantage of them by means of a surprise was quite another\nmatter. The end of it was, that when night came on they left behind\nthe greater part of the herds, burnt the waggons, and beat a hasty\nretreat. As for Amizoces, he could not endure to see, when Dandamis\nwas blind: he blinded himself, and the two now sit at home,\nsupported in all honour at the public expense.\n\nCan you match that, friend? I think not, though I should give you\nten new chances on the top of your five; ay, and release you from\nyour oath, too, for that matter, leaving you free to exaggerate as\nmuch as you choose. Besides, I have given you just the bare facts.\nNow, if _you_ had been telling Dandamis\u2019s story, what embroidery we\nshould have had! The supplications of Dandamis, the blinding\nprocess, his remarks on the occasion, the circumstances of his\nreturn, the effusive greetings of the Scythians, and all the _ad\ncaptandum_ artifices that you Greeks understand so well.\n\nAnd now let me introduce you to another friend, not inferior to\nDandamis,\u2014a cousin of Amizoces, Belitta by name. Belitta was once\nhunting with his friend Basthes, when the latter was torn from his\nhorse by a lion. Already the brute had fallen upon him, and was\nclutching him by the throat and beginning to tear him to pieces,\nwhen Belitta, leaping to earth, rushed upon him from behind, and\nattempted to drag him off, and to turn his rage upon himself,\nthrusting his hands into the brute\u2019s mouth, and doing his best to\nextricate Basthes from those teeth. He succeeded at last: the lion,\nabandoning his half dead prey, turned upon Belitta, grappled with\nhim, and slew him; but not before Belitta had plunged a scimetar\ninto his breast. Thus all three died together; and we buried them,\nthe two friends in one grave, the lion in another close by.\n\nFor my third instance, I shall give you the friendship of Macentes,\nLonchates, and Arsacomas. This Arsacomas had been on a visit to\nLeucanor, king of Bosphorus, in connexion with the tribute annually\npaid to us by that country, which tribute was then three months\noverdue; and while there he had fallen in love with Mazaea, the\nking\u2019s daughter. Mazaea was an extremely fine woman, and Arsacomas,\nseeing her at the king\u2019s table, had been much smitten with her\ncharms. The question of the tribute was at length settled,\nArsacomas had his answer, and the king was now entertaining him\nprior to his departure. It is the custom for suitors in that\ncountry to make their proposals at table, stating at the same time\ntheir qualifications. Now in the present case there were a number\nof suitors\u2014kings and sons of kings, among whom were Tigrapates the\nprince of the Lazi and Adyrmachus the chief of the Machlyans. What\neach suitor has to do is, first to declare his intentions, and\nquietly take his seat at table with the rest; then, when dinner is\nover, he calls for a goblet, pours libation upon the table, and\nmakes his proposal for the lady\u2019s hand, saying whatever he can for\nhimself in the way of birth, wealth, and dominion. Many suitors,\nthen, had already preferred their request in due form, enumerating\ntheir realms and possessions, when at last Arsacomas called for a\ncup. He did not make a libation, because it is not the Scythian\ncustom to do so; we should consider it an insult to Heaven to pour\naway good wine: instead, he drank it all off at one draught, and\nthen addressed the king. \u2018Sire,\u2019 he said, \u2018give _me_ your\ndaughter Mazaea to wife: if wealth and possessions count for\nanything, I am a fitter husband for her than these.\u2019 Leucanor was\nsurprised: he knew that Arsacomas was but a poor commoner among the\nScythians. \u2018What herds, what waggons have you, Arsacomas?\u2019 he\nasked; \u2018these are the wealth of your people.\u2019 \u2018Waggons and herds I\nhave none,\u2019 was Arsacomas\u2019s reply: \u2018but I have two excellent\nfriends, whose like you will not find in all Scythia.\u2019 His answer\nonly excited ridicule; it was attributed to drunkenness, and no\nfurther notice was taken of him. Adyrmachus was preferred to the\nother suitors, and was to take his bride away the next morning to\nhis Maeotian home. Arsacomas on his return informed his friends of\nthe slight that had been put upon him by the king, and of the\nridicule to which he had been subjected on account of his supposed\npoverty. \u2018And yet,\u2019 he added, \u2018I told him of my wealth: told him\nthat I had the friendship of Lonchates and Macentes, a more\nprecious and more lasting possession than his kingdom of Bosphorus.\nBut he made light of it; he jeered at us; and gave his daughter to\nAdyrmachus the Machlyan, because he had ten golden cups, and eighty\nwaggons of four seats, and a number of sheep and oxen. It seems\nthat herds and lumbering waggons and superfluous beakers are to\ncount for more than brave men. My friends, I am doubly wounded: I\nlove Mazaea, and I cannot forget the humiliation which I have\nsuffered before so many witnesses, and in which you are both\nequally involved. Ever since we were united in friendship, are we\nnot one flesh? are not our joys and our sorrows the same? If this\nbe so, each of us has his share in this disgrace.\u2019 \u2018Not only so,\u2019\nrejoined Lonchates; \u2018each of us labours under the whole ignominy of\nthe affront.\u2019 \u2018And what is to be our course?\u2019 asked Macentes. \u2018We\nwill divide the work,\u2019 replied the other. \u2018I for my part undertake\nto present Arsacomas with the head of Leucanor: you must bring him\nhis bride.\u2019 \u2018I agree. And you, Arsacomas, can stay at home; and as\nwe are likely to want an army before we have done, you must be\ngetting together horses and arms, and raise what men you can, A man\nlike you will have no difficulty in getting plenty of people to\njoin him, and there are all our relations; besides, you can sit on\nthe ox-hide.\u2019 This being settled, Lonchates set off just as he was\nfor the Bosphorus, and Macentes for Machlyene, each on horseback;\nwhile Arsacomas remained behind, consulting with his acquaintance,\nraising forces from among the relations of the three, and, finally,\ntaking his seat on the ox-hide.\n\nOur custom of the hide is as follows. When a man has been injured\nby another, and desires vengeance, but feels that he is no match\nfor his opponent, he sacrifices an ox, cuts up the flesh and cooks\nit, and spreads out the hide upon the ground. On this hide he takes\nhis seat, holding his hands behind him, so as to suggest that his\narms are tied in that position, this being the natural attitude of\na suppliant among us. Meanwhile, the flesh of the ox has been laid\nout; and the man\u2019s relations and any others who feel so disposed\ncome up and take a portion thereof, and, setting their right foot\non the hide, promise whatever assistance is in their power: one\nwill engage to furnish and maintain five horsemen, another ten, a\nthird some larger number; while others, according to their ability,\npromise heavy or light-armed infantry, and the poorest, who have\nnothing else to give, offer their own personal services. The number\nof persons assembled on the hide is sometimes very considerable;\nnor could any troops be more reliable or more invincible than those\nwhich are collected in this manner, being as they are under a vow;\nfor the act of stepping on to the hide constitutes an oath. By this\nmeans, then, Arsacomas raised something like 5,000 cavalry and\n20,000 heavy and light armed.\n\nMeanwhile, Lonchates arrived unknown in Bosphorus, and presented\nhimself co the king, who was occupied at the moment in affairs of\nstate. \u2018I come,\u2019 he said, \u2018on public business from Scythia: but I\nhave also a private communication of high import to make to your\nMajesty.\u2019 The king bade him proceed. \u2018As to my public errand, it is\nthe old story: we protest against your herdsmen\u2019s crossing the\nRocks and encroaching on the plains. And with reference to the\nrobbers of whom you complain, I am instructed to say that our\ngovernment is not responsible for their incursions, which are the\nwork of private individuals, actuated merely by the love of booty;\naccordingly, you are at liberty to punish as many of them as you\ncan secure, And now for my own news. You will shortly be invaded by\na large host under Arsacomas the son of Mariantas, who was lately\nat your court as an ambassador. I suppose the cause of his\nresentment is your refusing him your daughter\u2019s hand. He has now\nbeen on the ox-hide for seven days, and has got together a\nconsiderable force.\u2019 \u2018I had heard,\u2019 exclaimed Leucanor, \u2018that an\narmy was being raised on the hide: but who was raising it, and what\nwas its destination, I had no idea.\u2019 \u2018You know now,\u2019 said\nLonchates. \u2018Arsacomas is a personal enemy of mine: the superior\nesteem in which I am held, and the preference shown for me by our\nelders, are things which he cannot forgive. Now promise me your\nother daughter Barcetis: apart from my present services, I shall be\nno discreditable son-in-law: promise me this, and in no long time I\nwill return bringing you the head of Arsacomas.\u2019 \u2018I promise,\u2019 cried\nthe king, in great perturbation; for he realized the provocation he\nhad given to Arsacomas, and had a wholesome respect for the\nScythians at all times. \u2018Swear,\u2019 insisted Lonchates, \u2018that you will\nnot go back from your promise.\u2019 The king was already raising up his\nhand to Heaven, when the other interrupted him. \u2018Wait!\u2019 he\nexclaimed; \u2018not here! these people must not know what is the\nsubject of our oath. Let us go into the temple of Ares yonder, and\nswear with closed doors, where none may hear. If Arsacomas should\nget wind of this, I am likely to be offered up as a preliminary\nsacrifice; he has a good number of men already.\u2019 \u2018To the temple,\nthen, let us go,\u2019 said the king; and he ordered the guards to\nremain aloof, and forbade any one to approach the temple unless\nsummoned by him. As soon as they were inside, and the guards had\nwithdrawn, Lonchates drew his sword, and putting his left hand on\nthe king\u2019s mouth to prevent his crying out, plunged it into his\nbreast; then, cutting off his head, he went out from the temple\ncarrying it under his cloak; affecting all the time to be speaking\nto the king, and promising that he would not be long, as if the\nking had sent him on some errand. He thus succeeded in reaching the\nplace where he had left his horse tethered, leapt on to his back,\nand rode off into Scythia. There was no pursuit: the people of\nBosphorus took some time to discover what had happened; and then\nthey were occupied with disputes as to the succession. Thus\nLonchates fulfilled his promise, and handed the head of Leucanor to\nArsacomas.\n\nThe news of this reached Macentes while he was on his way to\nMachlyene, and on his arrival there he was the first to announce\nthe king\u2019s death. \u2018You, Adyrmachus,\u2019 he added, \u2018are his son-in-law,\nand are now summoned to the throne. Ride on in advance, and\nestablish your claim while all is still unsettled. Your bride can\nfollow with the waggons; the presence of Leucanor\u2019s daughter will\nbe of assistance to you in securing the support of the Bosphorans.\nI myself am an Alanian, and am related to this lady by the mother\u2019s\nside: Leucanor\u2019s wife, Mastira, was of my family. I now come to you\nfrom Mastira\u2019s brothers in Alania: they would have you make the\nbest of your way to Bosphorus at once, or you will find your crown\non the head of Eubiotus, Leucanor\u2019s bastard brother, who is a\nfriend to Scythia, and detested by the Alanians.\u2019 In language and\ndress, Macentes resembled an Alanian; for in these respects there\nis no difference between Scythians and Alanians, except that the\nAlanians do not wear such long hair as we do. Macentes had\ncompleted the resemblance by cropping his hair to the right\nshortness, and was thus enabled to pass for a kinsman of Mastira\nand Mazaea. \u2018And now, Adyrmachus,\u2019 he concluded, \u2018I am ready to go\nwith you to Bosphorus; or, if you prefer it, I will escort your\nbride.\u2019 \u2018If you will do the latter,\u2019 replied Adyrmachus, \u2018I shall\nbe particularly obliged, since you are Mazaea\u2019s kinsman. If you go\nwith us, it is but one horseman more; whereas no one could be such\na suitable escort for my wife.\u2019 And so it was settled: Adyrmachus\nrode off, and left Mazaea, who was still a maid, in the care of\nMacentes. During the day, Macentes accompanied Mazaea in the\nwaggon: but at nightfall he placed her on horseback (he had taken\ncare that there should be a horseman in attendance), and, mounting\nbehind her, abandoned his former course along the Maeotian Lake,\nand struck off into the interior, keeping the Mitraean Mountains on\nhis right. He allowed Mazaea some time for rest, and completed the\nwhole journey from Machlyene to Scythia on the third day; his horse\nstood still for a few moments after arrival, and then dropped down\ndead. \u2018Behold,\u2019 said Macentes, presenting Mazaea to Arsacomas,\n\u2018behold your promised bride.\u2019 Arsacomas, amazed at so unexpected a\nsight, was beginning to express his gratitude: but Macentes bade\nhim hold his peace. \u2018You speak,\u2019 he exclaimed, \u2018as if you and I\nwere different persons, when you thank me for what I have done. It\nis as if my left hand should say to my right: Thank you for tending\nmy wound; thank you for your generous sympathy with my pain. That\nwould be no more absurd than for us\u2014who have long been united, and\nhave become (so far as such a thing may be) one flesh\u2014to make such\nado because one part of us has done its duty by the whole; the limb\nis but serving its own interest in promoting the welfare of the\nbody.\u2019 And that was how Macentes received his friend\u2019s thanks.\n\nAdyrmachus, on hearing of the trick that had been played upon him,\ndid not pursue his journey to Bosphorus; indeed, Eubiotus was\nalready on the throne, having been summoned thither from his home\nin Sarmatia. He therefore returned to his own country, collected a\nlarge army, and marched across the mountains into Scythia. He was\npresently followed by Eubiotus himself, at the head of a\nmiscellaneous army of Greeks, together with 20,000 each of his\nAlanian and Sarmatian allies. The two joined forces, and the result\nwas an army of 90,000 men, one third of whom were mounted bowmen.\nWe Scythians (I say _we_, because I myself took part in this\nenterprise, and was maintaining a hundred horse on the hide)\u2014we\nScythians then, numbering in all not much less than 30,000 men,\nincluding cavalry, awaited their onset, under the command of\nArsacomas. As soon as we saw them approaching, we too advanced,\nsending on our cavalry ahead. After a long and obstinate\nengagement, our lines were broken, and we began to give ground; and\nfinally our whole army was cut clean in two. One half had not\nsuffered a decisive defeat; with these it was rather a retreat than\na flight, nor did the Alanians venture to follow up their advantage\nfor any distance. But the other and smaller division was completely\nsurrounded by the Alanians and Machlyans, and was being shot down\non every side by the copious discharge of arrows and javelins; the\nposition became intolerable, and most of our men were beginning to\nthrow down their arms. In this latter division were Lonchates and\nMacentes. They had borne the brunt of the attack, and both were\nwounded: Lonchates had a spear-thrust in his thigh, and Macentes,\nbesides a cut on the head from an axe, had had his shoulder damaged\nby a pike. Arsacomas, seeing their condition (he was with us in the\nother division), could not endure the thought of turning his back\non his friends: plunging the spurs into his horse, and raising a\nshout, he rode through the midst of the enemy, with his scimetar\nraised on high. The Machlyans were unable to withstand the fury of\nhis onset; their ranks divided, and made way for him to pass.\nHaving rescued his friends from their danger, he rallied the rest\nof the troops; and charging upon Adyrmachus brought down the\nscimetar on his neck, and cleft him in two as far as the waist.\nAdyrmachus once slain, the whole of the Machlyans and Alanians soon\nscattered, and the Greeks followed their example. Thus did we turn\ndefeat into victory; and had not night come to interrupt us, we\nshould have pursued the fugitives for a considerable distance,\nslaying as we went. The next day came messengers from the enemy\nsuing for reconciliation, the Bosphorans undertaking to double\ntheir tribute, and the Machlyans to leave hostages; whilst the\nAlanians promised to expiate their guilt by reducing the Sindians\nto submission, that tribe having been for some time in revolt\nagainst us. These terms we accepted, at the instance of Arsacomas\nand Lonchates, who conducted the negotiations and concluded the\npeace.\n\nSuch, Mnesippus, are the deeds that Scythians will do for\nfriendship\u2019s sake.\n\n_Mne_. Truly deeds of high emprise; quite a legendary look\nabout them. With Wind\u2019s and Scimetar\u2019s good leave, I think a man\nmight be excused for doubting their truth.\n\n_Tox_. Now, honestly, Mnesippus, does not that doubt look a\nlittle like envy? However, doubt if you will: that shall not deter\nme from relating other Scythian exploits of the same kind which\nhave happened within my experience.\n\n_Mne_. Brevity, friend, is all I ask. Your story is apt to run\naway with you. Up hill and down dale you go, through Scythia and\nMachlyene, off again to Bosphorus, then back to Scythia, till my\ntaciturnity is exhausted.\n\n_Tox_. I am schooled. Brevity you shall have; I will not run\nyou off your ears this time. My next story shall be of a service\nrendered to myself, by my friend Sisinnes. Induced by the desire\nfor Greek culture, I had left my home and was on my way to Athens.\nThe ship put in at Amastris, which comes in the natural route from\nScythia, being on the shore of the Euxine, not far from Carambis.\nSisinnes, who had been my friend from childhood, bore me company on\nthis voyage. We had transferred all our belongings from the ship to\nan inn near the harbour; and whilst we were busy in the market,\nsuspecting nothing wrong, some thieves had forced the door of our\nroom and carried off everything, not leaving us even enough to go\non with for that day. Well, when we got back and found what had\nhappened, we thought it was no use trying to get legal redress from\nour landlord, or from the neighbours; there were too many of them;\nand if we _had_ told our story,\u2014how we had been robbed of\nfour hundred darics and our clothes and rugs and everything, most\npeople would only have thought we were making a fuss about a\ntrifle. So we had to think what was to be done: here we were,\nabsolutely destitute, in a foreign country. For my part, I thought\nI might as well put a sword through my ribs there and then, and\nhave done with it, rather than endure the humiliation that might be\nforced upon us by hunger and thirst. Sisinnes took a more cheerful\nview, and implored me to do nothing of the kind: \u2018I shall think of\nsomething,\u2019 he said, \u2018and we may do well yet.\u2019 For the moment, he\nmade enough to get us some food by carrying up timber from the\nharbour. The next morning, he took a walk in the market, where it\nseems he saw a company of fine likely young fellows, who as it\nturned out were hired as gladiators, and were to perform two days\nafter. He found out all about them, and then came back to me.\n\u2018Toxaris,\u2019 he exclaimed, \u2018consider your poverty at an end! In two\ndays\u2019 time, I will make a rich man of you.\u2019 We got through those\ntwo days somehow, and then came the show, in which we took our\nplaces as spectators, Sisinnes bidding me prepare myself for all\nthe novel delights of a Greek amphitheatre. The first thing we saw\non sitting down was a number of wild beasts: some of them were\nbeing assailed by javelins, others hunted by dogs, and others again\nwere let loose upon certain men who were tied hand and foot, and\nwhom we supposed to be criminals. The gladiators next made their\nappearance. The herald led forward a strapping young fellow, and\nannounced that any one who was prepared to stand up against him\nmight step into the arena and take his reward, which would be 400\npounds. Sisinnes rose from his seat, jumped down into the ring,\nexpressed his willingness to fight, and demanded arms. He received\nthe money, and brought it to me. \u2018If I win,\u2019 he said, \u2018we will go\noff together, and are amply provided for: if I fall, you will bury\nme and return to Scythia.\u2019 I was much moved.\n\nHe now received his arms, and put them on; with the exception,\nhowever, of the helmet, for he fought bareheaded. He was the first\nto be wounded, his adversary\u2019s curved sword drawing a stream of\nblood from his groin. I was half dead with fear. However, Sisinnes\nwas biding his time: the other now assailed him with more\nconfidence, and Sisinnes made a lunge at his breast, and drove the\nsword clean through, so that his adversary fell lifeless at his\nfeet. He himself, exhausted by the loss of blood, sank down upon\nthe corpse, and life almost deserted him; but I ran to his\nassistance, raised him up, and spoke words of comfort. The victory\nwas won, and he was free to depart; I therefore picked him up and\ncarried him home. My efforts were at last successful: he rallied,\nand is living in Scythia to this day, having married my sister. He\nis still lame, however, from his wound. Observe: this did not take\nplace in Machlyene, nor yet in Alania; there is no lack of\nwitnesses to the truth of the story this time; many an Amastrian\nhere in Athens would remember the fight of Sisinnes.\n\nOne more story, that of Abauchas, and I have done. Abauchas once\narrived in the capital of the Borysthenians, with his wife, of whom\nhe was extremely fond, and two children; one, a boy, was still at\nthe breast, the other was a girl of seven. With him also was his\nfriend Gyndanes, who was still suffering from the effects of a\nwound he had received on the journey: they had been attacked by\nsome robbers, and Gyndanes in resisting them had been stabbed in\nthe thigh, and was still unable to stand on account of the pain.\nOne night they were all asleep in the upper story, when a\ntremendous fire broke out; the whole building was wrapped in\nflames, and every means of exit blocked. Abauchas started up, and\nleaving his sobbing children, and shaking off his wife, who clung\nto him and implored him to save her, he caught up his friend in his\narms, and just managed to force his way down without being utterly\nconsumed by the flames. His wife followed, carrying the boy, and\nbade the girl come after her; but, scorched almost to a cinder, she\nwas compelled to drop the child from her arms, and barely succeeded\nin leaping through the flames; the little girl too only just\nescaped with her life. Abauchas was afterwards reproached with\nhaving abandoned his own wife and children to rescue Gyndanes. \u2018I\ncan beget other children easily enough,\u2019 said he: \u2018nor was it\ncertain how these would turn out: but it would be long before I got\nsuch another friend as Gyndanes; of his affection I have been\nabundantly satisfied by experience.\u2019\n\nThere, Mnesippus, you have _my_ little selection. The next\nthing is to settle whether my hand or your tongue is to be\namputated. Who is umpire?\n\n_Mne_. Umpire we have none; we forgot that. I tell you what:\nwe have wasted our arrows this time, but some other day we will\nappoint an arbitrator, and submit other friendships to his\njudgement; and then off shall come your hand, or out shall come my\ntongue, as the case may be. Perhaps, though, this is rather a\nprimitive way of doing things. As you seem to think a great deal of\nfriendship, and as I consider it to be the highest blessing of\nhumanity, what is there to prevent our vowing eternal friendship on\nthe spot? We shall both have the satisfaction of winning then, and\nshall get a substantial prize into the bargain: two right hands\neach instead of one, two tongues, four eyes, four feet;\u2014everything\nin duplicate. The union of two friends\u2014or three, let us say\u2014is\nlike Geryon in the pictures: a six-handed, three-headed individual;\nmy private opinion is, that there was not one Geryon, but three\nGeryons, all acting in concert, as friends should.\n\n_Tox_. Done with you, then.\n\n_Mne_. And, Toxaris,\u2014we will dispense with the blood-and-\nscimetar ceremony. Our present conversation, and the similarity of\nour aims, are a much better security than that sanguinary cup of\nyours. Friendship, as I take it, should be voluntary, not\ncompulsory.\n\n_Tox_. Well said. From this day, I am your friend, you mine; I\nyour guest here in Greece, you mine if ever you come to Scythia.\n\n_Mne_. Scythia! I would go further than Scythia, to meet with\nsuch friends as Toxaris\u2019s narratives have shown him to be.\n\n\n\n\nZEUS CROSS-EXAMINED\n\n_Cyniscus_. _Zeus_\n\n\n_Cyn_. Zeus: I am not going to trouble you with requests for a\nfortune or a throne; you get prayers enough of that sort from other\npeople, and from your habit of convenient deafness I gather that\nyou experience a difficulty in answering them. But there is one\nthing I should like, which would cost you no trouble to grant.\n\n_Zeus_. Well, Cyniscus? You shall not be disappointed, if your\nexpectations are as reasonable as you say.\n\n_Cyn_. I want to ask you a plain question.\n\n_Zeus_. Such a modest petition is soon granted; ask what you\nwill.\n\n_Cyn_. Well then: you know your Homer and Hesiod, of course?\nIs it all true that they sing of Destiny and the Fates\u2014that\nwhatever they spin for a man at his birth must inevitably come\nabout?\n\n_Zeus_. Unquestionably. Nothing is independent of their\ncontrol. From their spindle hangs the life of all created things;\nwhose end is predetermined even from the moment of their birth; and\nthat law knows no change.\n\n_Cyn_. Then when Homer says, for instance, in another place,\n\n  Lest unto Hell thou go, _outstripping Fate_,\n\nhe is talking nonsense, of course?\n\n_Zeus_. Absolute nonsense. Such a thing is impossible: the law\nof the Fates, the thread of Destiny, is over all. No; so long as\nthe poets are under the inspiration of the Muses, they speak truth:\nbut once let those Goddesses leave them to their own devices, and\nthey make blunders and contradict themselves. Nor can we blame\nthem: they are but men; how should they know truth, when the\ndivinity whose mouthpieces they were is departed from them?\n\n_Cyn_. That point is settled, then. But there is another thing\nI want to know. There are three Fates, are there not,\u2014Clotho,\nLachesis, and Atropus?\n\n_Zeus_. Quite so.\n\n_Cyn_. But one also hears a great deal about Destiny and\nFortune. Who are they, and what is the extent of their power? Is it\nequal to that of the Fates? or greater perhaps? People are always\ntalking about the insuperable might of Fortune and Destiny.\n\n_Zeus_. It is not proper, Cyniscus, that you should know all.\nBut what made you ask me about the Fates?\n\n_Cyn_. Ah, you must tell me one thing more first. Do the Fates\nalso control you Gods? Do _you_ depend from their thread?\n\n_Zeus_. We do. Why do you smile?\n\n_Cyn_. I was thinking of that bit in Homer, where he makes you\naddress the Gods in council, and threaten to suspend all the world\nfrom a golden cord. You said, you know, that you would let the cord\ndown from Heaven, and all the Gods together, if they liked, might\ntake hold of it and try to pull you down, and they would never do\nit: whereas you, if you had a mind to it, could easily pull them up,\n\n  And Earth and Sea withal.\n\nI listened to that passage with shuddering reverence; I was much\nimpressed with the idea of your strength. Yet now I understand that\nyou and your cord and your threats all depend from a mere cobweb.\nIt seems to me Clotho should be the one to boast: she has you\ndangling from her distaff, like a sprat at the end of a fishing-\nline.\n\n_Zeus_. I do not catch the drift of your questions.\n\n_Cyn_. Come, I will speak my mind; and in the name of Destiny\nand the Fates take not my candour amiss. If the case stands thus,\nif the Fates are mistresses of all, and their decisions\nunalterable, then why do men sacrifice to _you_, and bring\nhecatombs, and pray for good at _your_ hands? If our prayers\ncan neither save us from evil nor procure us any boon from Heaven,\nI fail to see what we get for our trouble.\n\n_Zeus_. These are nice questions! I see how it is,\u2014you have\nbeen with the sophists; accursed race! who would deny us all\nconcern in human affairs. Yes, these are just the points they\nraise, impiously seeking to pervert mankind from the way of\nsacrifice and prayer: it is all thrown away, forsooth! the Gods\ntake no thought for mankind; they have no power on the earth.\u2014Ah\nwell; they will be sorry for it some day.\n\n_Cyn_. Now, by Clotho\u2019s own spindle, my questions are free\nfrom all sophistic taint. How it has come about, I know not; but\none word has brought up another, and the end of it is\u2014there is no\nuse in sacrifice. Let us begin again. I will put you a few more\nquestions; answer me frankly, but think before you speak, this\ntime.\n\n_Zeus_. Well; if you have the time to waste on such\ntomfoolery.\n\n_Cyn_. Everything proceeds from the Fates, you say?\n\n_Zeus_. Yes.\n\n_Cyn_. And is it in your power to unspin what they have spun?\n\n_Zeus_. It is not.\n\n_Cyn_. Shall I proceed, or is the inference clear?\n\n_Zeus_. Oh, clear enough. But you seem to think that people\nsacrifice to us from ulterior motives; that they are driving a\nbargain with us, _buying_ blessings, as it were: not at all;\nit is a disinterested testimony to our superior merit.\n\n_Cyn_. There you are, then. As you say, sacrifice answers no\nuseful purpose; it is just our good-natured way of acknowledging\nyour superiority. And mind you, if we had a sophist here, he would\nwant to know all about that superiority. You are our fellow slaves,\nhe would say; if the Fates are our mistresses, they are also yours.\nYour immortality will not serve you; that only makes things worse.\nWe mortals, after all, are liberated by death: but for you there is\nno end to the evil; that long thread of yours means eternal\nservitude.\n\n_Zeus_. But this eternity is an eternity of happiness; the\nlife of Gods is one round of blessings.\n\n_Cyn_. Not all Gods\u2019 lives. Even in Heaven there are distinctions,\nnot to say mismanagement. _You_ are happy, of course: you are king,\nand you can haul up earth and sea as it were a bucket from the\nwell. But look at Hephaestus: a cripple; a common blacksmith. Look\nat Prometheus: _he_ gets nailed up on Caucasus. And I need not\nremind you that your own father lies fettered in Tartarus at this\nhour. It seems, too, that Gods are liable to fall in love; and to\nreceive wounds; nay, they may even have to take service with mortal\nmen; witness your brother Posidon, and Apollo, servants to Laomedon\nand to Admetus. I see no great happiness in all this; some of you I\ndare say have a very pleasant time of it, but not so others. I\nmight have added, that you are subject to robbery like the rest of\nus; your temples get plundered, and the richest of you becomes a\npauper in the twinkling of an eye. To more than one of you it has\neven happened to be melted down, if he was a gold or a silver God.\nAll destiny, of course.\n\n_Zeus_. Take care, Cyniscus: you are going too far. You will\nrepent of this one day.\n\n_Cyn_. Spare your threats: you know that nothing can happen to\nme, except what Fate has settled first. I notice, for instance,\nthat even temple-robbers do not always get punished; most of them,\nindeed, slip through your hands. Not destined to be caught, I\nsuppose.\n\n_Zeus_. I knew it! you are one of those who would abolish\nProvidence.\n\n_Cyn_. You seem to be very much afraid of these gentlemen, for\nsome reason. Not one word can I say, but you must think I picked it\nup from them. Oblige me by answering another question; I could\ndesire no better authority than yours. What is this Providence? Is\nshe a Fate too? or some greater, a mistress of the Fates?\n\n_Zeus_. I have already told you that there are things which it\nis not proper for you to know. You said you were only going to ask\nme one question, instead of which you go on quibbling without end.\nI see what it is you are at: you want to make out that we Gods take\nno thought for human affairs.\n\n_Cyn_. It is nothing to do with me: it was you who said just\nnow that the Fates ordained everything. Have you thought better of\nit? Are you going to retract what you said? Are the Gods going to\npush Destiny aside and make a bid for government?\n\n_Zeus_. Not at all; but the Fates work _through us_.\n\n_Cyn_. I see: you are their servants, their underlings. But\nthat comes to the same thing: it is still they who design; you are\nonly their tools, their instruments.\n\n_Zeus_. How do you make that out?\n\n_Cyn_. I suppose it is pretty much the same as with a carpenter\u2019s\nadze and drill: they do assist him in his work, but no one would\ndescribe them as the workmen; we do not say that a ship has been\nturned out by such and such an adze, or by such and such a drill;\nwe name the shipwright. In the same way, Destiny and the Fates are\nthe universal shipwrights, and you are their drills and adzes; and\nit seems to me that instead of paying their respects and their\nsacrifices to you, men ought to sacrifice to Destiny, and implore\n_her_ favours; though even that would not meet the case, because I\ntake it that things are settled once and for all, and that the\nFates themselves are not at liberty to chop and change. If some one\ngave the spindle a turn in the wrong direction, and undid all\nClotho\u2019s work, Atropus would have something to say on the subject.\n\n_Zeus_. So! You would deprive even the Fates of honour? You\nseem determined to reduce all to one level. Well, we Gods have at\nleast one claim on you: we do prophesy and foretell what the Fates\nhaye disposed.\n\n_Cyn_. Now even granting that you do, what is the use of\nknowing what one has to expect, when one can by no possibility take\nany precautions? Are you going to tell me that a man who finds out\nthat he is to die by a steel point can escape the doom by shutting\nhimself up? Not he. Fate will take him out hunting, and there will\nbe his steel: Adrastus will hurl his spear at the boar, miss the\nbrute, and get Croesus\u2019s son; Fate\u2019s inflexible law directs his\naim. The full absurdity of the thing is seen in the case of Laius:\n\n  Seek not for offspring in the Gods\u2019 despite;\n  Beget a child, and thou begett\u2019st thy slayer.\n\nWas not this advice superfluous, seeing that the end must come?\nAccordingly we find that the oracle does not deter Laius from\nbegetting a son, nor that son from being his slayer. On the whole,\nI cannot see that your prophecies entitle you to reward, even\nsetting aside the obscurity of the oracles, which are generally\ncontrived to cut both ways. You omitted to mention, for instance,\nwhether Croesus\u2014\u2018the Halys crossed\u2019\u2014should destroy his own or\nCyrus\u2019s mighty realm.\u2019 It might be either, so far as the oracle\ngoes.\n\n_Zeus_. Apollo was angry with Croesus. When Croesus boiled\nthat lamb and tortoise together in the cauldron, he was making\ntrial of Apollo.\n\n_Cyn_. Gods ought not to be angry. After all, I suppose it was\nfated that the Lydian should misinterpret that oracle; his case\nonly serves to illustrate that general ignorance of the future,\nwhich Destiny has appointed for mankind. At that rate, your\nprophetic power too seems to be in her hands.\n\n_Zeus_. You leave us nothing, then? We exercise no control, we\nare not entitled to sacrifice, we are very drills and adzes. But\nyou may well despise me: why do I sit here listening to all this,\nwith my thunder-bolt beneath my arm?\n\n_Cyn_. Nay, smite, if the thunder-bolt is my destiny. I shall\nthink none the worse of you; I shall know it is all Clotho\u2019s doing;\nI will not even blame the bolt that wounds me. And by the way\u2014\ntalking of thunder-bolts\u2014there is one thing I will ask you and\nDestiny to explain; you can answer for her. Why is it that you\nleave all the pirates and temple-robbers and ruffians and perjurers\nto themselves, and direct your shafts (as you are always doing)\nagainst an oak-tree or a stone or a harmless mast, or even an\nhonest, God-fearing traveller? ... No answer? Is this one of the\nthings it is not proper for me to know?\n\n_Zeus_. It is, Cyniscus. You are a meddlesome fellow; I don\u2019t\nknow where you picked up all these ideas.\n\n_Cyn_. Well, I suppose I must not ask you all (Providence and\nDestiny and you) why honest Phocion died in utter poverty and\ndestitution, like Aristides before him, while those two unwhipped\npuppies, Callias and Alcibiades, and the ruffian Midias, and that\nAeginetan libertine Charops, who starved his own mother to death,\nwere all rolling in money? nor again why Socrates was handed over\nto the Eleven instead of Meletus? nor yet why the effeminate\nSardanapalus was a king, and one high-minded Persian after another\nwent to the cross for refusing to countenance his doings? I say\nnothing of our own days, in which villains and money-grubbers\nprosper, and honest men are oppressed with want and sickness and a\nthousand distresses, and can hardly call their souls their own.\n\n_Zeus_. Surely you know, Cyniscus, what punishments await the\nevil-doers after death, and how happy will be the lot of the\nrighteous?\n\n_Cyn_. Ah, to be sure: Hades\u2014Tityus\u2014Tantalus. Whether there\nis such a place as Hades, I shall be able to satisfy myself when I\ndie. In the meantime, I had rather live a pleasant life here, and\nhave a score or so of vultures at my liver when I am dead, than\nthirst like Tantalus in this world, on the chance of drinking with\nthe heroes in the Isles of the Blest, and reclining in the fields\nof Elysium.\n\n_Zeus_. What! you doubt that there are punishments and rewards\nto come? You doubt of that judgement-seat before which every soul\nis arraigned?\n\n_Cyn_. I _have_ heard mention of a judge in that connexion; one\nMinos, a Cretan. Ah, yes, tell me about him: they say he is your\nson?\n\n_Zeus_. And what of him?\n\n_Cyn_. Whom does he punish in particular?\n\n_Zeus_. Whom but the wicked? Murderers, for instance, and\ntemple-robbers.\n\n_Cyn_. And whom does he send to dwell with the heroes?\n\n_Zeus_. Good men and God-fearing, who have led virtuous lives.\n\n_Cyn_. Why?\n\n_Zeus_. Because they deserve punishment and reward\nrespectively.\n\n_Cyn_. Suppose a man commits a crime accidentally: does he\npunish him just the same?\n\n_Zeus_. Certainly not.\n\n_Cyn_. Similarly, if a man involuntarily performed a good\naction, he would not reward him?\n\n_Zeus_. No.\n\n_Cyn_. Then there is no one for him to reward or punish.\n\n_Zeus_. How so?\n\n_Cyn_. Why, we men do nothing of our own free will: we are\nobeying an irresistible impulse,\u2014that is, if there is any truth in\nwhat we settled just now, about Fate\u2019s being the cause of\neverything. Does a man commit a murder? Fate is the murderess. Does\nhe rob a temple? He has her instructions for it. So if there is\ngoing to be any justice in Minos\u2019s sentences, he will punish\nDestiny, not Sisyphus; Fate, not Tantalus. What harm did these men\ndo? They only obeyed orders.\n\n_Zeus_. I am not going to speak to you any more. You are an\nunscrupulous man; a sophist. I shall go away and leave you to\nyourself.\n\n_Cyn_. I wanted to ask you where the Fates lived; and how they\nmanaged to attend to all the details of such a vast mass of\nbusiness, just those three. I do not envy them their lot; they must\nhave a busy time of it, with so much on their hands. Their destiny,\napparently, is no better than other people\u2019s. I would not exchange\nwith them, if I had the choice; I had rather be poorer than I am,\nthan sit before such a spindleful, watching every thread.\u2014But\nnever mind, if you would rather not answer. Your previous replies\nhave quite cleared up my doubts about Destiny and Providence; and\nfor the rest, I expect I was not destined to hear it.\n\n\n\n\nZEUS TRAGOEDUS\n\n\n_Hermes. Hera. Colossus. Heracles. Athene. Posidon. Momus.\nHermagoras. Zeus. Aphrodite. Apollo, Timocles. Damis_\n\n  _Herm_. Wherefore thus brooding, Zeus? wherefore apart,\n  And palely pacing, as Earth\u2019s sages use?\n  Let me thy counsel know, thy cares partake;\n  And find thy comfort in a faithful fool.\n\n  _Ath_. Cronides, lord of lords, and all our sire,\n  I clasp thy knees; grant thou what I require;\n  A boon the lightning-eyed Tritonia asks:\n  Speak, rend the veil thy secret thought that masks;\n  Reveal what care thy mind within thee gnaws,\n  Blanches thy cheek, and this deep moaning draws.\n\n  _Zeus_. Speech hath no utterance of surpassing fear,\n  Tragedy holds no misery or woe,\n  But our divinest essence soon shall taste.\n\n  _Ath_. Alas, how dire a prelude to thy tale!\n\n  _Zeus_. O brood maleficent, teemed from Earth\u2019s dark womb!\n  And thou, Prometheus, how hast thou wrought me woe!\n\n  _Ath_. Possess us; are not we thine own familiars?\n\n  _Zeus_. With a whirr and a crash\n  Let the levin-bolt dash\u2014\n   Ah, whither?\n\n_Hera_. A truce to your passion, Zeus. _We_ have not these good\npeople\u2019s gift for farce or recitation; _we_ have not swallowed\nEuripides whole, and cannot play up to you. Do you suppose we do\nnot know how to account for your annoyance?\n\n_Zeus_. Thou knowst not; else thy waitings had been loud.\n\n_Hera_. Don\u2019t tell me; it\u2019s a love affair; that\u2019s what\u2019s the\nmatter with you. However, you won\u2019t have any \u2018wailings\u2019 from me; I\nam too much hardened to neglect. I suppose you have discovered some\nnew Danae or Semele or Europa whose charms are troubling you; and\nso you are meditating a transformation into a bull or satyr, or a\ndescent through the roof into your beloved\u2019s bosom as a shower of\ngold; all the symptoms\u2014your groans and your tears and your white\nface\u2014point to love and nothing else.\n\n_Zeus_. Happy ignorance, that sees not what perils now forbid\nlove and such toys!\n\n_Hera_. Is your name Zeus, or not? and, if so, what else can\npossibly annoy you but love?\n\n_Zeus_. Hera, our condition is most precarious; it is touch-\nand-go, as they call it, whether we are still to enjoy reverence\nand honour from the earth, or be utterly neglected and become of no\naccount.\n\n_Hera_. Has Earth produced a new brood of giants? Have the\nTitans broken their chains, overpowered their guards, and taken up\narms against us once more?\n\n_Zeus_. Nay, fear not that; Hell threatens not the Gods.\n\n_Hera_. What can the matter be, then? To hear you, one might\nthink it was Polus or Aristodemus, not Zeus; and why, pray, if\nsomething of that sort is not bothering you?\n\n_Zeus_. My dear, a discussion somehow arose yesterday between\nTimocles the Stoic and Damis the Epicurean; there was a numerous\nand respectable audience (which particularly annoyed me), and they\nhad an argument on the subject of Providence. Damis questioned the\nexistence of the Gods, and utterly denied their interest in or\ngovernment of events, while Timocles, good man, did his best to\nchampion our cause. A great crowd gathered round; but no conclusion\nwas reached. They broke up with an understanding that the inquiry\nshould be completed another day; and now they are all agog to see\nwhich will win and prove his case. You all see how parlous and\nprecarious is our position, depending on a single mortal. These are\nthe alternatives for us: to be dismissed as mere empty names, or\n(if Timocles prevails) to enjoy our customary honours.\n\n_Hera_. This is really a serious matter; your ranting was not\nso uncalled-for, Zeus.\n\n_Zeus_. You fancied me thinking of some Danae or Antiope; and\nthis was the dread reality. Now, Hermes, Hera, Athene, what is our\ncourse? We await your contribution to our plans.\n\n_Herm_. My opinion is that an assembly be summoned and the\ncommunity taken into counsel.\n\n_Hera_. And I concur.\n\n_Ath_. Sire, I dissent entirely; you should not fill Heaven\nwith apprehensions, nor let your own uneasiness be visible, but\ntake private measures to assure Timocles\u2019s victory and Damis\u2019s\nbeing laughed out of court.\n\n_Herm_. It cannot be kept quiet, Zeus; the philosophers\u2019\ndebate is public, and you will be accused of despotic methods, if\nyou maintain reserve on a matter of so great and general interest.\n\n_Zeus_. Make proclamation and summon all, then. I approve your\njudgement.\n\n_Herm_. Here, assemble, all ye Gods; don\u2019t waste time, come\nalong, here you are; we are going to have an important meeting.\n\n_Zeus_. What, Hermes? so bald, so plain, so prosy an\nannouncement\u2014on this momentous occasion?\n\n_Herm_. Why, how would you like it done?\n\n_Zeus_. Some metre, a little poetic sonority, would make the\nstyle impressive, and they would be more likely to come.\n\n_Herm_. Ah, Zeus, that is work for epic poets or reciters, and\nI am no good at poetry. I should be sure to put in too many feet,\nor leave out some, and spoil the thing; they would only laugh at my\nrude verses. Why, I\u2019ve known Apollo himself laughed at for some of\nhis oracles; and prophecy has the advantage of obscurity, which\ngives the hearers something better to do than scanning verses.\n\n_Zeus_. Well, well, Hermes, you can make lines from Homer the\nchief ingredient of your composition; summon us in his words; you\nremember them, of course.\n\n_Herm_. I cannot say they are exactly on the tip of my tongue;\nhowever, I\u2019ll do my best:\n\n  Let ne\u2019er a God (tum, tum), nor eke a Goddess,\n  Nor yet of Ocean\u2019s rivers one be wanting,\n  Nor nymphs; but gather to great Zeus\u2019s council;\n  And all that feast on glorious hecatombs,\n  Yea, middle and lower classes of Divinity,\n  Or nameless ones that snuff fat altar-fumes\n\n_Zeus_. Good, Hermes; that is an excellent proclamation: see,\nhere they come pell-mell; now receive and place them in correct\nprecedence, according to their material or workmanship; gold in the\nfront row, silver next, then the ivory ones, then those of stone or\nbronze. A cross-division will give precedence to the creations of\nPhidias, Alcamenes, Myron, Euphranor, and artists of that calibre,\nwhile the common inartistic jobs can be huddled together in the far\ncorner, hold their tongues, and just make up the rank and file of\nour assembly.\n\n_Herm_. All right; they shall have their proper places. But\nhere is a point: suppose one of them is gold, and heavy at that,\nbut not finely finished, quite amateurish and ill proportioned, in\nfact\u2014is he to take precedence of Myron\u2019s and Polyclitus\u2019s bronze,\nor Phidias\u2019s and Alcamenes\u2019s marble? or is workmanship to count\nmost?\n\n_Zeus_. It should by rights. Never mind, put the gold first.\n\n_Herm_. I see; property qualification, comparative wealth, is\nthe test, not merit.\u2014Gold to the front row, please.\u2014Zeus, the\nfront row will be exclusively barbarian, I observe. You see the\npeculiarity of the Greek contingent: they have grace and beauty and\nartistic workmanship, but they are all marble or bronze\u2014the most\ncostly of them only ivory with just an occasional gleam of gold,\nthe merest surface-plating; and even those are wood inside,\nharbouring whole colonies of mice. Whereas Bendis here, Anubis\nthere, Attis next door, and Mithras and Men, are all of solid gold,\nheavy and intrinsically precious.\n\n_Pos_. Hermes, is it in order that this dog-faced Egyptian\nperson should sit in front of me, Posidon?\n\n_Herm_. Certainly. You see, Earth-shaker, the Corinthians had\nno gold at the time, so Lysippus made you of paltry bronze; Dog-\nface is a whole gold-mine richer than you. You must put up with\nbeing moved back, and not object to the owner of such a golden\nsnout being preferred.\n\n_Aph_. Then, Hermes, find me a place in the front row; I am\ngolden.\n\n_Herm_. Not so, Aphrodite, if I can trust my eyes; I am\npurblind, or you are white marble; you were quarried, I take it,\nfrom Pentelicus, turned by Praxiteles\u2019s fancy into Aphrodite, and\nhanded over to the Cnidians.\n\n_Aph_. Wait; my witness is unexceptionable\u2014Homer. \u2018The Golden\nAphrodite\u2019 he calls me, up and down his poems.\n\n_Herm_. Oh, yes, no doubt; _he_ called Apollo rich, \u2018rolling in\ngold\u2019; but now where will you find Apollo? Somewhere in the\nthird-class seats; his crown has been taken off and his harp pegs\nstolen by the pirates, you see. So _you_ may think yourself lucky\nwith a place above the fourth.\n\n_Col_. Well, who will dare dispute _my_ claim? Am I not\nthe Sun? and look at my height. If the Rhodians had not decided on\nsuch grandiose dimensions for me, the same outlay would have\nfurnished forth a round dozen of your golden Gods; I ought to be\nvalued proportionally. And then, besides the size, there is the\nworkmanship and careful finish.\n\n_Herm_. What shall I do, Zeus? Here is a difficulty again\u2014too\nmuch for me. Going by material, he is bronze; but, reckoning the\ntalents his bronze cost, he would be above the first class.\n\n_Zeus_. What business has he here dwarfing the rest and\nblocking up all the bench?\u2014Why, my excellent Rhodian, you may be\nas superior to the golden ones as you will; but how can you\npossibly go in the front row? Every one would have to get up, to\nlet you sit; half that broad beam of yours would fill the whole\nHouse. I must ask you to assist our deliberations standing; you can\nbend down your head to the meeting.\n\n_Herm_. Now here is another problem. Both bronze, equal\naesthetically, being both from Lysippus\u2019s studio, and, to crown\nall, nothing to choose between them for birth\u2014two sons of yours,\nZeus\u2014Dionysus and Heracles. Which is to be first? You can see for\nyourself, they mean to stand upon their order.\n\n_Zeus_. We are wasting time, Hermes; the debate should have\nbeen in full swing by now. Tell them to sit anyhow, according to\ntaste; we will have an _ad hoc_ meeting another day, and then\nI shall know how to settle the question of precedence.\n\n_Herm_. My goodness, what a noise! what low vulgar bawling!\nlisten\u2014\u2018Hurry up with that carving!\u2019 \u2018Do pass the nectar!\u2019 \u2018Why no\nmore ambrosia?\u2019 \u2018When are those hecatombs coming?\u2019 \u2018Here, shares in\nthat victim!\u2019\n\n_Zeus_. Call them to order, Hermes; this nonsense must cease,\nbefore I can give them the order of the day.\n\n_Herm_. They do not all know Greek; and I haven\u2019t the gift of\ntongues, to make myself understood by Scythians and Persians and\nThracians and Celts. Perhaps I had better hold up my hand and\nsignal for silence.\n\n_Zeus_. Do.\n\n_Herm_. Good; they are as quiet as if they were so many\nteachers of elocution. Now is the time for your speech; see, they\nare all hanging on your lips.\n\n_Zeus_. Why\u2014there is something wrong with me\u2014Hermes, my boy\n\u2014I will be frank with you. You know how confident and impressive I\nalways was as a public speaker?\n\n_Herm_. I know; I used to be in such a fright; you threatened\nsometimes to let down your golden cord and heave up earth and sea\nfrom their foundations, Gods included.\n\n_Zeus_. But to-day, my child\u2014it may be this terrible crisis\u2014\nit may be the size of the audience\u2014there is a vast number of Gods\nhere, isn\u2019t there\u2014anyhow, my thoughts are all mixed, I shiver, my\ntongue seems tied. What is most absurd of all, my exordium is gone\nclean out of my head; and I had prepared it on purpose to produce a\ngood impression at the start.\n\n_Herm_. You have spoiled everything, Zeus. They cannot make\nout your silence; they are expecting to hear of some terrible\ndisaster, to account for your delay.\n\n_Zeus_. What do you think? Reel off the exordium in Homer?\n\n_Herm_. Which one?\n\n_Zeus_. Lend me your ears, Gods all and Goddesses.\n\n_Herm_. Rubbish! you made quite exhibition enough of yourself\nin that vein in our cabinet council. However, you might, if\nyou like, drop your metrical fustian, and adapt any one of\nDemosthenes\u2019s Philippics with a few alterations. That is the\nfashionable method with speakers nowadays.\n\n_Zeus_. Ah, that is a royal road to eloquence\u2014simplifies\nmatters very much for a man in difficulties.\n\n_Herm_. Go ahead, then.\n\n_Zeus_. Men of\u2014Heaven, I presume that you would be willing to\npay a great price, if you could know what in the world has\noccasioned the present summons. Which being so, it is fitting that\nyou should give a ready hearing to my words. Now, whereas the\npresent crisis, Heavenians, may almost be said to lift up a voice\nand bid us take vigorous hold on opportunity, it seems to me that\nwe are letting it slip from our nerveless grasp. And I wish now (I\ncan\u2019t remember any more) to exhibit clearly to you the apprehensions\nwhich have led to my summoning you.\n\nAs you are all aware, Mnesitheus the ship\u2019s-captain yesterday made\nhis votive offering for the narrow escape of his vessel off\nCaphereus, and those of us whom he had invited attended the banquet\nin Piraeus. After the libations you went your several ways. I\nmyself, as it was not very late, walked up to town for an afternoon\nstroll in Ceramicus, reflecting as I went on the parsimony of\nMnesitheus. When the ship was driving against the cliff, and\nalready inside the circle of reef, he had vowed whole hecatombs:\nwhat he offered in fact, with sixteen Gods to entertain, was a\nsingle cock\u2014an old bird afflicted with catarrh\u2014and half a dozen\ngrains of frankincense; these were all mildewed, so that they at\nonce fizzled out on the embers, hardly giving enough smoke to\ntickle the olfactories. Engaged in these thoughts I reached the\nPoecile, and there found a great crowd gathered; there were some\ninside the Portico, a large number outside, and a few seated on the\nbenches vociferating as loud as they could. Guessing correctly that\nthese were philosophers of the militant variety, I had a mind to\nstop and hear what they were saying. I was enveloped in a good\nthick cloud, under cover of which I assumed their habit, lengthened\nmy beard, and so made a passable philosopher; then I elbowed my way\nthrough the crowd and got in undetected. I found an accomplished\nscoundrel and a pattern of human virtue at daggers drawn; they were\nDamis the Epicurean and Timocles the Stoic. The latter was bathed\nin perspiration, and his voice showed signs of wear, while Damis\ngoaded him on to further exertions with mocking laughter.\n\nThe bone of contention was ourselves. Damis\u2014the reptile!\u2014\nmaintained that we did not concern ourselves in thought or act with\nhuman affairs, and practically denied our existence; that was what\nit came to. And he found some support. Timocles was on our side,\nand loyally, passionately, unshrinkingly did he champion the cause;\nhe extolled our Providence, and illustrated the orderly discerning\ncharacter of our influence and government. He too had his party;\nbut he was exhausted and quite husky; and the majority were\ninclining to Damis. I saw how much was at stake, and ordered Night\nto come on and break up the meeting. They accordingly dispersed,\nagreeing to conclude the inquiry next day. I kept among the crowd\non its way home, heard its commendations of Damis, and found that\nhis views were far the more popular, though some still protested\nagainst condemning Timocles out of hand, and preferred to see what\nhe would say for himself to-morrow.\n\nYou now know the occasion of this meeting\u2014no light one, ye Gods,\nif you reflect how entirely our dignity, our revenue, our honour,\ndepend on mankind. If they should accept as true either our\nabsolute non-existence or, short of that, our indifference to them,\nfarewell to our earthly sacrifices, attributes, honours; we shall\nsit starving and ineffectual in Heaven; our beloved feasts and\nassemblies, games and sacrifices, vigils and processions\u2014all will\nbe no more. So mighty is the issue; believe me, it behoves us all\nto search out salvation; and where lies salvation? In the victory\nand acceptance of Timocles, in laughter that shall drown the voice\nof Damis. For I doubt the unaided powers of Timocles, if our help\nbe not accorded him.\n\nHermes, make formal proclamation, and let the debate commence.\n\n_Herm_. Hear, keep silence, clamour not. Of full and qualified\nGods, speak who will. Why, what means this? Doth none rise? Cower\nye confounded at these momentous tidings?\n\n_Mo_.\n\n  Away, ye dull as earth, as water weak!\n\nBut _I_ could find plenty to say, Zeus, if free speech were\ngranted me.\n\n_Zeus_. Speak, Momus, and fear not. You will use your freedom,\nsurely, for the common good.\n\n_Mo_. Hear, then, ye Gods; for out of the abundance of the\nheart the mouth speaketh. You must know, I foresaw all this\nclearly\u2014our difficulty\u2014the growth of these agitators; it is\nourselves who are responsible for their impudence; I swear to you,\nwe need not blame Epicurus nor his friends and successors, for the\nprevalence of these ideas. Why, what can one expect men to think,\nwhen they see all life topsy-turvy\u2014the good neglected, pining in\npoverty, disease, and slavery, detestable scoundrels honoured,\nrolling in wealth, and ordering their betters about, temple-robbers\nundetected and unpunished, the innocent constantly crucified and\nbastinadoed? With this evidence before them, it is only natural\nthey should conclude against our existence. All the more when they\nhear the oracles saying that some one\n\n  The Halys crossed, o\u2019erthrows a mighty realm,\n  but not specifying whether that realm is his own or his enemy\u2019s;\n\nor again\n\n  O sacred Salamis, thou shalt slay\n  Full many a mother\u2019s son.\n\nThe Greeks were mothers\u2019 sons as well as the Persians, I suppose.\nOr again, when they hear the ballads about our loves, our wounds,\ncaptivities, thraldoms, quarrels, and endless vicissitudes (mark\nyou, we claim all the while to be blissful and serene), are they\nnot justified in ridiculing and belittling us? And then we say it\nis outrageous if a few people who are not quite fools expose the\nabsurdity and reject Providence; why, we ought to be glad enough\nthat a few still go on sacrificing to blunderers like us.\n\nAnd at this point, Zeus\u2014this meeting is private; the human element\nis not represented among us (except by Heracles, Dionysus,\nGanymede, and Asclepius, and they are naturalized)\u2014at this point,\nanswer me a question frankly: did your interest in mankind ever\ncarry you so far as to sift the good from the bad? The answer is in\nthe negative, I know. Very well, then; had not a Theseus, on his\nway from Troezen to Athens, exterminated the malefactors as an\nincidental amusement, Sciron and Pityocamptes and Cercyon and the\nrest of them might have gone on battening on the slaughter of\ntravellers, for all you and your Providence would have done. Had\nnot an old-fashioned thoughtful Eurystheus, benevolently collecting\ninformation of local troubles, sent this energetic enterprising\nservant of his about, the mighty Zeus would never have given a\nthought to the Hydra or the Stymphalian birds, the Thracian horses\nand the drunken insolence of Centaurs.\n\nIf the truth must out, we sit here with a single eye to one thing\u2014\ndoes a man sacrifice and feed the altars fat? Everything else\ndrifts as it may. We get our deserts, and shall continue to get\nthem, when men open their eyes by degrees and find that sacrifices\nand processions bring them no profit. Before long you will find we\nare the laughing-stock of people like Epicurus, Metrodorus, Damis,\nwho will have mastered and muzzled our advocates. With whom does it\nlie to check and remedy this state of things? Why, with you, who\nhave brought it on. As for Momus, what is dishonour to him? He was\nnever among the recipients of honour, while you were still\nprosperous; your banquetings were too exclusive.\n\n_Zeus_. He was ever a cross-grained censor; we need not mind\nhis maundering, Gods. We have it from the admirable Demosthenes:\nimputations, blame, criticism, these are easy things; they tax no\none\u2019s capacity: what calls for a statesman is the suggesting of a\nbetter course; and that is what I rely upon the rest of you for;\nlet us do our best without his help.\n\n_Pos_. As for me, I live ordinarily under water, as you know,\nand follow an independent policy in the depths; that policy is to\nsave sailors, set ships on their way, and keep the winds quiet, as\nbest I may. However, I do take an interest in your politics too,\nand my opinion is that this Damis should be got rid of before the\ndebate; the thunderbolt would do it, or some means could be found;\nelse he might win\u2014you say he is a plausible fellow, Zeus. It would\nteach them that there is a reckoning for telling such tales about\nus, too.\n\n_Zeus_. You must be jesting, Posidon; you cannot have forgotten\nthat we have no say in the matter? It is the Fates that spin a\nman\u2019s thread, whether he be destined to the thunderbolt or the\nsword, to fever or consumption. If it had depended on me, do you\nsuppose I should have let those temple-robbers get off unblasted\nfrom Pisa the other day?\u2014two of my curls shorn off, weighing half\na dozen pounds apiece. Would _you_ have stood it, when that\nfisherman from Oreus stole your trident at Geraestus? Moreover,\nthey will think we are sensitive and angry; they will suspect that\nthe reason why we get the man out of the way without waiting to see\nhim matched with Timocles is that we are afraid of his arguments;\nthey will say we are just securing judgement by default.\n\n_Pos_. Dear, dear! I thought I had hit upon a good short cut\nto our object.\n\n_Zeus_. Nonsense, there is something fishy about it, Posidon;\nand it is a dull notion too, to destroy your adversary beforehand;\nhe dies unvanquished, and leaves his argument behind him still\ndebatable and undecided.\n\n_Pos_. Then the rest of you must think of something better, if\n\u2018fishy\u2019 is the best word you have for me.\n\n_Apol_. If we beardless juniors were competent to address the\nmeeting, _I_ might perhaps have contributed usefully to the\ndiscussion.\n\n_Mo_. Oh, Apollo, the inquiry is so important that seniority\nmay be waived, and any one allowed his say; a pretty thing to split\nhairs about legal competence at a supreme crisis! But _you_\nare surely qualified by this time; your minority is prehistoric,\nyour name is on the Privy-Council roll, your senatorial rank dates\nback almost to Cronus. Pray spare us these juvenile airs, and give\nus your views freely; you need not be bashful about your smooth\nchin; you have a father\u2019s rights in Asclepius\u2019s great bush of a\nbeard. Moreover, you never had a better opportunity of showing your\nwisdom, if your philosophic _seances_ with the Muses on Helicon\nhave not been thrown away.\n\n_Apol_. Why, it does not lie with you to give me leave, Momus;\nZeus must do that; and if he bids, I may find words that shall be\nnot all uncultured, but worthy of my Heliconian studies.\n\n_Zeus_. Speak, son; thou hast my leave.\n\n_Apol_. This Timocles is a good pious man, and an excellent\nStoic scholar; his learning has gained him a wide and paying\nconnexion among young men; in private lessons his manner is indeed\nvery convincing. But in public speaking he is timid, cannot produce\nhis voice, and has a provincial accent; the consequence is, he gets\nlaughed at in company, lacks fluency, stammers and loses his\nthread\u2014especially when he emphasizes these defects by an attempt\nat flowers of speech. As far as intelligence goes, he is extremely\nacute and subtle, so the Stoic experts say; but he spoils it all by\nthe feebleness of his oral explanations; he is confused and\nunintelligible, deals in paradoxes, and when he is interrogated,\nexplains _ignotum per ignotius_; his audience does not grasp\nhis meaning, and therefore laughs at him. I think lucidity a most\nimportant point; there is nothing one should be so careful about as\nto be comprehensible.\n\n_Mo_. You praise lucidity, Apollo; your theory is excellent,\nthough your practice does not quite conform; your oracles are\ncrooked and enigmatic, and generally rely upon a safe ambiguity; a\nsecond prophet is required to say what they mean. But what is your\nsolution of the problem? How are we to cure Timocles of the\nimpediment in his speech?\n\n_Apol_. If possible, we should provide him with an able\ncounsel (there are plenty such) to be inspired by him and give\nadequate expression to his ideas.\n\n_Mo_. Your sapience is beardless indeed\u2014_in statu pupillari_, one\nmay say. A learned gathering: Timocles with counsel by his side to\ninterpret his ideas. Damis speaking _in propria persona_ with his\nown tongue, his opponent employing a go-between into whose ears he\nprivately pours inspiration, and the go-between producing ornate\nperiods, without, I dare say, understanding what he is told\u2014most\nentertaining for the listeners! We shall get nothing out of that\ndevice.\n\nBut, reverend sir, you claim the gift of prophecy, and it has\nbrought you in good pay\u2014golden ingots on one occasion?\u2014why not\nseize this opportunity of exhibiting your art? You might tell us\nwhich of the disputants will win; a prophet knows the future, of\ncourse.\n\n_Apol_. I have no tripod or incense here; no substitute for\nthe divining-well of Castaly.\n\n_Mo_. Aha! you are caught! you will not come to the scratch.\n\n_Zeus_. Speak, my son, in spite of all; give not this enemy\noccasion to blaspheme; let him not flout thy powers with tripod and\nwater and frankincense, as though thine art were lost without them.\n\n_Apol_. Father, it were better done at Delphi or at Colophon,\nwith all the customary instruments to hand. Yet, bare and\nunprovided as I am, I will essay to tell whether of them twain\nshall prevail.\u2014If the metre is a little rough, you must make\nallowances.\n\n_Mo_. Go on, then; but remember, Apollo: lucidity; no \u2018able\ncounsel,\u2019 no solutions that want solving themselves. It is not a\nquestion of lamb and tortoise boiling [Footnote: See _Croesus_\nin Notes.] in Lydia now; you know what we want to get at.\n\n_Zeus_. What will thine utterance be? How dread, even now, is\nthe making ready! The altered hue, the rolling eyes, the floating\nlocks, the frenzied gesture\u2014all is possession, horror, mystery.\n\n_Apol_.\n\n  Who lists may hear Apollo\u2019s soothfast rede\n  Of stiff debate, heroic challenge ringing\n  Shrill, and each headpiece lined with fence of proof.\n  Alternate clack the strokes in whirling strife;\n  Sore buffeted, quakes and shivers heart of oak.\n  But when grasshopper feels the vulture\u2019s talons,\n  Then the storm-boding ravens croak their last,\n  Prevail the mules, butts his swift foals the ass.\n\n_Zeus_. Why that ribald laughter, Momus? It is no laughing\nmatter. Stop, stop, fool; you\u2019ll choke yourself.\n\n_Mo_. Well, such a clear simple oracle puts one in spirits.\n\n_Zeus_. Indeed? Then perhaps you will kindly expound it.\n\n_Mo_. No need of a Themistocles this time; it is absolutely\nplain. The oracle just says in so many words that he is a quack,\nand we pack-asses (quite true) and mules to believe in him; we have\nnot as much sense, it adds, as a grasshopper.\n\n_Herac_. Father, I am only an alien, but I am not afraid to\ngive my opinion. Let them begin their debate. Then, if Timocles\ngets the best of it, we can let the meeting go on, in our own\ninterest; on the other hand, if things look bad, I will give the\nPortico a shake, if you like, and bring it down on Damis; a\nconfounded fellow like that is not to insult us.\n\n_Zeus_. Now by Heracles\u2014I can swear by you, I certainly\ncannot swear by your plan\u2014what a crude\u2014what a shockingly\nphilistine suggestion! What! destroy all those people for one man\u2019s\nwickedness? and the Portico thrown in, with the Miltiades and\nCynaegirus on the field of Marathon? Why, if these were ruined, how\ncould the orators ever make another speech, with the best of their\nstock-in-trade taken from them? Besides, while you were alive, you\nmight possibly have done a thing like that; but now that you are a\nGod, you surely understand that only the Fates are competent, and\nwe cannot interfere?\n\n_Herac_. Then when I slew the lion or the Hydra, was I only\nthe Fates\u2019 instrument?\n\n_Zeus_. Of course you were.\n\n_Herac_. And now, suppose any one insults me, or robs my\ntemple, or upsets an image of me, am I not to pulverize him, just\nbecause the Fates have not decreed it long ago?\n\n_Zeus_. Certainly not.\n\n_Herac_. Then allow me to speak my mind;\n\n  I\u2019m a blunt man; I call a spade a spade.\n\nIf this is the state of things with you, good-bye for me to your\nhonours and altar-steam and fat of victims; I shall be off to\nHades. There, if I show my bow ready for action, the ghosts of the\nmonsters I have slain will be frightened, at least.\n\n_Zeus_. Oh, splendid! \u2018Thine own lips testify against thee,\u2019\nsays the book; you would have saved Damis some trouble by putting\nthis in his mouth.\n\nBut who is this breathless messenger? Bronze\u2014a nice clean figure\nand outline\u2014_chevelure_ rather out of date. Ah, he must be\nyour brother, Hermes, who stands in the Market by the Poecile; I\nsee he is all over pitch; that is what comes of having casts taken\nof you every day. My son, why this haste? Have you important news\nfrom Earth?\n\n_Hermag_. Momentous news, calling for infinite energy.\n\n_Zeus_. Speak, tarry not, if any peril else hath escaped our\nvigilance.\n\n_Hermag_.\n\n  It chanced of late that by the statuaries\n  My breast and back were plastered o\u2019er with pitch;\n  A mock cuirass tight-clinging hung, to ape\n  My bronze, and take the seal of its impression.\n  When lo, a crowd! therein a pallid pair\n  Sparring amain, vociferating logic;\n  \u2019Twas Damis and\u2014\n\n_Zeus_. Truce to your iambics, my excellent Hermagoras; I know\nthe pair. But tell me whether the fight has been going on long.\n\n_Hermag_. Not yet; they were still skirmishing\u2014slinging\ninvective at long range.\n\n_Zeus_. Then we have only, Gods, to look over and listen. Let\nthe Hours unbar, draw back the clouds, and open the doors of\nHeaven.\n\nUpon my word, what a vast gathering! And I do not quite like the\nlooks of Timocles; he is trembling; he has lost his head; he will\nspoil everything; it is perfectly plain, he will not be able to\nstand up to Damis. Well, there is one thing left us: we can pray\nfor him\n\n  Inwardly, silently, lest Damis hear.\n\n_Ti. What, you miscreant, no Gods? no Providence?\n\nDa. No, no; you answer my question first; what makes you believe in\nthem?\n\nTi. None of that, now; the_ onus probandi _is with you,\nscoundrel.\n\nDa. None of that, now; it is with you.\n\nZeus_. At this game ours is much the better man\u2014louder-voiced,\nrougher-tempered. Good, Timocles; stick to invective; that is your\nstrong point; once you get off that, he will hook and hold you up\nlike a fish.\n\n_Ti. I solemnly swear I will not answer first.\n\nDa. Well, put your questions, then; so much you score by your oath.\nBut no abuse, please.\n\nTi. Done. Tell me, then, and be damned to you, do you deny that the\nGods exercise providence?\n\nDa. I do.\n\nTi. What, are all the events we see uncontrolled, then?\n\nDa. Yes.\n\nTi. And the regulation of the universe is not under any God\u2019s care?\n\nDa. No.\n\nTi. And everything moves casually, by blind tendency?\n\nDa. Yes.\n\nTi. Gentlemen, can you tolerate such sentiments? Stone the\nblasphemer.\n\nDa. What do you mean by hounding them against me? Who are you, that\nyou should protest in the Gods\u2019 name? They do not even protest in\ntheir own; they have sent no judgement on me, and they have had\ntime enough to hear me, if they have ears.\n\nTi. They do hear you; they do; and some day their vengeance will\nfind you out.\n\nDa. Pray when are they likely to have time to spare for me? They\nare far too busy, according to you, with all the infinite concerns\nof the universe on their hands. That is why they have never\npunished you for your perjuries and\u2014well, for the rest of your\nperformances, let me say, not to break our compact about abuse. And\nyet I am at a loss to conceive any more convincing proof they could\nhave given of their Providence, than if they had trounced you as\nyou deserve. But no doubt they are from home\u2014t\u2019other side of\nOceanus, possibly, on a visit to \u2018the blameless Ethiopians.\u2019 We\nknow they have a way of going there to dinner, self-invited\nsometimes.\n\nTi. What answer is possible to such ribaldry?\n\nDa. The answer I have been waiting for all this time; you can tell\nme what made you believe in divine Providence.\n\nTi. Firstly, the order of nature\u2014the sun running his regular\ncourse, the moon the same, the circling seasons, the growth of\nplants, the generation of living things, the ingenious adaptations\nin these latter for nutrition, thought, movement, locomotion; look\nat a carpenter or a shoemaker, for instance; and the thing is\ninfinite. All these effects, and no effecting Providence?\n\nDa. You beg the question; whether the effects are produced by\nProvidence is just what is not yet proved. Your description of\nnature I accept; it does not follow that there is definite design\nin it; it is not impossible that things now similar and homogeneous\nhave developed from widely different origins. But you give the name\n\u2018order\u2019 to mere blind tendency. And you will be very angry if one\nfollows your appreciative catalogue of nature in all its variety,\nbut stops short of accepting it as a proof of detailed Providence.\nSo, as the play says,\n\n  Here lurks a fallacy; bring me sounder proof.\n\nTi. I cannot admit that further proof is required; nevertheless, I\nwill give you one. Will you allow Homer to have been an admirable\npoet?\n\nDa. Surely.\n\nTi. Well_, he _maintains Providence, and warrants my belief.\n\nDa. Magnificent! why, every one will grant you Homer\u2019s poetic\nexcellence; but not that he, or any other poet for that matter, is\ngood authority on questions of this sort._ Their _object, of\ncourse, is not truth, but fascination; they call in the charms of\nmetre, they take tales for the vehicle of what instruction they\ngive, and in short all their efforts are directed to pleasure.\n\nBut I should be glad to hear which parts of Homer you pin your\nfaith to. Where he tells how the daughter, the brother, and the\nwife of Zeus conspired to imprison him? If Thetis had not been\nmoved to compassion and called Briareus, you remember, our\nexcellent Zeus would have been seized and manacled; and his\ngratitude to her induced him to delude Agamemnon with a lying\ndream, and bring about the deaths of a number of Greeks. Do you\nsee? The reason was that, if he had struck and blasted Agamemnon\u2019s\nself with a thunderbolt, his double dealing would have come to\nlight. Or perhaps you found the Diomede story most convincing?\u2014\nDiomede wounded Aphrodite, and afterwards Ares himself, at Athene\u2019s\ninstigation; and then the Gods actually fell to blows and went\na-tilting\u2014without distinction of sex; Athene overthrew Ares,\nexhausted no doubt with his previous wound from Diomede; and\n\n  Hermes the stark and stanch \u2019gainst Leto stood.\n\nOr did you put your trust in Artemis? She was a sensitive lady, who\nresented not being invited to Oeneus\u2019s banquet, and by way of\nvengeance sent a monstrous irresistible boar to ravage his country.\nIs it with tales like these that Homer has prevailed on you?\n\nZeus_. Goodness me, what a shout, Gods! they are all cheering\nDamis. And our man seems posed; he is frightened and trembles; he\nis going to throw up the sponge, I am certain of it; he looks round\nfor a gap to get away through.\n\n_Ti. And will you scout Euripides too, then? Again and again he\nbrings Gods on the stage, and shows them upholding virtue in the\nHeroes, but chastising wickedness and impiety (like yours).\n\nDa. My noble philosopher, if that is how the tragedians have\nconvinced you, you have only two alternatives: you must suppose\nthat divinity is temporarily lodged either in the actor\u2014a Polus,\nan Aristodemus, a Satyrus\u2014, or else in the actual masks, buskins,\nlong tunics, cloaks, gloves, stomachers, padding, and ornamental\nparaphernalia in general of tragedy\u2014a manifest absurdity; for when\nEuripides can speak his own sentiments unfettered by dramatic\nnecessity, observe the freedom of his remarks:\n\n  Dost see this aether stretching infinite,\n  And girdling earth with close yet soft embrace?\n  That reckon thou thy Zeus, that name thy God.\n\nAnd again,\n\n  Zeus, whatever Zeus may be (for, save by hearsay,\n    I know not)\u2014;\n\nand there is more of the same sort.\n\nTi. Well, but all men\u2014ay, all nations\u2014have acknowledged and,\nfeted Gods; was it all delusion?\n\nDa. Thank you; a timely reminder; national observances show better\nthan anything else how vague religious theory is. Confusion is\nendless, and beliefs as many as believers. Scythia makes offerings\nto a scimetar, Thrace to the Samian runaway Zamolxis, Phrygia to a\nMonth-God, Ethiopia to a Day-Goddess, Cyllene to Phales, Assyria to\na dove, Persia to fire, Egypt to water. In Egypt, though, besides\nthe universal worship of water, Memphis has a private cult of the\nox, Pelusium of the onion, other cities of the ibis or the\ncrocodile, others again of baboon, cat, or monkey. Nay, the very\nvillages have their specialities: one deifies the right shoulder,\nand another across the river the left; one a half skull, another an\nearthenware bowl or platter. Come, my fine fellow, is it not all\nridiculous?\n\nMo_. What did I tell you, Gods? All this was sure to come out\nand be carefully overhauled.\n\n_Zeus_. You did, Momus, and your strictures were justified; if\nonce we come safe out of this present peril, I will try to\nintroduce reforms.\n\n_Ti. Infidel! where do you find the source of oracles and\nprophecies, if not in the Gods and their Providence?\n\nDa. About oracles, friend, the less said the better; I shall ask\nyou to choose your instances, you see. Will Apollo\u2019s answer to the\nLydian suit you? That was as symmetrical as a double-edged knife;\nor say, it faced both ways, like those Hermae which are made\ndouble, alike whether you look at front or back. Consider; will\nCroesus\u2019s passage of the Halys destroy his own realm, or Cyrus\u2019s?\nTet the wretched Sardian paid a long price for his ambidextrous\nhexameter.\n\nMo_. The man is realizing just my worst apprehensions. Where is\nour handsome musician now? Ah, there you are; go down and plead\nyour own cause against him.\n\n_Zeus_. Hush, Momus; you are murdering our feelings; it is no\ntime for recrimination.\n\n_Ti. Have a care, Damis; this is sacrilege, no less; what you say\namounts to razing the temples and upsetting the altars.\n\nDa. Oh, not_ all _the altars; what harm do they do, so long as\nincense and perfume is the worst of it? As for Artemis\u2019s altar at\nTauri, though, and her hideous feasts, I should like it overturned\nfrom base to cornice.\n\nZeus_. Whence comes this resistless plague among us? There is\nnone of us he spares; he is as free with his tongue as a tub\norator,\n\n  And grips by turns the innocent and guilty.\n\n_Mo_. The innocent? You will not find many of those among us,\nZeus. He will soon come to laying hands upon some of the great and\neminent, I dare say.\n\n_Ti. Do you close your ears even to Zeus\u2019s thunder, atheist?\n\nDa. I clearly cannot shut out the thunder; whether it is Zeus\u2019s\nthunder, you know better than I perhaps; you may have interviewed\nthe Gods. Travellers from Crete tell another story: there is a tomb\nthere with an inscribed pillar, stating that Zeus is long dead, and\nnot going to thunder any more.\n\nMo_. I could have told you that was coming long ago. What, Zeus?\npale? and your teeth chattering? What is the matter? You should\ncheer up, and treat such manikins with lofty contempt.\n\n_Zeus_. Contempt? See what a number of them there is\u2014how set\nagainst us they are already\u2014and he has them fast by the ears.\n\n_Mo_. Well, but you have only to choose, and you can let down\nyour golden cord, and then every man of them\n\n  With earth and sky and all thou canst draw up.\n\n_Ti. Blasphemer, have you ever been a voyage?\n\nDa. Many.\n\nTi. Well, then, the wind struck the canvas and filled the sails,\nand it or the oars gave you way, but there was a person responsible\nfor steering and for the safety of the ship?\n\nDa. Certainly.\n\nTi. Now that ship would not have sailed, without a steersman; and\ndo you suppose that this great universe drifts unsteered and\nuncontrolled?\n\nZeus_. Good, this time, Timocles; a cogent illustration, that.\n\n_Da. But, you pattern of piety, the earthly navigator makes his\nplans, takes his measures, gives his orders, with a single eye to\nefficiency; there is nothing useless or purposeless on board;\neverything is to make navigation easy or possible; but as for the\nnavigator for whom you claim the management of this vast ship, he\nand his crew show no reason or appropriateness in any of their\narrangements; the forestays, as likely as not, are made fast to the\nstern, and both sheets to the bows; the anchor will be gold, the\nbeak lead, decoration below the water-line, and unsightliness\nabove.\n\nAs for the men, you will find some lazy awkward coward in second or\nthird command, or a fine swimmer, active as a cat aloft, and a\nhandy man generally, chosen out of all the rest to\u2014pump. It is\njust the same with the passengers: here is a gaolbird accommodated\nwith a seat next the captain and treated with reverence, there a\ndebauchee or parricide or temple-robber in honourable possession of\nthe best place, while crowds of respectable people are packed\ntogether in a corner and hustled by their real inferiors. Consider\nwhat sort of a voyage Socrates and Aristides and Phocion had of it,\non short rations, not venturing, for the filth, to stretch out\ntheir legs on the bare deck; and on the other hand what a\ncomfortable, luxurious, contemptuous life it was for Callias or\nMidias or Sardanapalus.\n\nThat is how things go on board your ship, sir wiseacre; and who\nshall count the wrecks? If there had been a captain supervising and\ndirecting, in the first place he would have known the difference\nbetween good and bad passengers, and in the second he would have\ngiven them their deserts; the better would have had the better\naccommodation above by his side, and the worse gone below; with\nsome of the better he would have shared his meals and his counsels.\nSo too for the crew: the keen sailor would have been made look-out\nman or captain of the watch, or given some sort of precedence, and\nthe lazy shirker have tasted the rope\u2019s end half a dozen times a\nday. The metaphorical ship, your worship, is likely to be capsized\nby its captain\u2019s incompetence.\n\nMo_. He is sweeping on to victory, with wind and tide.\n\n_Zeus_. Too probable, Momus. And Timocles never gets hold of\nan effective idea; he can only ladle out trite commonplaces\nhiggledy-piggledy\u2014no sooner heard than refuted.\n\n_Ti. Well, well; my ship leaves you unconvinced; I must drop my\nsheet-anchor, then; that at least is unbreakable.\n\nZeus_. I wonder what it is.\n\n_Ti. See whether this is a sound syllogism; can you upset it?\u2014If\nthere are altars, there are Gods: there_ are _altars; therefore,\nthere are Gods. Now then.\n\nDa. Ha, ha, ha! I will answer as soon as I can get done with\nlaughing.\n\nTi. Will you never stop? At least tell me what the joke is.\n\nDa. Why, you don\u2019t see that your anchor (sheet-anchor, too) hangs\nby a mere thread. You defend on connexion between the existence of\nGods and the existence of altars, and fancy yourself safe at\nanchor! As you admit that this was your sheet-anchor, there is\nnothing further to detain us.\n\nTi. You retire; you confess yourself beaten, then?\n\nDa. Yes; we have seen you take sanctuary at the altars under\npersecution. At those altars I am ready (the sheet-anchor be my\nwitness) to swear peace and cease from strife.\n\nTi. Tou are playing with me, are you, you vile body-snatcher, you\nloathsome well-whipped scum! As if we didn\u2019t know who your father\nwas, how your mother was a harlot! You strangled your own brother,\nyou live in fornication, you debauch the young, you unabashed\nlecher! Don\u2019t be in such a hurry; here is something for you to take\nwith you; this broken pot will serve me to cut your foul throat.\n\nZeus_. Damis makes off with a laugh, and the other after him,\ncalling him names, mad at his insolence. He will get him on the\nhead with that pottery, I know. And now, what are we to do?\n\n_Herm_. Why, the man in the comedy was not far out:\n\n  Put a good face on \u2018t, and thou hast no harm.\n\nIt is no such terrible disaster, if a few people go away infected.\nThere are plenty who take the other view\u2014a majority of Greeks, the\nbody and dregs of the people, and the barbarians to a man.\n\n_Zeus_. Ah, Hermes, but there is a great deal in Darius\u2019s\nremark about Zopyrus\u2014I would rather have had one ally like Damis\nthan be the lord of a thousand Babylons.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COCK\n\n_Micyllus_. _A Cock_\n\n\n_Mi_. Detested bird! May Zeus crunch your every bone! Shrill,\nenvious brute: to wake me from delightful dreams of wealth and\nmagic blessedness with those piercing, deafening notes! Am I not\neven in sleep to find a refuge from Poverty, Poverty more vile than\nyour vile self? Why, it cannot be midnight yet: all is hushed;\nnumbness\u2014sure messenger of approaching dawn\u2014has not yet performed\nits morning office upon my limbs: and this wakeful brute (one would\nthink he was guarding the golden fleece) starts crowing before\nnight has fairly begun. But he shall pay for it.\u2014Yes; only wait\ntill daylight comes, and my stick shall avenge me; I am not going\nto flounder about after you in the dark.\n\n_Cock_. Why, master, I meant to give you a pleasant surprise:\nI borrowed what I could from the night, that you might be up early\nand break the back of your work; think, if you get a shoe done\nbefore sunrise, you are so much the nearer to earning your day\u2019s\nbread. However, if you prefer to sleep, I have done; I will be mute\nas any fish. Only you may find your rich dreams followed by a\nhungry awakening.\n\n_Mi_. God of portents! Heracles preserve us from the evil to\ncome! My cock has spoken with a human voice.\n\n_Cock_. And what if he has? Is that so very portentous?\n\n_Mi_. I should think it was. All Gods avert the omen!\n\n_Cock_. Micyllus, I am afraid your education has been sadly\nneglected. If you had read your Homer, you would know that\nAchilles\u2019s horse Xanthus declined to have anything more to do with\nneighing, and stood on the field of battle spouting whole\nhexameters; _he_ was not content with plain prose like me; he\neven took to prophecy, and foretold to Achilles what should befall\nhim. Nor was this considered anything out of the way; Achilles saw\nnothing portentous about it, nor did he invoke Heracles on the\noccasion. What a fuss you would have made, if the keel of the Argo\nhad addressed a remark to you, or the leaves of the Dodonaean oak\nhad opened their mouths and prophesied; or if you had seen ox-\nhides crawling about, and heard the half-cooked flesh of the beasts\nbellowing on the spit! As for me, considering my connexion with\nHermes\u2014most loquacious, most argumentative of Gods\u2014and my\nfamiliar intercourse with mankind, it was only to be expected that\nI should pick up your language pretty quickly. Nay, there is a\nstill better reason for my conversational powers, which I don\u2019t\nmind telling you, if you will promise to keep quiet about it.\n\n_Mi_. Am I dreaming still, or is this bird really talking to\nme?\u2014In Hermes\u2019 name then, good creature, out with your better\nreason; I will be mum, never fear; it shall go no further. Why, who\nwould believe the story, when I told him that I had it from a cock?\n\n_Cock_. Listen. You will doubtless be surprised to learn that\nnot so long ago the cock who stands before you was a man.\n\n_Mi_. Why, to be sure, I have heard something like this before\nabout a cock. It was the story of a young man called Alectryon\n[Footnote: Alectryon is the Greek word for a cock.]; he was a\nfriend of Ares,\u2014used to join in his revels and junketings, and\ngive him a hand in his love affairs. Whenever Ares went to pay a\nsly visit to Aphrodite, he used to take Alectryon with him, and as\nhe was particularly afraid that the Sun would see him, and tell\nHephaestus, he would always leave Alectryon at the door, so that he\nmight give him warning when the Sun was up. But one day Alectryon\nfell asleep, and unwittingly betrayed his trust; the consequence\nwas that the Sun got a peep at the lovers, while Ares was having a\ncomfortable nap, relying on Alectryon to tell him if any one came.\nHephaestus heard of it, and caught them in that cage of his, which\nhe had long had waiting for them. When Ares was released, he was so\nangry with Alectryon that he turned him into a cock, armour and\nall, as is shown by his crest; and that is what makes you cocks in\nsuch a hurry to crow at dawn, to let us know that the Sun is coming\nup presently; it is your way of apologizing to Ares, though crowing\nwill not mend matters now.\n\n_Cock_. Yes, there is that story too: but that is nothing to\ndo with mine; I only became a cock quite lately.\n\n_Mi_. But what I want to know is, how did it happen?\n\n_Cock_. Did you ever hear of Pythagoras of Samos, son of\nMnesarchus?\n\n_Mi_. What, that sophist quack, who forbade the eating of\nmeat, and would have banished beans from our tables (no beans,\nindeed! my favourite food!), and who wanted people to go for five\nyears without speaking?\n\n_Cock_. And who, I may add, was Euphorbus before he was\nPythagoras.\n\n_Mi_. He was a knave and a humbug, that Pythagoras, by all\naccounts.\n\n_Cock_. That Pythagoras, my worthy friend, is now before you\nin person: spare his feelings, especially as you know nothing about\nhis real character.\n\n_Mi_. Portent upon portent! a cock philosopher! But proceed,\nson of Mnesarchus: how came you to change from man to bird, from\nSamos to Tanagra? [Footnote: See Notes.] \u2019Tis an unconvincing\nstory; I find a difficulty in swallowing it. I have noticed two\nthings about you already, which do not look much like Pythagoras.\n\n_Cock_. Yes?\n\n_Mi_. For one thing, you are garrulous; I might say noisy.\nNow, if I am not mistaken, Pythagoras advocated a course of five\nyears\u2019 silence at a stretch. As for the other, it is rank heresy.\nYou will remember that yesterday, not having anything else to give\nyou, I brought you some beans: and you,\u2014you gobbled them up\nwithout thinking twice about it! Either you lied when you told me\nyou were Pythagoras, or else you have sinned against your own laws:\nin eating those beans, you have as good as bolted your own father\u2019s\nhead.\n\n_Cock_. Ah, you don\u2019t understand, Micyllus. There is a reason\nfor these things: different diets suit different creatures. I\nwas a philosopher in those days: accordingly I abstained from\nbeans. Now, on the contrary, I propose to eat beans; they are an\nunexceptionable diet for birds. And now if you like I will tell you\nhow from being Pythagoras I have come to be\u2014what you see me; and\nall about the other lives I have lived, and what were the good\npoints of each.\n\n_Mi_. Tell on; there is nothing I should like better. Indeed,\nif I were given my choice between hearing your story, and having my\nlate dream of riches over again, I don\u2019t know which I should decide\non. \u2019Twas a sweet vision, of joys above all price: yet not above\nthe tale of my cock\u2019s adventures.\n\n_Cock_. What, still puzzling over the import of a dream? Still\nbusy with vain phantoms, chasing a visionary happiness through your\nhead, that \u2018fleeting\u2019 joy, as the poet calls it?\n\n_Mi_. Ah, cock, cock, I shall never forget it. That dream has\nleft its honeyed spell on my eyelids; \u2019tis all I can do to open\nthem; they would fain close once more in sleep. As a feather\ntickles the ear, so did that vision tickle my imagination.\n\n_Cock_. Bless me, you seem to be very hard hit. Dreams are\nwinged, so they say, and their flight circumscribed by sleep: this\none seems to have broken bounds, and taken up its abode in wakeful\neyes, transferring thither its honeyed spell, its lifelike\npresence. Tell me this dream of your desire.\n\n_Mi_. With all my heart; it is a joy to remember it, and to\nspeak of it. But what about your transformations?\n\n_Cock_. They must wait till you have done dreaming, and wiped\nthe honey from your eyelids. So you begin: I want to see which\ngates the dream came through, the ivory or the horn.\n\n_Mi_. Through neither.\n\n_Cock_. Well, but these are the only two that Homer mentions.\n\n_Mi_. Homer may go hang: what does a babbling poet know about\ndreams? Pauper dreams may come through those gates, for all I know;\nthat was the kind that Homer saw, and not over clearly at that, as\nhe was blind. But _my_ beauty came through golden gates, golden\nhimself and clothed in gold and bringing gold.\n\n_Cock_. Enough of gold, most gentle Midas; for to a Midas-\nprayer it is that I trace your vision; you must have dreamt whole\nminefuls.\n\n_Mi_. Gold upon gold was there; picture if you can that\nglorious lightning-flash! What is it that Pindar says about gold?\nCan you help me to it? He says water is best, and then very\nproperly proceeds to sing the praises of gold; it comes at the\nbeginning of the book, and a beautiful ode it is.\n\n_Cock_. What about this?\n\n  Chiefest of all good we hold\n  Water: even so doth gold,\n  Like a fire that flameth through the night,\n  Shine mid lordly wealth most lordly bright.\n\n_Mi_. The very words; I could fancy that Pindar had seen my\nvision. And now, my philosophic cock, I will proceed to details.\nThat I did not dine at home last night, you are already aware; the\nwealthy Eucrates had met me in the morning, and told me to come to\ndinner after my bath at his usual hour.\n\n_Cock_. Too well do I know it, after starving all day long. It\nwas quite late before you came home\u2014half-seas over\u2014and gave me\nthose five beans; rather short commons for a cock who has been an\nathlete in his day, and contended at Olympia, not without\ndistinction.\n\n_Mi_. Well, so when I got back, and had given you the beans, I\nwent to sleep, and\n\n  Through the ambrosial night a dream divine\u2014\n\nah, divine indeed!\u2014\n\n_Cock_. Wait: let us have Eucrates first. What sort of a\ndinner was it? Tell me all about it. Seize the opportunity: dine\nonce more in waking dream; chew the cud of prandial reminiscence.\n\n_Mi_. I thought all that would bore you; however, if you are\ncurious, all right. I had never dined at a great house in my life\nbefore, when yesterday, in a lucky hour for me, I fell in with\nEucrates. After saluting him respectfully as usual, I was making\noff\u2014not to bring discredit on him by walking at his side in my\nshabby clothes\u2014when he spoke to me: \u2018Micyllus,\u2019 he said, \u2018it is my\ndaughter\u2019s birthday to-day, and I have invited a number of friends\nto celebrate it. One of them, I hear, is indisposed, and will not\nbe able to come; you can take his place, always provided that I do\nnot hear from him, for at present I do not know whether to expect\nhim or not.\u2019 I made my bow, and departed, praying that ague,\npleurisy, and gout might light upon the invalid whose appetite I\nhad the honour to represent. I thought bath-time would never come;\nI could not keep my eyes off the dial: where was the shadow now?\ncould I go yet? At last it really was time: I scraped the dirt off,\nand made myself smart, turning my cloak inside out, so that the\nclean side might be uppermost. Among the numerous guests assembled\nat the door, whom should I see but the very man whose understudy I\nwas to be, the invalid, in a litter! He was evidently in a sad way;\ngroaning and coughing and spitting in the most alarmingly emphatic\nmanner; ghostly pale, puffy, and not much less, I reckoned, than\nsixty years old. He was a philosopher, so they said,\u2014one of those\nwho fill boys\u2019 heads with nonsensical ideas. Certainly his beard\nwas well adapted to the part he played; it cried aloud for the\nbarber. Archibius the doctor asked him what induced him to venture\nout in that state of health. \u2018Oh,\u2019 says he, \u2018a man must not shirk\nhis duties, least of all a philosopher; no matter if a thousand\nailments stand in his way. Eucrates would have taken it as a\nslight.\u2019 \u2018You\u2019re out there,\u2019 I cried; \u2018Eucrates would be only too\nglad if you would cough out your soul at home instead of doing it\nat his table.\u2019 He made as if he had not heard my jest; he was above\nsuch things. Presently in came Eucrates from his bath, and seeing\nThesmopolis (the philosopher), \u2018Ah, Professor,\u2019 says he, \u2018I am glad\nto see you here; not that it would have made any difference, even\nif you had stayed at home; I should have had everything sent over\nto you.\u2019 And with that he took the philosopher\u2019s hand, and with the\nhelp of the slaves, conducted him in. I thought it was time for me\nto be going about my business: however, Eucrates turned round to\nme, and seeing how glum I looked, \u2018Micyllus,\u2019 says he, after a good\ndeal of humming and ha\u2019ing, \u2018you must join us; we shall find room\nfor you; I can send my boy to dine with his mother and the women.\u2019\nIt had very nearly turned out a wild-goose chase, but not quite: I\nwalked in, feeling rather ashamed of myself for having done the boy\nout of his dinner. We were now to take our places. Thesmopolis was\nfirst hoisted into his, with some difficulty, by five stalwart\nyouths, who propped him up on every side with cushions to keep him\nin his place and enable him to hold out to the end. As no one else\nwas disposed to have him for a neighbour, that privilege was\nassigned to me without ceremony. And then dinner was brought in:\nsuch dainties, Pythagoras, such variety! and everything served on\ngold or silver. Golden cups, smart servants, musicians, jesters,\u2014\naltogether, it was delightful. Thesmopolis, though, annoyed me a\ngood deal: he kept on worrying about virtue, and explaining how two\nnegatives make one positive, and how when it is day it is not night\n[Footnote: See _Puzzles_ in Notes.]; among other things, he\nwould have it that I had horns [Footnote: See _Puzzles_ in\nNotes.]. I wanted none of his philosophy, but on he went, quite\nspoiling my pleasure; it was impossible to listen to the music and\nsinging. So that is what the dinner was like.\n\n_Cock_. Not much of a one, especially with that old fool for\nyour neighbour.\n\n_Mi_. And now for the dream, which was about no other than\nEucrates. How it came about I don\u2019t know, but Eucrates was\nchildless, and was on his death-bed; he sent for me and made his\nwill, leaving everything to me, and soon after died. I now came\ninto the property, and ladled out gold and silver by the bucketful\nfrom springs that never dried; furniture and plate, clothes and\nservants, all were mine. I drove abroad, the admiration of all eyes\nand the envy of all hearts, lolling in my carriage behind a pair of\ncreams, with a crowd of attendants on horseback and on foot in\nfront of me, and a larger crowd behind. Dressed in Eucrates\u2019s\nsplendid clothes, my fingers loaded with a score or so of rings, I\nordered a magnificent feast to be prepared for the entertainment of\nmy friends. The next moment they were there,\u2014it happens so in\ndreams; dinner was brought in, the wine splashed in the cups. I was\npledging each of my friends in turn in beakers of gold, and the\nbiscuits were just being brought in, when that unlucky crow of\nyours spoilt all: over went the tables, and away flew my visionary\nwealth to all the quarters of Heaven. Had I not some reason to be\nannoyed with you? I could have gone on with that dream for three\nnights on end.\n\n_Cock_. Is the love of gold so absorbing a passion? Gold the\nonly thing you can find to admire? The possession of gold the sole\nhappiness?\n\n_Mi_. I am not the only one, Pythagoras. Why, you yourself\n(when you were Euphorbus) used to go to battle with your hair\nadorned with gold and silver, though iron would have been more to\nthe point than gold under the circumstances; however, you thought\ndifferently, and fought with a golden circlet about your brow;\nwhich I suppose is why Homer compares your hair to that of the\nGraces\n\n  in gold and silver clasped.\n\nNo doubt its charm would be greatly enhanced by the glitter of the\ninterwoven gold. After all, though, you, my golden-haired friend,\nwere but the son of Panthus; one can understand your respect for\ngold. But the father of Gods and men, the son of Cronus and Rhea\nhimself, could find no surer way to the heart of his Argive\nenchantress [Footnote: Danae.]\u2014or to those of her gaolers\u2014than\nthis same metal; you know the story, how he turned himself into\ngold, and came showering down through the roof into the presence of\nhis beloved? Need I say more? Need I point out the useful purposes\nthat gold serves? the beauty and wisdom and strength, the honour\nand glory it confers on its possessors, at a moment\u2019s notice\nturning obscurity and infamy into world-wide fame? You know my\nneighbour and fellow craftsman, Simon, who supped with me not long\nsince? \u2019Twas at the Saturnalia, the day I made that pease-pudding,\nwith the two slices of sausage in it?\n\n_Cock_. I know: the little snub-nosed fellow, who went off\nwith our pudding-basin under his arm,\u2014the only one we had; I saw\nhim with these eyes.\n\n_Mi_. So it was he who stole that basin! and he swore by all\nhis Gods that he knew nothing of it! But you should have called\nout, and told me how we were being plundered.\n\n_Cock_. I did crow; it was all I could do just then. But what\nwere you going to say about Simon?\n\n_Mi_. He had a cousin, Drimylus, who was tremendously rich.\nDuring his lifetime, Drimylus never gave him a penny; and no\nwonder, for he never laid a finger on his money himself. But the\nother day he died, and Simon has come in for everything. No more\ndirty rags for him now, no more trencher-licking: he drives abroad\nclothed in purple and scarlet; slaves and horses are his, golden\ncups and ivory-footed tables, and men prostrate themselves before\nhim. As for me, he will not so much as look at me: it was only the\nother day that I met him, and said, \u2018Good day, Simon\u2019: he flew into\na rage: \u2018Tell that beggar,\u2019 he said, \u2018not to cut down my name; it\nis Simonides, not Simon.\u2019 And that is not all,\u2014the women are in\nlove with him too, and Simon is coy and cold: some he receives\ngraciously, but the neglected ones declare they will hang\nthemselves. See what gold can do! It is like Aphrodite\u2019s girdle,\ntransforming the unsightly and making them lovely to behold. What\nsay the poets?\n\n  Happy the hand that grasps thee, Gold!\n\nand again,\n\n  Gold hath dominion over mortal men.\n\nBut what are you laughing at?\n\n_Cock_. Ah, Micyllus, I see that you are no wiser than your\nneighbours; you have the usual mistaken notions about the rich,\nwhose life, I assure you, is far more miserable than your own. I\nought to know: I have tried everything, and been poor man and rich\nman times out of number. You will find out all about it before\nlong.\n\n_Mi_. Ah, to be sure, it is your turn now. Tell me how you\ncame to be changed into a cock, and what each of your lives was\nlike.\n\n_Cock_. Very well; and I may remark, by way of preface, that\nof all the lives I have ever known none was happier than yours.\n\n_Mi_. Than mine? Exasperating fowl! All I say is, may you have\none like it! Now then: begin from Euphorbus, and tell me how you\ncame to be Pythagoras, and so on, down to the cock. I\u2019ll warrant\nyou have not been through all those different lives without seeing\nsome strange sights, and having your adventures.\n\n_Cock_. How my spirit first proceeded from Apollo, and took\nflight to earth, and entered into a human form, and what was the\nnature of the crime thus expiated,\u2014all this would take too long to\ntell; nor is it fitting either for me to speak of such matters or\nfor you to hear of them. I pass to the time when I became\nEuphorbus,\u2014\n\n_Mi_. Wait a minute: have I ever been changed in this way?\n\n_Cock_. You have.\n\n_Mi_. Then who was I, do you know? I am curious about that.\n\n_Cock_. Why, you were an Indian ant, of the gold-digging\nspecies.\n\n_Mi_. What could induce me, misguided insect that I was, to\nleave that life without so much as a grain of gold-dust to supply\nmy needs in this one? And what am I going to be next? I suppose you\ncan tell me. If it is anything good, I\u2019ll hang myself this moment\nfrom the very perch on which you stand.\n\n_Cock_. That I can on no account divulge. To resume. When I\nwas Euphorbus, I fought at Troy, and was slain by Menelaus. Some\ntime then elapsed before I entered into the body of Pythagoras.\nDuring this interval, I remained without a habitation, waiting till\nMnesarchus had prepared one for me.\n\n_Mi_. What, without meat or drink?\n\n_Cock_. Oh yes; these are mere bodily requirements.\n\n_Mi_. Well, first I will have about the Trojan war. Did it all\nhappen as Homer describes?\n\n_Cock_. Homer! What should he know of the matter? He was a\ncamel in Bactria all the time. I may tell you that things were not\non such a tremendous scale in those days as is commonly supposed:\nAjax was not so very tall, nor Helen so very beautiful. I saw her:\nshe had a fair complexion, to be sure, and her neck was long enough\nto suggest her swan parentage [Footnote: See _Helen_ in Notes.]:\nbut then she was such an age\u2014as old as Hecuba, almost. You see,\nTheseus had carried her off first, and she had lived with him at\nAphidnae: now Theseus was a contemporary of Heracles, and the\nformer capture of Troy, by Heracles, had taken place in the\ngeneration before mine; my father, who told me all this, remembered\nseeing Heracles when he was himself a boy.\n\n_Mi_. Well, and Achilles: was he so much better than other\npeople, or is that all stuff and nonsense?\n\n_Cock_. Ah, I never came across Achilles; I am not very strong\non the Greeks; I was on the other side, of course. There is one\nthing, though: I made pretty short work of his friend Patroclus\u2014\nran him clean through with my spear.\n\n_Mi_. After which Menelaus settled you with still greater\nfacility. Well, that will do for Troy. And when you were\nPythagoras?\n\n_Cock_. When I was Pythagoras, I was\u2014not to deceive you\u2014a\nsophist; that is the long and short of it. At the same time, I was\nnot uncultured, not unversed in polite learning. I travelled in\nEgypt, cultivated the acquaintance of the priests, and learnt\nwisdom from their mouths; I penetrated into their temples and\nmastered the sacred books of Orus and Isis; finally, I took ship to\nItaly, where I made such an impression on the Greeks that they\nreckoned me among the Gods.\n\n_Mi_. I have heard all about that; and also how you were\nsupposed to have risen from the dead, and how you had a golden\nthigh, and favoured the public with a sight of it on occasion. But\nwhat put it into your head to make that law about meat and beans?\n\n_Cock_. Ah, don\u2019t ask me that, Micyllus.\n\n_Mi_. But why not?\n\n_Cock_. I am ashamed to answer you.\n\n_Mi_. Come, out with it! I am your friend and fellow lodger;\nwe will drop the \u2018master\u2019 now.\n\n_Cock_. There was neither common sense nor philosophy in that\nlaw. The fact is, I saw that if I did just the same as other\npeople, I should draw very few admirers; my prestige, I considered,\nwould be in proportion to my originality. Hence these innovations,\nthe motive of which I wrapped up in mystery; each man was left to\nmake his own conjecture, that all might be equally impressed by my\noracular obscurity. There now! you are laughing at me; it is your\nturn this time.\n\n_Mi_. I am laughing much more at the folk of Cortona and\nMetapontum and Tarentum, and the rest of those mute disciples who\nworshipped the ground you trod on. And in what form was your spirit\nnext clothed, after it had put off Pythagoras?\n\n_Cock_. In that of Aspasia, the Milesian courtesan.\n\n_Mi_. Dear, dear! And your versatility has even changed sexes?\nMy gallant cock has positively laid eggs in his time? Pythagoras\nhas carded and spun? Pythagoras the mistress\u2014and the mother\u2014of a\nPericles? My Pythagoras no better than he should be?\n\n_Cock_. I do not stand alone. I had the example of Tiresias\nand of Caeneus; your gibes touch them as well as me.\n\n_Mi_. And did you like being a man best, or receiving the\naddresses of Pericles?\n\n_Cock_. Ha! the question that Tiresias paid so dearly for\nanswering!\n\n_Mi_. Never mind, then,\u2014Euripides has settled the point; he\nsays he would\n\n  rather bear the shock of battle thrice\n  Than once the pangs of labour.\n\n_Cock_. Ah, just a word in your ear: those pangs will shortly\nbe your own; more than once, in the course of a lengthy career, you\nwill be a woman.\n\n_Mi_. Strangulation on the bird! Does he think we all hail\nfrom Miletus or Samos? Yes, I said Samos; Pythagoras has had his\nadmirers, by all accounts, as well as Aspasia. However;\u2014what was\nyour sex next time?\n\n_Cock_. I was the Cynic Crates.\n\n_Mi_. Castor and Pollux! What a change was there!\n\n_Cock_. Then it was a king; then a pauper, and presently a\nsatrap, and after that came horse, jackdaw, frog, and I know not\nhow many more; there is no reckoning them up in detail. Latterly, I\nhave been a cock several times. I liked the life; many is the king,\nmany the pauper and millionaire, with whom I took service in that\ncapacity before I came to you. In your lamentations about poverty,\nand your admiration of the rich, I find an unfailing source of\nentertainment; little do you know what those rich have to put up\nwith! If you had any idea of their anxieties, you would laugh to\nthink how you had been deceived as to the blessedness of wealth.\n\n_Mi_. Well, Pythagoras,\u2014or is there any other name you\nprefer? I shall throw you out, perhaps, if I keep on calling you\ndifferent things?\n\n_Cock_. Euphorbus or Pythagoras, Aspasia or Crates, it is all\nthe same to me; one is as much my name as another. Or stay: not to\nbe wanting in respect to a bird whose humble exterior contains so\nmany souls, you had better use the evidence of your own eyes and\ncall me Cock.\n\n_Mi_. Then, cock, as you have tried wellnigh every kind of\nlife, you can next give me a clear description of the lives of rich\nand poor respectively; we will see if there was any truth in your\nassertion, that I was better off than the rich.\n\n_Cock_. Well now, look at it this way. To begin with, you are\nvery little troubled with military matters. Suppose there is talk\nof an invasion: _you_ are under no uneasiness about the destruction\nof your crops, or the cutting-up of your gardens, or the ruin of\nyour vines; at the first sound of the trumpet (if you even hear\nit), all you have to think of is, how to convey your own person out\nof harm\u2019s way. Well, the rich have got to provide for that too, and\nthey have the mortification into the bargain of looking on while\ntheir lands are being ravaged. Is a war-tax to be levied? It all\nfalls on them. When you take the field, theirs are the posts of\nhonour\u2014and danger: whereas you, with no worse encumbrance than\nyour wicker shield, are in the best of trim for taking care of\nyourself; and when the time comes for the general to offer up a\nsacrifice of thanksgiving for his victory, your presence may be\nrelied on at the festive scene.\n\nThen again, in time of peace, you, as one of the commons, march up\nto the Assembly to lord it over the rich, who tremble and crouch\nbefore you, and seek to propitiate you with grants. They must\nlabour, that you may be supplied with baths and games and\nspectacles and the like to your satisfaction; you are their censor\nand critic, their stern taskmaster, who will not always hear before\ncondemning; nay, you may give them a smart shower of stones, if the\nfancy takes you, or confiscate their property. The informer\u2019s\ntongue has no terrors for you; no burglar will scale or undermine\n_your_ walls in search of gold; you are not troubled with\nbook-keeping or debt-collecting; you have no rascally steward to\nwrangle with; none of the thousand worries of the rich distract\nyou. No, you patch your shoe, and you take your tenpence; and at\ndusk up you jump from your bench, get a bath if you are in the\nhumour for it, buy yourself a haddock or some sprats or a few heads\nof garlic, and make merry therewith; Poverty, best of philosophers,\nis your companion, and you are seldom at a loss for a song. And\nwhat is the result? Health and strength, and a hardiness that sets\ncold at defiance. Your work keeps you keen-set; the ills that seem\ninsuperable to other men find a tough customer in you. Why, no\nserious sickness ever comes near you: fever, perhaps, lays a light\nhand on you now and again; you let him have his way for a day or\ntwo, and then you are up again, and shake the pest off; he beats a\nhasty retreat, not liking the look of a man who drinks cold water\nat that rate, and has such a short way with the doctors. But look\nat the rich: name the disease to which these creatures are not\nsubjected by their intemperance; gout, consumption, pneumonia,\ndropsy,\u2014they all come of high feeding. Some of these men are like\nIcarus: they fly too high, they get near the sun, not realizing\nthat their wings are fastened with wax; and then some day there is\na great splash, and they have disappeared headlong into the deep.\nOthers there are who follow Daedalus\u2019s example; such minds eschew\nthe upper air, and keep their wax within splashing distance of the\nsea; these generally get safely to their journey\u2019s end.\n\n_Mi_. Shrewd, sensible fellows.\n\n_Cock_. Yes, but among the others you may see some ugly\nshipwrecks. Croesus is plucked of his feathers, and mounts a pyre\nfor the amusement of the Persians. A tyranny capsizes, and the\nlordly Dionysius is discovered teaching Corinthian children their\nalphabet.\n\n_Mi_. You tell me, cock, that you have been a king yourself:\nnow how did _you_ find the life? I expect you had a pleasant\ntime of it, living on the very fat of the land?\n\n_Cock_. Do not remind me of that miserable existence. A\npleasant time! So people thought, no doubt: I knew better; it was\nvexation upon vexation.\n\n_Mi_. You surprise me. How should that be? It sounds unlikely.\n\n_Cock_. The country over which I ruled was both extensive and\nfertile. Its population and the beauty of its cities alike entitled\nit to the highest consideration. It possessed navigable rivers and\nexcellent harbours. My army was large, my pike-men numerous, my\ncavalry in a high state of efficiency; it was the same with my\nfleet; and my wealth was beyond calculation. No circumstance of\nkingly pomp was wanting; gold plate in abundance, everything on the\nmost magnificent scale. I could not leave my palace without\nreceiving the reverential greetings of the public, who looked on me\nas a God, and crowded together to see me pass; some enthusiasts\nwould even betake themselves to the roofs of the houses, lest any\ndetail of my equipage, clothes, crown or attendants should escape\nthem. I could make allowance for the ignorance of my subjects, but\nthis did not prevent me from pitying myself, when I reflected on\nthe vexations and worries of my position. I was like those colossal\nstatues, the work of Phidias, Myron or Praxiteles: they too look\nextremely well from outside: \u2019tis Posidon with his trident, Zeus\nwith his thunderbolt, all ivory and gold: but take a peep inside,\nand what have we? One tangle of bars, bolts, nails, planks, wedges,\nwith pitch and mortar and everything that is unsightly; not to\nmention a possible colony of rats or mice. There you have royalty.\n\n_Mi_. But you have not told me what is the mortar, what the\nbolts and bars and other unsightlinesses that lurk behind a throne.\nAdmiration, dominion, divine honours,\u2014these no doubt fit your\nsimile; there is a touch of the godlike about them. But now let me\nhave the inside of your colossus.\n\n_Cock_. And where shall I begin? With fear and suspicion? The\nresentments of courtiers and the machinations of conspirators?\nScant and broken sleep, troubled dreams, perplexities, forebodings?\nOr again with the hurry of business\u2014fiscal\u2014legal\u2014military?\nOrders to be issued, treaties to be drawn up, estimates to be\nformed? As for pleasure, such a thing is not to be dreamt of; no,\none man must think for all, toil incessantly for all. The Achaean\nhost is snoring to a man:\n\n  But sweet sleep came not nigh to Atreus\u2019 son,\n  Who pondered many things within his heart.\n\nLydian Croesus is troubled because his son is dumb; Persian\nArtaxerxes, because Clearchus is raising a host for Cyrus;\nDionysius, because Dion whispers in Syracusan ears; Alexander,\nbecause Parmenio is praised. Perdiccas has no peace for Ptolemy,\nPtolemy none for Seleucus. And there are other griefs than these:\nhis favourite is cold; his concubine loves another; there is talk\nof a rebellion; there has been muttering among a half-dozen of his\nguards. And the bitterness of it is, that his nearest and dearest\nare those whom he is most called on to distrust; from them he must\never look for harm. One we see poisoned by his son, another by his\nown favourite; and a third will probably fare no better.\n\n_Mi_. Whew! I like not this, my cock. Methinks there is safety\nin bent backs and leather-cutting, and none in golden loving-cups;\nI will pledge no man in hemlock or in aconite. All _I_ have to\nfear is that my knife may slip out of the line, and draw a drop or\ntwo from my fingers: but your kings would seem to sit down to\ndinner with Death, and to lead dogs\u2019 lives into the bargain. They\ngo at last; and then they are more like play-actors than anything\nelse\u2014like such a one as you may see taking the part of Cecrops or\nSisyphus or Telephus. He has his diadem and his ivory-hilted sword,\nhis waving hair and spangled cloak: but accidents will happen,\u2014\nsuppose he makes a false step: down he comes on the middle of the\nstage, and the audience roars with laughter. For there is his mask,\ncrumpled up, diadem and all, and his own bloody coxcomb showing\nunderneath it; his legs are laid bare to the knees, and you see the\ndirty rags inside his fine robe, and the great lumbering buskins.\nHa, ha, friend cock, have I learnt to turn a simile already? Well,\nthere are my views on tyranny. Now for the horses and dogs and\nfrogs and fishes: how did you like that kind of thing?\n\n_Cock_. Your question would take a long time to answer; more\ntime than we can spare. But\u2014to sum up my experience in two words\u2014\nevery one of these creatures has an easier life of it than man.\nTheir aims, their wants, are all confined to the body: such a thing\nas a tax-farming horse or a litigant frog, a jackdaw sophist, a\ngnat confectioner, or a cock pander, is unknown; they leave such\nthings to humanity.\n\n_Mi_. It may be as you say. But, cock (I don\u2019t mind making a\nclean breast of it to you), I have had a fancy all my life for\nbeing rich, and I am as bad as ever; nay, worse, for there is the\ndream, still flaunting its gold before my eyes; and that confounded\nSimon, too,\u2014it chokes me to think of him rolling in luxury.\n\n_Cock_. I\u2019ll put that right. It is still dark, get up and come\nwith me. You shall pay a visit to Simon and other rich men, and see\nhow things stand with them.\n\n_Mi_. But the doors are locked. Would you have me break in?\n\n_Cock_. Oh no; but I have a certain privilege from Hermes, my\npatron: you see my longest tail-feather, the curling one that hangs\ndown,\u2014\n\n_Mi_. There are two curling ones that hang down.\n\n_Cock_. The one on the right. By allowing any one to pluck out\nthat feather and carry it, I give him the power, for as long as I\nlike, of opening all doors and seeing everything, himself unseen.\n\n_Mi_. Cock, you are a positive conjurer. Only give me the\nfeather, and it shall not be long before Simon\u2019s wealth shifts its\nquarters; I\u2019ll slip in and make a clean sweep. His teeth shall tug\nleather again.\n\n_Cock_. That must not be. I have my instructions from Hermes,\nand if my feather is put to any such purpose, I am to call out and\nexpose the offender.\n\n_Mi_. Hermes, of all people, grudge a man a little thievery?\nI\u2019ll not believe it of him. However, let us start; I promise not to\ntouch the gold ... if I can help it.\n\n_Cock_. You must pluck out the feather first.... What\u2019s this?\nYou have taken both!\n\n_Mi_. Better to be on the safe side. And it would look so bad\nto have one half of your tail gone and not the other.\n\n_Cock_. Well. Where shall we go first? To Simon\u2019s?\n\n_Mi_. Yes, yes, Simon first. Simonides it is, nowadays; two\nsyllables is not enough for him since he has come into money....\nHere we are; what do I do next?\n\n_Cock_. Apply the feather to the bolt.\n\n_Mi_. So. Heracles! it might be a key; the door flies open.\n\n_Cock_. Walk in; you go first. Do you see him? He is sitting\nup over his accounts.\n\n_Mi_. See him! I should think I did. What a light! That lamp\nwants a drink. And what makes Simon so pale? He is shrivelled up to\nnothing. That comes of his worries; there is nothing else the\nmatter with him, that I have heard of.\n\n_Cock_. Listen, and you will understand.\n\n_Si_. That seventeen thousand in the hole under my bed is safe\nenough; not a soul saw me that time. But I believe Sosylus caught\nme hiding the four thousand under the manger: he is not the most\nindustrious of grooms, he was never too fond of work; but he\n_lives_ in that stable now. And I expect that is not all that\nhas gone, by a long way. What was Tibius doing with those fine\ngreat kippers yesterday? And they tell me he paid no less a sum\nthan four shillings for a pair of earrings for his wife. God help\nme, it\u2019s _my_ money they\u2019re flinging about. I\u2019m not easy about\nall that plate either: what if some one should knock a hole in the\nwall, and make off with it? Many is the one that envies me, and has\nan eye on my gold; my neighbour Micyllus is as bad as any of them.\n\n_Mi_. Hear, hear! He is as bad as Simon; he walks off with\nother people\u2019s pudding-basins under his arm.\n\n_Cock_. Hush! we shall be caught.\n\n_Si_. There\u2019s nothing like sitting up, and having everything\nunder one\u2019s own eye. I\u2019ll jump up and go my rounds.... You there!\nyou burglar! I see you.... Ah, it is but a post; all is well. I\u2019ll\npull up the gold and count it again; I may have missed something\njust now.... Hark! a step! I knew it; he is upon me! I am beset\nwith enemies. The world conspires against me. Where is my dagger?\nOnly let me catch ...\u2014I\u2019ll put the gold back.\n\n_Cock_. There: now you have seen Simon at home. Let us go on\nto another house, while there is still some of the night left.\n\n_Mi_. The worm! what a life! I wish all my enemies such wealth\nas his. I\u2019ll just lend him a box on the ear, and then I am ready.\n\n_Si_. Who was that? Some one struck me! Ah! I am robbed!\n\n_Mi_. Whine away, Simon, and sit up of nights till you are as\nyellow as the gold you clutch.\u2014I should like to go to Gniphon the\nusurer\u2019s next; it is quite close.... Again the door opens to us.\n\n_Cock_. He is sitting up too, look. It is an anxious time with\nhim; he is reckoning his interest. His fingers are worn to the\nbone. Presently he will have to leave all this, and become a\ncockroach, or a gnat, or a bluebottle.\n\n_Mi_. Senseless brute! it will hardly be a change for the\nworse. He, like Simon, is pretty well thinned down by his\ncalculations. Let us try some one else.\n\n_Cock_. What about your friend Eucrates? See, the door stands\nopen; let us go in.\n\n_Mi_. An hour ago, all this was mine!\n\n_Cock_. Still the golden dream!\u2014Look at the hoary old\nreprobate: with one of his own slaves!\n\n_Mi_. Monstrous! And his wife is not much better; she takes\nher paramour from the kitchen.\n\n_Cock_. Well? Is the inheritance to your liking? Will you have\nit all?\n\n_Mi_. I will starve first. Good-bye to gold and high living.\nPreserve me from my own servants, and I will call myself rich on\ntwopence-halfpenny.\n\n_Cock_. Well, well, we must be getting home; see, it is just\ndawn. The rest must wait for another day.\n\n\n\n\nICAROMENIPPUS, AN AERIAL EXPEDITION\n\n_Menippus and a Friend_\n\n\n_Me_. Let me see, now. First stage, Earth to Moon, 350 miles.\nSecond stage, up to the Sun, 500 leagues. Then the third, to the\nactual Heaven and Zeus\u2019s citadel, might be put at a day\u2019s journey\nfor an eagle in light marching order.\n\n_Fr_. In the name of goodness, Menippus, what are these\nastronomical sums you are doing under your breath? I have been\ndogging yon for some time, listening to your suns and moons,\nqueerly mixed up with common earthly stages and leagues.\n\n_Me_. Ah, you must not be surprised if my talk is rather\nexalted and ethereal; I was making out the mileage of my journey.\n\n_Fr_. Oh, I see; using stars to steer by, like the\nPhoenicians?\n\n_Me_. Oh no, travelling among them.\n\n_Fr_. Well, to be sure, it must have been a longish dream, if\nyou lost yourself in it for whole leagues.\n\n_Me_. Dream, my good man? I am just come straight from Zeus.\nDream, indeed!\n\n_Fr_. How? What? Our Menippus a literal godsend from Heaven?\n\n_Me_. \u2019Tis even so; from very Zeus I come this day, eyes and\nears yet full of wonders. Oh, doubt, if you will. That my fortune\nshould pass belief makes it only the more gratifying.\n\n_Fr_. Nay, my worshipful Olympian, how should I, \u2018a man\nbegotten, treading this poor earth,\u2019 doubt him who transcends the\nclouds, a \u2018denizen of Heaven,\u2019 as Homer says? But vouchsafe to tell\nme how you were uplifted, and where you got your mighty tall\nladder. There is hardly enough of Ganymede in your looks to suggest\nthat you were carried off by the eagle for a cupbearer.\n\n_Me_. I see you are bent on making a jest of it. Well, it\n_is_ extraordinary; you could not be expected to see that it\nis not a romance. The fact is, I needed neither ladder nor amorous\neagle; I had wings of my own.\n\n_Fr_. Stranger and stranger! this beats Daedalus. What, you\nturned into a hawk or a crow on the sly?\n\n_Me_. Now that is not a bad shot; it was Daedalus\u2019s wing trick\nthat I tried.\n\n_Fr_. Well, talk of foolhardiness! did you like the idea of\nfalling into the sea, and giving us a _Mare Menippeum_ after\nthe precedent of the _Icarium_?\n\n_Me_. No fear. Icarus\u2019s feathers were fastened with wax, and\nof course, directly the sun warmed this, he moulted and fell. No\nwax for me, thank you.\n\n_Fr_. How did you manage, then? I declare I shall be believing\nyou soon, if you go on like this.\n\n_Me_. Well, I caught a fine eagle, and also a particularly\npowerful vulture, and cut off their wings above the shoulder-\njoint.... But no; if you are not in a hurry, I may as well give you\nthe enterprise from the beginning.\n\n_Fr_. Do, do; I am rapt aloft by your words already, my mouth\nopen for your _bonne bouche_; as you love me, leave me not in\nthose upper regions hung up by the ears!\n\n_Me_. Listen, then; it would be a sorry sight, a friend\ndeserted, with his mouth open, and _sus. per aures_.\u2014Well, a\nvery short survey of life had convinced me of the absurdity and\nmeanness and insecurity that pervade all human objects, such as\nwealth, office, power. I was filled with contempt for them,\nrealized that to care for them was to lose all chance of what\ndeserved care, and determined to grovel no more, but fix my gaze\nupon the great All. Here I found my first problem in what wise men\ncall the universal order; I could not tell how it came into being,\nwho made it, what was its beginning, or what its end. But my next\nstep, which was the examination of details, landed me in yet worse\nperplexity. I found the stars dotted quite casually about the sky,\nand I wanted to know what the sun was. Especially the phenomena of\nthe moon struck me as extraordinary, and quite passed my\ncomprehension; there must be some mystery to account for those many\nphases, I conjectured. Nor could I feel any greater certainty about\nsuch things as the passage of lightning, the roll of thunder, the\ndescent of rain and snow and hail.\n\nIn this state of mind, the best I could think of was to get at the\ntruth of it all from the people called philosophers; they of course\nwould be able to give it me. So I selected the best of them, if\nsolemnity of visage, pallor of complexion and length of beard are\nany criterion\u2014for there could not be a moment\u2019s doubt of their\nsoaring words and heaven-high thoughts\u2014and in their hands I placed\nmyself. For a considerable sum down, and more to be paid when they\nshould have perfected me in wisdom, I was to be made an airy\nmetaphysician and instructed in the order of the universe.\nUnfortunately, so far from dispelling my previous ignorance, they\nperplexed me more and more, with their daily drenches of beginnings\nand ends, atoms and voids, matters and forms. My greatest\ndifficulty was that, though they differed among themselves, and all\nthey said was full of inconsistency and contradiction, they\nexpected me to believe them, each pulling me in his own direction.\n\n_Fr_. How absurd that wise men should quarrel about facts, and\nhold different opinions on the same things!\n\n_Me_. Ah, but keep your laughter till you have heard something\nof their pretentious mystifications. To begin with, their feet are\non the ground; they are no taller than the rest of us \u2018men that\nwalk the earth\u2019; they are no sharper-sighted than their neighbours,\nsome of them purblind, indeed, with age or indolence; and yet they\nsay they can distinguish the limits of the sky, they measure the\nsun\u2019s circumference, take their walks in the supra-lunar regions,\nand specify the sizes and shapes of the stars as though they had\nfallen from them; often one of them could not tell you correctly\nthe number of miles from Megara to Athens, but has no hesitation\nabout the distance in feet from the sun to the moon. How high the\natmosphere is, how deep the sea, how far it is round the earth\u2014\nthey have the figures for all that; and moreover, they have only to\ndraw some circles, arrange a few triangles and squares, add certain\ncomplicated spheres, and lo, they have the cubic contents of\nHeaven.\n\nThen, how reasonable and modest of them, dealing with subjects so\ndebatable, to issue their views without a hint of uncertainty; thus\nit must be and it shall be; _contra gentes_ they will have it\nso; they will tell you on oath the sun is a molten mass, the moon\ninhabited, and the stars water-drinkers, moisture being drawn up by\nthe sun\u2019s rope and bucket and equitably distributed among them.\n\nHow their theories conflict is soon apparent; next-door neighbours?\nno, they are miles apart. In the first place, their views of the\nworld differ. Some say it had no beginning, and cannot end; others\nboldly talk of its creator and his procedure; what particularly\nentertained me was that these latter set up a contriver of the\nuniverse, but fail to mention where he came from, or what he stood\non while about his elaborate task, though it is by no means obvious\nhow there could be place or time before the universe came into\nbeing.\n\n_Fr_. You really do make them out very audacious conjurers.\n\n_Me_. My dear fellow, I wish I could give you their lucubrations on\nideas and incorporeals, on finite and infinite. Over that point,\nnow, there is fierce battle; some circumscribe the All, others will\nhave it unlimited. At the same time they declare for a plurality of\nworlds, and speak scornfully of others who make only one. And there\nis a bellicose person who maintains that war is the father of the\nuniverse. [Footnote: Variously attributed to Heraclitus, who denies\nthe possibility of repose, and insists that all things are in a\nstate of flux; and to Empedocles, who makes all change and becoming\ndepend on the interaction of the two principles, attraction and\nrepulsion.]\n\nAs to Gods, I need hardly deal with that question. For some of them\nGod is a number; some swear by dogs and geese and plane-trees.\n[Footnote: Socrates made a practice of substituting these for the\nnames of Gods in his oaths.] Some again banish all other Gods, and\nattribute the control of the universe to a single one; I got rather\ndepressed on learning how small the supply of divinity was. But I\nwas comforted by the lavish souls who not only make many, but\nclassify; there was a First God, and second and third classes of\ndivinity. Yet again, some regard the divine nature as unsubstantial\nand without form, while others conceive it as a substance. Then\nthey were not all disposed to recognize a Providence; some relieve\nthe Gods of all care, as we relieve the superannuated of their\ncivic duties; in fact, they treat them exactly like supernumeraries\non the stage. The last step is also taken, of saying that Gods do\nnot exist at all, and leaving the world to drift along without a\nmaster or a guiding hand.\n\nWell, when I heard all this, I dared not disbelieve people whose\nvoices and beards were equally suggestive of Zeus. But I knew not\nwhere to turn for a theory that was not open to exception, nor\ncombated by one as soon as propounded by another. I found myself in\nthe state Homer has described; many a time I would vigorously start\nbelieving one of these gentlemen;\n\n  But then came second thoughts.\n\nSo in my distress I began to despair of ever getting any knowledge\nabout these things on earth; the only possible escape from\nperplexity would be to take to myself wings and go up to Heaven.\nPartly the wish was father to the thought; but it was confirmed by\nAesop\u2019s Fables, from which it appears that Heaven is accessible to\neagles, beetles, and sometimes camels. It was pretty clear that I\ncould not possibly develop feathers of my own. But if I were to\nwear vulture\u2019s or eagle\u2019s wings\u2014the only kinds equal to a man\u2019s\nweight\u2014I might perhaps succeed. I caught the birds, and\neffectually amputated the eagle\u2019s right, and the vulture\u2019s left\nwing. These I fastened together, attached them to my shoulders with\nbroad thick straps, and provided grips for my hands near the end of\nthe quill-feathers. Then I made experiments, first jumping up and\nhelping the jump by flapping my hands, or imitating the way a goose\nraises itself without leaving the ground and combines running with\nflight. Finding the machine obedient, I next made a bolder venture,\nwent up the Acropolis, and launched myself from the cliff right\nover the theatre.\n\nGetting safely to the bottom that time, my aspirations shot up\naloft. I took to starting from Parnes or Hymettus, flying to\nGeranea, thence to the top of the Acrocorinthus, and over Pholoe\nand Erymanthus to Taygetus. The training for my venture was now\ncomplete; my powers were developed, and equal to a lofty flight; no\nmore fledgeling essays for me. I went up Olympus, provisioning\nmyself as lightly as possible. The moment was come; I soared\nskywards, giddy at first with that great void below, but soon\nconquering this difficulty. When I approached the Moon, long after\nparting from the clouds, I was conscious of fatigue, especially in\nthe left or vulture\u2019s wing. So I alighted and sat down to rest,\nhaving a bird\u2019s-eye view of the Earth, like the Homeric Zeus,\n\n  Surveying now the Thracian horsemen\u2019s land,\n  Now Mysia,\n\nand again, as the fancy took me, Greece or Persia or India. From\nall which I drew a manifold delight.\n\n_Fr_. Oh well, Menippus, tell me all about it. I do not want\nto miss a single one of your travel experiences; if you picked up\nany stray information, let me have that too. I promise myself a\ngreat many facts about the shape of the Earth, and how everything\non it looked to you from your point of vantage.\n\n_Me_. And you will not be disappointed there, friend. So do\nyour best to get up to the Moon, with my story for travelling\ncompanion and showman of the terrestrial scene.\n\nImagine yourself first descrying a tiny Earth, far smaller than the\nMoon looks; on turning my eyes down, I could not think for some\ntime what had become of our mighty mountains and vast sea. If I had\nnot caught sight of the Colossus of Rhodes and the Pharus tower, I\nassure you I should never have made out the Earth at all. But their\nheight and projection, with the faint shimmer of Ocean in the sun,\nshowed me it must be the Earth I was looking at. Then, when once I\nhad got my sight properly focused, the whole human race was clear\nto me, not merely in the shape of nations and cities, but the\nindividuals, sailing, fighting, ploughing, going to law; the women,\nthe beasts, and in short every breed \u2018that feedeth on earth\u2019s\nfoison.\u2019\n\n_Fr_. Most unconvincing and contradictory. Just now you were\nsearching for the Earth, it was so diminished by distance, and if\nthe Colossus had not betrayed it, you would have taken it for\nsomething else; and now you develop suddenly into a Lynceus, and\ndistinguish everything upon it, the men, the beasts, one might\nalmost say the gnat-swarms. Explain, please.\n\n_Me_. Why, to be sure! how did I come to leave out so essential a\nparticular? I had made out the Earth, you see, but could not\ndistinguish any details; the distance was so great, quite beyond\nthe scope of my vision; so I was much chagrined and baffled. At\nthis moment of depression\u2014I was very near tears\u2014who should come\nup behind me but Empedocles the physicist? His complexion was like\ncharcoal variegated with ashes, as if he had been baked. I will not\ndeny that I felt some tremors at the sight of him, taking him for\nsome lunar spirit. But he said: \u2018Do not be afraid, Menippus;\n\n  A mortal I, no God; how vain thy dreams.\n\nI am Empedocles the physicist. When I threw myself into the crater\nin such a hurry, the smoke of Etna whirled me off up here; and now\nI live in the Moon, doing a good deal of high thinking on a diet of\ndew. So I have come to help you out of your difficulty; you are\ndistressed, I take it, at not being able to see everything on the\nEarth.\u2019 \u2018Thank you so much, you good Empedocles,\u2019 I said; \u2018as soon\nas my wings have brought me back to Greece, I will remember to pour\nlibations to you up the chimney, and salute you on the first of\nevery month with three moonward yawns.\u2019 \u2018Endymion be my witness,\u2019\nhe replied, \u2018I had no thought of such a bargain; I was touched by\nthe sight of your distress. Now, what do you think is the way to\nsharpen your sight?\u2019\n\n\u2018I have no idea, unless you were to remove the mist from my eyes\nfor me; the sight seems quite bleared.\u2019 \u2018Oh, you can do without me;\nthe thing that gives sharp sight you have brought with you from\nEarth.\u2019 \u2018Unconsciously, then; what is it?\u2019 \u2018Why, you know that you\nhave on an eagle\u2019s right wing?\u2019 \u2018Of course I do; but what have\nwings and eyes to do with one another?\u2019 \u2018Only this,\u2019 he said; \u2018the\neagle is far the strongest-eyed of all living things, the only one\nthat can look straight at the sun; the test of the true royal eagle\nis, his meeting its rays without blinking.\u2019 \u2018So I have heard; I\nwish I had taken out my own eyes when I was starting, and\nsubstituted the eagle\u2019s. I am an imperfect specimen now I am here,\nnot up to the royal standard at all, but like the rejected\nbastards.\u2019 \u2018Well, you can very soon acquire one royal eye. If you\nwill stand up for a minute, keep the vulture wing still, and work\nthe other, your right eye, corresponding to that wing, will gain\nstrength. As for the other, its dimness cannot possibly be\nobviated, as it belongs to the inferior member.\u2019 \u2018Oh, I shall be\nquite content with aquiline vision for the right eye only,\u2019 I said;\n\u2018I have often observed that carpenters in ruling their wood find\none better than two.\u2019 So saying, I proceeded to carry out my\ninstructions at once. Empedocles began gradually to disappear, and\nat last vanished in smoke.\n\nI had no sooner flapped the wing than a flood of light enveloped\nme, and things that before I had not even been aware of became\nperfectly clear. I turned my eyes down earthwards, and with ease\ndiscerned cities, men, and all that was going on, not merely in the\nopen, but in the fancied security of houses. There was Ptolemy in\nhis sister\u2019s arms, the son of Lysimachus plotting against his\nfather, Seleucus\u2019s son Antiochus making signs to his step-mother\nStratonice, Alexander of Pherae being murdered by his wife,\nAntigonus corrupting his daughter-in-law, the son of Attalus\nputting the poison in his cup; Arsaces was in the act of slaying\nhis mistress, while the eunuch Arbaces drew his sword upon him; the\nguards were dragging Spatinus the Mede out from the banquet by the\nfoot, with the lump on his brow from the golden cup. Similar sights\nwere to be seen in the palaces of Libya and Scythia and Thrace\u2014\nadulteries, murders, treasons, robberies, perjuries, suspicions,\nand monstrous betrayals.\n\nSuch was the entertainment afforded me by royalty; private life was\nmuch more amusing; for I could make that out too. I saw Hermodorus\nthe Epicurean perjuring himself for 40 pounds, Agathocles the Stoic\nsuing a pupil for his fees, lawyer Clinias stealing a bowl from the\ntemple of Asclepius, and Herophilus the cynic sleeping in a\nbrothel. Not to mention the multitude of burglars, litigants,\nusurers, duns; oh, it was a fine representative show!\n\n_Fr_. I must say, Menippus, I should have liked the details\nhere too; it all seems to have been very much to your taste.\n\n_Me_. I could not go through the whole of it, even to please\nyou; to take it in with the eyes kept one busy. But the main\ndivisions were very much what Homer gives from the shield of\nAchilles: here junketings and marriages, there courts and councils,\nin another compartment a sacrifice, and hard by a mourning. If I\nglanced at Getica, I would see the Getae at war; at Scythia, there\nwere the Scythians wandering about on their waggons; half a turn in\nanother direction gave me Egyptians at the plough, or Phoenicians\nchaffering, Cilician pirates, Spartan flagellants, Athenians at\nlaw.\n\nAll this was simultaneous, you understand; and you must try to\nconceive what a queer jumble it all made. It was as if a man were\nto collect a number of choristers, or rather of choruses,\n[Footnote: The Greek chorus combined singing with dancing.] and\nthen tell each individual to disregard the others and start a\nstrain of his own; if each did his best, went his own way, and\ntried to drown his neighbour, can you imagine what the musical\neffect would be?\n\n_Fr_. A very ridiculous confusion.\n\n_Me_. Well, friend, such are the earthly dancers; the life of\nman is just such a discordant performance; not only are the voices\njangled, but the steps are not uniform, the motions not concerted,\nthe objects not agreed upon\u2014until the impresario dismisses them\none by one from the stage, with a \u2018not wanted.\u2019 Then they are all\nalike, and quiet enough, confounding no longer their undisciplined\nrival strains. But as long as the show lasts in its marvellous\ndiversity, there is plenty of food for laughter in its vagaries.\n\nThe people who most amused me, however, were those who dispute\nabout boundaries, or pride themselves on cultivating the plain of\nSicyon, or holding the Oenoe side of Marathon, or a thousand acres\nat Acharnae. The whole of Greece, as I then saw it, might measure\nsome four inches; how much smaller Athens on the same scale. So I\nrealized what sort of sized basis for their pride remains to our\nrich men. The widest-acred of them all, methought, was the proud\ncultivator of an Epicurean atom. Then I looked at the Peloponnese,\nmy eyes fell on the Cynurian district, and the thought occurred\nthat it was for this little plot, no broader than an Egyptian\nlentil, that all those Argives and Spartans fell in a single day.\nOr if I saw a man puffed up by the possession of seven or eight\ngold rings and half as many gold cups, again my lungs would begin\nto crow; why, Pangaeus with all its mines was about the size of a\ngrain of millet.\n\n_Fr_. You lucky man! what a rare sight you had! And how big,\nnow, did the towns and the people look from there?\n\n_Me_. You must often have seen a community of ants, some of\nthem a seething mass, some going abroad, others coming back to\ntown. One is a scavenger, another a bustling porter loaded with a\nbit of bean-pod or half a wheat grain. They no doubt have, on their\nmodest myrmecic scale, their architects and politicians, their\nmagistrates and composers and philosophers. At any rate, what men\nand cities suggested to me was just so many ant-hills. If you think\nthe similitude too disparaging, look into the Thessalian legends,\nand you will find that the most warlike tribe there was the\nMyrmidons, or ants turned men. Well, when I had had enough of\ncontemplation and laughter, I roused myself and soared\n\n  To join the Gods, where dwells the Lord of storms.\n\nI had only flown a couple of hundred yards, when Selene\u2019s feminine\nvoice reached me: \u2018Menippus, do me an errand to Zeus, and I will\nwish you a pleasant journey.\u2019 \u2018You have only to name it,\u2019 I said,\n\u2018provided it is not something to carry.\u2019 \u2018It is a simple message of\nentreaty to Zeus. I am tired to death, you must know, of being\nslandered by these philosophers; they have no better occupation\nthan impertinent curiosity about me\u2014What am I? how big am I? why\nam I halved? why am I gibbous? I am inhabited; I am just a mirror\nhung over the sea; I am\u2014whatever their latest fancy suggests. It\nis the last straw when they say my light is stolen, sham, imported\nfrom the sun, and keep on doing their best to get up jealousy and\nill feeling between brother and sister. They might have been\ncontented with making _him_ out a stone or a red-hot lump.\n\n\u2018These gentry who in the day look so stern and manly, dress so\ngravely, and are so revered by common men, would be surprised to\nlearn how much I know of their vile nightly abominations. I see\nthem all, though I never tell; it would be too indecent to make\nrevelations, and show up the contrast between their nightly doings\nand their public performances; so, if I catch one of them in\nadultery or theft or other nocturnal adventure, I pull my cloud\nveil over me; I do not want the vulgar to see old men disgracing\ntheir long beards and their virtuous calling. But they go on giving\ntongue and worrying me all the same, and, so help me Night, I have\nthought many a time of going a long, long way off, out of reach of\ntheir impertinent tongues. Will you remember to tell Zeus all this?\nand you may add that I cannot remain at my post unless he will\npulverize the physicists, muzzle the logicians, raze the Porch,\nburn the Academy, and put an end to strolling in the Lyceum. That\nmight secure me a little peace from these daily mensurations.\u2019\n\n\u2018I will remember,\u2019 said I, and resumed my upward flight to Heaven,\nthrough\n\n  A region where nor ox nor man had wrought.\n\nFor the Moon was soon but a small object, with the Earth entirely\nhidden behind it. Three days\u2019 flight through the stars, with the\nSun on my right hand, brought me close to Heaven; and my first idea\nwas to go straight in as I was; I should easily pass unobserved in\nvirtue of my half-eagleship; for of course the eagle was Zeus\u2019s\nfamiliar; on second thoughts, though, my vulture wing would very\nsoon betray me. So, thinking it better not to run any risks, I went\nup to the door and knocked. Hermes opened, took my name, and\nhurried off to inform Zeus. After a brief wait I was asked to step\nin; I was now trembling with apprehension, and I found that the\nGods, who were all seated together, were not quite easy themselves.\nThe unexpected nature of the visit was slightly disturbing to them,\nand they had visions of all mankind arriving at my heels by the\nsame conveyance.\n\nBut Zeus bent upon me a Titanic glance, awful, penetrating, and\nspoke:\n\n  Who art thou? where thy city? who thy kin?\n\nAt the sound, I nearly died of fear, but remained upright, though\nmute and paralysed by that thunderous voice. I gradually recovered,\nbegan at the beginning, and gave a clear account of myself\u2014how I\nhad been possessed with curiosity about the heavens, had gone to\nthe philosophers, found their accounts conflicting, and grown tired\nof being logically rent in twain; so I came to my great idea, my\nwings, and ultimately to Heaven; I added Selene\u2019s message. Zeus\nsmiled and slightly unbent his brow. \u2018What of Otus and Ephialtes\nnow?\u2019 he said; \u2018here is Menippus scaling Heaven! Well, well, for\nto-day consider yourself our guest. To-morrow we will treat with\nyou of your business, and send you on your way.\u2019 And therewith he\nrose and walked to the acoustic centre of Heaven, it being prayer\ntime.\n\nAs he went, he put questions to me about earthly affairs, beginning\nwith, What was wheat a quarter in Greece? had we suffered much from\ncold last winter? and did the vegetables want more rain? Then he\nwished to know whether any of Phidias\u2019s kin were alive, why there\nhad been no Diasia at Athens all these years, whether his Olympieum\nwas ever going to be completed, and had the robbers of his temple\nat Dodona been caught? I answered all these questions, and he\nproceeded:\u2014\u2018Tell me, Menippus, what are men\u2019s feelings towards\nme?\u2019 \u2018What should they be, Lord, but those of absolute reverence,\nas to the King of all Gods?\u2019 \u2018Now, now, chaffing as usual,\u2019 he\nsaid; \u2018I know their fickleness very well, for all your dissimulation.\nThere was a time when I was their prophet, their healer, and their\nall,\n\n  And Zeus filled every street and gathering-place.\n\nIn those days Dodona and Pisa were glorious and far-famed, and I\ncould not get a view for the clouds of sacrificial steam. But now\nApollo has set up his oracle at Delphi, Asclepius his temple of\nhealth at Pergamum, Bendis and Anubis and Artemis their shrines in\nThrace, Egypt, Ephesus; and to these all run; theirs the festal\ngatherings and the hecatombs. As for me, I am superannuated; they\nthink themselves very generous if they offer me a victim at Olympia\nat four-year intervals. My altars are cold as Plato\u2019s _Laws_\nor Chrysippus\u2019s _Syllogisms_.\u2019\n\nSo talking, we reached the spot where he was to sit and listen to\nthe prayers. There was a row of openings with lids like well-\ncovers, and a chair of gold by each. Zeus took his seat at the\nfirst, lifted off the lid and inclined his ear. From every quarter\nof Earth were coming the most various and contradictory petitions;\nfor I too bent down my head and listened. Here are specimens. \u2018O\nZeus, that I might be king!\u2019 \u2018O Zeus, that my onions and garlic\nmight thrive!\u2019 \u2018Ye Gods, a speedy death for my father!\u2019 Or again,\n\u2018Would that I might succeed to my wife\u2019s property!\u2019 \u2018Grant that my\nplot against my brother be not detected.\u2019 \u2018Let me win my suit.\u2019\n\u2018Give me an Olympic garland.\u2019 Of those at sea, one prayed for a\nnorth, another for a south wind; the farmer asked for rain, the\nfuller for sun. Zeus listened, and gave each prayer careful\nconsideration, but without promising to grant them all;\n\n  Our Father this bestowed, and that withheld.\n\nRighteous prayers he allowed to come up through the hole, received\nand laid them down at his right, while he sent the unholy ones\npacking with a downward puff of breath, that Heaven might not be\ndefiled by their entrance. In one case I saw him puzzled; two men\npraying for opposite things and promising the same sacrifices, he\ncould not tell which of them to favour, and experienced a truly\nAcademic suspense of judgement, showing a reserve and equilibrium\nworthy of Pyrrho himself.\n\nThe prayers disposed of, he went on to the next chair and opening,\nand attended to oaths and their takers. These done with, and\nHermodorus the Epicurean annihilated, he proceeded to the next\nchair to deal with omens, prophetic voices, and auguries. Then came\nthe turn of the sacrifice aperture, through which the smoke came up\nand communicated to Zeus the name of the devotee it represented.\nAfter that, he was free to give his wind and weather orders:\u2014Rain\nfor Scythia to-day, a thunderstorm for Libya, snow for Greece. The\nnorth wind he instructed to blow in Lydia, the west to raise a\nstorm in the Adriatic, the south to take a rest; a thousand bushels\nof hail to be distributed over Cappadocia.\n\nHis work was now pretty well completed, and as it was just dinner\ntime, we went to the banquet hall. Hermes received me, and gave me\nmy place next to a group of Gods whose alien origin left them in a\nrather doubtful position\u2014Pan, the Corybants, Attis, and Sabazius.\nI was supplied with bread by Demeter, wine by Dionysus, meat by\nHeracles, myrtle-blossoms by Aphrodite, and sprats by Posidon. But\nI also got a sly taste of ambrosia and nectar; good-natured\nGanymede, as often as he saw that Zeus\u2019s attention was engaged\nelsewhere, brought round the nectar and indulged me with a half-\npint or so. The Gods, as Homer (who I think must have had the same\nopportunities of observation as myself) somewhere says, neither eat\nbread nor drink the ruddy wine; they heap their plates with\nambrosia, and are nectar-bibbers; but their choicest dainties are\nthe smoke of sacrifice ascending with rich fumes, and the blood of\nvictims poured by their worshippers round the altars. During\ndinner, Apollo harped, Silenus danced his wild measures, the Muses\nuprose and sang to us from Hesiod\u2019s _Birth of Gods_, and the\nfirst of Pindar\u2019s odes. When we had our fill and had well drunken,\nwe slumbered, each where he was.\n\n  Slept all the Gods, and men with plumed helms,\n  That livelong night; but me kind sleep forsook;\n\nfor I had much upon my mind; most of all, how came it that Apollo,\nin all that time, had never grown a beard? and how was night\npossible in Heaven, with the sun always there taking his share of\nthe good cheer? So I had but a short nap of it. And in the morning\nZeus arose, and bade summon an assembly.\n\nWhen all were gathered, he thus commenced:\u2014\u2018The immediate occasion\nof my summoning you is the arrival of this stranger yesterday. But\nI have long intended to take counsel with you regarding the\nphilosophers, and now, urged by Selene and her complaints, I have\ndetermined to defer the consideration of the question no longer.\nThere is a class which has recently become conspicuous among men;\nthey are idle, quarrelsome, vain, irritable, lickerish, silly,\npuffed up, arrogant, and, in Homeric phrase, vain cumberers of the\nearth. These men have divided themselves into bands, each dwelling\nin a separate word-maze of its own construction, and call\nthemselves Stoics, Epicureans, Peripatetics, and more farcical\nnames yet. Then they take to themselves the holy name of Virtue,\nand with uplifted brows and flowing beards exhibit the deceitful\nsemblance that hides immoral lives; their model is the tragic\nactor, from whom if you strip off the mask and the gold-spangled\nrobe, there is nothing left but a paltry fellow hired for a few\nshillings to play a part.\n\n\u2018Nevertheless, quite undeterred by their own characters, they scorn\nthe human and travesty the divine; they gather a company of\nguileless youths, and feed them with solemn chatter upon Virtue and\nquibbling verbal puzzles; in their pupils\u2019 presence they are all\nfor fortitude and temperance, and have no words bad enough for\nwealth and pleasure: when they are by themselves, there is no limit\nto their gluttony, their lechery, their licking of dirty pence. But\nthe head and front of their offending is this: they neither work\nthemselves nor help others\u2019 work; they are useless drones,\n\n  Of no avail in council nor in war;\n\nwhich notwithstanding, they censure others; they store up poisoned\nwords, they con invectives, they heap their neighbours with\nreproaches; their highest honours are for him who shall be loudest\nand most overbearing and boldest in abuse.\n\n\u2018Ask one of these brawling bawling censors, And what do _you_\ndo? in God\u2019s name, what shall we call _your_ contribution to\nprogress? and he would reply, if conscience and truth were anything\nto him: I consider it superfluous to sail the sea or till the earth\nor fight for my country or follow a trade; but I have a loud voice\nand a dirty body; I eschew warm water and go barefoot through the\nwinter; I am a Momus who can always pick holes in other people\u2019s\ncoats; if a rich man keeps a costly table or a mistress, I make it\nmy business to be properly horrified; but if my familiar friend is\nlying sick, in need of help and care, I am not aware of it. Such,\nyour Godheads, is the nature of this vermin.\n\n\u2018There is a special insolence in those who call themselves\nEpicureans; these go so far as to lay their hands on our character;\nwe take no interest in human affairs, they say, and in fact have\nnothing to do with the course of events. And this is a serious\nquestion for you; if once they infect their generation with this\nview, you will learn what hunger means. Who will sacrifice to you,\nif he does not expect to profit by it? As to Selene\u2019s complaints,\nyou all heard them yesterday from this stranger\u2019s lips. And now\ndecide upon such measures as shall advantage mankind and secure\nyour own safety.\u2019\n\nZeus had no sooner closed his speech than clamour prevailed, all\ncrying at once: Blast! burn! annihilate! to the pit with them! to\nTartarus! to the Giants! Zeus ordered silence again, and then,\n\u2018Your wishes,\u2019 he said, \u2018shall be executed; they shall all be\nannihilated, and their logic with them. But just at present\nchastisement is not lawful; you are aware that we are now in the\nfour months of the long vacation; the formal notice has lately been\nissued. In the spring of next year, the baleful levin-bolt shall\ngive them the fate they deserve.\u2019\n\n  He spake, and sealed his word with lowering brows.\n\n\u2018As to Menippus,\u2019 he added, \u2018my pleasure is this. He shall be\ndeprived of his wings, and so incapacitated for repeating his\nvisit, but shall to-day be conveyed back to Earth by Hermes.\u2019 So\nsaying, he dismissed the assembly. The Cyllenian accordingly lifted\nme up by the right ear, and yesterday evening deposited me in the\nCeramicus. And now, friend, you have all the latest from Heaven. I\nmust be off to the Poecile, to let the philosophers loitering there\nknow the luck they are in.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOUBLE INDICTMENT\n\n\n_Zeus. Hermes. Justice. Pan. Several Athenians. The Academy. The\nPorch. Epicurus. Virtue. Luxury. Diogenes. Rhetoric. A Syrian.\nDialogue_\n\n\n_Zeus_. A curse on all those philosophers who will have it\nthat none but the Gods are happy! If they could but know what we\nhave to put up with on men\u2019s account, they would not envy us our\nnectar and our ambrosia. They take Homer\u2019s word for it all,\u2014the\nword of a blind quack; \u2019tis he who pronounces us blessed, and\nexpatiates on heavenly glories, he who could not see in front of\nhis own nose. Look at the Sun, now. He yokes that chariot, and is\nriding through the heavens from morn till night, clothed in his\ngarment of fire, and dispensing his rays abroad; not so much\nbreathing-space as goes to the scratching of an ear; once let his\nhorses catch him napping, and they have the bit between their teeth\nand are off \u2018cross country, with the result that the Earth is\nscorched to a cinder. The Moon is no better off: she is kept up\ninto the small hours to light the reveller and the diner-out upon\ntheir homeward path. And then Apollo,\u2014_he_ has his work cut\nout for him: with such a press of oracular business, it is much if\nhe has any ears left to hear with: he is wanted at Delphi; the next\nminute, he must be off to Colophon; then away to Xanthus; then back\nat a trot to Clarus; then it is Delos, then Branchidae;\u2014in short,\nhe is at the beck of every priestess who has taken her draught of\nholy water, munched her laurel-leaf, and made the tripod rock; it\nis now or never; if he is not there that minute to reel off the\nrequired oracle, his credit is gone. The traps they set for him\ntoo! He must have a dog\u2019s nose for lamb and tortoise in the pot, or\nhis Lydian customer [Footnote: See _Croesus_ in Notes.] departs,\nlaughing him to scorn. As for Asclepius, he has no peace for his\npatients: his eyes are acquainted with horror, and his hands with\nloathsomeness; another\u2019s sickness is his pain. To say nothing of\nthe work that the Winds have to get through, what with sowing and\nwinnowing and getting the ships along; or of Sleep, always on the\nwing, with Dream at his side all night giving a helping hand. Men\nhave to thank us for all this: every one of us contributes his\nshare to their well-being. And the others have an easy time of it,\ncompared to me, to me the King and Father of all. The annoyances I\nhave to put up with! the worry of thinking of all these things at\nonce! I must keep an eye on all the rest, to begin with, or they\nwould be making some silly mistake; and as for the work I have to\ndo with my own hands, there is no end to it; such complications! it\nis all I can do to get through with it. It is not as if I had only\nthe main issues to attend to, the rain and hail and wind and\nlightning, and as soon as I had arranged them could sit down,\nfeeling that my own particular work was over: no, besides all that,\nI must be looking every way at once, Argus-eyed for theft and\nperjury, as for sacrifice; the moment a libation has been poured,\nit is for me to locate the savoury smoke that rises; for me it is\nto hear the cry of the sick man and of the sailor; at one and the\nsame moment, a hecatomb demands my presence at Olympia, a battle in\nthe plain of Babylon; hail is due in Thrace, dinner in Ethiopia;\n\u2019tis too much! And do what I may, it is hard to give satisfaction.\nMany is the time that all besides, both Gods and men of plumed\nhelm, have slept the long night through, while unto Zeus sweet\nslumber has not come nigh. If I nod for a moment, behold, Epicurus\nis justified, and our indifference to the affairs of Earth made\nmanifest; and if once men lend an ear to that doctrine, the\nconsequences will be serious: our temples will go ungarlanded; the\nstreets will be redolent no longer of roast meat, the bowl no\nlonger yield us libation; our altars will be cold, sacrifice and\noblation will be at an end, and utter starvation must ensue. Hence\nlike a pilot I stand up at the helm all alone, tiller in hand,\nwhile every soul on board is asleep, and probably drunk; no rest,\nno food for me, while I ponder in my mind and breast on the common\nsafety; and my reward? to be called the Lord of all! I should like\nto ask those philosophers who assign us the monopoly of\nblessedness, when they suppose we find time for nectar and ambrosia\namong our ceaseless occupations. Look at the mildewed, cob-webbed\nstack of petitions mouldering on their files in our chancery, for\nwant of time to attend to them: look only at the cases pending\nbetween men and the various Arts and Sciences; venerable relics,\nsome of them! Angry protests against the delays of the law reach me\nfrom all quarters; men cannot understand that it is from no neglect\nof ours that these judgements have been postponed; it is simply\npressure of business\u2014pressure of blessedness, if they will have it\nso.\n\n_Her_. I myself, father, have heard a great deal of dissatisfaction\nexpressed on Earth, only I did not like to mention it to you.\nHowever, as you have introduced the subject yourself, I may say\nthat the discontent is general: men do not venture to express their\nresentment openly, but there are mutterings in corners about the\ndelay. It is high time they were all put out of their suspense, for\nbetter or for worse.\n\n_Zeus_. And what would you have me do, my boy? hold a session\nat once? or shall we say next year?\n\n_Her_. Oh, at once, by all means.\n\n_Zeus_. To work, then: fly down, and make proclamation in the\nfollowing terms: All litigant parties to assemble this day on\nAreopagus: Justice to assign them their juries from the whole body\nof the Athenians, the number of the jury to be in proportion to the\namount of damages claimed; any party doubting the justice of his\nsentence to have the right of appeal to me. And you, my daughter,\ntake your seat by the side of the Dread Goddesses [Footnote: See\n_Erinnyes_ in Notes.], cast lots for the order of the trials,\nand superintend the formation of juries.\n\n_Just_. You would have me return to Earth, once more to be\ndriven thence in ignominious flight by the intolerable taunts of\nInjustice?\n\n_Zeus_. Hope for better things. The philosophers have quite\nconvinced every one by this time of your superiority. The son of\nSophroniscus was particularly strong on your merits: he laid it\ndown that Justice was the highest Good.\n\n_Just_. Yes; and very serviceable his dissertations on Justice\nwere to him, were they not, when he was handed over to the Eleven,\nand thrown into prison, and drank the hemlock? Poor man, he had not\neven time to sacrifice the cock he owed to Asclepius. His accusers\nwere too much for him altogether, and _their_ philosophy had\nInjustice for its object.\n\n_Zeus_. But in those days philosophy was not generally known,\nand had but few exponents; it is not surprising that the scale\nturned in favour of Anytus and Meletus. But now it is different:\nlook at the number of cloaks and sticks and wallets that are about;\neverywhere philosophers, long-bearded, book in hand, maintain your\ncause; the public walks are filled with their contending hosts, and\nevery man of them calls Virtue his nurse. Numbers have abandoned\ntheir former professions to pounce upon wallet and cloak; these\nready-made philosophers, carpenters once or cobblers, now duly\ntanned to the true Ethiopian hue, are singing your praises high and\nlow. \u2018He that falls on shipboard strikes wood,\u2019 says the proverb;\nand the eye, wheresoever it fall, will light on philosophers.\n\n_Just_. Yes, father, but they frighten me: they quarrel so\namong themselves; and when they talk about me, they only expose\ntheir own little minds. And, from what I hear, most of those who\nmake so free with my name show no inclination at all to put my\nprinciples into practice. I may count upon finding their doors\nclosed to _me_: Injustice has been beforehand with me.\n\n_Zeus_. Come, child, they are not all so bad, and if you can\nfind a few honest men it will be something. Now, off with you both,\nand see if you can\u2019t get a few cases settled up to-day.\n\n_Her_. Well, Justice: yonder is our road: straight in the line\nfor Sunium, to the foot of Hymettus, taking Parnes on our right;\nyou see those two hills? You have quite forgotten the way, I\nsuppose, in all this time? Now, now: weeping? why so vexed? There\nis nothing to fear. Things are quite different in these days: the\nScirons and Pityocampteses and Busirises and Phalarises who used to\nfrighten you so are all dead: Wisdom, the Academy, the Porch, now\nhold sway everywhere. They are all your admirers; their talk is all\nof you; they yearn to see you descend to them once more.\n\n_Just_. Tell me, Hermes,\u2014you if any one must know the truth;\nyou are generally busy either in the Gymnasium or else in the\nMarket, making proclamation to the Assembly,\u2014what are the\nAthenians like now? shall I be able to live with them?\n\n_Her_. We are brother and sister, it is only right that I\nshould tell you the truth. Well then, Philosophy has made a\nconsiderable change for the better in most of them; at the worst,\ntheir respect for the cloth is some check on their misdeeds. At the\nsame time\u2014not to conceal anything\u2014you will find villains amongst\nthem; and you will find some who are neither quite philosophers nor\nquite knaves. The fact is, Philosophy\u2019s dyeing process is still\ngoing on. Some have absorbed the full quantity of dye; these are\nperfect specimens of her art, and show no admixture of other\ncolours; with them you will find a ready reception. But others,\nowing to their original impurities, are not yet completely\nsaturated; they are better than the generality of mankind, but they\nare not all they should be; they are piebald or spotted or dappled.\nOthers again there are who have contented themselves with merely\nrubbing a fingertip in the soot on the outside of the cauldron, and\nsmearing themselves with that; after which they consider the dyeing\nprocess complete. But you, of course, will only live with the best.\nMeanwhile, here we are, close to Attica; we must now leave Sunium\non our right, and diverge towards the Acropolis. Good: _terra\nfirma_. You had better sit down somewhere here on the Areopagus,\nin the direction of the Pnyx, and wait whilst I make Zeus\u2019s\nproclamation. I shall go up into the Acropolis; that will be the\neasiest way of making every one hear the summons.\n\n_Just_. Before you go, Hermes, tell me who this is coming\nalong; a man with horns and a pipe and shaggy legs.\n\n_Her_. Why, you must know Pan, most festive of all Dionysus\u2019s\nfollowers? He used to live on Mount Parthenius: but at the time of\nthe Persian expedition under Datis, when the barbarians landed at\nMarathon, he volunteered in the Athenian service; and ever since\nthen he has had the cave yonder at the foot of the Acropolis, a\nlittle past the Pelasgicum, and pays his taxes like any other\nnaturalized foreigner. Seeing us so near at hand, I suppose he is\ncoming up to make his compliments.\n\n_Pan_. Hail, Justice and Hermes!\n\n_Just_. Hail, Pan; chief of Satyrs in dance and song, and most\ngallant of Athens\u2019 soldiers!\n\n_Pan_. But what brings you here, Hermes?\n\n_Her_. Justice will explain; I must be off to the Acropolis on\nmy errand.\n\n_Just_. Zeus has sent me down, Pan, to preside in the law-\ncourt.\u2014And how do you like Athens?\n\n_Pan_. Well, the fact is, I am a good deal disappointed: they\ndo not treat me with the consideration to which I am entitled,\nafter repelling that tremendous barbarian invasion. All they do is\nto come up to my cave two or three times a year with a particularly\nhigh-scented goat, and sacrifice him: I am permitted to look on\nwhilst they enjoy the feast, and am complimented with a perfunctory\ndance. However, there is some joking and merrymaking on the\noccasion, and that I find rather fun.\n\n_Just_. And, Pan,\u2014have they become more virtuous under the\nhands of the philosophers?\n\n_Pan_. Philosophers? Oh! people with beards just like mine;\nsepulchral beings, who are always getting together and jabbering?\n\n_Just_. Those are they.\n\n_Pan_. I can\u2019t understand a word they say; their philosophy is\ntoo much for me. I am mountain-bred; smart city-language is not in\nmy line; sophists and philosophers are not known in Arcadia. I am a\ngood hand at flute or pipe; I can mind goats, I can dance, I can\nfight at a pinch, and that is all. But I hear them all day long,\nbawling out a string of hard words about virtue, and nature, and\nideas, and things incorporeal. They are good enough friends when\nthe argument begins, but their voices mount higher and higher as\nthey go on, and end in a scream; they get more and more excited,\nand all try to speak at once; they grow red in the face, their\nnecks swell, and their veins stand out, for all the world like a\nflute-player on a high note. The argument is turned upside down,\nthey forget what they are trying to prove, and finally go off\nabusing one another and brushing the sweat from their brows;\nvictory rests with him who can show the boldest front and the\nloudest voice, and hold his ground the longest. The people,\nespecially those who have nothing better to do, adore them, and\nstand spellbound under their confident bawlings. For all that I\ncould see, they were no better than humbugs, and I was none too\npleased at their copying my beard. If there were any use in their\nnoise, if the talking did any good to the public, I should not have\na word to say against them: but, to tell you the plain unvarnished\ntruth, I have more than once looked out from my peep-hole yonder\nand seen them\u2014\n\n_Just_. Hush, Pan: was not that Hermes making the\nproclamation?\n\n_Pan_. I thought so.\n\n_Her. Be it known to all men that we purpose on this seventh day\nof March to hold a court of justice, and Fortune defend the right!\nAll litigant parties to assemble on Areopagus, where Justice will\nassign the juries and preside over the trials in person. The juries\nto be taken from the whole Athenian people; the pay to be sixpence\nfor each case; the number of jurors to vary with the nature of the\naccusation. Any parties who had commenced legal proceedings and\nhave died in the interim to be sent up by Aeacus. Any party\ndoubting the justice of his sentence may appeal; the appeal to be\nheard by Zeus._\n\n_Pan_. Talk about noise! how they shout! And what a hurry they\nare in to get here! See how one hales another up the hill! Here\ncomes Hermes himself. Well, I leave you to your juries and your\nevidence; you are accustomed to it. I will return to my cave, and\nthere play over one of those amorous ditties with which I love to\nupbraid Echo. As to rhetoric and law-pleadings, I hear enough of\nthose every day in this very court of Areopagus.\n\n_Her_. We had better summon the parties, Justice.\n\n_Just_. True. Only look at the crowd, bustling and buzzing\nabout the hilltop like a swarm of wasps!\n\n_First Ath_. I\u2019ve got you, curse you.\n\n_Second Ath_. Pooh! a trumped-up charge.\n\n_Third Ath_. At last! you shall get your deserts this time.\n\n_Fourth Ath_. Your villany shall be unmasked.\n\n_Fifth Ath_. My jury first, Hermes.\n\n_Sixth Ath_. Come along: into court with you, rascal.\n\n_Seventh Ath_. You needn\u2019t throttle me.\n\n_Just_. Do you know what I think we had better do, Hermes? Put\noff all the other cases for to-morrow, and only take to-day the\ncharges brought by Arts, Professions, and Philosophies. Pick me out\nall of that kind.\n\n_Her_. Drink _v_. the Academy, _re_ Polemon,\nkidnapped.\n\n_Just_. Seven jurors.\n\n_Her_. Porch _v_. Pleasure. Defendant is charged with\nseducing Dionysius, plaintiff\u2019s admirer.\n\n_Just_. Five will do for that.\n\n_Her_. Luxury _v_. Virtue, _re_ Aristippus.\n\n_Just_. Five again.\n\n_Her_. Bank _v_. Diogenes, alleged to have run away from\nplaintiff\u2019s service.\n\n_Just_. Three only.\n\n_Her_. Painting _v_. Pyrrho. Desertion from the ranks.\n\n_Just_. That will want nine.\n\n_Her_. What about these two charges just brought against a\nrhetorician?\n\n_Just_. No, those can stand over; we must work off the arrears\nfirst.\n\n_Her_. Well, these cases are of just the same kind. They are\nnot old ones, it is true, but they are very like those you have\ntaken, and might fairly be heard with them.\n\n_Just_. That looks rather like favouritism, Hermes. However,\nas you like; only these must be the last; we have got quite enough.\nWhat are they?\n\n_Her_. Rhetoric _v_. a Syrian [Footnote: i.e. Lucian. See\nVolume I, Introduction, Section I, Life.], for neglect; Dialogue\n_v_. the same, for assault.\n\n_Just_. And who is this Syrian? There is no name given.\n\n_Her_. That is all: the Syrian rhetorician; he can have a jury\nwithout having a name.\n\n_Just_. So! here on Areopagus I am to give juries to outsiders, who\nought to be tried on the other side of the Euphrates? Well, give\nhim eleven, and they can hear both cases.\n\n_Her_. That\u2019s right; it will save a lot of expense.\n\n_Just_. First case: the Academy _versus_ Drink. Let the\njury take their seats. Mark the time,\u2019 Hermes. Drink, open the\ncase.... Not a word? can you do nothing but nod?\u2014Hermes, go and\nsee what is the matter with her.\n\n_Her_. She says she cannot plead, she would only be laughed\nat; wine has tied her tongue. As you see, she can hardly stand.\n\n_Just_. Well, there are plenty of able counsel present, ready\nto shout themselves hoarse for sixpence; let her employ one of\nthem.\n\n_Her_. No one will have anything to do with such a client in\nopen court. But she makes a very reasonable proposal.\n\n_Just_. Yes?\n\n_Her_. The Academy is always ready to take both sides; she\nmakes a point of contradicting herself plausibly. \u2018Let her speak\nfirst on my behalf,\u2019 says Drink, \u2018and then on her own.\u2019\n\n_Just_. A novel form of procedure. However, go on, Academy;\nspeak on both sides, if you find it so easy.\n\n_Acad_. First, gentlemen of the jury, let me state the case\nfor 16 Drink, as her time is now being taken.\n\nMy unfortunate client, gentlemen, has been cruelly wronged: I have\ntorn from her the one slave on whose loyalty and affection she\ncould rely, the only one who saw nothing censurable in her conduct.\nI allude to Polemon, whose days, from morning to night, were spent\nin revel; who in broad daylight sought the publicity of the Market\nin the company of music\u2014girls and singers; ever drunk, ever\nheadachy, ever garlanded. In support of my statements, I appeal to\nevery man in Athens to say whether he had ever seen Polemon sober.\nBut in an evil hour for him, his revels, which had brought him to\nso many other doors, brought him at length to my own. I laid hands\non him, tore him away by brute force from the plaintiff, and made\nhim my own; giving him water to drink, teaching him sobriety, and\nstripping him of his garlands. He, who should have been sitting\nover his wine, now became acquainted with the perverse, the\nharassing, the pernicious quibbles of philosophy. Alas! the ruddy\nglow has departed from his cheek; he is pale and wasted; his songs\nare all forgotten; there are times when he will sit far on into the\nnight, tasting neither meat nor drink, while he reels out the\nmeaningless platitudes with which I have so abundantly supplied\nhim. I have even incited him to attack the character of my client,\nand to utter a thousand base insinuations against her good fame.\n\nThe case of Drink is now complete. I proceed to state my own. Let\nmy time be taken.\n\n_Just_. What will the defendant have to say to that, I wonder?\nGive her the same time allowance.\n\n_Acad_. Nothing, gentlemen of the jury, could sound more\nplausible than the arguments advanced by my learned friend on her\nclient\u2019s behalf. And yet, if you will give me your favourable\nattention, I shall convince you that the plaintiff has suffered no\nwrong at my hands. This Polemon, whom plaintiff claims as her\nservant, so far from having any natural connexion with her, is one\nwhose excellent parts entitle him to claim kinship and affinity\nwith myself. He was still a boy, his powers were yet unformed, when\nplaintiff, aided and abetted by Pleasure\u2014ever her partner in\ncrime\u2014seized upon him, and delivered him over into the clutches of\ndebauchery and dissipation, under whose corrupt influence the\nunfortunate young man utterly lost all sense of shame. Those very\nfacts that plaintiff supposed to be so many arguments in her favour\nwill be found, on the contrary, to make for my own case. From early\nmorning (as my learned friend has just observed) did the misguided\nPolemon, with aching head and garlanded, stagger through the open\nmarket to the noise of flutes, never sober, brawling with all he\nmet; a reproach to his ancestors and his city, a laughing-stock to\nforeigners. One day he reached my door. He found it open: I was\ndiscoursing to a company of my disciples, as is my wont, upon\nvirtue and temperance. He stood there, with the flute-girl at his\nside and the garlands on his head, and sought at first to drown our\nconversation with his noisy outcry. But we paid no heed to him, and\nlittle by little our words produced a sobering effect, for Drink\nhad not entire possession of him: he bade the flute-girl cease,\ntore off his garlands, and looked with shame at his luxurious\ndress. Like one waking from deep sleep, he saw himself as he was,\nand repented of his past life; the flush of drunkenness faded and\nvanished from his cheek, and was succeeded by a blush of shame; at\nlast, not (as plaintiff would have you believe) in response to any\ninvitation of mine, nor under any compulsion, but of his own free\nwill, and in the conviction of my superiority, he renounced his\nformer mistress there and then, and entered my service. Bring him\ninto court. You shall see for yourselves, gentlemen, what he has\nbecome under my treatment. Behold that Polemon whom I found drunk,\nunable to speak or stand upright, an object of ridicule: I turned\nhim from his evil ways; I taught him sobriety; and I present him to\nyou, no longer a slave, but a decent and orderly citizen, a credit\nto his nation. In conclusion let me say that the change I have\nwrought in him has won me the gratitude not only of Polemon himself\nbut of all his friends. Which of us has been the more profitable\ncompanion for him, it is now for the jury to decide.\n\n_Her_. Come, gentlemen, get up and give your votes. There is\nno time to be lost; we have other cases coming on.\n\n_Just_. Academy wins, by six votes to one.\n\n_Her_. I am not surprised to find that Drink has one adherent.\nJurors in the case of Porch _v_. Pleasure _re_ Dionysius take\ntheir seats! The lady of the frescoes [Footnote: See _Poecile_ in\nNotes.] may begin; her time is noted.\n\n_Porch_. I am not ignorant, gentlemen, of the attractions of\nmy adversary. I see how your eyes turn in her direction; she has\nyour smiles, I your contempt, because my hair is close-cropped, and\nmy expression stern and masculine. Yet if you will give me a fair\nhearing, I fear her not; for justice is on my side. Nay, it is with\nthese same meretricious attractions of hers that my accusation is\nconcerned: it was by her specious appearance that she beguiled the\nvirtuous Dionysius, my lover, and drew him to herself. The present\ncase is in fact closely allied with that of Drink and the Academy,\nwith which your colleagues have just dealt. The question now before\nyou is this: are men to live the lives of swine, wallowing in\nvoluptuousness, with never a high or noble thought: or are they to\nset virtue above enjoyment, and follow the dictates of freedom and\nphilosophy, fearing not to grapple with pain, nor seeking the\ndegrading service of pleasure, as though happiness were to be found\nin a pot of honey or a cake of figs? These are the baits my\nadversary throws out for fools, and toil the bugbear with which she\nfrightens them: her artifices seldom fail; and among her victims is\nthis unfortunate whom she has constrained to rebel against my\nauthority. She had to wait till she found him on a sick-bed; never\nwhile he was himself would he have listened to her proposals. Yet\nwhat right have _I_ to complain? She spares not even the Gods;\nshe impugns the wisdom of Providence; she is guilty of blasphemy;\nyou have a double penalty to impose, if you would be wise. I hear\nthat she has not even been at the pains of preparing a defence:\nEpicurus is to speak for her! She does not stand upon ceremony with\nyou, gentlemen.\u2014Ask her what Heracles would have been, what your\nown Theseus would have been, if they had listened to the voice of\npleasure, and shrunk back from toil: their toils were the only\ncheck upon wickedness, which else must have overrun the whole\nEarth. And now I have done; I am no lover of long speeches. Yet if\nmy adversary would consent to answer a few questions, her\nworthlessness would soon appear. Let me remind you, gentlemen, of\nyour oath: give your votes in accordance with that oath, and\nbelieve not Epicurus, when he tells you that the Gods take no\nthought for the things of Earth.\n\n_Her_. Stand down, madam. Epicurus will now speak on behalf of\npleasure.\n\n_Epi_. I shall not detain you long, gentlemen of the jury;\nthere is no occasion for me to do so. If it were true, as the\nplaintiff asserts, that Dionysius was her lover, and that my client\nby means of drugs or incantations had constrained him to withdraw\nhis affections from the plaintiff and transfer them to herself,\u2014if\nthis were true, then my client might fairly be accused of\nwitchcraft, nor could her wicked practices upon her rival\u2019s\nadmirers escape condemnation. On the other hand, if a free citizen\nof a free state, deciding for himself in a matter where the law is\nsilent, takes a violent aversion to this lady\u2019s person, concludes\nthat the blessedness with which she promises to crown his labours\nis neither more nor less than moonshine, and accordingly makes the\nbest of his way out of her labyrinthine maze of argument into the\nattractive arms of Pleasure, bursts the bonds of verbal subtlety,\nexchanges credulity for common sense, and pronounces, with great\njustice, that toil is toilsome, and that pleasure is pleasant,\u2014I\nask, is this shipwrecked mariner to be excluded from the calm haven\nof his desire, and hurled back headlong into a sea of toil? is this\npoor suppliant at the altar of Mercy\u2014in other words of Pleasure\u2014\nis he to be delivered over into the power of perplexity,\u2014and all\non the chance that his hot climb up the steep hill of Virtue may be\nrewarded with a glimpse of that celebrated lady on the top, and his\nlife of toil followed by a hereafter of happiness? We could\nscarcely ask for a better judge of the matter than Dionysius\nhimself. He was as familiar with the Stoic doctrines as any man,\nand held at one time that virtue was the only Good: but he\npresently discovered that toil was an evil: he then chose what\nseemed to him the better course. He would no doubt observe that\nthose philosophers who had so much to say on the subject of\npatience and endurance under toil were secretly the servants of\nPleasure, carefully abiding by her laws in their own homes, though\nthey made so free with her name in their discourses. They cannot\nbear to be detected in any relaxation, or any departure from their\nprinciples: but, poor men, they lead a Tantalus life of it in\nconsequence, and when they _do_ get a chance of sinning without\nbeing found out, they drink down pleasure by the bucketful. Depend\non it, if some one would make them a present of Gyges\u2019s ring of\ninvisibility, or Hades\u2019s cap, they would cut the acquaintance of\ntoil without further ceremony, and elbow their way into the\npresence of Pleasure; they would all be Dionysiuses then. As long\nas Dionysius was well, he thought that there was some good in all\nthis talk about endurance; but when he fell ill, and found out what\npain really was, he perceived that his body was of another school\nthan the Porch, and held quite other tenets: he was converted,\nrealized that he was flesh and blood, and from that day ceased to\nbehave as if he were made of marble; he knew now that the man who\ntalks nonsense about the iniquity of pleasure\n\n  But toys with words: his thoughts are bent elsewhither.\n\nAnd now, gentlemen, I leave you to your vote.\n\n_Porch_. Not yet! Let me ask him a few questions.\n\n_Epi_. Yes? I am ready.\n\n_Porch_. You hold toil to be an evil?\n\n_Epi_. I do.\n\n_Porch_. And pleasure a good?\n\n_Epi_. Unquestionably.\n\n_Porch_. Do you recognize the distinction between\n_differentia_ and _indifferentia_? between\n_praeposita_ and _rejecta_?\n\n_Epi_. Why, certainly.\n\n_Her_. Madam, this discussion must cease; the jury say they do\nnot understand word-chopping. They will now give their votes.\n\n_Porch_. Ah; I should have won, if I could have tried him with\nmy third figure of _self-evidents_.\n\n_Just_. Who wins?\n\n_Her_. Unanimous verdict for Pleasure.\n\n_Porch_. I appeal to Zeus.\n\n_Just_. By all means. Next case, Hermes.\n\n_Her_. Luxury _v._ Virtue, _re_ Aristippus;\nAristippus must appear 23 in person.\n\n_Vir_. I ought to speak first. Aristippus is mine; his words\nand his deeds alike proclaim him mine.\n\n_Lux_. On the contrary, any one who will observe his garlands\nand his purple robes and his perfumes will agree that he is mine.\n\n_Just_. Peace! This suit must stand over, until Zeus has\ndecided the appeal _re_ Dionysius. The cases are similar. If\nPorch wins her appeal, Aristippus shall be adjudged to Virtue: if\nnot, Luxury must have him. Bring the next case. By the way, those\njurors must not have their fee; they have not earned it.\n\n_Her_. So the poor old gentlemen have climbed up all this way\nfor nothing!\n\n_Just_. Well, they must be content with a third. Now go away,\nall of you, and don\u2019t be cross; you shall have another chance.\n\n_Her_. Diogenes of Sinope wanted! Bank, it is for you to\nspeak. 24\n\n_Diog_. Look here, Madam Justice, if she doesn\u2019t stop bothering, I\nshall have assault and battery to answer for before long, instead\nof desertion; my stick is ready.\n\n_Just_. What is the meaning of this? Bank has run away, and\nDiogenes after her, with his stick raised. Poor Bank! I am afraid\nshe will be roughly handled. Call Pyrrho.\n\n_Her_. Here is Painting, but Pyrrho has never come up. 25 I\nknew how it would be.\n\n_Just_. And what was his reason?\n\n_Her_. He holds that there is no such thing as a true\ndecision.\n\n_Just_. Then judgement goes against him by default. Now for\nthe Syrian advocate. The indictments were only filed a day or two\nago; there was no such hurry. However\u2014. We will first take the\ncase in which Rhetoric is plaintiff. How people crowd in to hear\nit!\n\n_Her_. Just so: the case has not had time to get stale, you\nsee; it has the charm of novelty, the indictment, as you say,\nhaving only been filed yesterday. The prospect, too, of hearing the\nSyrian defend himself against two such plaintiffs as Rhetoric and\nDialogue, one after the other, is a great attraction. Well,\nRhetoric, when are you going to begin?\n\n_Rhet_. Before all things, men of Athens, I pray the Gods that\nyou may listen to me throughout this trial with feelings not less\nwarm than those that I have ever entertained towards my country and\ntowards each one of you, my countrymen. And if, further, I pray\nthem so to dispose your hearts that you will suffer me to conduct\nmy case in accordance with my original intention and design,\nwithout interruption from my adversary, I shall be asking no more\nthan justice. When I listen to the defendant\u2019s words, and then\nreflect upon the treatment I have received from him, I know not how\nI am to reconcile the two. You will presently find him holding a\nlanguage scarcely distinguishable from my own: yet examine into his\nconduct, and you will see, from the lengths to which he has already\ngone, that I am justified in taking steps to prevent his going yet\nfurther. But enough of preamble: I am wasting time that might be\nbetter employed in accusing my adversary.\n\nGentlemen, the defendant was no more than a boy\u2014he still spoke\nwith his native accent, and might at any moment have exhibited\nhimself in the garb of an Assyrian\u2014when I found him wandering up\nand down Ionia, at a loss for employment. I took him in hand; I\ngave him an education; and, convinced of his capabilities and of\nhis devotion to me (for he was my very humble servant in those\ndays, and had no admiration to spare for any one else), I turned my\nback upon the many suitors who sought my hand, upon the wealthy,\nthe brilliant and the high-born, and betrothed myself to this\nmonster of ingratitude; upon this obscure pauper boy I bestowed the\nrich dowry of my surpassing eloquence, brought him to be enrolled\namong my own people, and made him my fellow citizen, to the bitter\nmortification of his unsuccessful rivals. When he formed the\nresolution of travelling, in order to make his good fortune known\nto the world, I did not remain behind: I accompanied him\neverywhere, from city to city, shedding my lustre upon him, and\nclothing him in honour and renown. Of our travels in Greece and\nIonia, I say nothing: he expressed a wish to visit Italy: I sailed\nthe Ionian Sea with him, and attended him even as far as Gaul,\nscattering plenty in his path.\n\nFor a long time he consulted my wishes in everything, was unfailing\nin his attendance upon me, and never passed a night away from my\nside. But no sooner had he secured an adequate provision, no sooner\ndid he consider his reputation established, than his countenance\nchanged towards me: he assumed a haughty air, and neglected, nay,\nutterly abandoned me; having conceived a violent affection for the\nbearded old person yonder, whom you may know from his dress to be\nDialogue, and who passes for a son of Philosophy. With this\nDialogue, in spite of the disparity of age, he is now living; and\nis not ashamed to clip the wings of free, high-soaring eloquence,\nand submit himself to the comedian\u2019s fetters of bald question and\nanswer. He, whose thoughts should have found utterance in\nthundering oratory, is content to weave a puny network of\nconversation. Such things may draw a smile from his audience, a\nnod, an unimpassioned wave of the hand, a murmur of approbation:\nthey can never hope to evoke the deafening uproar of universal\napplause. And this, gentlemen, is the fascination under which he\nlooks coldly upon me; I commend his taste! They say, indeed, that\nhe is not on the best of terms even with his beloved Dialogue;\napparently I am not the only victim of his overweening pride. Does\nnot such ingratitude as this render him liable to the penalties\nimposed by the marriage-laws? He leaves me, his lawful wife, to\nwhom he is indebted alike for wealth and reputation, leaves me to\nneglect, and goes off in pursuit of novelty; and that, at a time\nwhen all eyes are turned upon me, when all men write me their\nprotectress. I hold out against the entreaties of countless\nsuitors: they knock, and my doors remain closed to them; they call\nloudly upon my name, but I scorn their empty clamours, and answer\nthem not. All is in vain: he will not return to me, nor withdraw\nhis eyes from this new love. In Heaven\u2019s name, what does he expect\nto get from him? what has Dialogue but his cloak?\n\nIn conclusion, gentlemen: should he attempt to employ my art in his\ndefence, suffer him not thus unscrupulously to sharpen my own sword\nagainst me; bid him defend himself, if he can, with the weapons of\nhis adored Dialogue.\n\n_Her_. Now there, madam, you are unreasonable: how can he\npossibly make a dialogue of it all by himself? No, no; let him\ndeliver a regular speech, just the same as other people.\n\n_Syrian_. In view, gentlemen, of the indignation that plaintiff has\nexpressed at the idea of my employing her gift of eloquence in\norder to maintain my cause at large, I shall confine myself to a\nbrief and summary refutation of her charges, and shall then leave\nthe whole matter to your discernment.\n\nGentlemen, all that the plaintiff has said is true. She educated\nme; she bore me company in my travels; she made a Greek of me.\nShe has each of these claims to a husband\u2019s gratitude. I have\nnow to give my reasons for abandoning her, and cultivating the\nacquaintance of Dialogue: and, believe me, no motive of self-\ninterest shall induce me to misrepresent the facts. I found,\nthen, that the discreet bearing, the seemly dress, which had\ndistinguished her in the days of her union with the illustrious\ndemesman of Paeania [Footnote: Demosthenes.], were now thrown aside:\nI saw her tricked out and bedizened, rouged and painted like a\ncourtesan. My suspicions were aroused, and I began to watch the\ndirection of her eyes. To make a long story short, our street was\nnightly infested with the serenades of her tipsy gallants, some of\nwhom, not content with knocking at our doors, threw aside all\nrestraint, and forced their way into the house. These attentions\namused and delighted my wife: she was commonly to be seen leaning\nover the parapet and listening to the loose ditties that were\nbawled up from below; and when she thought she was unobserved, she\nwould even open the door, and admit the gallant to her shameless\nembraces. Such things were not to be endured: I was loth to bring\nher into the divorce-court, and accordingly sought the hospitality\nof Dialogue, who was my near neighbour.\n\nSuch, gentlemen, are the grievous wrongs that plaintiff has\nsuffered at my hands. Even had the provocation I have described\nbeen wanting, my age (I was then nearly forty years old) called\nupon me to withdraw from the turmoil of the law-courts, and suffer\nthe \u2018gentlemen of the jury\u2019 to rest in peace. Tyrants enough had\nbeen arraigned, princes enough been eulogized: it was time to\nretreat to the walks of Academy or the Lyceum, there to enjoy, in\nthe delightful society of Dialogue, that tranquil discourse which\naims not at noisy acclamations. I might say much more, but I\nforbear: you, gentlemen, will give your votes in accordance with\nthe dictates of conscience. _Just_. Who wins?\n\n_Her_. The Syrian has all votes but one.\n\n_Just_. And that one a rhetorician\u2019s, I suppose. Dialogue will\nnow address the same jury. Gentlemen, you will remain and hear this\nsecond case, and will receive a double fee.\n\n_Dia_. If I had had my choice, gentlemen, I should have\naddressed you in the conversational style to which I am accustomed,\ninstead of delivering a long harangue. However, I must conform to\nthe custom of the law-courts, though I have neither skill nor\nexperience in such matters. So much by way of exordium: and now for\nthe outrage committed on me by the defendant. In former days,\ngentlemen, I was a person of exalted character: my speculations\nturned upon the Gods, and Nature, and the _Annus Magnus_; I\ntrod those aerial plains wherein Zeus on winged car is borne along\nthrough the heights. My flight had actually brought me to the\nheavenly vault; I was just setting foot upon the upper surface of\nthat dome, when this Syrian took it upon himself to drag me down,\nbreak my wings, and reduce me to the common level of humanity.\nWhisking off the seemly tragic mask I then wore, he clapped on in\nits place a comic one that was little short of ludicrous: his next\nstep was to huddle me into a corner with Jest, Lampoon, Cynicism,\nand the comedians Eupolis and Aristophanes, persons with a horrible\nknack of making light of sacred things, and girding at all that is\nas it should be. But the climax was reached when he unearthed a\nbarking, snarling old Cynic, Menippus by name, and thrust\n_his_ company upon me; a grim bulldog, if ever there was one;\na treacherous brute that will snap at you while his tail is yet\nwagging. Could any man be more abominably misused? Stripped of my\nproper attire, I am made to play the buffoon, and to give\nexpression to every whimsical absurdity that his caprice dictates.\nAnd, as if that were not preposterous enough, he has forbidden me\neither to walk on my feet or to rise on the wings of poesy: I am a\nridiculous cross between prose and verse; a monster of incongruity;\na literary Centaur.\n\n_Her_. Now, Syrian: what do you say to that?\n\n_Syrian_. Gentlemen of the jury, I am surprised. Nothing could\nbe more unexpected than the charge Dialogue has brought against me.\nWhen I first took him in hand, he was regarded by the world at\nlarge as one whose interminable discussions had soured his temper\nand exhausted his vitality. His labours entitled him to respect,\nbut he had none of the attractive qualities that could secure him\npopularity. My first step was to accustom him to walk upon the\ncommon ground like the rest of mankind; my next, to make him\npresentable, by giving him a good bath and teaching him to smile.\nFinally, I assigned him Comedy as his yokefellow, thus gaining him\nthe confidence of his hearers, who until then would as soon have\nthought of picking up a hedgehog as of venturing into the thorny\npresence of Dialogue.\n\nBut I know what the grievance is: he wants me to sit and discourse\nsubtle nothings with him about the immortality of the soul, and the\nexact number of pints of pure homogeneous essence that went to the\nmaking of the universe, and the claims of rhetoric to be called a\nshadow of a fraction of statecraft, or a fourth part of flattery.\nHe takes a curious pleasure in refinements of this kind; it tickles\nhis vanity most deliciously to be told that not every man can see\nso far into the ideal as he. Evidently he expects _me_ to\nconform to his taste in this respect; he is still hankering after\nthose lost wings; his eyes are turned upwards; he cannot see the\nthings that lie before his feet. I think there is nothing else he\ncan complain of. He cannot say that I, who pass for a barbarian,\nhave torn off his Greek dress, and replaced it with one like my\nown: that would have been another matter; to deprive him of his\nnative garb were indeed a crime.\n\nGentlemen, I have made my defence, as far as in me lies: I trust\nthat your present verdict will confirm the former one.\n\n_Her_. Well I never! All ten are for you again. Only one\ndissentient, and he the same one as before. True to his envious\nprinciples, he must ever give his vote against his betters. The\njurors may now leave the court. The remaining cases will come on\nto-morrow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PARASITE, A DEMONSTRATION THAT SPONGING IS A PROFESSION\n\n_Tychiades. Simon_\n\n\n_Tyc_. I am curious about you, Simon. Ordinary people, free\nand slaves alike, have some trade or profession that enables them\nto benefit themselves and others; you seem to be an exception.\n\n_Si_. I do not quite see what you mean, Tychiades; put it a\nlittle clearer.\n\n_Tyc_. I want to know whether you have a profession of any\nsort; for instance, are you a musician?\n\n_Si_. Certainly not.\n\n_Tyc_. A doctor?\n\n_Si_. No.\n\n_Tyc_. A mathematician?\n\n_Si_. No.\n\n_Tyc_. Do you teach rhetoric, then? I need not ask about\nphilosophy; you have about as much to do with that as sin has.\n\n_Si_. Less, if possible. Do not imagine that you are enlightening\nme upon my failings. I acknowledge myself a sinner\u2014worse than you\ntake me for.\n\n_Tyc_. Very well. But possibly you have abstained from these\nprofessions because nothing great is easy. Perhaps a trade is more\nin your way; are you a carpenter or cobbler? Your circumstances are\nhardly such as to make a trade superfluous.\n\n_Si_. Quite true. Well, I have no skill in any of these.\n\n_Tye_. But in\u2014\u2014?\n\n_Si_. An excellent one, in my opinion; if you were acquainted\nwith it you would agree, I am sure. I can claim to be a practical\nmaster in the art by this time; whether I can give an account of my\nfaith is another question.\n\n_Tyc_. What is it?\n\n_Si_. No, I do not think I have got up the theory of it\nsufficiently. For the present, rest assured that I have a\nprofession, and cease your strictures on that head. Its nature you\nshall know another time.\n\n_Tyc_. No, no; I will not be put off like that.\n\n_Si_. Well, I am afraid my profession would be rather a shock\nto you.\n\n_Tyc_. I like shocks.\n\n_Si_. Well, I will tell you some day.\n\n_Tyc_. Now, I say; or else I shall know you are ashamed of it.\n\n_Si_. Well, then, I sponge.\n\n_Tyc_. Why, what sane man would call sponging a profession?\n\n_Si_. I, for one. And if you think I am not sane, put down my\ninnocence of other professions to insanity, and let that be my\nsufficient excuse. My lady Insanity, they say, is unkind to her\nvotaries in most respects; but at least she excuses their offences,\nwhich she makes herself responsible for, like a schoolmaster or\ntutor.\n\n_Tyc_. So sponging is an art, eh?\n\n_Si_. It is; and I profess it.\n\n_Tyc_. So you are a sponger?\n\n_Si_. What an awful reproach!\n\n_Tyc_. What! you do not blush to call yourself a sponger?\n\n_Si_. On the contrary, I should be ashamed of not calling\nmyself so.\n\n_Tyc_. And when we want to distinguish you for the benefit of\nany one who does not know you, but has occasion to find you out, we\nmust say \u2018the sponger,\u2019 naturally?\n\n_Si_. The name will be more welcome to me than \u2018statuary\u2019 to\nPhidias; I am as proud of my profession as Phidias of his Zeus.\n\n_Tyc_. Ha, ha, ha! Excuse me\u2014just a particular that occurred\nto me.\n\n_Si_. Namely\u2014\u2014?\n\n_Tyc_. Think of the address of your letters\u2014Simon the\nSponger!\n\n_Si_. Simon the Sponger, Dion the Philosopher. I shall like\nmine as well as he his.\n\n_Tyc_. Well, well, your taste in titles concerns me very\nlittle. Come now to the next absurdity.\n\n_Si_. Which is\u2014\u2014?\n\n_Tyc_. The getting it entered on the list of arts. When any\none asks what the art is, how do we describe it? Letters we know,\nMedicine we know; Sponging?\n\n_Si_. My own opinion is, that it has an exceptionally good\nright to the name of art. If you care to listen, I will explain,\nthough I have not got this properly into shape, as I remarked\nbefore.\n\n_Tyc_. Oh, a brief exposition will do, provided it is true.\n\n_Si_. I think, if you agree, we had better examine Art generically\nfirst; that will enable us to go into the question whether the\nspecific arts really belong under it.\n\n_Tyc_. Well, what is Art? Of course you know that?\n\n_Si_. Quite well.\n\n_Tyc_. Out with it, then, as you know.\n\n_Si_. An art, as I once heard a wise man say, is a body of\nperceptions regularly employed for some useful purpose in human\nlife.\n\n_Tyc_. And he was quite right.\n\n_Si_. So, if sponging has all these marks, it must be an art?\n\n_Tyc_. _If_, yes.\n\n_Si_. Well, now we will bring to bear on sponging each of\nthese essential elements of Art, and see whether its character\nrings true, or returns a cracked note like bad pottery when it is\ntapped. It has got to be, like all art, a body of perceptions.\nWell, we find at once that our artist has to distinguish critically\nthe man who will entertain him satisfactorily and not give him\nreason to wish that he had sponged elsewhere. Now, in as much as\nassaying\u2014which is no more than the power of distinguishing between\nfalse and true coin\u2014is a recognized profession, you will hardly\nrefuse the same status to that which distinguishes between false\nand true _men_; the genuineness of men is more obscure than\nthat of coins; this indeed is the gist of the wise Euripides\u2019s\ncomplaint:\n\n  But among men how tell the base apart?\n  Virtue and vice stamp not the outward flesh.\n\nSo much the greater the sponger\u2019s art, which beats prophecy in the\ncertainty of its conclusions upon problems so difficult.\n\nNext, there is the faculty of so directing your words and actions\nas to effect intimacy and convince your patron of your devotion: is\nthat consistent with weak understanding or perception?\n\n_Tyc_. Certainly not.\n\n_Si_. Then at table one has to outshine other people, and show\nthe difference between amateur and professional: is that to be done\nwithout thought and ingenuity?\n\n_Tyc_. No, indeed.\n\n_Si_. Or perhaps you fancy that any outsider who will take the\ntrouble can tell a good dinner from a bad one. Well, the mighty\nPlato says, if the guest is not versed in cookery, the dressing of\nthe banquet will be but unworthily judged.\n\nThe next point to be established is, that sponging depends not\nmerely on perceptions, but on perceptions regularly employed.\nNothing simpler. The perceptions on which other arts are based\nfrequently remain unemployed by their owner for days, nights,\nmonths, or years, without his art\u2019s perishing; whereas, if those of\nthe sponger were to miss their daily exercise, not merely his art\nwould perish, but he with it.\n\nThere remains the \u2018useful purpose in human life\u2019; it would take a\nmadman to question that here. I find nothing that serves a more\nuseful purpose in human life than eating and drinking; without them\nyou cannot live.\n\n_Tyc_. That is true.\n\n_Si_. Moreover, sponging is not to be classed with beauty and\nstrength, and so called a quality instead of an art?\n\n_Tyc_. No.\n\n_Si_. And, in the sphere of art, it does not denote the\nnegative condition, of unskilfulness. That never brings its owner\nprosperity. Take an instance: if a man who did not understand\nnavigation took charge of a ship in a stormy sea, would he be safe?\n\n_Tyc_. Not he.\n\n_Si_. Why, now? Because he wants the art which would enable\nhim to save his life?\n\n_Tyc_. Exactly.\n\n_Si_. It follows that, if sponging was the negative of art,\nthe sponger would not save his life by its means?\n\n_Tyc_. Yes.\n\n_Si_. A man is saved by art, not by the absence of it?\n\n_Tyc_. Quite so.\n\n_Si_. So sponging is an art?\n\n_Tyc_. Apparently.\n\n_Si_. Let me add that I have often known even good navigators\nand skilful drivers come to grief, resulting with the latter in\nbruises and with the former in death but no one will tell you of a\nsponger who ever made shipwreck. Very well, then, sponging is\nneither the negative of art, nor is it a quality; but it is a body\nof perceptions regularly employed. So it emerges from the present\ndiscussion an art.\n\n_Tyc_. That seems to be the upshot. But now proceed to give us\na good definition of your art.\n\n_Si_. Well thought of. And I fancy this will about do: Sponging is\nthe art of eating and drinking, and of the talk by which these may\nbe secured; its end is Pleasure.\n\n_Tyc_. A very good definition, I think. But I warn you that\nyour end will bring you into conflict with some of the philosophers.\n\n_St_. Ah well, if sponging agrees with Happiness about the\nend, we may be content.\n\nAnd that it does I will soon show you. The wise Homer, admiring the\nsponger\u2019s life as the only blissful enviable one, has this:\n\n  I say no fairer end may be attained\n  Than when the people is attuned to mirth,\n  . . . . . and groans the festal board\n  With meat and bread, and the cup-bearer\u2019s ladle\n  From flowing bowl to cup the sweet wine dips.\n\nAs if this had not made his admiration quite clear enough, he lays\na little more emphasis, good man, on his personal opinion:\n\n  This in my heart I count the highest bliss.\n\nMoreover, the character to whom he entrusts these words is not just\nany one; it is the wisest of the Greeks. Well now, if Odysseus had\ncared to say a word for the end approved by the Stoics, he had\nplenty of chances\u2014when he brought back Philoctetes from Lemnos,\nwhen he sacked Troy, when he stopped the Greeks from giving up, or\nwhen he made his way into Troy by scourging himself and putting on\nrags bad enough for any Stoic. But no; he never said theirs was a\nfairer end. And again, when he was living an Epicurean life with\nCalypso, when he could spend idle luxurious days, enjoying the\ndaughter of Atlas and giving the rein to every soft emotion, even\nthen he had not his fairer end; that was still the life of the\nsponger. Banqueter was the word used for sponger in his day; what\ndoes he say? I must quote the lines again; nothing like repetition:\n\u2018The banqueters in order set\u2019; and \u2018groans the festal board With\nmeat and bread.\u2019\n\nIt was a remarkable piece of impudence on Epicurus\u2019s part to\nappropriate the end that belongs to sponging for his system of\nHappiness. That it _was_ a bit of larceny\u2014Epicurus having\nnothing, and the sponger much, to do with Pleasure\u2014I will\nsoon show you. I take it that Pleasure means, first, bodily\ntranquillity, and secondly, an untroubled soul. Well, the sponger\nattains both, Epicurus neither. A man who is busy inquiring into\nthe earth\u2019s shape, the infinity of worlds, the sun\u2019s size,\nastronomic distances, the elements, the existence or non-existence\nof Gods, and who is engaged in incessant controversies about the\nend\u2014he is a prey not merely to human, but to cosmic perturbations.\nWhereas the sponger, convinced that all is for the best in the best\nof all possible worlds, living secure and calm with no such\nperplexities to trouble him, eats and sleeps and lies on his back,\nletting his hands and feet look after themselves, like Odysseus on\nhis passage home from Scheria.\n\nBut here is an independent refutation of Epicurus\u2019s pretensions to\nPleasure. Our Epicurus, whoever his Wisdom may be, either is, or is\nnot, supplied with victuals. If he is not, so far from having a\npleasurable life, he will have no life at all. If he is, does he\nget them out of his own means, or from some one else? If the\nlatter, he is a sponger, and not what he says he is; if the former,\nhe will not have a pleasurable life.\n\n_Tyc_. How so?\n\n_Si_. Why, if his food is provided out of his own means, that\nway of life has many consequences; reckon them up. You will admit\nthat, if the principle of your life is to be pleasure, all your\nappetites have to be satisfied?\n\n_Tyc_. I agree.\n\n_Si_. Well, a large income may possibly meet that requirement,\na scanty one certainly not; consequently, a poor man cannot be a\nphilosopher, or in other words attain the end, which is Pleasure.\nBut neither will the rich, who lavishes his substance on his\ndesires, attain it. And why? Because spending has many worries\ninseparably attached to it; your cook disappoints you, and you must\neither have strained relations with him, or else purchase peace and\nquiet by feeding badly and missing your pleasure. Then similar\ndifficulties attend your steward\u2019s management of the house. You\nmust admit all this.\n\n_Tyc_. Oh, certainly, I agree.\n\n_Si_. In fact, something or other is sure to happen and cut\noff Epicurus from his end. Now the sponger has no cook to be angry\nwith, no farm, steward or money to be annoyed at the loss of; at\nthe same time he lives on the fat of the land, and is the one\nperson who can eat and drink without the worries from which others\ncannot escape.\n\nThat sponging is an art, has now been abundantly proved; it remains\nto show its superiority; and this I shall take in two divisions:\nfirst, it has a general superiority to all the arts; and, secondly,\nit is superior to each of them separately. The general superiority\nis this: the arts have to be instilled by dint of toil, threats and\nblows\u2014regrettable necessities, all of them; my own art, of which\nthe acquisition costs no toil, is perhaps the only exception. Who\never came away from dinner in tears? with the schoolroom it is\ndifferent; or who ever went out to dinner with the dismal\nexpression characteristic of going to school? No, the sponger needs\nno pressing to get him to table; he is devoted to his profession;\nit is the other apprentices who hate theirs, to the point of\nrunning away, sometimes. And it is worth your notice that a\nparent\u2019s usual reward for a child who makes progress in the\nordinary arts is just the thing that the sponger gets regularly.\nThe lad has done his writing well, they say; let him have something\nnice: what vile writing! let him go without. Oh, the mouth is very\nuseful for reward and punishment.\n\nAgain, with the other arts the result comes only after the learning\nis done; their fruits alone are agreeable; \u2018long and steep the road\nthereto.\u2019 Sponging is once more an exception, in that profit and\nlearning here go hand in hand; you grasp your end as soon as you\nbegin. And whereas all other arts are practised solely for the\nsustenance they will ultimately bring, the sponger has his\nsustenance from the day he starts. You realize, of course, that the\nfarmer\u2019s object in farming is something else than farming, the\ncarpenter\u2019s something different from abstract carpentering; but the\nsponger has no ulterior object; occupation and pre-occupation are\nfor him one and the same.\n\nThen it is no news to any one that other professions slave\nhabitually, and get just one or two holidays a month; States keep\nsome monthly and some yearly festivals; these are their times of\nenjoyment. But the sponger has thirty festivals a month; every day\nis a red-letter day with him.\n\nOnce more, success in the other arts presupposes a diet as\nabstemious as any invalid\u2019s; eat and drink to your heart\u2019s content,\nand you make no progress in your studies.\n\nOther arts, again, are useless to their professor unless he has his\nplant; you cannot play the flute if you have not one to play;\nlyrical music requires a lyre, horsemanship a horse. But of ours\none of the excellences and conveniences is that no instrument is\nrequired for its exercise.\n\nOther arts we pay, this we are paid, to learn.\n\nFurther, while the rest have their teachers, no one teaches\nsponging; it is a gift from Heaven, as Socrates said of poetry.\n\nThen do not forget that, while the others have to be suspended\nduring a journey or a voyage, this may be in full swing under those\ncircumstances too.\n\n_Tyc_. No doubt about that.\n\n_Si_. Another point that strikes me is that other arts feel\nthe need of this one, but not vice versa.\n\n_Tyc_. Well, but is the appropriation of what belongs to\nothers no offence?\n\n_Si_. Of course it is.\n\n_Tyc_. Well, the sponger does that; why is he privileged to\noffend?\n\n_Si_. Ah, I know nothing about that. But now look here: you\nknow how common and mean are the beginnings of the other arts; that\nof sponging, on the contrary, is noble. Friendship, that theme of\nthe encomiast, is neither more nor less, you will find, than the\nbeginning of sponging.\n\n_Tyc_. How do you make that out?\n\n_Si_. Well, no one asks an enemy, a stranger, or even a mere\nacquaintance, to dinner; the man must be his friend before he will\nshare bit and sup with him, and admit him to initiation in these\nsacred mysteries. I know I have often heard people say, Friend,\nindeed! by what right? he has never eaten or drunk with us. You\nsee; only the man who has done that is a friend to be trusted.\n\nNext take a sound proof, though not the only one, that it is the\nmost royal of the arts: at the rest of them men have to work (not\nto mention toil and sweat) in the sitting or standing posture,\nwhich marks them for the absolute slaves of their art, whereas the\nsponger is free to recline like a king.\n\nAs to his happy condition, I need no more than allude to the wise\nHomer\u2019s words; he it is, and he alone, that \u2018planteth not, nor\nploughs\u2019; he \u2018reapeth where he hath not ploughed nor sown.\u2019\n\nAgain, while knavery and folly are no bar to rhetoric, mathematics,\nor copper-working, no knave or fool can get on as a sponger.\n\n_Tyc_. Dear, dear, what an amazing profession! I am almost\ntempted to exchange my own for it.\n\n_Si_. I consider I have now established its superiority to art\nin general; let us next show how it excels individual arts. And it\nwould be silly to compare it with the trades; I leave that to its\ndetractors, and undertake to prove it superior to the greatest and\nmost honourable professions. Such by universal acknowledgement are\nRhetoric and Philosophy; indeed, some people insist that no name\nbut science is grand enough for them; so if I prove sponging to be\nfar above even these, _a fortiori_ it will excel the others as\nNausicaa her maids.\n\nNow, its first superiority it enjoys over Philosophy and Rhetoric\nalike, and this is in the matter of real existence; it can claim\nthat, they cannot. Instead of our having a single consistent notion\nof Rhetoric, some of us consider it an art, some the negation of\nart, some a mere artfulness, and so on. Similarly there is no unity\nin Philosophy\u2019s subject, or in its relation to it; Epicurus takes\none view, the Stoics another, the Academy, the Peripatetics,\nothers; in fact Philosophy has as many definitions as definers. So\nfar at least victory wavers between them, and their profession\ncannot be called _one._ The conclusion is obvious; I utterly\ndeny that what has no real existence can be an art. To illustrate:\nthere is one and only one Arithmetic; twice two is four whether\nhere or in Persia; Greeks and barbarians have no quarrel over that;\nbut philosophies are many and various, agreed neither upon their\nbeginnings nor their ends.\n\n_Tyc_. Perfectly true; they call Philosophy one, but they make\nit many.\n\n_Si_. Well, such a want of harmony might be excused in other\narts, they being of a contingent nature, and the perceptions\non which they are based not being immutable. But that _Philosophy_\nshould lack unity, and even conflict with itself like instruments\nout of tune\u2014how can that be tolerated? Philosophy, then, is not\none, for I find its diversity infinite. And it cannot be many, because\nit is Philosophy, not philosophies.\n\nThe real existence of Rhetoric must incur the same criticism. That\nwith the same subject-matter all professors should not agree, but\nmaintain conflicting opinions, amounts to a demonstration: that\nwhich is differently apprehended cannot exist. The inquiry whether\na thing is this or that, in place of agreement that it is one, is\ntantamount to a negation of its existence.\n\nHow different is the case of Sponging! for Greeks or barbarians,\n_one_ in nature and subject and method. No one will tell you\nthat these sponge this way, and those that; there are no spongers\nwith peculiar principles, to match those of Stoics and Epicureans,\nthat I know of; they are all agreed; their conduct and their end\nalike harmonious. Sponging, I take it on this showing, is just\nWisdom itself.\n\n_Tyc_. Yes, I think you have dealt with that point sufficiently;\napart from that, how do you show the inferiority of Philosophy to\nyour art?\n\n_Si_. I must first mention that no sponger was ever in love\nwith Philosophy; but many philosophers are recorded to have set\ntheir hearts on Sponging, to which they still remain constant.\n\n_Tyc_. Philosophers caring to sponge? Names, please.\n\n_Si_. Names? You know them well enough; you only play at not\nknowing because you regard it as a slur on their characters,\ninstead of as the credit it is.\n\n_Tyc_. Simon, I solemnly assure you I cannot think where you\nwill find your instances.\n\n_Si_. Honour bright? Then I conclude you never patronize their\nbiographers, or you could not hesitate about my reference.\n\n_Tyc_. Seriously, I long to hear their names.\n\n_Si_. Oh, I will give you a list; not bad names either; the\n_elite_, if I am correctly informed; they will rather surprise\nyou. Aeschines the Socratic, now, author of dialogues as witty as\nthey are long, brought them with him to Sicily in the hope that\nthey would gain him the royal notice of Dionysius; having given a\nreading of the _Miltiades_, and found himself famous, he settled\ndown in Sicily to sponge on Dionysius and forget Socratic\ncomposition.\n\nAgain, I suppose you will pass Aristippus of Cyrene as a\ndistinguished philosopher?\n\n_Tyc_. Assuredly.\n\n_Si_. Well, he was living there too at the same time and on\nthe same terms. Dionysius reckoned him the best of all spongers; he\nhad indeed a special gift that way; the prince used to send his\ncooks to him daily for instruction. He, I think, was really an\nornament to the profession.\n\nWell then, Plato, the noblest of you all, came to Sicily with the\nsame view; he did a few days\u2019 sponging, but found himself\nincompetent and had to leave. He went back to Athens, took\nconsiderable pains with himself, and then had another try, with\nexactly the same result, however. Plato\u2019s Sicilian disaster seems\nto me to bear comparison with that of Nicias.\n\n_Tyc_. Your authority for all this, pray?\n\n_Si_. Oh, there are plenty of authorities; but I will specify\nAristoxenus the musician, a weighty one enough, and himself\nattached as a sponger to Neleus. Then you of course know that\nEuripides held this relation to Archelaus till the day of his\ndeath, and Anaxarchus to Alexander.\n\nAs for Aristotle, that tiro in all arts was a tiro here too.\n\nI have shown you, then, and without exaggeration, the philosophic\npassion for sponging. On the other hand, no one can point to a\nsponger who ever cared to philosophize.\n\nBut of course, if never to be hungry, thirsty, or cold, is to be\nhappy, the sponger is the man who is in that position. Cold hungry\nphilosophers you may see any day, but never a cold hungry sponger;\nthe man would not be a sponger, that is all, but a wretched pauper,\nno better than a philosopher.\n\n_Tyc_. Well, let that pass. And now what about those many\npoints in which your art is superior to Rhetoric and Philosophy?\n\n_Si_. Human life, my dear sir, has its times and seasons;\nthere is peace time and there is war time. These provide unfailing\ntests for the character of arts and their professors. Shall we take\nwar time first, and see who will do best for himself and for his\ncity under those conditions?\n\n_Tyc_. Ah, now comes the tug of war. It tickles me, this queer\nmatch between sponger and philosopher.\n\n_Si_. Well, to make the thing more natural, and enable you to\ntake it seriously, let us picture the circumstances. Sudden news\nhas come of a hostile invasion; it has to be met; we are not going\nto sit still while our outlying territory is laid waste; the\ncommander-in-chief issues orders for a general muster of all liable\nto serve; the troops gather, including philosophers, rhetoricians,\nand spongers. We had better strip them first, as the proper\npreliminary to arming. Now, my dear sir, have a look at them\nindividually and see how they shape. Some of them you will find\nthin and white with underfeeding\u2014all goose-flesh, as if they were\nlying wounded already. Now, when you think of a hard day, a stand-\nup fight with press and dust and wounds, what is it but a sorry\njest to talk of such starvelings\u2019 being able to stand it?\n\nNow go and inspect the sponger. Full-bodied, flesh a nice colour,\nneither white like a woman\u2019s nor tanned like a slave\u2019s; you can see\nhis spirit; he has a keen look, as a gentleman should, and a high,\nfull-blooded one to boot; none of your shrinking feminine glances\nwhen you are going to war! A noble pike-man that, and a noble\ncorpse, for that matter, if a noble death is his fate.\n\nBut why deal in conjecture when there are facts to hand? I make the\nsimple statement that in war, of all the rhetoricians and\nphilosophers who ever lived, most never ventured outside the city\nwalls, and the few who did, under compulsion, take their places in\nthe ranks left their posts and went home.\n\n_Tyc_. A bold extravagant assertion. Well, prove it.\n\n_Si_. Rhetoricians, then. Of these, Isocrates, so far from serving\nin war, never even ventured into a law-court; he was afraid,\nbecause his voice was weak, I understand. Well, then Demades,\nAeschines, and Philocrates, directly the Macedonian war broke out,\nwere frightened into betraying their country and themselves to\nPhilip. They simply espoused his interests in Athenian politics;\nand any other Athenian who took the same side was their friend. As\nfor Hyperides, Demosthenes, and Lycurgus, supposed to be bolder\nspirits, and always raising scenes in the assembly with their abuse\nof Philip, how did they ever show their prowess in the war?\nHyperides and Lycurgus never went out, did not so much as dare show\ntheir noses beyond the gates; they sat snug inside in a domestic\nstate of siege, composing poor little decrees and resolutions. And\ntheir great chieftain, who had no gentler words for Philip in the\nassembly than \u2018the brute from Macedon, which cannot produce even a\nslave worth buying\u2019\u2014well, he did take heart of grace and go to\nBoeotia the day before; but battle had not been joined when he\nthrew away his shield and made off. You must have heard this\nbefore; it was common talk not only at Athens, but in Thrace and\nScythia, whence the creature was derived.\n\n_Tyc_. Yes, I know all that. But then these are orators,\ntrained to speak, not to fight. But the philosophers; you cannot\nsay the same of them.\n\n_Si_. Oh, yes; they discuss manliness every day, and do a\ngreat deal more towards wearing out the word Virtue than the\norators; but you will find them still greater cowards and\nshirkers.\u2014How do I know?\u2014In the first place, can any one name a\nphilosopher killed in battle? No, they either do not serve, or else\nrun away. Antisthenes, Diogenes, Crates, Zeno, Plato, Aeschines,\nAristotle, and all their company, never set eyes on a battle array.\nTheir wise Socrates was the solitary one who dared to go out; and\nin the battle of Delium he ran away from Mount Parnes and got safe\nto the gymnasium of Taureas. It was a far more civilized\nproceeding, according to his ideas, to sit there talking soft\nnonsense to handsome striplings and posing the company with\nquibbles, than to cross spears with a grown Spartan.\n\n_Tyc_. Well, I have heard these stories before, and from\npeople who had no satirical intent. So I acquit you of slandering\nthem by way of magnifying your own profession.\n\nBut come now, if you don\u2019t mind, to the sponger\u2019s military\nbehaviour; and also tell me whether there is any sponging recorded\nof the ancients.\n\n_Si_. My dear fellow, the most uneducated of us has surely\nheard enough of Homer to know that he makes the best of his heroes\nspongers. The great Nestor, whose tongue distilled honeyed speech,\nsponged on the King; Achilles was, and was known for, the most\nupright of the Greeks in form and in mind; but neither for him, for\nAjax, nor for Diomede, has Agamemnon such admiring praise as for\nNestor. It is not for ten Ajaxes or Achilleses that he prays; no,\nTroy would have been taken long ago, if he had had in his host ten\nmen like\u2014that old sponger. Idomeneus, of Zeus\u2019s own kindred, is\nalso represented in the same relation to Agamemnon.\n\n_Tyc_. I know the passages; but I do not feel sure of the\nsense in which they were spongers.\n\n_Si_. Well, recall the lines in which Agamemnon addresses\nIdomeneus.\n\n_Tyc_. How do they go?\n\n_Si_.\n\n  For thee the cup stands ever full,\n  Even as for me, whene\u2019er it lists thee drink.\n\nWhen he speaks of the cup ever full, he means not that it is\nperpetually ready (when Idomeneus is fighting or sleeping, for\ninstance), but that he has had the peculiar privilege all through\nhis life of sharing the King\u2019s table without that special\ninvitation which is necessary for his other followers. Ajax, after\na glorious single combat with Hector, \u2018they brought to lordly\nAgamemnon,\u2019 we are told; he, you see, is admitted to the royal\ntable (and high time too) as an honour; whereas Idomeneus and\nNestor were the King\u2019s regular table companions; at least that is\nmy idea. Nestor I take to have been an exceedingly good and skilful\nsponger on royalty; Agamemnon was not his first patron; he had\nserved his apprenticeship under Caeneus and Exadius. And but for\nAgamemnon\u2019s death I imagine he would never have relinquished the\nprofession.\n\n_Tyc_. Yes, that was a first-class sponger. Can you give me\nany more?\n\n_Si_. Why, Tychiades, what else was Patroclus\u2019s relation to\nAchilles? and he was as fine a fellow, all round, as any Greek of\nthem all. Judging by his actions, I cannot make out that he was\ninferior to Achilles himself. When Hector had forced the gates and\nwas fighting inside by the ships, it was Patroclus who repelled him\nand extinguished the flames which had got a hold on Protesilaus\u2019s\nship; yet one would not have said the people aboard her were\ninefficient\u2014Ajax and Teucer they were, one as good in the _melee_\nas the other with his bow. A great number of the barbarians,\nincluding Sarpedon the son of Zeus, fell to this sponger. His own\ndeath was no common one. It took only one man, Achilles, to slay\nHector; Paris was enough for Achilles himself; but two men and a\nGod went to the killing of the sponger. And his last words bore no\nresemblance to those of the mighty Hector, who prostrated himself\nbefore Achilles and besought him to let his relations have his\nbody; no, they were such as might be expected from one of his\nprofession. Here they are:\u2014\n\n  But of thy like I would have faced a score,\n  And all the score my spear had given to death.\n\n_Tyc_. Yes, you have proved him a good man; but can you show\nhim to have been not Achilles\u2019s friend, but a sponger?\n\n_Si_. I will produce you his own statement to that effect.\n\n_Tyc_. What a miracle-worker you are!\n\n_Si_. Listen to the lines, then:\n\n  Achilles, lay my bones not far from thine;\n  Thou and thine fed me; let me lie by thee.\n\nAnd a little further on he says:\n\n            Peleus me received,\n  And nurtured gently, and thy henchman named,\n\nthat is, gave him the right of sponging; if he had meant to allude\nto Patroclus as his son\u2019s friend, he would not have used the word\nhenchman; for he was a free man. What is a henchman, slaves and\nfriends being excluded? Why, obviously a sponger. Accordingly Homer\nuses the same word of Meriones\u2019s relation to Idomeneus. And by the\nway it is not Idomeneus, though he was son of Zeus, that he\ndescribes as \u2018peer of Ares\u2019; it is the sponger Meriones.\n\nAgain, did not Aristogiton, poor and of mean extraction, as\nThucydides describes him, sponge on Harmodius? He was also, of\ncourse, in love with him\u2014a quite natural relation between the two\nclasses. This sponger it was, then, who delivered Athens from\ntyranny, and now adorns the marketplace in bronze, side by side\nwith the object of his passion. And now I have given you an example\nor two of the profession.\n\nBut what sort of a guess do you make at the sponger\u2019s behaviour in\nwar? In the first place, he will fight on a full belly, as Odysseus\nadvises. You must feed the man who is to fight, he says, however\nearly in the morning it may happen to be. The time that others\nspend in fitting on helmet or breastplate with nervous care, or in\nanticipating the horrors of battle, he will devote to putting away\nhis food with a cheerful countenance, and as soon as business\nbegins you will find him in front. His patron will take his place\nbehind him, sheltering under his shield as Teucer under Ajax\u2019s;\nwhen missiles begin to fly the sponger will expose himself for his\npatron, whose safety he values more than his own.\n\nShould he fall in battle, neither officer nor comrade need feel\nashamed of that great body, which now reclines as appropriate an\nornament of the battle-field as it once was of the dining-room. A\npretty sight is a philosopher\u2019s body by its side, withered,\nsqualid, and bearded; he was dead before the fight began, poor\nweakling. Who would not despise the city whose guards are such\nmiserable creatures? Who would not suppose, seeing these pallid,\nhairy manikins scattered on the ground, that it had none to fight\nfor it, and so had turned out its gaol-birds to fill the ranks?\nThat is how the spongers differ from the rhetoricians and\nphilosophers in war.\n\nThen in peace time, sponging seems to me as much better than\nphilosophy as peace itself than war. Be kind enough to glance first\nat the scenes of peace.\n\n_Tyc_. I do not quite know what they are; but let us glance at\nthem, by all means.\n\n_Si_. Well, you will let me describe as civil scenes the\nmarket, the courts, the wrestling-schools and gymnasia, the hunting\nfield and the dining-room?\n\n_Tyc_. Certainly.\n\n_Si_. To market and courts the sponger gives a wide berth they\nare the haunts of chicanery; there is no satisfaction to be got out\nof them. But at wrestling-school and gymnasium he is in his\nelement; he is their chief glory. Show me a philosopher or orator\nwho is in the same class with him when he strips in the wrestling-\nschool; look at them in the gymnasium; they shame instead of\nadorning it. And in a lonely place none of them would face the\nonset of a wild beast; the sponger will, though, and find no\ndifficulty in disposing of it; his table familiarity with it has\nbred contempt. A stag or a wild boar may put up its bristles; he\nwill not mind; the boar may whet its tusks against him; he only\nreturns the compliment. As for hares, he is more deadly to them\nthan a greyhound. And then in the dining-room, where is his match,\nto jest or to eat? Who will contribute most to entertainment, he\nwith his song and his joke, or a person who has not a laugh in him,\nsits in a threadbare cloak, and keeps his eyes on the ground as if\nhe was at a funeral and not a dinner? If you ask me, I think a\nphilosopher has about as much business in a dining-room as a bull\nin a china-shop.\n\nBut enough of this. What impression does one get of the sponger\u2019s\nactual life, when one compares it with the other? First it will be\nfound that he is indifferent to reputation, and does not care a jot\nwhat people think about him, whereas all rhetoricians and\nphilosophers without exception are the slaves of vanity,\nreputation, and what is worse, of money. No one could be more\ncareless of the pebbles on the shore than the sponger is of money;\nhe would as soon touch fire as gold. But the rhetoricians and, as\nif that were not bad enough, the professed philosophers, are\nbeneath contempt in this respect. No need to illustrate in the case\nof the rhetoricians; but of the philosophers whose repute stands\nhighest at present, one was lately convicted of taking a bribe for\nhis verdict in a law-suit, and another expects a salary for giving\na prince his company, and counts it no shame to go into exile in\nhis old age, and hire himself out for pay like some Indian or\nScythian captive. The very name his conduct has earned him calls no\nblush to his cheek.\n\nBut their susceptibilities are by no means limited to these; pain,\ntemper, jealousy, and all sorts of desires, must be added; all of\nwhich the sponger is beyond the reach of; he does not yield to\ntemper because on the one hand he has fortitude, and on the other\nhand he has no one to irritate him. Or if he is by any chance moved\nto wrath, there is nothing disagreeable or sullen about it; it\nentertains and amuses merely. As to pain, he has less of that to\nendure than anybody, one of his profession\u2019s recommendations and\nprivileges being just that immunity. He has neither money, house,\nslave, wife, nor children\u2014those hostages to Fortune. He desires\nneither fame, wealth, nor beauty.\n\n_Tyc_. He will feel pain if the supplies run short, I presume.\n\n_Si_. Ah, but you see, he is not a sponger if that happens. A\ncourageous man is not courageous if he has no courage, a sensible\none not sensible if he has no sense. He could not be a sponger\nunder those conditions. We are discussing the sponger, not the non-\nsponger. If the courageous is so in virtue of his courage, the\nsensible sensible in virtue of his sense, then the sponger is a\nsponger in virtue of sponging. Take that away, and we shall be\ndealing with something else, and not with a sponger at all.\n\n_Tyc_. So his supplies will never run short?\n\n_Si_. Manifestly. So he is as free from that sort of pain as\nfrom others.\n\nThen all philosophers and rhetoricians are timorous creatures\ntogether. You may generally see them carrying sticks on their\nwalks; well, of course they would not go armed if they were not\nafraid. And they bar their doors elaborately, for fear of night\nattacks. Now our man just latches his room door, so that the wind\nmay not blow it open; if there is a noise in the night, it is all\nthe same to him as if there were none; he will travel a lonely road\nand wear no sword; he does not know what fear is. But I am always\nseeing philosophers, though there is nothing to be afraid of,\ncarrying bows and arrows; as for their sticks, they take them to\nbath or breakfast with them.\n\nAgain, no one can accuse a sponger of adultery, violence, rape, or\nin fact of any crime whatsoever. One guilty of such offences will\nnot be sponging, but ruining himself. If he is caught in adultery,\nhis style thenceforth is taken from his offence. Just as a piece of\ncowardice brings a man not repute, but disrepute, so, I take it,\nthe sponger who commits an offence loses his previous title and\ngets in exchange that proper to the offence. Of such offences on\nthe part of rhetoricians and philosophers, on the other hand, we\nhave not only abundant examples in our own time, but records\nagainst the ancients in their own writings. There is an Apology of\nSocrates, of Aeschines, of Hyperides, of Demosthenes, and indeed of\nmost of their kind. There is no sponger\u2019s apology extant, and you\nwill never hear of anybody\u2019s bringing a suit against one.\n\nNow I suppose you will tell me that the sponger\u2019s life may be\nbetter than theirs, but his death is worse. Not a bit of it; it is\na far happier one. We know very well that all or most philosophers\nhave had the wretched fate they deserved, some by poison after\ncondemnation for heinous crimes, some by burning alive, some by\nstrangury, some in exile. No one can adduce a sponger\u2019s death to\nmatch these; he eats and drinks, and dies a blissful death. If you\nare told that any died a violent one, be sure it was nothing worse\nthan indigestion.\n\n_Tyc_. I must say, you have done well for your kind against\nthe philosophers. And now look at it from the patron\u2019s point of\nview; does he get his money\u2019s worth? It strikes me the rich man\ndoes the kindness, confers the favour, finds the food, and it is\nall a little discreditable to the man who takes them.\n\n_Si_. Now, really, Tychiades, that is rather silly of you. Can\nyou not see that a rich man, if he had the gold of Gyges, is yet\npoor as long as he dines alone, and no better than a tramp if he\ngoes abroad unattended? A soldier without his arms, a dress without\nits purple, a horse without its trappings, are poor things; and a\nrich man without his sponger is a mean, cheap spectacle. The\nsponger gives lustre to the patron, never the patron to the other.\n\nMoreover, none of the reproach that you imagine attaches to\nsponging; you refer, of course, to the difference in their degrees;\nbut then it is an advantage to the rich man to keep the other;\napart from his ornamental use, he is a most valuable bodyguard. In\nbattle no one will be over ready to undertake the rich man with\nsuch a comrade at his side; and you can hardly, having him, die by\npoison. Who would dare attempt such a thing, with him tasting your\nfood and drink? So he brings you not only credit, but insurance.\nHis affection is such that he will run all risks; he would never\nleave his patron to face the dangers of the table alone; no, he\nwould rather eat and die with him.\n\n_Tyc_. You have stated your case without missing a point,\nSimon. Do not tell me you were unprepared again; you have been\ntrained in a good school, man. But one thing more I should like to\nknow. There is a nasty sound about the word sponger, don\u2019t you\nthink?\n\n_Si_. See whether I have a satisfactory answer to that. Oblige\nme by giving what you consider the right answers to my questions.\nSponging is an old word; what does it really mean?\n\n_Tyc_. Getting your dinner at some one else\u2019s expense.\n\n_Si_. Dining out, in fact?\n\n_Tyc_. Yes.\n\n_Si_. And we may call a sponger an out-diner?\n\n_Tyc_. The gravamen\u2019s in that; he should dine at home.\n\n_Si_. A few more answers, please. Of these pairs, which do you\nconsider the best? Which would you take, if you had the choice?-To\nsail, or to out-sail?\n\n_Tyc_. The latter.\n\n_Si_. To run or out-run?\n\n_Tyc_. The latter.\n\n_Si_. Ride or out-ride, shoot or out-shoot?\n\n_Tyc_. Still the same.\n\n_Si_. So I presume an out-diner is better than a diner?\n\n_Tyc_. Indisputable. Henceforward I shall come to you morning\nand afternoon like a schoolboy for lessons. And I am sure you ought\nto do your very best for me, as your first pupil. The first child\nis always the mother\u2019s joy, you know. [Footnote: It has been\nnecessary, in Section 60, to tamper a little with the Greek in\norder to get the point, such as it is; but it has not been\nseriously misrepresented.]\n\n\n\n\nANACHARSIS, A DISCUSSION OF PHYSICAL TRAINING\n\n_Anacharsis. Solon_\n\n\n_An_. Why do your young men behave like this, Solon? Some of\nthem grappling and tripping each other, some throttling,\nstruggling, intertwining in the clay like so many pigs wallowing.\nAnd yet their first proceeding after they have stripped\u2014I noticed\nthat\u2014is to oil and scrape each other quite amicably; but then I do\nnot know what comes over them\u2014they put down their heads and begin\nto push, and crash their foreheads together like a pair of rival\nrams. There, look! that one has lifted the other right off his\nlegs, and dropped him on the ground; now he has fallen on top, and\nwill not let him get his head up, but presses it down into the\nclay; and to finish him off he twines his legs tight round his\nbelly, thrusts his elbow hard against his throat, and throttles the\nwretched victim, who meanwhile is patting his shoulder; that will\nbe a form of supplication; he is asking not to be quite choked to\ndeath. Regardless of their fresh oil, they get all filthy, smother\nthemselves in mud and sweat till they might as well not have been\nanointed, and present, to me at least, the most ludicrous\nresemblance to eels slipping through a man\u2019s hands.\n\nThen here in the open court are others doing just the same, except\nthat, instead of the clay, they have for floor a depression filled\nwith deep sand, with which they sprinkle one another, scraping up\nthe dust on purpose, like fowls; I suppose they want their\ninterfacings to be tighter; the sand is to neutralize the\nslipperiness of the oil, and by drying it up to give a firmer grip.\n\nAnd here are others, sanded too, but on their legs, going at each\nother with blows and kicks. We shall surely see this poor fellow\nspit out his teeth in a minute; his mouth is all full of blood and\nsand; he has had a blow on the jaw from the other\u2019s fist, you see.\nWhy does not the official there separate them and put an end to it?\nI guess that he is an official from his purple; but no, he\nencourages them, and commends the one who gave that blow.\n\nWherever you look, every one busy-rising on his toes, jumping up\nand kicking the air, or something.\n\nNow I want to know what is the good of it all. To me it looks more\nlike madness than anything else. It will not be very easy to\nconvince me that people who behave like this are not wrong in their\nheads.\n\n_So_. It is quite natural it should strike you that way, being\nso novel, and so utterly contrary to Scythian customs. Similarly\nyou have no doubt many methods and habits that would seem\nextraordinary enough to us Greeks, v if we were spectators of them\nas you now are of ours. But be reassured, my dear sir; these\nproceedings are not madness; it is no spirit of violence that sets\nthem hitting each other, wallowing in clay, and sprinkling dust.\nThe thing has its use, and its delight too, resulting in admirable\nphysical condition. If you make some stay, as I imagine you will,\nin Greece, you are bound to be either a clay-bob or a dust-bob\nbefore long; you will be so taken with the pleasure and profit of\nthe pursuit.\n\n_An_. Hands off, please. No, I wish you all joy of your\npleasures and your profits; but if any of you treats me like that,\nhe will find out that we do not wear scimetars for ornament.\n\nBut would you mind giving a name to all this? What are we to say\nthey are doing?\n\n_So_. The place is called a gymnasium, and is dedicated to the\nLycean Apollo. You see his statue there; the one leaning on the\npillar, with a bow in the left hand. The right arm bent over the\nhead indicates that the God is resting after some great exertion.\n\nOf the exercises here, that in the clay is called wrestling; the\nyouths in the dust are also called wrestlers, and those who strike\neach other standing are engaged in what we call the pancratium. But\nwe have other gymnasiums for boxing, quoit-throwing, and high-\njumping; and in all these we hold contests, the winner in which is\nhonoured above all his contemporaries, and receives prizes.\n\n_An_. Ah, and what are the prizes, now?\n\n_So_. At Olympia a wreath of wild olive, at the Isthmus one of\npine, at Nemea of parsley, at Pytho some of the God\u2019s sacred\napples, and at our Panathenaea oil pressed from the temple olives.\nWhat are you laughing at, Anacharsis? Are the prizes too small?\n\n_An_. Oh dear no; your prize-list is most imposing; the givers\nmay well plume themselves on their munificence, and the competitors\nbe monstrous keen on winning. Who would not go through this amount\nof preparatory toil, and take his chance of a choking or a\ndislocation, for apples or parsley? It is obviously impossible for\nany one who has a fancy to a supply of apples, or a wreath of\nparsley or pine, to get them without a mud plaster on his face, or\na kick in the stomach from his competitor.\n\n_So_. My dear sir, it is not the things\u2019 intrinsic value that we look\nat. They are the symbols of victory, labels of the winners; it is the\nfame attaching to them that is worth any price to their holders; that\nis why the man whose quest of honour leads through toil is content to\ntake his kicks. No toil, no honour; he who covets that must start with\nenduring hardship; when he has done that, he may begin to look for the\npleasure and profit his labours are to bring.\n\n_An_. Which pleasure and profit consists in their being seen\nin their wreaths by every one, and congratulated on their victory\nby those who before commiserated their pain; their happiness lies\nin their exchange of apples and parsley for toil.\n\n_So_. Ah, you certainly do not understand our ways yet. You\nwill revise your opinions before long, when you go to the great\nfestivals and see the crowds gathering to look on, the stands\nfilling up, the competitors receiving their ovations, and the\nvictor being idolized.\n\n_An_. Why, Solon, that is just where the humiliation comes in;\nthey are treated like this not in something like privacy, but with\nall these spectators to watch the affronts they endure\u2014who, I am\nto believe, count them happy when they see them dripping with blood\nor being throttled; for such are the happy concomitants of victory.\nIn my country, if a man strikes a citizen, knocks him down, or\ntears his clothes, our elders punish him severely, even though\nthere were only one or two witnesses, not like your vast Olympic or\nIsthmian gatherings. However, though I cannot help pitying the\ncompetitors, I am still more astonished at the spectators; you tell\nme the chief people from all over Greece attend; how can they leave\ntheir serious concerns and waste time on such things? How they can\nlike it passes my comprehension\u2014to look on at people being struck\nand knocked about, dashed to the ground and pounded by one another.\n\n_So_. If the Olympia, Isthmia, or Panathenaea were only on\nnow, those object-lessons might have been enough to convince you\nthat our keenness is not thrown away. I cannot make you apprehend\nthe delights of them by description; you should be there sitting in\nthe middle of the spectators, looking at the men\u2019s courage and\nphysical beauty, their marvellous condition, effective skill and\ninvincible strength, their enterprise, their emulation, their\nunconquerable spirit, and their unwearied pursuit of victory. Oh, I\nknow very well, you would never have been tired of talking about\nyour favourites, backing them with voice and hand.\n\n_An_. I dare say, and with laugh and flout too. All the fine\nthings in your list, your courages and conditions, your beauties\nand enterprises, I see you wasting in no high cause; your country\nis not in danger, your land not being ravaged, your friends or\nrelations not being haled away. The more ridiculous that such\npatterns of perfection as you make them out should endure the\nmisery all for nothing, and spoil their beauty and their fine\nfigures with sand and black eyes, just for the triumphant\npossession of an apple or a sprig of wild olive. Oh, how I love to\nthink of those prizes! By the way, do all who enter get them?\n\n_So_. No, indeed. There is only one winner.\n\n_An_. And do you mean to say such a number can be found to\ntoil for a remote uncertainty of success, knowing that the winner\ncannot be more than one, and the failures must be many, with their\nbruises, or their wounds very likely, for sole reward?\n\n_So_. Dear me; you have no idea yet of what is a good political\nconstitution, or you would never depreciate the best of our\ncustoms. If you ever take the trouble to inquire how a State may\nbest be organized, and its citizens best developed, you will find\nyourself commending these practices and the earnestness with which\nwe cultivate them; then you will realize what good effects are\ninseparable from those toils which seem for the moment to tax our\nenergies to no purpose.\n\n_An_. Well, Solon, why did I come all the way from Scythia,\nwhy did I make the long stormy passage of the Euxine, but to learn\nthe laws of Greece, observe your customs, and work out the best\nconstitution? That was why I chose you of all Athenians for my\nfriend and host; I had heard of you; I had been told you were a\nlegislator, you had devised the most admirable customs, introduced\ninstitutions of great excellence, and in fact built up what you\ncall a constitution. Before all things, then, teach me; make me\nyour pupil. Nothing would please me more than to sit by your side\nwithout bit or sup for as long as you could hold out, and listen\nopen-mouthed to what you have to say of constitution and laws.\n\n_So_. The whole thing can hardly be so shortly disposed of,\nfriend. You must take the different departments, one by one, and\nfind out our views upon the Gods, then upon parents, upon marriage,\nand so for the rest. But I will let you know at once what we think\nabout the young, and how we treat them when higher things begin to\ndawn upon their intelligence, when their frames begin to set and to\nbe capable of endurance. Then you will grasp our purpose in\nimposing these exercises upon them and insisting on physical\neffort; our view is not bounded by the contests, and directed to\ntheir carrying off prizes there\u2014of course only a small proportion\nof them ever reach that point; no; the indirect benefit that we\nsecure for their city and themselves is of more importance. There\nis another contest in which all good citizens get prizes, and its\nwreaths are not of pine or wild olive or parsley, but of complete\nhuman happiness, including individual freedom and political\nindependence, wealth and repute, enjoyment of our ancient ritual,\nsecurity of our dear ones, and all the choicest boons a man might\nask of Heaven. It is of these materials that the wreath I tell you\nof is woven; and they are provided by that contest for which this\ntraining and these toils are the preparation.\n\n_An_. You strange man! you had all these grand prizes up your\nsleeve, and you told me a tale of apples and parsley and tufts of\nwild olive and pine.\n\n_So_. Ah, you will not think those such trifles either, when\nyou take my meaning. They are manifestations of the same spirit,\nall small parts of that greater contest, and of the wreath of\nhappiness I told you of. But it is true that instead of beginning\nat the beginning I was carried away to the meetings at the Isthmus\nand Olympia and Nemea. However, we have plenty of time, and you\nprofess curiosity; it is a simple matter to go back to the\nbeginning, to that many-prized contest which I tell you is the real\nend of all.\n\n_An_. That will be better; we are more likely to prosper on\nthe high road; perhaps I shall even be cured of my inclination to\nlaugh at any one I see priding himself on his olive or parsley\nwreath. But I propose that we go into the shade over there and sit\ndown on the benches, not to be interrupted by these rounds of\ncheering. And indeed I must confess I have had enough of this sun;\nhow it scorches one\u2019s bare head! I did not want to look like a\nforeigner, so I left my hat at home. But the year is at its\nhottest; the dog-star, as you call it, is burning everything up,\nand not leaving a drop of moisture in the air; and the noonday sun\nright overhead gives an absolutely intolerable heat. I cannot make\nout how you at your age, so far from dripping like me, never turn a\nhair; instead of looking about for some hospitable shade, you take\nyour sunning quite kindly.\n\n_So_. Ah, Anacharsis, these useless toils, these perpetual\nclay-baths, these miseries in the sand and the open air, are\nprophylactics against the sun\u2019s rays; _we_ need no hats to\nward off his shafts. But come along.\n\nAnd you are not to regard me as an authority whose statements are\nto be accepted as matter of faith; wherever you think I have not\nmade out my case, you are to contradict me at once and get the\nthing straight. So we shall stand to win; either you, after\nrelieving your mind of all objections that strike you, will reach a\nfirm conviction, or, failing that, I shall have found out my\nmistake. And in the latter case, Athens will owe you a debt that\nshe cannot be too quick to acknowledge; for your instructions and\ncorrections of my ideas will redound to her advantage. I shall keep\nnothing back; I shall produce it all in public, stand up in the\nassembly and say: _Men of Athens, I drew up for you such laws as\nI thought would most advantage you; but this stranger_\u2014and at\nthat word I point to you, Anacharsis\u2014_this stranger from Scythia\nhas been wise enough to show me my mistake and teach me better\nways. Let his name be inscribed as your benefactor\u2019s; set him up in\nbronze beside your name-Gods, or by Athene on the citadel_. And\nbe assured that Athens will not be ashamed to learn what is for her\ngood from a barbarian and an alien.\n\n_An_. Ah, now I have a specimen of that Attic irony which I\nhave so often heard of. I am an unsettled wanderer who lives on his\ncart and goes from land to land, who has never dwelt in a city, nor\neven seen one till now; how should I lay down a constitution, or\ngive lessons to a people that is one with the soil it lives on\n[Footnote: See _Athenians_ in Notes.], and for all these ages\nhas enjoyed the blessings of perfect order in this ancient city?\nHow, above all, instruct that Solon whose native gift all men say\nit is to know how a state may best be governed, and what laws will\nbring it happiness? Nevertheless, you shall be my legislator too; I\nwill contradict you, where I think you wrong, for my own better\ninstruction. And here we are, safely covered from the sun\u2019s\npursuit, and this cool stone invites us to take our ease. Start now\nand give me your reasons. Why seize upon the rising generation so\nyoung, and subject them to such toils? How do you develop perfect\nvirtue out of clay and training? What is the exact contribution to\nit of dust and summersaults? That and that only is my first\ncuriosity. All the rest you shall give me by degrees as occasion\nrises later. But, Solon, one thing you must bear in mind: you are\ntalking to a barbarian. What I mean is, you must be simple, and\nbrief; I am afraid I shall forget the beginning, if a very abundant\nflow follows.\n\n_So_. Why, you had better work the sluice yourself, whenever\nthe word-stream is either turbid or diverging into a wrong\nchannel. As for mere continuance, you can cut that up by questions.\nHowever, so long as what I have to say is not irrelevant, I do not\nknow that length matters. There is an ancient procedure in the\nAreopagus, our murder court. When the members have ascended the\nhill, and taken their seats to decide a case of murder or\ndeliberate maiming or arson, each side is allowed to address the\ncourt in turn, prosecution and defence being conducted either by\nthe principals or by counsel. As long as they speak to the matter\nin hand, the court listens silently and patiently. But if either\nprefaces his speech with an appeal to its benevolence, or attempts\nto stir its compassion or indignation by irrelevant considerations\n\u2014and the legal profession have numberless ways of playing upon\njuries\u2014, the usher at once comes up and silences him. The court is\nnot to be trifled with or have its food disguised with condiments,\nbut to be shown the bare facts. Now, Anacharsis, I hereby create\nyou a temporary Areopagite; you shall hear me according to that\ncourt\u2019s practice, and silence me if you find me cajoling you; but\nas long as I keep to the point, I may speak at large. For there is\nno sun here to make length a burden to you; we have plenty of shade\nand plenty of time.\n\n_An_. That sounds reasonable. And I take it very kindly that\nyou should have given me this incidental view of the proceedings on\nthe Areopagus; they are very remarkable, quite a pattern of the way\na judicial decision should be arrived at. Let your speech be\nregulated accordingly, and the Areopagite of your appointment shall\nlisten as his office requires.\n\n_So_. Well, I must start with a brief preliminary statement of\nour views upon city and citizens. A city in our conception is not\nthe buildings\u2014walls, temples, docks, and so forth; these are no\nmore than the local habitation that provides the members of the\ncommunity with shelter and safety; it is in the citizens that we\nfind the root of the matter; they it is that replenish and organize\nand achieve and guard, corresponding in the city to the soul in\nman. Holding this view, we are not indifferent, as you see, to our\ncity\u2019s body; that we adorn with all the beauty we can impart to it;\nit is provided with internal buildings, and fenced as securely as\nmay be with external walls. But our first, our engrossing\npreoccupation is to make our citizens noble of spirit and strong of\nbody. So they will in peace time make the most of themselves and\ntheir political unity, while in war they will bring their city\nthrough safe with its freedom and well-being unimpaired. Their\nearly breeding we leave to their mothers, nurses, and tutors, who\nare to rear them in the elements of a liberal education. But as\nsoon as they attain to a knowledge of good and evil, when reverence\nand shame and fear and ambition spring up in them, when their\nbodies begin to set and strengthen and be equal to toil, then we\ntake them over, and appoint them both a course of mental\ninstruction and discipline, and one of bodily endurance. We are not\nsatisfied with mere spontaneous development either for body or\nsoul; we think that the addition of systematic teaching will\nimprove the gifted and reform the inferior. We conform our practice\nto that of the farmer, who shelters and fences his plants while\nthey are yet small and tender, to protect them from the winds, but,\nas soon as the shoot has gathered substance, prunes it and lets the\nwinds beat upon it and knock it about, and makes it thereby the\nmore fruitful.\n\nWe first kindle their minds with music and arithmetic, teach them\nto write and to read with expression. Then, as they get on, we\nversify, for the better impressing their memories, the sayings of\nwise men, the deeds of old time, or moral tales. And as they hear\nof worship won and works that live in song, they yearn ever more,\nand are fired to emulation, that they too may be sung and marvelled\nat by them that come after, and have their Hesiod and their Homer.\nAnd when they attain their civil rights, and it is time for them to\ntake their share in governing\u2014but all this, it may be, is\nirrelevant. My subject was not how we train their souls, but why we\nthink fit to subject them to the toils we do. I will silence myself\nwithout waiting for the usher, or for you, my Areopagite, who have\nbeen too considerate, methinks, in letting me maunder on out of\nbounds all this way.\n\n_An_. Another point of Areopagite procedure, please, Solon.\nWhen a speaker passes over essential matters in silence, has the\ncourt no penalty for him?\n\n_So_. Why? I do not take you.\n\n_An_. Why, you propose to pass by the question of the soul,\nwhich is the noblest and the most attractive to me, and discuss the\nless essential matters of gymnasiums and physical exercise.\n\n_So_. You see, my dear sir, I have my eye on our original\nconditions; I do not want to divert the word-stream; it might\nconfuse your memory with its irregular flow. However, I will do\nwhat I can in the way of a mere summary for this branch of the\nsubject; as for a detailed examination of it, that must be\ndeferred.\n\nWell, we regulate their sentiments partly by teaching them the laws\nof the land, which are inscribed in large letters and exposed at\nthe public expense for all to read, enjoining certain acts and\nforbidding others, and partly by making them attend good men, who\nteach them to speak with propriety, act with justice, content\nthemselves with political equality, eschew evil, ensue good, and\nabstain from violence; sophist and philosopher are the names by\nwhich these teachers are known. Moreover, we pay for their\nadmission to the theatre, where the contemplation of ancient heroes\nand villains in tragedy or comedy has its educational effect of\nwarning or encouragement. To the comic writers we further give the\nlicence of mockery and invective against any of their fellow\ncitizens whose conduct they find discreditable; such exposure may\nact both directly upon the culprits, and upon others by way of\nexample.\n\n_An_. Ah, I have seen the tragedians and comedians you speak\nof, at least if the former are men in heavy stilted shoes, and\nclothes all picked out with gold bands; they have absurd head-\npieces with vast open mouths, from inside which comes an enormous\nvoice, while they take great strides which it seems to me must be\ndangerous in those shoes. I think there was a festival to Dionysus\ngoing on at the time. Then the comedians are shorter, go on their\nown feet, are more human, and smaller-voiced; but their head-pieces\nare still more ridiculous, so much so that the audience was\nlaughing at them like one man. But to the others, the tall ones,\nevery one listened with a dismal face; I suppose they were sorry\nfor them, having to drag about those great clogs.\n\n_So_. Oh no, it was not for the actors that they were sorry.\nThe poet was probably setting forth some sad tale of long ago, with\nfine speeches that appealed to the audience\u2019s feelings and drew\ntears from them. I dare say you observed also some flute-players,\nwith other persons who stood in a circle and sang in chorus. These\ntoo are things that have their uses. Well, our youths\u2019 souls are\nmade susceptible and developed by these and similar influences.\n\nThen their bodily training, to which your curiosity was especially\ndirected, is as follows. When their first pithless tenderness is\npast, we strip them and aim at hardening them to the temperature of\nthe various seasons, till heat does not incommode nor frost\nparalyse them. Then we anoint them with oil by way of softening\nthem into suppleness. It would be absurd that leather, dead stuff\nas it is, should be made tougher and more lasting by being softened\nwith oil, and the living body get no advantage from the same\nprocess. Accordingly we devise elaborate gymnastic exercises,\nappoint instructors of each variety, and teach one boxing, another\nthe pancratium. They are to be habituated to endurance, to meet\nblows half way, and never shrink from a wound. This method works\ntwo admirable effects in them: makes them spirited and heedless of\nbodily danger, and at the same time strong and enduring. Those whom\nyou saw lowering their heads and wrestling learn to fall safely and\npick themselves up lightly, to shove and grapple and twist, to\nendure throttling, and to heave an adversary off his legs.\n_Their_ acquirements are not unserviceable either; the one\ngreat thing they gain is beyond dispute; their bodies are hardened\nand strengthened by this rough treatment. Add another advantage of\nsome importance: it is all so much practice against the day of\nbattle. Obviously a man thus trained, when he meets a real enemy,\nwill grapple and throw him the quicker, or if he falls will know\nbetter how to get up again. All through we are reckoning with that\nreal test in arms; we expect much better results from our material\nif we supple and exercise their bodies before the armour goes on,\nso increasing their strength and efficiency, making them light and\nwiry in themselves (though the enemy will rather be impressed with\ntheir weight).\n\nYou see how it will act. Something may surely be expected from\nthose in arms who even without them would be considered awkward\ncustomers; they show no inert pasty masses of flesh, no cadaverous\nskinniness, they are not shade-blighted women; they do not quiver\nand run with sweat at the least exertion, and pant under their\nhelmets as soon as a midday sun like this adds to the burden. What\nwould be the use of creatures who should be overpowered by thirst\nand dust, unnerved at sight of blood, and as good as dead before\nthey came within bow-shot or spear-thrust of the enemy? But our\nfellows are ruddy and sunburnt and steady-eyed, there is spirit\nand fire and virility in their looks, they are in prime condition,\nneither shrunken and withered nor running to corpulence, but well\nand truly proportioned; the waste superfluity of their tissues they\nhave sweated out; the stuff that gives strength and activity,\npurged from all inferior admixture, remains part of their\nsubstance. The winnowing fan has its counterpart in our gymnastics,\nwhich blow away chaff and husks, and sift and collect the clean\ngrain.\n\nThe inevitable result is sound health and great capacity of\nenduring fatigue. A man like this does not sweat for a trifle, and\nseldom shows signs of distress. Returning to my winnowing simile\u2014\nif you were to set fire on the one hand to pure wheat grain, and on\nthe other to its chaff and straw, the latter would surely blaze up\nmuch the quicker; the grain would burn only gradually, without a\nblaze and not all at once; it would smoulder slowly and take much\nlonger to consume. Well, disease or fatigue being similarly applied\nto this sort of body will not easily find weak spots, nor get the\nmastery of it lightly. Its interior is in good order, its exterior\nstrongly fortified against such assaults, so that it gives neither\nadmission nor entertainment to the destroying agencies of sun or\nfrost. To any place that begins to weaken under toil comes an\naccession from the abundant internal heat collected and stored up\nagainst the day of need; it fills the vacancy, restores the vital\nforce, and lengthens endurance to the utmost. Past exertion means\nnot dissipation but increase of force, which can be fanned into\nfresh life.\n\nFurther, we accustom them to running, both of the long distance and\nof the sprinting kind. And they have to run not on hard ground with\na good footing, but in deep sand on which you can neither tread\nfirmly nor get a good push off, the foot sinking in. Then, to fit\nthem to leap a trench or other obstacle, we make them practise with\nleaden dumb-bells in their hands. And again there are distance\nmatches with the javelin. Yes, and you saw in the gymnasium a\nbronze disk like a small buckler, but without handle or straps; you\ntried it as it lay there, and found it heavy and, owing to its\nsmooth surface, hard to handle. Well, that they hurl upwards and\nforwards, trying who can get furthest and outdo his competitors\u2014an\nexercise that strengthens the shoulders and braces the fingers and\ntoes.\n\nAs to the clay and dust that first moved your laughter, I will tell\nyou now why they are provided. In the first place, that a fall may\nbe not on a hard surface, but soft and safe. Secondly, greater\nslipperiness is secured by sweat and clay combined (you compared\nthem to eels, you remember); now this is neither useless nor\nabsurd, but contributes appreciably to strength and activity. An\nadversary in that condition must be gripped tightly enough to\nbaffle his attempts at escape. To lift up a man who is all over\nclay, sweat, and oil, and who is doing his very best to get away\nand slip through your fingers, is no light task, I assure you. And\nI repeat that all these things have their military uses too: you\nmay want to take up a wounded friend and convey him out of danger;\nyou may want to heave an enemy over your head and make off with\nhim. So we give them still harder tasks in training, that they may\nbe abundantly equal to the less.\n\nThe function we assign to dust is just the reverse, to prevent one\nwho is gripped from getting loose. After learning in the clay to\nretain their hold on the elusive, they are accustomed in turn to\nescape themselves even from a firm grasp. Also, we believe the dust\nforms a plaster that keeps in excessive sweat, prevents waste of\npower, and obviates the ill effects of the wind playing upon a body\nwhen its pores are all relaxed and open. Besides which, it cleanses\nthe skin and makes it glossy. I should like to put side by side one\nof the white creatures who live sheltered lives and, after washing\noff his dust and clay, any of the Lyceum frequenters you should\nselect, and then ask you which you would rather resemble. I know\nyou would make your choice at the first glance, without waiting to\nsee what they could do; you would rather be solid and well-knit\nthan delicate and soft and white for want of the blood that had\nhidden itself away out of sight.\n\nSuch are the exercises we prescribe to our young men, Anacharsis;\nwe look to find them good guardians of their country and bulwarks\nof our freedom; thus we defeat our enemies if they invade us, and\nso far overawe our immediate neighbours that they mostly\nacknowledge our supremacy and pay us tribute. During peace also we\nfind our account in their being free from vulgar ambitions and from\nthe insolence generated by idleness; they have these things to fill\ntheir lives and occupy their leisure. I told you of a prize that\nall may win and of a supreme political happiness; these are\nattained when we find our youth in the highest condition alike for\npeace and war, intent upon all that is noblest.\n\n_An_. I see, Solon; when an enemy invades, you anoint yourselves\nwith oil, dust yourselves over, and go forth sparring at them; then\nthey of course cower before you and run away, afraid of getting a\nhandful of your sand in their open mouths, or of your dancing round\nto get behind them, twining your legs tight round their bellies,\nand throttling them with your elbows rammed well in under their\nchin-pieces. It is true they will try the effect of arrows and\njavelins; but you are so sunburnt and full-blooded, the missiles\nwill hurt you no more than if you were statues; you are not chaff\nand husks; you will not be readily disposed of by the blows you\nget; much time and attention will be required before you at last,\ncut to pieces with deep wounds, have a few drops of blood extracted\nfrom you. Have I misunderstood your figure, or is this a fair\ndeduction from it?\n\nBut perhaps you will take the equipment of your tragedians and\ncomedians, and when you get your marching orders put on those wide-\nmouthed headpieces, to scare the foe with their appalling terrors;\nof course, and you can put the stilted things on your feet; they\nwill be light for running away (if that should be advisable), or,\nif you are in pursuit, the strides they lend themselves to will\nmake your enemy\u2019s escape impossible. Seriously now, are not these\nrefinements of yours all child\u2019s play\u2014something for your idle,\nslack youngsters to do? If you really want to be free and happy,\nyou must have other exercises than these; your training must be a\ngenuine martial one; no toy contests with friends, but real ones\nwith enemies; danger must be an element in your character-\ndevelopment. Never mind dust and oil; teach them to use bow and\njavelin; and none of your light darts diverted by a puff of wind;\nlet it be a ponderous spear that whistles as it flies; to which add\nstones, a handful each, the axe, the shield, the breastplate, and\nthe helmet.\n\nOn your present system, I cannot help thinking you should be very\ngrateful to some God for not having allowed you to perish under the\nattack of any half-armed band. Why, if I were to draw this little\ndagger at my girdle and run amuck at your collective youth, I could\ntake the gymnasium without more ado; they would all run away and\nnot dare face the cold steel; they would skip round the statues,\nhide behind pillars, and whimper and quake till I laughed again. We\nshould have no more of the ruddy frames they now display; they\nwould be another colour then, all white with terror. That is the\ntemper that deep peace has infused into you; you could not endure\nthe sight of a single plume on an enemy\u2019s crest.\n\n_So_. Ah, Anacharsis, the Thracians who invaded us with\nEumolpus told another tale; so did your women who assailed Athens\nwith Hippolyta; so every one who has met us in the field. My dear\nsir, it does not follow from our exercising our youths without arms\nthat we expose them in the same condition to the real thing; the\nindependent bodily development once complete, training in arms\nfollows; and to this they come much the fitter for their previous\nwork.\n\n_An_. Where is your military gymnasium, then? I have been all\nover Athens, and seen no sign of it.\n\n_So_. But if you stay longer you will find that every man has\narms enough, for use at the proper time; you will see our plumes\nand horse-trappings, our horses and horsemen; these last amounting\nto a quarter of our citizens. But to carry arms and be girded with\nscimetars we consider unnecessary in peace time; indeed there is a\nfine for going armed in town without due cause, or producing\nweapons in public. _You_ of course may be pardoned for living\nin arms. The want of walls gives conspiracy its chance; you have\nmany enemies; you never know when somebody may come upon you in\nyour sleep, pull you out of your cart, and dispatch you. And then,\nin the mutual distrust inseparable from an independence that\nrecognizes no law or constitution, the sword must be always at hand\nto repel violence.\n\n_An_. Oho, you think the wearing of arms, except on occasion,\nunnecessary; you are careful of your weapons, avoid wear and tear\nfor them, and put them away for use when the time comes; but the\nbodies of your youth you keep at work even when no danger presses;\nyou knock them about and dissolve them in sweat; instead of\nhusbanding their strength for the day of need, you expend it idly\non clay and dust. How is that?\n\n_So_. I fancy you conceive of force as something similar to\nwine or water or liquid of some sort. You are afraid of its\ndribbling away in exercise as those might from an earthenware jar,\nand by its disappearance leaving the body, which is supposed to\nhave no internal reserves, empty and dry. That is not the case; the\ngreater the drain upon it in the course of exercise, the greater\nthe supply; did you ever hear a story about the Hydra? cut off one\nof its heads, and two immediately sprang up in its place. No, it is\nthe unexercised and fibreless, in whom no adequate store of\nmaterial has ever been laid up, that will peak and pine under toil.\nThere is a similar difference between a fire and a lamp; the same\nbreath that kindles the former and soon excites it to greater heat\nwill put out the latter, which is but ill provided to resist the\nblast; it has a precarious tenure, you see.\n\n_An_. Ah, I cannot get hold of all that, Solon; it is too\nsubtle for me\u2014wants exact thought and keen intelligence. But I\nwish you would tell me\u2014at the Olympic, Isthmian, Pythian, and\nother Games, attended, you tell me, by crowds to see your youth\ncontend, why do you have no martial events? Instead, you put them\nin a conspicuous place and exhibit them kicking and cuffing one\nanother, and when they win give them apples or wild olive. Now your\nreason for that would be worth hearing.\n\n_So_. Well, we think it will increase their keenness for\nexercise to see the champions at it honoured and proclaimed by name\namong the assembled Greeks. It is the thought of having to strip\nbefore such a crowd that makes them take pains with their\ncondition; they do not want to be a shameful spectacle, so each\ndoes his best to deserve success. And the prizes, as I said before,\nare not small things\u2014to be applauded by the spectators, to be the\nmark of all eyes and fingers as the best of one\u2019s contemporaries.\nAccordingly, numbers of spectators, not too old for training,\ndepart with a passion thus engendered for toilsome excellence. Ah,\nAnacharsis, if the love of fair fame were to be wiped out of our\nlives, what good would remain? Who would care to do a glorious\ndeed? But as things are you may form your conclusions from what you\nsee. These who are so keen for victory when they have no weapons\nand only a sprig of wild olive or an apple to contend for, how\nwould they behave in martial array, with country and wives and\nchildren and altars at stake?\n\nI wonder what your feelings would be if you saw our quail and cock\nfights, and the excitement they raise. You would laugh, no doubt,\nespecially when you were told that they are enjoined by law, and\nthat all of military age must attend and watch how the birds spar\ntill they are utterly exhausted. And yet it is not a thing to laugh\nat either; a spirit of contempt for danger is thus instilled into\nmen\u2019s souls; shall they yield to cocks in nobility and courage?\nshall they let wounds or weariness or discomfort incapacitate them\nbefore there is need? But as for testing our men in arms and\nlooking on while they gash one another, no, thank you! that would\nbe brutality and savagery, besides the bad policy of butchering our\nbravest, who would serve us best against our enemies.\n\nYou say you are going to visit the rest of Greece also. Well, if\nyou go to Sparta, remember not to laugh at them either, nor think\ntheir labour is all in vain, when they charge and strike one\nanother over a ball in the theatre; or perhaps they will go into a\nplace enclosed by water, divide into two troops, and handle one\nanother as severely as enemies (except that they too have no arms),\nuntil the Lycurgites drive the Heraclids, or vice versa, out of the\nenclosure and into the water; it is all over then; not another blow\nbreaks the peace. Still worse, you may see them being scourged at\nthe altar, streaming with blood, while their parents look on\u2014the\nmothers, far from being distressed by the sight, actually making\nthem hold out with threats, imploring them to endure pain to the\nlast extremity and not be unmanned by suffering. There are many\ninstances of their dying under the trial; while they had life and\ntheir people\u2019s eyes were on them, they would not give up, nor\nconcede anything to bodily pain; and you will find their statues\nthere, set up _honoris causa_ by the Spartan state. Seeing\nthese things, never take them for madmen, nor say that, since it is\nneither a tyrant\u2019s bidding nor a conqueror\u2019s ordinance, they\nvictimize themselves for no good reason. Lycurgus their lawgiver\nwould have many reasonable remarks to make to you on the subject,\nand give you his grounds for thus afflicting them; he was not moved\nby enmity or hatred; he was not wasting the state\u2019s young blood for\nnothing; he only thought it proper that defenders of their country\nshould have endurance in the highest degree and be entirely\nsuperior to fear. However, you need no Lycurgus to tell you; you\ncan surely see for yourself that, if one of these men were captured\nin war, no tortures would wring a Spartan secret out of him; he\nwould take his scourging with a smile, and try whether the scourger\nwould not be tired sooner than the scourged.\n\n_An_. Solon, did Lycurgus take his whippings at the fighting\nage, or did he make these spirited regulations on the safe basis of\nsuperannuation?\n\n_So_. It was in his old age, after returning from Crete, that\nhe legislated. He had been attracted to Crete by hearing that their\nlaws were the best possible, devised by Minos, son of Zeus.\n\n_An_. Well, and why did you not copy Lycurgus and whip your\nyoung men? It is a fine institution quite worthy of yourselves.\n\n_So_. Oh, we were content with our native exercises; we are\nnot much given to imitating other nations.\n\n_An_. No, no; you realize what a thing it is to be stripped\nand scourged with one\u2019s hands up, without benefit to oneself or\none\u2019s country. If I do happen to be at Sparta when this performance\nis on, I shall expect a public stoning at their hands for laughing\nat it all, when I see them being whipped like robbers or thieves or\nsuch malefactors. Really, I think a state that submits to such\nridiculous treatment at its own hands wants a dose of hellebore.\n\n_So_. Friend, do not plume yourself on winning an undefended\ncase where you have it all your own way in the absence of your\nopponents. In Sparta you will find some one to plead properly for\ntheir customs. But now, as I have described ours to you, not\napparently to your satisfaction, I may fairly ask you to take your\nturn and tell me how you train your youth in Scythia; what\nexercises do you bring them up in? how do you make good men of\nthem?\n\n_An_. Quite a fair demand, Solon; I will give you the Scythian\ncustoms; there is no grandeur about them; they are not much like\nyours; for we would never take a single box on the ears, we are\nsuch cowards; but such as they are, you shall have them. We must\nput off our talk till to-morrow, though, if you do not mind; I want\nto think quietly over what you have said, and collect materials for\nwhat I am to say myself. On that understanding let us go home; for\nit is getting late.\n\n\n\n\nOF MOURNING\n\n\nThe behaviour of the average man in a time of bereavement, his own\nlanguage and the remarks offered him by way of consolation, are\nthings that will reward the attention of a curious observer. The\nmourner takes it for granted that a terrible blow has fallen both\nupon himself and upon the object of his lamentations: yet for all\nhe knows to the contrary (and here I appeal to Pluto and\nPersephone) the departed one, so far from being entitled to\ncommiseration, may find himself in improved circumstances. The\nfeelings of the bereaved party are in fact guided solely by custom\nand convention. The procedure in such cases\u2014but no: let me first\nstate the popular beliefs on the subject of death itself; we shall\nthen understand the motives for the elaborate ceremonial with which\nit is attended.\n\nThe vulgar (as philosophers call the generality of mankind),\nimplicitly taking as their text-book the fictions of Homer and\nHesiod and other poets, assume the existence of a deep subterranean\nhole called Hades; spacious, murky, and sunless, but by some\nmysterious means sufficiently lighted to render all its details\nvisible. Its king is a brother of Zeus, one Pluto; whose name\u2014so\nan able philologer assures me\u2014contains a complimentary allusion to\nhis ghostly wealth. As to the nature of his government, and the\ncondition of his subjects, the authority allotted to him extends\nover all the dead, who, from the moment that they come under his\ncontrol, are kept in unbreakable fetters; Shades are on no account\npermitted to return to Earth; to this rule there have been only two\nor three exceptions since the beginning of the world, and these\nwere made for very urgent reasons. His realm is encompassed by vast\nrivers, whose very names inspire awe: Cocytus, Pyriphlegethon, and\nthe like. Most formidable of all, and first to arrest the progress\nof the new-comer, is Acheron, that lake which none may pass save by\nthe ferryman\u2019s boat; it is too deep to be waded, too broad for the\nswimmer, and even defies the flight of birds deceased. At the very\nbeginning of the descent is a gate of adamant: here Aeacus, a\nnephew of the king, stands on guard. By his side is a three-headed\ndog, a grim brute; to new arrivals, however, he is friendly enough,\nreserving his bark, and the yawning horror of his jaws, for the\nwould-be runaway. On the inner shore of the lake is a meadow,\nwherein grows asphodel; here, too, is the fountain that makes war\non memory, and is hence called Lethe. All these particulars the\nancients would doubtless obtain from the Thessalian queen Alcestis\nand her fellow-countryman Protesilaus, from Theseus the son of\nAegeus, and from the hero of the Odyssey. These witnesses (whose\nevidence is entitled to our most respectful acceptance) did not, as\nI gather, drink of the waters of Lethe; because then they would not\nhave remembered. According to them, the supreme power is entirely\nin the hands of Pluto and Persephone, who, however, are assisted in\nthe labours of government by a host of underlings: such are the\nFuries, the Pains, the Fears; such too is Hermes, though he is not\nalways in attendance. Judicial powers are vested in two satraps or\nviceroys, Minos and Rhadamanthus, both Cretans, and both sons of\nZeus. By them all good and just men who have followed the precepts\nof virtue are sent off in large detachments to form colonies, as it\nwere, in the Elysian Plain, and there to lead the perfect life.\nEvil-doers, on the contrary, are handed over to the Furies, who\nconduct them to the place of the wicked, where they are punished in\ndue proportion to their iniquities. What a variety of torments is\nthere presented! The rack, the fire, the gnawing vulture; here\nIxion spins upon his wheel, there Sisyphus rolls his stone. I have\nnot forgotten Tantalus; but he stands elsewhere, stands parched on\nthe Lake\u2019s very brink, like to die of thirst, poor wretch! Then\nthere is the numerous class of neutral characters; these wander\nabout the meadow; formless phantoms, that evade the touch like\nsmoke. It seems that they depend for their nourishment upon the\nlibations and victims offered by us upon their tombs; accordingly,\na Shade who has no surviving friends or relations passes a hungry\ntime of it in the lower world.\n\nSo profoundly have the common people been impressed with these\ndoctrines that, when a man dies, the first act of his relations is\nto put a penny into his mouth, that he may have wherewithal to pay\nthe ferryman: they do not stop to inquire what is the local\ncurrency, whether Attic or Macedonian or Aeginetan; nor does it\noccur to them how much better it would be for the departed one if\nthe fare were not forthcoming,\u2014because then the ferryman would\ndecline to take him, and he would be sent back into the living\nworld. Lest the Stygian Lake should prove inadequate to the\nrequirements of ghostly toilets, the corpse is next washed,\nanointed with the choicest unguents to arrest the progress of\ndecay, crowned with fresh flowers, and laid out in sumptuous\nraiment; an obvious precaution, this last; it would not do for the\ndeceased to take a chill on the journey, nor to exhibit himself to\nCerberus with nothing on. Lamentation follows. The women wail; men\nand women alike weep and beat their breasts and rend their hair and\nlacerate their cheeks; clothes are also torn on the occasion, and\ndust sprinkled on the head. The survivors are thus reduced to a\nmore pitiable condition than the deceased: while they in all\nprobability are rolling about and dashing their heads on the\nground, he, bravely attired and gloriously garlanded, reposes\ngracefully upon his lofty bier, adorned as it were for some\npageant. The mother\u2014nay, it is the father, as likely as not,\u2014now\nadvances from among the relatives, falls upon the bier (to heighten\nthe dramatic effect, we will suppose its occupant to be young and\nhandsome), and utters wild and meaningless ejaculations; the corpse\ncannot speak, otherwise it might have something to say in reply.\nHis son\u2014the father exclaims, with a mournful emphasis on every\nword,\u2014his beloved son is no more; he is gone; torn away before his\nhour was come, leaving him alone to mourn; he has never married,\nnever begotten children, never been on the field of battle, never\nlaid hand to the plough, never reached old age; never again will he\nmake merry, never again know the joys of love, never, alas! tipple\nat the convivial board among his comrades. And so on, and so on. He\nimagines his son to be still coveting these things, and coveting\nthem in vain. But this is nothing: time after time men have been\nknown to slaughter horses upon the tomb, and concubines and pages;\nto burn clothes and other finery, or bury it, in the idea that the\ndeceased will find a profitable use for such things in the lower\nworld. Now the afflicted senior, in delivering the tragic\nutterances I have suggested above, and others of the same kind, is\nnot, as I understand it, consulting the interests of his son (who\nhe knows will not hear him, though he shout louder than Stentor),\nnor yet his own; he is perfectly aware of his sentiments, and has\nno occasion to bellow them into his own ear. The natural conclusion\nis, that this tomfoolery is for the benefit of the spectators; and\nall the time he has not an idea where his son is, or what may be\nhis condition; he cannot even have reflected upon human life\ngenerally, or he would know that the loss of it is no such great\nmatter. Let us imagine that the son has obtained leave from Aeacus\nand Pluto to take a peep into the daylight, and put a stop to these\nparental maunderings. \u2018Confound it, sir,\u2019 he might exclaim, \u2018what\nis the noise about? You bore me. Enough of hair-plucking and face-\nscratching. When you call me an ill-fated wretch, you abuse a\nbetter man than yourself, and a more fortunate. Why are you so\nsorry for me? Is it because I am not a bald, bent, wrinkled old\ncripple like yourself? Is it because I have not lived to be a\nbattered wreck, nor seen a thousand moons wax and wane, only to\nmake a fool of myself at the last before a crowd? Can your sapience\npoint to any single convenience of life, of which we are deprived\nin the lower world? I know what you will say: clothes and good\ndinners, wine and women, without which you think I shall be\ninconsolable. Are you now to learn that freedom from hunger and\nthirst is better than meat and drink, and insensibility to cold\nbetter than plenty of clothes? Come, I see you need enlightenment;\nI will show you how lamentation ought to be done. Make a fresh\nstart, thus: Alas, my son! Hunger and thirst and cold are his no\nlonger! He is gone, gone beyond the reach of sickness; he fears not\nfever any more, nor enemies nor tyrants. Never again, my son, shall\nlove disturb your peace, impair your health, make hourly inroads on\nyour purse; oh, heavy change! Never can you reach contemptible old\nage, never be an eyesore to your juniors!\u2014Confess, now, that my\nlamentation has the advantage of yours, in veracity, as in\nabsurdity.\n\n\u2018Perhaps it is the pitchy darkness of the infernal regions that\nruns in your head? is that the trouble? Are you afraid I shall be\nsuffocated in the confinement of the tomb? You should reflect that\nmy eyes will presently decay, or (if such is your good pleasure) be\nconsumed with fire; after which I shall have no occasion to notice\neither light or darkness. However, let that pass. But all this\nlamentation, now; this fluting and beating of breasts; these wholly\ndisproportionate wailings: how am I the better for it all? And what\ndo I want with a garlanded column over my grave? And what good do\nyou suppose you are going to do by pouring wine on it? do you\nexpect it to filter through all the way to Hades? As to the\nvictims, you must surely see for yourselves that all the solid\nnutriment is whisked away heavenwards in the form of smoke, leaving\nus Shades precisely as we were; the residue, being dust, is\nuseless; or is it your theory that Shades batten on ashes? Pluto\u2019s\nrealm is not so barren, nor asphodel so scarce with us, that we\nmust apply to you for provisions.\u2014What with this winding-sheet and\nthese woollen bandages, my jaws have been effectually sealed up,\nor, by Tisiphone, I should have burst out laughing long before this\nat the stuff you talk and the things you do.\u2019\n\n  And at the word Death sealed his lips for ever.\n\nThus far our corpse, leaning on one side, supported on an elbow.\nCan we doubt that he is in the right of it? And yet these\nsimpletons, not content with their own noise, must call in\nprofessional assistance: an artist in grief, with a fine repertoire\nof cut-and-dried sorrows at his command, assumes the direction\nof this inane choir, and supplies a theme for their woful\nacclamations. So far, all men are fools alike: but at this point\nnational peculiarities make their appearance. The Greeks burn their\ndead, the Persians bury them; the Indian glazes the body, the\nScythian eats it, the Egyptian embalms it. In Egypt, indeed, the\ncorpse, duly dried, is actually placed at table,\u2014I have seen it\ndone; and it is quite a common thing for an Egyptian to relieve\nhimself from pecuniary embarrassment by a timely visit to the\npawnbroker, with his brother or father deceased. The childish\nfutility of pyramids and mounds and columns, with their short-lived\ninscriptions, is obvious. But some people go further, and attempt\nto plead the cause of the deceased with his infernal judges, or\ntestify to his merits, by means of funeral games and laudatory\nepitaphs. The final absurdity is the funeral feast, at which the\nassembled relatives strive to console the parents, and to prevail\nupon them to take food; and, Heaven knows, they are willing enough\nto be persuaded, being almost prostrated by a three days\u2019 fast.\n\u2018How long is this to go on?\u2019 some one expostulates. \u2018Suffer the\nspirit of your departed saint to rest in peace. Or if mourn you\nwill, then for that very reason you must eat, that your strength\nmay be proportioned to your grief.\u2019 At this point, a couple of\nlines of Homer go the round of the company:\n\n  Ev\u2019n fair-haired Niobe forgat not food,\n\nand\n\n  Not fasting mourn th\u2019 Achaeans for their dead.\n\nThe parents are persuaded, though they go to work at first in a\nsomewhat shamefaced manner; they do not want it to be thought that\nafter their bereavement they are still subject to the infirmities\nof the flesh.\n\nSuch are some of the absurdities that may be observed in mourners;\nfor I have by no means exhausted the list. And all springs from the\nvulgar error, that Death is the worst thing that can befall a man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RHETORICIAN\u2019S VADE MECUM\n\n_See note at end of piece_.\n\n\nYou ask, young man, how you may become a rhetorician, and win\nyourself the imposing and reverend style of Professor. You tell me\nlife is for you not worth living, if you cannot clothe yourself in\nthat power of the word which shall make you invincible and\nirresistible, the cynosure of all men\u2019s admiration, the desired of\nall Grecian ears. Your one wish is to be shown the way to that\ngoal. And small blame, youngster, to one who in the days of his\nyouth sets his gaze upon the things that are highest, and knowing\nnot how he shall attain, comes as you now come to me with the\nprivileged demand for counsel. Take then the best of it that I can\ngive, doubting nothing but you shall speedily be a man accomplished\nto see the right and to give it expression, if you will henceforth\nabide by what you now hear from me, practise it with assiduity, and\ngo confidently on your way till it brings you to the desired end.\n\nThe object of your pursuit is no poor one, worth but a moderate\nendeavour; to grasp it you might be content to toil and watch and\nendure to the utmost; mark how many they are who once were but\ncyphers, but whom words have raised to fame and opulence, ay, and\nto noble lineage.\n\nYet fear not, nor be appalled, when you contemplate the greatness\nof your aim, by thought of the thousand toils first to be\naccomplished. It is by no rough mountainous perspiring track that I\nshall lead you; else were I no better than those other guides who\npoint you to the common way, long, steep, toilsome, nay, for the\nmost part desperate. What should commend my counsel to you is even\nthis: a road most pleasant and most brief, a carriage road of\ndownward slope, shall bring you in all delight and ease, at what\nleisurely effortless pace you will, through flowery meadows and\nplenteous shade, to that summit which you shall mount and hold\nuntired and there lie feasting, the while you survey from your\nheight those panting ones who took the other track; they are yet in\nthe first stage of their climb, forcing their slow way amid rough\nor slippery crags, with many a headlong fall and many a wound from\nthose sharp rocks. But you will long have been up, and garlanded\nand blest; you have slept, and waked to find that Rhetoric has\nlavished upon you all her gifts at once.\n\nFine promises, these, are they not? But pray let it not stir your\ndoubts, that I offer to make most easy that which is most sweet. It\nwas but plucking a few leaves from Helicon, and the shepherd Hesiod\nwas a poet, possessed of the Muses and singing the birth of Gods\nand Heroes; and may not a rhetorician (\u2019tis no such proud title as\nthat of poet) be quickly made, if one but knows the speediest way?\n\nLet me tell you of an idea that came to nothing for want of faith,\nand brought no profit to the man it was offered to. Alexander had\nfought Arbela, deposed Darius, and was lord of Persia; his orders\nhad to be conveyed to every part of his empire by dispatch-runners.\nNow from Persia to Egypt was a long journey; to make the necessary\ncircuit round the mountains, cross Babylonia into Arabia, traverse\na great desert, and so finally reach Egypt, took at the best full\ntwenty days. And as Alexander had intelligence of disturbances in\nEgypt, it was an inconvenience not to be able to send instructions\nrapidly to his lieutenants there. A Sidonian trader came to him and\noffered to shorten the distance: if a man cut straight across the\nmountains, which could be done in three days, he would be in Egypt\nwithout more ado. This was a fact; but Alexander took the man for\nan impostor, and would have nothing to say to him. That is the\nreception any surprisingly good offer may expect from most men.\n\nBe not like them. A trial will soon show you that you may fly over\nthe mountains from Persia to Egypt, and in a day, in part of a day,\ntake rank as rhetorician. But first I will be your Cebes and give\nyou word-pictures of the two different ways leading to that\nRhetoric, with which I see you so in love. Imagine her seated on a\nheight, fair and comely; her right hand holds an Amalthea\u2019s horn\nheaped high with all fruits, and at her other side you are to see\nWealth standing in all his golden glamour. In attendance too\nare Repute and Might; and all about your lady\u2019s person flutter\nand cling embodied Praises like tiny Loves. Or you may have\nseen a painted Nilus; he reclines himself upon a crocodile or\nhippopotamus, with which his stream abounds, and round him play the\ntiny children they call in Egypt his _Cubits_; so play the\nPraises about Rhetoric. Add yourself, the lover, who long to be\nstraightway at the top, that you may wed her, and all that is hers\nbe yours; for him that weds her she must endow with her worldly\ngoods.\n\nWhen you have reached the mountain, you at first despair of scaling\nit; you seem to have set yourself the task that Aornus [Footnote:\ni.e., birdless.] presented to the Macedonians; how sheer it was on\nevery side! it was true, they thought, even a bird could hardly\nsoar that height; to take it would be work for a Dionysus or\nHeracles. Then in a little while you discern two roads; or no, one\nis no more than a track, narrow, thorny, rough, promising thirst\nand sweat. But I need say no more of it; Hesiod has described it\nlong ago The other is broad, and fringed with flowers and well\nwatered and\u2014not to keep you back with vain repetitions from the\nprize even now within your grasp\u2014such a road as I told you of but\nnow.\n\nThis much, however, I must add: that rough steep way shows not many\nsteps of travellers; a few there are, but of ancient date. It was\nmy own ill fortune to go up by it, expending needless toil; but I\ncould see from far off how level and direct was that other, though\nI did not use it; in my young days I was perverse, and put trust in\nthe poet who told me that the Good is won by toil. He was in error;\nI see that the many who toil not are more richly rewarded for their\nfortunate choice of route and method. But the question is now of\nyou; I know that when you come to the parting of the ways you will\ndoubt\u2014you doubt even now\u2014which turn to take. What you must do,\nthen, to find the easiest ascent, and blessedness, and your bride,\nand universal fame, I will tell you. Enough that _I_ have been\ncheated into toil; for you let all grow unsown and unploughed as in\nthe age of gold.\n\nA strong severe-looking man will at once come up to you; he has a\nfirm step, a deeply sunburnt body, a decided eye and wide-awake\nair; it is the guide of the rough track. This absurd person makes\nfoolish suggestions that you should employ him, and points you out\nthe footmarks of Demosthenes, Plato, and others; they are larger\nthan what we make, but mostly half obliterated by time; he tells\nyou you will attain bliss and have Rhetoric to your lawful wife, if\nyou stick as closely to these as a rope-walker to his rope; but\ndiverge for a moment, make a false step, or incline your weight too\nmuch either way, and farewell to your path and your bride. He will\nexhort you to imitate these ancients, and offer you antiquated\nmodels that lend themselves as little to imitation as old\nsculpture, say the clean-cut, sinewy, hard, firmly outlined\nproductions of Hegesias, or the school of Critius and Nesiotes; and\nhe will tell you that toil and vigilance, abstinence and\nperseverance, are indispensable, if you would accomplish your\njourney. Most mortifying of all, the time he will stipulate for is\nimmense, years upon years; he does not so much as mention days or\nmonths; whole Olympiads are his units; you feel tired at the mere\nsound of them, and ready to relinquish the happiness you had set\nyour heart upon. And as if this was not enough, he wishes to be\npaid handsomely for your trouble, and must have a good sum down\nbefore he will even put you in the way.\n\nSo he will talk\u2014a conceited primitive old-world personage; for\nmodels he offers you old masters long dead and done with, and\nexpects you to exhume rusty speeches as if they were buried\ntreasures; you are to copy a certain cutler\u2019s son [Footnote:\nDemosthenes.] or one who called the clerk Atrometus father\n[Footnote: Aeschines.]; he forgets that we are at peace now, with\nno invading Philip or hectoring Alexander to give a temporary value\nto that sort of eloquence; and he has never heard of our new road\nto Rhetoric, short, easy, and direct. Let him not prevail with you;\nheed not him at all; in his charge, if you do not first break your\nneck, you will wear yourself into a premature old age. If you are\nreally in love, and would enjoy Rhetoric before your prime is past,\nand be made much of by her, dismiss this hairy specimen of ultra-\nvirility, and leave him to climb by himself or with what dupes he\ncan make, panting and perspiring to his heart\u2019s content.\n\nGo you to the other road, where you will find much good company,\nbut in especial one man. Is he clever? is he engaging? Mark the\nnegligent ease of his gait, his neck\u2019s willowy curve, his\nlanguishing glance; these words are honey, that breath perfume; was\never head scratched with so graceful a forefinger? and those locks\n\u2014were there but more of them left\u2014how hyacinthine their wavy\norder! he is tender as Sardanapalus or Cinyras; \u2019tis Agathon\u2019s\nself, loveliest of tragedy-makers. Take these traits, that seeing\nyou may know him; I would not have you miss so divine an\napparition, the darling of Aphrodite and the Graces. Yet how\nneedless! were he to come near while your eyes were closed, and\nunbar those Hymettian lips to the voice that dwells within, you\ncould not want the thought that this was none of us who munch the\nfruits of earth, but some spirit from afar that on honeydew hath\nfed, and drunk the milk of Paradise. Him seek; trust yourself to\nhim, and you shall be in a trice rhetorician and man of note, and\nin his own great phrase, King of Words, mounted without an effort\nof your own upon the chariot of discourse. For here is the lore he\nshall impart to his disciple.\n\nBut let him describe it himself. For one so eloquent it is absurd\nthat I should speak; my histrionic talent is not equal to so mighty\na task; I might trip, and break the heroic mask in my fall. He thus\naddresses you, then, with a touch of the hand to those scanty\ncurls, and the usual charming delicate smile; you might take him\u2014\nso engaging is his utterance\u2014for a Glycera, a Malthace, or her\ncomic and meretricious majesty, Thais herself. What has a refined\nbewitching orator to do with the vulgar masculine?\n\nListen now to his modest remarks. _Dear sir, was it Apollo sent\nyou here? did he call me best of rhetoricians, as when Chaerephon\nasked and was told who was wisest of his generation? If it has not\nbeen so, if you have come directed only by the amazement and\napplause, the wonder and despair, that attend my achievements, then\nshall you soon learn whether there is divinity or no in him whom\nyou have sought. Look not for a greatness that may find its\nparallel in this man or that; a Tityus, an Otus, an Ephialtes there\nmay have been; but here is a portent and a marvel greater far than\nthey. You are to hear a voice that puts to silence all others, as\nthe trumpet the flute, as the cicala the bee, as the choir the\ntuning-fork.\n\nBut you wish to be a rhetorician yourself; well, you could have\napplied in no better quarter; my dear young friend, you have only\nto follow my instructions and example, and keep carefully in mind\nthe rules I lay down for your guidance. Indeed you may start this\nmoment without a tremor; never let it disturb you that you have not\nbeen through the laborious preliminaries with which the ordinary\nsystem besets the path of fools; they are quite unnecessary. Stay\nnot to find your slippers, as the song has it; your naked feet will\ndo as well; writing is a not uncommon accomplishment, but I do not\ninsist upon it; it is one thing, and rhetoric is another.\n\nI will first give you a list of the equipment and supplies for your\njourney that you must bring with you from home, with a view to\nmaking your way rapidly. After that, I will show you as we go along\nsome practical illustrations, add a few verbal precepts, and before\nset of sun you shall be as superior a rhetorician as myself, the\nabsolute microcosm of your profession. Bring then above all\nignorance, to which add confidence, audacity, and effrontery; as\nfor diffidence, equity, moderation, and shame, you will please\nleave them at home; they are not merely needless, they are\nencumbrances. The loudest voice you can come by, please, a ready\nfalsetto, and a gait modelled on my own. That exhausts the real\nnecessaries; very often there would be no occasion for anything\nfurther. But I recommend bright colours or white for your clothes;\nthe Tarentine stuff that lets the body show through is best; for\nshoes, wear either the Attic woman\u2019s shape with the open network,\nor else the Sicyonians that show white lining. Always have a train\nof attendants, and a book in your hand.\n\nThe rest you will take in with your eyes and ears as we go. I will\ntell you the rules you must observe, if Rhetoric is to recognize\nand admit you; otherwise she will turn from you and drive you away\nas an uninitiated intruder upon her mysteries. You must first be\nexceedingly careful about your appearance; your clothes must be\nquite the thing. Next, you must scrape up some fifteen old Attic\nwords\u2014say twenty for an outside estimate; and these you must\nrehearse diligently till you have them at the tip of your tongue;\nlet us say _sundry, whereupon, say you so, in some wise, my\nmasters;_ that is the sort of thing; these are for general\ngarnish, you understand; and you need not concern yourself about\nany little dissimilarity, repulsion, discord, between them and the\nrest; so long as your upper garment is fair and bright, what matter\nif there is coarse serge beneath it?\n\nNext, fill your quiver with queer mysterious words used once or\ntwice by the ancients, ready to be discharged at a moment\u2019s notice\nin conversation. This will attract the attention of the common\nherd, who will take you for a wonder, so much better educated than\nthemselves. Put on your clothes? of course not;_ invest yourself.\n_Will you sit in the porch, when there is a_ parvys _to\nhand? No earnest-money for us; let it be an_ arles-penny. _And\nno breakfast-time, pray, but_ undern. _You may also do a\nlittle word-formation of your own on occasion, and enact that a\nperson good, at exposition shall be known as a_ clarifier, _a\nsensible one as a_ cogitant, _or a pantomime as a_ manuactor.\n_If you commit a blunder or provincialism, you have only to carry\nit off boldly with an instant reference to the authority of some\npoet or historian, who need not exist or ever have existed; your\nphrase has his approval, and he was a wise man and a past master in\nlanguage. As for your reading, leave the ancients alone; never mind\na foolish Isocrates, a tasteless Demosthenes, a frigid Plato; study\nthe works of the last generation; you will find the declamations,\nas they call them, a plenteous store on which to draw at need.\n\nWhen the time comes for you to perform, and the audience have\nproposed subjects and invented cases for discussion, you should get\nrid of the difficult ones by calling them trivial, and complain\nthat there is nothing in this selection that can really test a\nman\u2019s powers. When they have chosen, do not hesitate a moment, but\nstart; the tongue is an unruly member; do not attempt to rule it;\nnever care whether your firstly is logics firstly, or your secondly\nand thirdly in the right order; just say what comes; you may greave\nyour head and helmet your legs, but whatever you do, move, keep\ngoing, never pause. If your subject is assault or adultery in\nAthens, cite the Indians and Medes. Always have your Marathon and\nyour Cynaegirus handy; they are indispensable. Hardly less so are a\nfleet crossing Mount Athos, an army treading the Hellespont, a sun\neclipsed by Persian arrows, a flying Xerxes, an admired Leonidas,\nan inscriptive Othryades. Salamis, Artemisium, and Plataea, should\nalso be in constant use. All this dressed as usual with our\nseasoning-garnish aforesaid\u2014that persuasive flavour of\n_sundry_ and _methinks_; do not wait till these seem to\nbe called for; they are pretty words, quite apart from their\nrelevancy.\n\nIf a fancy for impassioned_ recitative _comes over you,\nindulge it as long as you will, and air your falsetto. If your\nmatter is not of the right poetic sort, you may consider yourself\nto have met the requirements if you run over the names of the jury\nin a rhythmic manner. Appeal constantly to the pathetic instinct,\nsmite your thigh, mouth your words well, punctuate with loud sighs,\nand let your very back be eloquent as you pace to and fro. If the\naudience fails to applaud, take offence, and give your offence\nwords; if they get up and prepare to go out in disgust, tell them\nto sit down again; discipline must be maintained.\n\nIt will win you credit for copiousness, if you start with the\nTrojan War\u2014you may if you like go right back to the nuptials of\nDeucalion and Pyrrha\u2014and thence trace your subject down to to-day.\nPeople of sense, remember, are rare, and they will probably hold\ntheir tongues out of charity; or if they do comment, it will be put\ndown to jealousy. The rest are awed by your costume, your voice,\ngait, motions, falsetto, shoes, and_ sundry_; when they see\nhow you perspire and pant, they cannot admit a moment\u2019s doubt of\nyour being a very fine rhetorical performer. With them, your mere\nrapidity is a miracle quite sufficient to establish your character.\nNever prepare notes, then, nor think out a subject beforehand; that\nshows one up at once.\n\nYour friends\u2019 feet will be loud on the floor, in payment for the\ndinners you give them; if they observe you in difficulties, they\nwill come to the rescue, and give you a chance, in the relief\nafforded by rounds of applause, of thinking how to go on. A devoted\n_claque_ of your own, by the way, is among your requirements.\nIts use while you are performing I have given; and as you walk home\nafterwards, discussing the points you made, you should be\nabsolutely surrounded by them as a bodyguard. If you meet\nacquaintances on the way, talk very big about yourself, put a good\nvalue on your merits, and never mind about their feelings. Ask\nthem, Where is Demosthenes now? Or wonder _which_ of the ancients\ncomes nearest you.\n\nBut dear me, I had very nearly passed over the most important and\neffectual of all aids to reputation: the pouring of ridicule upon\nyour rivals. If a man has a fine style, its beauties are borrowed;\nif a sober one, it is bad altogether. When you go to a recitation,\narrive late, which makes you conspicuous; and when all are\nlistening intently, interject some inappropriate commendation that\nwill distract and annoy the audience; they will be so sickened with\nyour offensive words that they cannot listen. And then do not wave\nyour hand too much\u2014warm approval is rather low; and as to jumping\nup, never do it more than once or twice. A slight smile is your\nbest expression; make it clear that you do not think much of the\nthing. Only let your ears be critical, and you are sure of finding\nplenty to condemn. In fact, all the qualities needed are easily\ncome by\u2014audacity, effrontery, ready lying, indifference to\nperjury, impartial jealousy, hatred, abuse, and skilful slander\u2014\nthat is all you want to win you speedy credit and renown. So much\nfor your visible public life.\n\nAnd in private you need draw the line at nothing, gambling, drink,\nfornication, nor adultery; the last you should boast of, whether\ntruly or not; make no secret of it, but exhibit your notes from\nreal or imaginary frail ones. One of your aims should be to pass\nfor a pretty fellow, in much favour with the ladies; the report\nwill be professionally useful to you, your influence with the sex\nbeing accounted for by your rhetorical eminence.\n\nMaster these instructions, young man\u2014they are surely simple enough\nnot to overtax your powers\u2014, and I confidently promise that you\nshall soon be a first-class rhetorician like myself; after which I\nneed not tell you what great and what rapid advancement Rhetoric\nwill put in your way. You have but to look at me. My father was an\nobscure person barely above a slave; he had in fact been one south\nof Xois and Thmuis; my mother a common sempstress. I was myself not\nwithout pretensions to beauty in my youth, which earned me a bare\nliving from a miserly ill-conditioned admirer; but I discovered\nthis easy short-cut, made my way to the top\u2014for I had, if I may be\nbold to say it, all the qualifications I told you of, confidence,\nignorance, and effrontery\u2014, and at once found myself in a position\nto change my name of Pothinus to one that levels me with the\nchildren of Zeus and Leda. I then established myself in an old\ndame\u2019s house, where I earned my keep by professing a passion for\nher seventy years and her half-dozen remaining teeth, dentist\u2019s\ngold and all. However, poverty reconciled me to my task; even for\nthose cold coffin kisses_, fames _was_ condimentum optimum.\n_And it was by the merest ill luck that I missed inheriting her\nwealth\u2014that damned slave who peached about the poison I had\nbought!\n\nI was turned out neck and crop, but even so I did not starve. I\nhave my professional position and am well known in the courts\u2014\nespecially for collusion and the corruption-agency which I keep for\ncredulous litigants. My cases generally go against me; but the\npalms at my door [Transcriber\u2019s Note: Lengthy footnote relocated to\nchapter end.] are fresh and flower-crowned\u2014springes to catch\nwoodcocks, you know. Then, to be the object of universal\ndetestation, to be distinguished only less for the badness of one\u2019s\ncharacter than for that of one\u2019s speeches, to be pointed at by\nevery finger as the famous champion of all-round villany\u2014this\nseems to me no inconsiderable attainment. And now you have my\nadvice; take it with the blessing of the great Goddess Lubricity.\nIt is the same that I gave myself long ago; and very thankful I\nhave been to myself for it._\n\nAh! our admirable friend seems to have done. If you decide to take\nhis advice, you may regard yourself as practically arrived at your\ngoal. Keep his rules, and your path is clear; you may dominate the\ncourts, triumph in the lecture-room, be smiled on by the fair; your\nbride shall be not, like your lawgiver and teacher\u2019s, an old woman\noff the comic stage, but lovely dame Rhetoric. Plato told of Zeus\nsweeping on in his winged car; you shall use the figure as fitly of\nyourself. And I? why, I lack spirit and courage; I will stand out\nof your way. I will resign\u2014nay, I have resigned\u2014my high place\nabout our lady\u2019s person to you; for I cannot pay my court to her\nlike the new school. Do your walk over, then, hear your name\nannounced, take your plaudits; I ask you only to remember that you\nowe the victory not to your speed, but to your discovery of the\neasy down-hill route.\n\n[Note at end of piece: It is apparent from the later half of this\npiece that the satire is aimed at an individual. He is generally\nidentified with Julius Pollux. This Pollux (1) was contemporary\n(floruit A.D. 183) with Lucian. (2) Explains by his name the\nreference to Leda\u2019s children (Castor and Pollux) in Section 24. (3)\nPublished an Onomasticon, or classified vocabulary; cf. Sections\n16, 17. (4) Published a collection of declamations, or school\nrhetorical exercises on set themes; cf. Section 17. (5) Came from\nEgypt; cf. Section 24; Xois and Thmuis were in that country. (6) Is\nsaid to have been appointed professor of rhetoric at Athens by\nCommodus purely on account of his mellifluous voice; cf. Section\n19.\n\nIt is supposed that _Lexiphanes_ (in the dialogue of that\nname, which has much in common with the present satire) is also\nJulius Pollux.]\n\n[Relocated Footnote:\n\n  Now stretch your throat, unhappy man! now raise\n  Your clamours, that, when hoarse, a bunch of bays,\n  Stuck in your garret window, may declare,\n  That some victorious pleader nestles there.\n\n_Juvenal_, vii. 118 (Gifford).]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIAR\n\n_Tychiades. Philocles_\n\n\n_Tyc_. Philocles, what _is_ it that makes most men so fond of a\nlie? Can you explain it? Their delight in romancing themselves is\nonly equalled by the earnest attention with which they receive\nother people\u2019s efforts in the same direction.\n\n_Phi_. Why, in some cases there is no lack of motives for\nlying,\u2014motives of self-interest.\n\n_Tyc_. Ah, but that is neither here nor there. I am not\nspeaking of men who lie with an object. There is some excuse for\nthat: indeed, it is sometimes to their credit, when they deceive\ntheir country\u2019s enemies, for instance, or when mendacity is but the\nmedicine to heal their sickness. Odysseus, seeking to preserve his\nlife and bring his companions safe home, was a liar of that kind.\nThe men I mean are innocent of any ulterior motive: they prefer a\nlie to truth, simply on its own merits; they like lying, it is\ntheir favourite occupation; there is no necessity in the case. Now\nwhat good can they get out of it?\n\n_Phi_. Why, have you ever known any one with such a strong\nnatural turn for lying?\n\n_Tyc_. Any number of them.\n\n_Phi_. Then I can only say they must be fools, if they really\nprefer evil to good.\n\n_Tyc_. Oh, that is not it. I could point you out plenty of men\nof first-rate ability, sensible enough in all other respects, who\nhave somehow picked up this vice of romancing. It makes me quite\nangry: what satisfaction can there be to men of their good\nqualities in deceiving themselves and their neighbours? There are\ninstances among the ancients with which you must be more familiar\nthan I. Look at Herodotus, or Ctesias of Cnidus; or, to go further\nback, take the poets\u2014Homer himself: here are men of world-wide\ncelebrity, perpetuating their mendacity in black and white; not\ncontent with deceiving their hearers, they must send their lies\ndown to posterity, under the protection of the most admirable\nverse. Many a time I have blushed for them, as I read of the\nmutilation of Uranus, the fetters of Prometheus, the revolt of the\nGiants, the torments of Hell; enamoured Zeus taking the shape of\nbull or swan; women turning into birds and bears; Pegasuses,\nChimaeras, Gorgons, Cyclopes, and the rest of it; monstrous medley!\nfit only to charm the imaginations of children for whom Mormo and\nLamia have still their terrors. However, poets, I suppose, will be\npoets. But when it comes to national lies, when one finds whole\ncities bouncing collectively like one man, how is one to keep one\u2019s\ncountenance? A Cretan will look you in the face, and tell you that\nyonder is Zeus\u2019s tomb. In Athens, you are informed that\nErichthonius sprang out of the Earth, and that the first Athenians\ngrew up from the soil like so many cabbages; and this story assumes\nquite a sober aspect when compared with that of the Sparti, for\nwhom the Thebans claim descent from a dragon\u2019s teeth. If you\npresume to doubt these stories, if you choose to exert your common\nsense, and leave Triptolemus\u2019s winged aerial car, and Pan\u2019s\nMarathonian exploits, and Orithyia\u2019s mishap, to the stronger\ndigestions of a Coroebus and a Margites, you are a fool and a\nblasphemer, for questioning such palpable truths. Such is the power\nof lies!\n\n_Phi_. I must say I think there is some excuse, Tychiades,\nboth for your national liars and for the poets. The latter are\nquite right in throwing in a little mythology: it has a very\npleasing effect, and is just the thing to secure the attention of\ntheir hearers. On the other hand, the Athenians and the Thebans and\nthe rest are only trying to add to the lustre of their respective\ncities. Take away the legendary treasures of Greece, and you\ncondemn the whole race of ciceroni to starvation: sightseers do not\nwant the truth; they would not take it at a gift. However, I\nsurrender to your ridicule any one who has no such motive, and yet\nrejoices in lies.\n\n_Tyc_. Very well: now I have just been with the great Eucrates, who\ntreated me to a whole string of old wives\u2019 tales. I came away in\nthe middle of it; he was too much for me altogether; Furies could\nnot have driven me out more effectually than his marvel-working\ntongue.\n\n_Phi_. What, Eucrates, of all credible witnesses? That venerably\nbearded sexagenarian, with his philosophic leanings? I could never\nhave believed that he would lend his countenance to other people\u2019s\nlies, much less that _he_ was capable of such things himself\n\n_Tyc_. My dear sir, you should have heard the stuff he told\nme; the way in which he vouched for the truth of it all too,\nsolemnly staking the lives of his children on his veracity! I\nstared at him in amazement, not knowing what to make of it: one\nmoment I thought he must be out of his mind; the next I concluded\nhe had been a humbug all along, an ape in a lion\u2019s skin. Oh, it was\nmonstrous.\n\n_Phi_. Do tell me all about it; I am curious to see the\nquackery that shelters beneath so long a beard.\n\n_Tyc_. I often look in on Eucrates when I have time on my\nhands, but to-day I had gone there to see Leontichus; he is a\nfriend of mine, you know, and I understood from his boy that he had\ngone off early to inquire after Eucrates\u2019s health, I had not heard\nthat there was anything the matter with him, but this was an\nadditional reason for paying him a visit. When I got there,\nLeontichus had just gone away, so Eucrates said; but he had a\nnumber of other visitors. There was Cleodemus the Peripatetic and\nDinomachus the Stoic, and Ion. You know Ion? he is the man who\nfancies himself so much on his knowledge of Plato; if you take his\nword for it, he is the only man who has ever really got to the\nbottom of that philosopher\u2019s meaning, or is qualified to act as his\ninterpreter. There is a company for you; Wisdom and Virtue\npersonified, the _elite_ of every school, most reverend gentlemen\nall of them; it almost frightened one. Then there was Antigonus the\ndoctor, who I suppose attended in his professional capacity.\nEucrates seemed to be better already: he had come to an\nunderstanding with the gout, which had now settled down in his feet\nagain. He motioned me to a seat on the couch beside him. His voice\nsank to the proper invalid level when he saw me coming, but on my\nway in I had overheard him bellowing away most lustily. I made him\nthe usual compliments\u2014explained that this was the first I had\nheard of his illness, and that I had come to him post-haste\u2014and\nsat down at his side, in very gingerly fashion, lest I should touch\nhis feet. There had been a good deal of talk already about gout,\nand this was still going on; each man had his pet prescription to\noffer. Cleodemus was giving his. \u2018In the left hand take up the\ntooth of a field-mouse, which has been killed in the manner\ndescribed, and attach it to the skin of a freshly flayed lion; then\nbind the skin about your legs, and the pain will instantly cease.\u2019\n\u2018A lion\u2019s skin?\u2019 says Dinomachus; \u2018I understood it was an uncovered\nhind\u2019s. That sounds more likely: a hind has more pace, you see, and\nis particularly strong in the feet. A lion is a brave beast, I\ngrant you; his fat, his right fore-paw, and his beard-bristles, are\nall very efficacious, if you know the proper incantation to use\nwith each; but they would hardly be much use for gout.\u2019 \u2018Ah, yes;\nthat is what I used to think for a long time: a hind was fast, so\nher skin must be the one for the purpose. But I know better now: a\nLibyan, who understands these things, tells me that lions are\nfaster than stags; they must be, he says, because how else could\nthey catch them? \u2018All agreed that the Libyan\u2019s argument was\nconvincing. When I asked what good incantations could do, and how\nan internal complaint could be cured by external attachments, I\nonly got laughed at for my pains; evidently they set me down as a\nsimpleton, ignorant of the merest truisms, that no one in his\nsenses would think of disputing. However, I thought doctor\nAntigonus seemed rather pleased at my question. I expect his\nprofessional advice had been slighted: he wanted to lower\nEucrates\u2019s tone,\u2014cut down his wine, and put him on a vegetable\ndiet. \u2018What, Tychiades,\u2019 says Cleodemus, with a faint grin,\u2019 you\ndon\u2019t believe these remedies are good for anything?\u2019 \u2018I should have\nto be pretty far gone,\u2019 I replied, \u2018before I could admit that\nexternal things, which have no communication with the internal\ncauses of disease, are going to work by means of incantations and\nstuff, and effect a cure merely by being hung on. You might take\nthe skin of the Nemean lion himself, with a dozen of field-mice\ntacked on, and you would do no good. Why, I have seen a live lion\nlimping before now, hide and all complete.\u2019 \u2018Ah, you have a great\ndeal to learn,\u2019 cried Dinomachus; \u2018you have never taken the trouble\nto inquire into the operation of these valuable remedies. It would\nnot surprise me to hear you disputing the most palpable facts, such\nas the curing of tumours and intermittent fevers, the charming of\nreptiles, and so on; things that every old woman can effect in\nthese days. And this being so, why should not the same principles\nbe extended further?\u2019 \u2018Nail drives out nail,\u2019 I replied; \u2018you argue\nin a circle. How do I know that these cures are brought about by\nthe means to which you attribute them? You have first to show\ninductively that it is in the course of nature for a fever or a\ntumour to take fright and bolt at the sound of holy names and\nforeign incantations; till then, your instances are no better than\nold wives\u2019 tales.\u2019 \u2018In other words, you do not believe in the\nexistence of the Gods, since you maintain that cures cannot be\nwrought by the use of holy names?\u2019 \u2018Nay, say not so, my dear\nDinomachus,\u2019 I answered; \u2018the Gods may exist, and these things may\nyet be lies. I respect the Gods: I see the cures performed by them,\nI see their beneficence at work in restoring the sick through the\nmedium of the medical faculty and their drugs. Asclepius, and his\nsons after him, compounded soothing medicines and healed the sick,\n\u2014without the lion\u2019s-skin-and-field-mouse process.\u2019\n\n\u2018Never mind Asclepius,\u2019 cried Ion. \u2018I will tell you of a strange\nthing that happened when I was a boy of fourteen or so. Some one\ncame and told my father that Midas, his gardener, a sturdy fellow\nand a good workman, had been bitten that morning by an adder, and\nwas now lying prostrate, mortification having set in the leg. He\nhad been tying the vine-branches to the trellis-work, when the\nreptile crept up and bit him on the great toe, getting off to its\nhole before he could catch it; and he was now in a terrible way.\nBefore our informant had finished speaking, we saw Midas being\ncarried up by his fellow servants on a stretcher: his whole body\nwas swollen, livid and mortifying, and life appeared to be almost\nextinct. My father was very much troubled about it; but a friend of\nhis who was there assured him there was no cause for uneasiness. \u2018I\nknow of a Babylonian,\u2019 he said, \u2018what they call a Chaldaean; I will\ngo and fetch him at once, and he will put the man right.\u2019 To make a\nlong story short, the Babylonian came, and by means of an\nincantation expelled the venom from the body, and restored Midas to\nhealth; besides the incantation, however, he used a splinter of\nstone chipped from the monument of a virgin; this he applied to\nMidas\u2019s foot. And as if that were not enough (Midas, I may mention,\nactually picked up the stretcher on which he had been brought, and\ntook it off with him into the vineyard! and it was all done by an\nincantation and a bit of stone), the Chaldaean followed it up with\nan exhibition nothing short of miraculous. Early in the morning he\nwent into the field, pronounced seven names of sacred import, taken\nfrom an old book, purified the ground by going thrice round it with\nsulphur and burning torches, and thereby drove every single reptile\noff the estate! They came as if drawn by a spell: venomous toads\nand snakes of every description, asp and adder, cerastes and\nacontias; only one old serpent, disabled apparently by age, ignored\nthe summons. The Chaldaean declared that the number was not\ncomplete, appointed the youngest of the snakes as his ambassador,\nand sent him to fetch the old serpent who presently arrived. Having\ngot them all together, he blew upon them; and imagine our\nastonishment when every one of them was immediately consumed!\u2019\n\n\u2018Ion,\u2019 said I, \u2018about that one who was so old: did the ambassador\nsnake give him an arm, or had he a stick to lean on?\u2019 \u2018Ah, you will\nhave your joke,\u2019 Cleodemus put in; \u2018I was an unbeliever myself\nonce\u2014worse than you; in fact I considered it absolutely impossible\nto give credit to such things. I held out for a long time, but all\nmy scruples were overcome the first time I saw the Flying Stranger;\na Hyperborean, he was; I have his own word for it. There was no\nmore to be said after that: there was he travelling through the air\nin broad daylight, walking on the water, or strolling through fire,\nperfectly at his ease!\u2019 \u2018What,\u2019 I exclaimed,\u2019 you saw this\nHyperborean actually flying and walking on water?\u2019 \u2018I did; he wore\nbrogues, as the Hyperboreans usually do. I need not detain you with\nthe everyday manifestations of his power: how he would make people\nfall in love, call up spirits, resuscitate corpses, bring down the\nMoon, and show you Hecate herself, as large as life. But I will\njust tell you of a thing I saw him do at Glaucias\u2019s. It was not\nlong after Glaucias\u2019s father, Alexicles, had died. Glaucias, on\ncoming into the property, had fallen in love with Chrysis,\nDemaenetus\u2019s daughter. I was teaching him philosophy at the time,\nand if it had not been for this love-affair he would have\nthoroughly mastered the Peripatetic doctrines: at eighteen years\nold that boy had been through his physics, and begun analysis.\nWell, he was in a dreadful way, and told me all about his love\ntroubles. It was clearly my duty to introduce him to this\nHyperborean wizard, which I accordingly did; his preliminary fee,\nto cover the expenses of sacrifice, was to be 15 pounds, and he was\nto have another 60 pounds if Glaucias succeeded with Chrysis. Well,\nas soon as the moon was full, that being the time usually chosen\nfor these enchantments, he dug a trench in the courtyard of the\nhouse, and commenced operations, at about midnight, by summoning\nGlaucias\u2019s father, who had now been dead for seven months. The old\nman did not approve of his son\u2019s passion, and was very angry at\nfirst; however, he was prevailed on to give his consent. Hecate was\nnext ordered to appear, with Cerberus in her train, and the Moon\nwas brought down, and went through a variety of transformations;\nshe appeared first in the form of a woman, but presently she turned\ninto a most magnificent ox, and after that into a puppy. At length\nthe Hyperborean moulded a clay Eros, and ordered it to _go and\nfetch Chrysis_. Off went the image, and before long there was a\nknock at the door, and there stood Chrysis. She came in and threw\nher arms about Glaucias\u2019s neck; you would have said she was dying\nfor love of him; and she stayed on till at last we heard cocks\ncrowing. Away flew the Moon into Heaven, Hecate disappeared under\nground, all the apparitions vanished, and we saw Chrysis out of the\nhouse just about dawn.\u2014Now, Tychiades, if you had seen that, it\nwould have been enough to convince you that there was something in\nincantations.\u2019\n\n\u2018Exactly,\u2019 I replied. \u2018If I had seen it, I should have been\nconvinced: as it is, you must bear with me if I have not your eyes\nfor the miraculous. But as to Chrysis, I know her for a most\ninflammable lady. I do not see what occasion there was for the clay\nambassador and the Moon, or for a wizard all the way from the land\nof the Hyperboreans; why, Chrysis would go that distance herself\nfor the sum of twenty shillings; \u2019tis a form of incantation she\ncannot resist. She is the exact opposite of an apparition:\napparitions, you tell me, take flight at the clash of brass or\niron, whereas if Chrysis hears the chink of silver, she flies to\nthe spot. By the way, I like your wizard: instead of making all the\nwealthiest women in love with himself, and getting thousands out of\nthem, he condescends to pick up 15 pounds by rendering Glaucias\nirresistible.\u2019\n\n\u2018This is sheer folly,\u2019 said Ion; \u2018you are determined not to believe\nany one. I shall be glad, now, to hear your views on the subject of\nthose who cure demoniacal possession; the effect of _their_\nexorcisms is clear enough, and they have spirits to deal with. I\nneed not enlarge on the subject: look at that Syrian adept from\nPalestine: every one knows how time after time he has found a man\nthrown down on the ground in a lunatic fit, foaming at the mouth\nand rolling his eyes; and how he has got him on to his feet again\nand sent him away in his right mind; and a handsome fee he takes\nfor freeing men from such horrors. He stands over them as they lie,\nand asks the spirit whence it is. The patient says not a word, but\nthe spirit in him makes answer, in Greek or in some foreign tongue\nas the case may be, stating where it comes from, and how it entered\ninto him. Then with adjurations, and if need be with threats, the\nSyrian constrains it to come out of the man. I myself once saw one\ncoming out: it was of a dark, smoky complexion.\u2019 \u2018Ah, that is\nnothing for you,\u2019 I replied; \u2018your eyes can discern those\n_ideas_ which are set forth in the works of Plato, the founder\nof your school: now they make a very faint impression on the dull\noptics of us ordinary men.\u2019\n\n\u2018Do you suppose,\u2019 asked Eucrates, \u2018that he is the only man who has\nseen such things? Plenty of people besides Ion have met with\nspirits, by night and by day. As for me, if I have seen one\napparition, I have seen a thousand. I used not to like them at\nfirst, but I am accustomed to them now, and think nothing of it;\nespecially since the Arab gave me my ring of gallows-iron, and\ntaught me the incantation with all those names in it. But perhaps\nyou will doubt my word too?\u2019 \u2018Doubt the word of Eucrates, the\nlearned son of Dino? Never! least of all when he unbosoms himself\nin the liberty of his own house.\u2019 \u2018Well, what I am going to tell\nyou about the statue was witnessed night after night by all my\nhousehold, from the eldest to the youngest, and any one of them\ncould tell you the story as well as myself.\u2019 \u2018What statue is this?\u2019\n\u2018Have you never noticed as you came in that beautiful one in the\ncourt, by Demetrius the portrait-sculptor?\u2019 \u2018Is that the one with\nthe quoit,\u2014leaning forward for the throw, with his face turned\nback towards the hand that holds the quoit, and one knee bent,\nready to rise as he lets it go?\u2019 \u2018Ah, that is a fine piece of work,\ntoo,\u2014a Myron; but I don\u2019t mean that, nor the beautiful Polyclitus\nnext it, the Youth tying on the Fillet. No, forget all you pass on\nyour right as you come in; the Tyrannicides [Footnote: Harmodius\nand Aristogiton.] of Critius and Nesiotes are on that side too:\u2014\nbut did you never notice one just by the fountain?\u2014bald, pot-\nbellied, half-naked; beard partly caught by the wind; protruding\nveins? that is the one I mean; it looks as if it must be a\nportrait, and is thought to be Pelichus, the Corinthian general.\u2019\n\u2018Ah, to be sure, I have seen it,\u2019 I replied; \u2018it is to the right of\nthe Cronus; the head is crowned with fillets and withered garlands,\nand the breast gilded.\u2019 \u2018Yes, I had that done, when he cured me of\nthe tertian ague; I had been at Death\u2019s door with it.\u2019 \u2018Bravo,\nPelichus!\u2019 I exclaimed; \u2018so he was a doctor too?\u2019 \u2018Not was, but is.\nBeware of trifling with him, or he may pay you a visit before long.\nWell do I know what virtue is in that statue with which you make so\nmerry. Can you doubt that he who cures the ague may also inflict it\nat will?\u2019 \u2018I implore his favour,\u2019 I cried; \u2018may he be as merciful\nas he is mighty! And what are his other doings, to which all your\nhousehold are witnesses?\u2019 \u2018At nightfall,\u2019 said Eucrates, \u2018he\ndescends from his pedestal, and walks all round the house; one or\nother of us is continually meeting with him; sometimes he is\nsinging. He has never done any harm to any one: all we have to do\nwhen we see him is to step aside, and he passes on his way without\nmolesting us. He is fond of taking a bath; you may hear him\nsplashing about in the water all night long.\u2019 \u2018Perhaps,\u2019 I\nsuggested, \u2018it is not Pelichus at all, but Talos the Cretan, the\nson of Minos? He was of bronze, and used to walk all round the\nisland. Or if only he were made of wood instead of bronze, he might\nquite well be one of Daedalus\u2019s ingenious mechanisms\u2014you say he\nplays truant from his pedestal just like them\u2014and not the work of\nDemetrius at all.\u2019 \u2018Take care, Tychiades; you will be sorry for\nthis some day. I have not forgotten what happened to the thief who\nstole his monthly pennies.\u2019 \u2018The sacrilegious villain!\u2019 cried Ion;\n\u2018I hope he got a lesson. How was he punished? Do tell me: never\nmind Tychiades; he can be as incredulous as he likes.\u2019 \u2018At the feet\nof the statue a number of pence were laid, and other coins were\nattached to his thigh by means of wax; some of these were silver,\nand there were also silver plates, all being the thank-offerings of\nthose whom he had cured of fever. Now we had a scamp of a Libyan\ngroom, who took it into his head to filch all this coin under cover\nof night. He waited till the statue had descended from his\npedestal, and then put his plan into effect. Pelichus detected the\nrobbery as soon as he got back; and this is how he found the\noffender out and punished him. He caused the wretch to wander about\nin the court all night long, unable to find his way out, just as if\nhe had been in a maze; till at daybreak he was caught with the\nstolen property in his possession. His guilt was clear, and he\nreceived a sound flogging there and then; and before long he died a\nvillain\u2019s death. It seems from his own confession that he was\nscourged every night; and each succeeding morning the weals were to\nbe seen on his body.\u2014_Now_, Tychiades, let me hear you laugh\nat Pelichus: I am a dotard, am I not? a relic from the time of\nMinos?\u2019\n\n\u2018My dear Eucrates,\u2019 said I, \u2018if bronze is bronze, and if that\nstatue was cast by Demetrius of Alopece, who dealt not in Gods but\nin men, then I cannot anticipate any danger from a statue of\nPelichus; even the menaces of the original would not have alarmed\nme particularly.\u2019\n\nHere Antigonus, the doctor, put in a word. \u2018I myself,\u2019 he informed\nhis host, \u2018have a Hippocrates in bronze, some eighteen inches high.\nNow the moment my candle is out, he goes clattering about all over\nthe house, slamming the door, turning all my boxes upside down, and\nmixing up all my drugs; especially when his annual sacrifice is\noverdue.\u2019 \u2018What are we coming to?\u2019 I cried; \u2018Hippocrates must have\nsacrifices, must he? he must be feasted with all pomp and\ncircumstance, and punctually to the day, or his leechship is angry?\nWhy, he ought to be only too pleased to be complimented with a cup\nof mead or a garland, like other dead men.\u2019\n\n\u2018Now here,\u2019 Eucrates went on, \u2018is a thing that I saw happen five\nyears ago, in the presence of witnesses. It was during the vintage.\nI had left the labourers busy in the vineyard at midday, and was\nwalking off into the wood, occupied with my own thoughts. I had\nalready got under the shade of the trees, when I heard dogs\nbarking, and supposed that my boy Mnason was amusing himself in the\nchase as usual, and had penetrated into the copse with his friends.\nHowever, that was not it: presently there was an earthquake; I\nheard a voice like a thunderclap, and saw a terrible woman\napproaching, not much less than three hundred feet high. She\ncarried a torch in her left hand, and a sword in her right; the\nsword might be thirty feet long. Her lower extremities were those\nof a dragon; but the upper half was like Medusa\u2014as to the eyes, I\nmean; they were quite awful in their expression. Instead of hair,\nshe had clusters of snakes writhing about her neck, and curling\nover her shoulders. See here: it makes my flesh creep, only to\nspeak of it!\u2019 And he showed us all his arm, with the hair standing\non end.\n\nIon and Dinomachus and Cleodemus and the rest of them drank down\nevery word. The narrator led them by their venerable noses, and\nthis least convincing of colossal bogies, this hundred-yarder, was\nthe object of their mute adorations. And these (I was reflecting\nall the time)\u2014these are the admired teachers from whom our youth\nare to learn wisdom! Two circumstances distinguish them from\nbabies: they have white hair, and they have beards: but when it\ncomes to swallowing a lie, they are babes and more than babes.\n\nDinomachus, for instance, wanted to know \u2018how big were the\nGoddess\u2019s dogs?\u2019 \u2018They were taller than Indian elephants,\u2019 he was\nassured, \u2018and as black, with coarse, matted coats. At the sight of\nher, I stood stock still, and turned the seal of my Arab\u2019s ring\ninwards; whereupon Hecate smote upon the ground with her dragon\u2019s\nfoot, and caused a vast chasm to open, wide as the mouth of Hell.\nInto this she presently leaped, and was lost to sight. I began to\npluck up courage, and looked over the edge; but first I took hold\nof a tree that grew near, for fear I should be giddy, and fall in.\nAnd then I saw the whole of Hades: there was Pyriphlegethon, the\nLake of Acheron, Cerberus, the Shades. I even recognized some of\nthem: I made out my father quite distinctly; he was still wearing\nthe same clothes in which we buried him.\u2019 \u2018And what were the\nspirits doing?\u2019 asked Ion. \u2018Doing? Oh, they were just lying about\non the asphodel, among their friends and kinsmen, all arranged\naccording to their clans and tribes.\u2019 \u2018There now!\u2019 exclaimed Ion;\n\u2018after that I should like to hear the Epicureans say another word\nagainst the divine Plato and his account of the spiritual world. I\nsuppose you did not happen to see Socrates or Plato among the\nShades?\u2019 \u2018Yes, I did; I saw Socrates; not very plainly, though; I\nonly went by the bald head and corpulent figure. Plato I did\n_not_ make out; I will speak the plain truth; we are all friends\nhere. I had just had a good look at everything, when the chasm\nbegan to close up; some of the servants who came to look for me\n(Pyrrhias here was among them) arrived while the gap was still\nvisible.\u2014Pyrrhias, is that the fact?\u2019 \u2018Indeed it is,\u2019 says\nPyrrhias; \u2018what is more, I heard a dog barking in the hole, and if\nI am not mistaken I caught a glimmer of torchlight.\u2019 I could not\nhelp a smile; it was handsome in Pyrrhias, this of the bark and the\ntorchlight.\n\n\u2018Your experience,\u2019 observed Cleodemus, \u2018is by no means without\nprecedent. In fact I saw something of the same kind myself, not\nlong ago. I had been ill, and Antigonus here was attending me. The\nfever had been on me for seven days, and was now aggravated by the\nexcessive heat. All my attendants were outside, having closed the\ndoor and left me to myself; those were your orders, you know,\nAntigonus; I was to get some sleep if I could. Well, I woke up to\nfind a handsome young man standing at my side, in a white cloak. He\nraised me up from the bed, and conducted me through a sort of chasm\ninto Hades; I knew where I was at once, because I saw Tantalus and\nTityus and Sisyphus. Not to go into details, I came to the\nJudgement-hall, and there were Aeacus and Charon and the Fates and\nthe Furies. One person of a majestic appearance\u2014Pluto, I suppose\nit was\u2014sat reading out the names of those who were due to die,\ntheir term of life having lapsed. The young man took me and set me\nbefore him, but Pluto flew into a rage: \u201cAway with him,\u201d he said to\nmy conductor; \u201chis thread is not yet out; go and fetch Demylus the\nsmith; _he_ has had his spindleful and more.\u201d I ran off home,\nnothing loath. My fever had now disappeared, and I told everybody\nthat Demylus was as good as dead. He lived close by, and was said\nto have some illness, and it was not long before we heard the\nvoices of mourners in his house.\u2019\n\n\u2018This need not surprise us,\u2019 remarked Antigonus; \u2018I know of a man\nwho rose from the dead twenty days after he had been buried; I\nattended him both before his death and after his resurrection.\u2019 \u2018I\nshould have thought,\u2019 said I, \u2018that the body must have putrefied in\nall that time, or if not that, that he must have collapsed for want\nof nourishment. Was your patient a second Epimenides?\u2019\n\nAt this point in the conversation, Eucrates\u2019s sons came in from the\ngymnasium, one of them quite a young man, the other a boy of\nfifteen or so. After saluting the company, they took their seats on\nthe couch at their father\u2019s side, and a chair was brought for me.\nThe appearance of the boys seemed to remind Eucrates of something:\nlaying a hand upon each of them, he addressed me as follows.\n\u2018Tychiades, if what I am now about to tell you is anything but the\ntruth, then may I never have joy of these lads. It is well known to\nevery one how fond I was of my sainted wife, their mother; and I\nshowed it in my treatment of her, not only in her lifetime, but\neven after her death; for I ordered all the jewels and clothes that\nshe had valued to be burnt upon her pyre. Now on the seventh day\nafter her death, I was sitting here on this very couch, as it might\nbe now, trying to find comfort for my affliction in Plato\u2019s book\nabout the soul. I was quietly reading this, when Demaenete herself\nappeared, and sat down at my side exactly as Eucratides is doing\nnow.\u2019 Here he pointed to the younger boy, who had turned quite pale\nduring this narrative, and now shuddered in childish terror. \u2018The\nmoment I saw her,\u2019 he continued, \u2018I threw my arms about her neck\nand wept aloud. She bade me cease; and complained that though I had\nconsulted her wishes in everything else, I had neglected to burn\none of her golden sandals, which she said had fallen under a chest.\nWe had been unable to find this sandal, and had only burnt the\nfellow to it. While we were still conversing, a hateful little\nMaltese terrier that lay under the couch started barking, and my\nwife immediately vanished. The sandal, however, was found beneath\nthe chest, and was eventually burnt.\u2014Do you still doubt,\nTychiades, in the face of one convincing piece of evidence after\nanother?\u2019 \u2018God forbid!\u2019 I cried; \u2018the doubter who should presume,\nthus to brazen it out in the face of Truth would deserve to have a\ngolden sandal applied to him after the nursery fashion.\u2019\n\nArignotus the Pythagorean now came in\u2014the \u2018divine\u2019 Arignotus, as\nhe is called; the philosopher of the long hair and the solemn\ncountenance, you know, of whose wisdom we hear so much. I breathed\nagain when I saw him. \u2018Ah!\u2019 thought I, \u2018the very man we want! here\nis the axe to hew their lies asunder. The sage will soon pull them\nup when he hears their cock-and-bull stories. Fortune has brought a\n_deus ex machina_ upon the scene.\u2019 He sat down (Cleodemus\nrising to make room for him) and inquired after Eucrates\u2019s health.\nEucrates replied that he was better. \u2018And what,\u2019 Arignotus next\nasked, \u2018is the subject of your learned conversation? I overheard\nyour voices as I came in, and doubt not that your time will prove\nto have been profitably employed.\u2019 Eucrates pointed to me. \u2018We were\nonly trying,\u2019 he said, \u2018to convince this man of adamant that there\nare such things as supernatural beings and ghosts, and that the\nspirits of the dead walk the earth and manifest themselves to\nwhomsoever they will.\u2019 Moved by the august presence of Arignotus, I\nblushed, and hung my head. \u2018Ah, but, Eucrates,\u2019 said he, \u2018perhaps\nall that Tychiades means is, that a spirit only walks if its owner\nmet with a violent end, if he was strangled, for instance, or\nbeheaded or crucified, and not if he died a natural death. If that\nis what he means, there is great justice in his contention.\u2019 \u2018No,\nno,\u2019 says Dinomachus, \u2018he maintains that there is absolutely no\nsuch thing as an apparition.\u2019 \u2018What is this I hear?\u2019 asked\nArignotus, scowling upon me; \u2018you deny the existence of the\nsupernatural, when there is scarcely a man who has not seen some\nevidence of it?\u2019 \u2018Therein lies my exculpation,\u2019 I replied: \u2018I do\nnot believe in the supernatural, because, unlike the rest of\nmankind, I do not see it: if I saw, I should doubtless believe,\njust as you all do.\u2019 \u2018Well,\u2019 said he, \u2018next time you are in\nCorinth, ask for the house of Eubatides, near the Craneum; and when\nyou have found it, go up to Tibius the door-keeper, and tell him\nyou would like to see the spot on which Arignotus the Pythagorean\nunearthed the demon, whose expulsion rendered the house habitable\nagain.\u2019 \u2018What was that about, Arignotus?\u2019 asked Eucrates.\n\n\u2018The house,\u2019 replied the other, \u2018was haunted, and had been\nuninhabited for years: each intending occupant had been at once\ndriven out of it in abject terror by a most grim and formidable\napparition. Finally it had fallen into a ruinous state, the roof\nwas giving way, and in short no one would have thought of entering\nit. Well, when I heard about this, I got my books together (I have\na considerable number of Egyptian works on these subjects) and went\noff to the house about bed-time, undeterred by the remonstrances of\nmy host, who considered that I was walking into the jaws of Death,\nand would almost have detained me by force when he learnt my\ndestination. I took a lamp and entered alone, and putting down my\nlight in the principal room, I sat on the floor quietly reading.\nThe spirit now made his appearance, thinking that he had to do with\nan ordinary person, and that he would frighten me as he had\nfrightened so many others. He was pitch-black, with a tangled mass\nof hair. He drew near, and assailed me from all quarters, trying\nevery means to get the better of me, and changing in a moment from\ndog to bull, from bull to lion. Armed with my most appalling\nadjuration, uttered in the Egyptian tongue, I drove him spell-bound\ninto the corner of a dark room, marked the spot at which he\ndisappeared, and passed the rest of the night in peace. In the\nmorning, to the amazement of all beholders (for every one had given\nme up for lost, and expected to find me lying dead like former\noccupants), I issued from the house, and carried to Eubatides the\nwelcome news that it was now cleared of its grim visitant, and fit\nto serve as a human habitation. He and a number of others, whom\ncuriosity had prompted to join us, followed me to the spot at which\nI had seen the demon vanish. I instructed them to take spades and\npick-axes and dig: they did so; and at about a fathom\u2019s depth we\ndiscovered a mouldering corpse, of which nothing but the bones\nremained entire. We took the skeleton up, and placed it in a grave;\nand from that day to this the house has never been troubled with\napparitions.\u2019\n\nAfter such a story as this-coming as it did from Arignotus, who was\ngenerally looked up to as a man of inspired wisdom\u2014my incredulous\nattitude towards the supernatural was loudly condemned on all\nhands. However, I was not frightened by his long hair, nor by his\nreputation. \u2018Dear, dear!\u2019 I exclaimed, \u2018so Arignotus, the sole\nmainstay of Truth, is as bad as the rest of them, as full of windy\nimaginings! Our treasure proves to be but ashes.\u2019 \u2018Now look here,\nTychiades,\u2019 said Arignotus, \u2018you will not believe me, nor\nDinomachus, nor Cleodemus here, nor yet Eucrates: we shall be glad\nto know who is your great authority on the other side, who is to\noutweigh us all?\u2019 \u2018No less a person,\u2019 I replied, \u2018than the sage of\nAbdera, the wondrous Democritus himself. _His_ disbelief in\napparitions is sufficiently clear. When he had shut himself up in\nthat tomb outside the city gates, there to spend his days and\nnights in literary labours, certain young fellows, who had a mind\nto play their pranks on the philosopher and give him a fright, got\nthemselves up in black palls and skull-masks, formed a ring round\nhim, and treated him to a brisk dance. Was Democritus alarmed at\nthe ghosts? Not he: \u201cCome, enough of that nonsense,\u201d was all he had\nto say to them; and that without so much as looking up, or taking\npen from paper. Evidently _he_ had quite made up his mind\nabout disembodied spirits.\u2019 \u2018Which simply proves,\u2019 retorted\nEucrates, \u2018that Democritus was no wiser than yourself. Now I am\ngoing to tell you of another thing that happened to me personally;\nI did not get the story second-hand. Even you, Tychiades, will\nscarcely hold out against so convincing a narrative.\n\n\u2018When I was a young man, I passed some time in Egypt, my father\nhaving sent me to that country for my education. I took it into my\nhead to sail up the Nile to Coptus, and thence pay a visit to the\nstatue of Memnon, and hear the curious sound that proceeds from it\nat sunrise. In this respect, I was more fortunate than most people,\nwho hear nothing but an indistinct voice: Memnon actually opened\nhis lips, and delivered me an oracle in seven hexameters; it is\nforeign to my present purpose, or I would quote you the very lines.\nWell now, one of my fellow passengers on the way up was a scribe of\nMemphis, an extraordinarily able man, versed in all the lore of the\nEgyptians. He was said to have passed twenty-three years of his\nlife underground in the tombs, studying occult sciences under the\ninstruction of Isis herself.\u2019 \u2018You must mean the divine Pancrates,\nmy teacher,\u2019 exclaimed Arignotus; \u2018tall, clean-shaven, snub-nosed,\nprotruding lips, rather thin in the legs; dresses entirely in\nlinen, has a thoughtful expression, and speaks Greek with a slight\naccent?\u2019 \u2018Yes, it was Pancrates himself. I knew nothing about him\nat first, but whenever we anchored I used to see him doing the most\nmarvellous things,\u2014for instance, he would actually ride on the\ncrocodiles\u2019 backs, and swim about among the brutes, and they would\nfawn upon him and wag their tails; and then I realized that he was\nno common man. I made some advances, and by imperceptible degrees\ncame to be on quite a friendly footing with him, and was admitted\nto a share in his mysterious arts. The end of it was, that he\nprevailed on me to leave all my servants behind at Memphis, and\naccompany him alone; assuring me that we should not want for\nattendance. This plan we accordingly followed from that time\nonwards. Whenever we came to an inn, he used to take up the bar of\nthe door, or a broom, or perhaps a pestle, dress it up in clothes,\nand utter a certain incantation; whereupon the thing would begin to\nwalk about, so that every one took it for a man. It would go off\nand draw water, buy and cook provisions, and make itself generally\nuseful. When we had no further occasion for its services, there was\nanother incantation, after which the broom was a broom once more,\nor the pestle a pestle. I could never get him to teach me this\nincantation, though it was not for want of trying; open as he was\nabout everything else, he guarded this one secret jealously. At\nlast one day I hid in a dark corner, and overheard the magic\nsyllables; they were three in number. The Egyptian gave the pestle\nits instructions, and then went off to the market. Well, next day\nhe was again busy in the market: so I took the pestle, dressed it,\npronounced the three syllables exactly as he had done, and ordered\nit to become a water-carrier. It brought me the pitcher full; and\nthen I said: _Stop: be water-carrier no longer, but pestle as\nheretofore._ But the thing would take no notice of me: it went\non drawing water the whole time, until at last the house was full\nof it. This was awkward: if Pancrates came back, he would be angry,\nI thought (and so indeed it turned out). I took an axe, and cut the\npestle in two. The result was that both halves took pitchers and\nfetched water; I had two water-carriers instead of one. This was\nstill going on, when Pancrates appeared. He saw how things stood,\nand turned the water-carriers back into wood; and then he withdrew\nhimself from me, and went away, whither I knew not.\u2019\n\n\u2018And you can actually make a man out of a pestle to this day?\u2019\nasked Dinomachus. \u2018Yes, I can do _that_, but that is only\nhalf the process: I cannot turn it back again into its original\nform; if once it became a water-carrier, its activity would swamp\nthe house.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, stop!\u2019 I cried: \u2018if the thought that you are old men is not\nenough to deter you from talking this trash, at least remember who\nis present: if you do not want to fill these boys\u2019 heads with\nghosts and hobgoblins, postpone your grotesque horrors for a more\nsuitable occasion. Have some mercy on the lads: do not accustom\nthem to listen to a tangle of superstitious stuff that will cling\nto them for the rest of their lives, and make them start at their\nown shadows.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah, talking of superstition, now,\u2019 says Eucrates, \u2018that reminds\nme: what do you make of oracles, for instance, and omens? of\ninspired utterances, of voices from the shrine, of the priestess\u2019s\nprophetic lines? You will deny all that too, of course? If I were\nto tell you of a certain magic ring in my possession, the seal of\nwhich is a portrait of the Pythian Apollo, and actually\n_speaks_ to me, I suppose you would decline to believe it, you\nwould think I was bragging? But I must tell you all of what I heard\nin the temple of Amphilochus at Mallus, when that hero appeared to\nme in person and gave me counsel, and of what I saw with my own\neyes on that occasion; and again of all I saw at Pergamum and heard\nat Patara. It was on my way home from Egypt that the oracle of\nMallus was mentioned to me as a particularly intelligible and\nveracious one: I was told that any question, duly written down on a\ntablet and handed to the priest, would receive a plain, definite\nanswer. I thought it would be a good thing to take the oracle on my\nway home, and consult the God as to my future.\u2019\n\nI saw what was coming: this was but the prologue to a whole tragedy\nof the oracular. It was clear enough that I was not wanted, and as\nI did not feel called upon to pose as the sole champion of the\ncause of Truth among so many, I took my leave there and then, while\nEucrates was still upon the high seas between Egypt and Mallus. \u2018I\nmust go and find Leontichus,\u2019 I explained; \u2018I have to see him about\nsomething. Meanwhile, you gentlemen, to whom human affairs are not\nsufficient occupation, may solicit the insertion of divine fingers\ninto your mythologic pie.\u2019 And with that I went out. Relieved of my\npresence, I doubt not that they fell to with a will on their\nbanquet of mendacity.\n\nThat is what I got by going to Eucrates\u2019s; and, upon my word,\nPhilocles, my overloaded stomach needs an emetic as much as if I\nhad been drinking new wine. I would pay something for the drug that\nshould work oblivion in me: I fear the effects of haunting\nreminiscence; monsters, demons, Hecates, seem to pass before my\neyes.\n\n_Phi_. I am not much better off. They tell us it is not only\nthe mad dog that inflicts hydrophobia: his human victim\u2019s bite is\nas deadly as his own, and communicates the evil as surely. You, it\nseems, have been bitten with many bites by the liar Eucrates, and\nhave passed it on to me; no otherwise can I explain the demoniacal\npoison that runs in my veins.\n\n_Tyc_. What matter, friend? Truth and good sense: these are\nthe drugs for our ailment; let us employ them, and that empty\nthing, a lie, need have no terrors for us. F.\n\n\n\n\nDIONYSUS, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE\n\n\nWhen Dionysus invaded India\u2014for I may tell you a Bacchic legend,\nmay I not?\u2014it is recorded that the natives so underrated him that\nhis approach only amused them at first; or rather, his rashness\nfilled them with compassion; he would so soon be trampled to death\nby their elephants, if he took the field against them. Their scouts\nhad doubtless given them amazing details about his army: the rank\nand file were frantic mad women crowned with ivy, clad in fawn-\nskins, with little pikes that had no steel about them, but were\nivy-wreathed like themselves, and toy bucklers that tinkled at a\ntouch; they took the tambourines for shields, you see; and then\nthere were a few bumpkins among them, stark naked, who danced\nwildly, and had tails, and horns like a new-born kid\u2019s.\n\nTheir general, who rode on a car drawn by panthers, was quite\nbeardless, with not even a vestige of fluff on his face, had horns,\nwas crowned with grape-clusters, his hair tied with a fillet, his\ncloak purple, and his shoes of gold. Of his lieutenants, one was\nshort, thick-set, paunchy, and flat-nosed, with great upright ears;\nhe trembled perpetually, leant upon a narthex-wand, rode mostly\nupon an ass, wore saffron to his superior\u2019s purple, and was a very\nsuitable general of division for him. The other was a half-human\nhybrid, with hairy legs, horns, and flowing beard, passionate and\nquick-tempered; with a reed-pipe in his left hand, and waving a\ncrooked staff in his right, he skipped round and round the host, a\nterror to the women, who let their dishevelled tresses fly abroad\nas he came, with cries of Evoe\u2014the name of their lord, guessed the\nscouts. Their flocks had suffered, they added, the young had been\nseized alive and torn piecemeal by the women; they ate raw flesh,\nit seemed.\n\nAll this was food for laughter, as well it might be, to the Indians\nand their king: Take the field? array their hosts against him? no,\nindeed; at worst they might match their women with his, if he still\ncame on; for themselves such a victory would be a disgrace; a set\nof mad women, a general in a snood, a little old drunkard, a half-\nsoldier, and a few naked dancers; why should they murder such a\ndroll crew? However, when they heard how the God was wasting their\nland with fire, giving cities and citizens to the flames, burning\ntheir forests, and making one great conflagration of all India\u2014for\nfire is the Bacchic instrument, Dionysus\u2019s very birthright\u2014, then\nthey lost no more time, but armed; they girthed, bitted, and\ncastled their elephants, and out they marched; not that they had\nceased to scorn; but now they were angry too, and in a hurry to\ncrush this beardless warrior with all his host.\n\nWhen the two armies came to sight of one another, the Indians drew\nup their elephants in front and advanced their phalanx; on the\nother side, Dionysus held the centre, Silenus led his right, and\nPan his left wing; his colonels and captains were the satyrs, and\nthe word for the day _evoe._ Straightway tambourines clattered,\ncymbals sounded to battle, a satyr blew the war-note on his horn,\nSilenus\u2019s ass sent forth a martial bray, and the maenads leapt\nshrill-voiced on the foe, girt with serpents and baring now the\nsteel of their thyrsus-heads. In a moment Indians and elephants\nturned and fled disordered, before even a missile could carry\nacross; and the end was that they were smitten and led captive by\nthe objects of their laughter; they had learnt the lesson that it\nis not safe to take the first report, and scorn an enemy of whom\nnothing is known.\n\nBut you wonder what all this is about\u2014suspect me, possibly, of\nbeing only too fresh from the company of Bacchus. Perhaps the\nexplanation, involving a comparison of myself with Gods, will only\nmore convince you of my exalted or my drunken mood; it is, that\nordinary people are affected by literary novelties (my own\nproductions, for instance) much as the Indians were by that\nexperience. They have an idea that literary satyr-dances,\nabsurdities, pure farce, are to be expected from me, and, however\nthey reach their conception of me, they incline to one of two\nattitudes. Some of them avoid my readings altogether, seeing no\nreason for climbing down from their elephants and paying attention\nto revelling women and skipping satyrs; others come with their\npreconceived idea, and when they find that the thyrsus-head has a\nsteel point under it, they are too much startled by the surprise to\nventure approval. I confidently promise them, however, that if they\nwill attend the rite repeatedly now as in days of yore, if my old\nboon-companions will call to mind the revels that once we shared,\nnot be too shy of satyrs and Silenuses, and drink deep of the bowl\nI bring, the frenzy shall take hold upon them too, till their\n_evoes_ vie with mine.\n\nWell, they are free to listen or not; let them take their choice.\nMeanwhile, we are still in India, and I should like to give you\nanother fact from that country, again a link between Dionysus and\nour business. In the territory of the Machlaeans, who occupy the\nleft bank of the Indus right down to the sea, there is a grove, of\nno great size, but enclosed both round about and overhead, light\nbeing almost excluded by the profusion of ivy and vine. In it are\nthree springs of fair pellucid water, called, one of them the\nsatyrs\u2019 well, the second Pan\u2019s, and the other that of Silenus. The\nIndians enter this grove once a year at the festival of Dionysus,\nand taste the wells, not promiscuously, however, but according to\nage; the satyrs\u2019 well is for the young, Pan\u2019s for the middle-aged,\nand Silenus\u2019s for those at my time of life.\n\nWhat effect their draught produces on the children, what doings the\nmen are spurred to, Pan-ridden, must not detain us; but the\nbehaviour of the old under their water intoxication has its\ninterest. As soon as one of them has drunk, and Silenus has\npossessed him, he falls dumb for a space like one in vinous\nlethargy; then on a sudden his voice is strong, his articulation\nclear, his intonation musical; from dead silence issues a stream of\ntalk; the gag would scarce restrain him from incessant chatter;\ntale upon tale he reels you off. Yet all is sense and order withal;\nhis words are as many, and find their place as well, as those\n\u2018winter snowflakes\u2019 of Homer\u2019s orator. You may talk of his swan-\nsong if you will, mindful of his years; but you must add that his\nchirping is quick and lively as the grasshopper\u2019s, till evening\ncomes; then the fit is past; he falls silent, and is his common\nself again. But the greatest wonder I have yet to tell: if he leave\nunfinished the tale he was upon, and the setting sun cut him short,\nthen at his next year\u2019s draught he will resume it where the\ninspiration of this year deserted him.\n\nGentlemen, I have been pointing Momus-like at my own foibles; I\nneed not trouble you with the application; you can make out the\nresemblance for yourselves. But if you find me babbling, you know\nnow what has loosed my tongue; and if there is shrewdness in any of\nmy words, then to Silenus be the thanks.\n\n\n\n\nHERACLES, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE\n\n\nOur Heracles is known among the Gauls under the local name of\nOgmius; and the appearance he presents in their pictures is truly\ngrotesque. They make him out as old as old can be: the few hairs he\nhas left (he is quite bald in front) are dead white, and his skin\nis wrinkled and tanned as black as any old salt\u2019s. You would take\nhim for some infernal deity, for Charon or Iapetus,\u2014any one rather\nthan Heracles. Such as he is, however, he has all the proper\nattributes of that God: the lion\u2019s-skin hangs over his shoulders,\nhis right hand grasps the club, his left the strung bow, and a\nquiver is slung at his side; nothing is wanting to the Heraclean\nequipment.\n\nNow I thought at first that this was just a cut at the Greek Gods;\nthat in taking these liberties with the personal appearance of\nHeracles, the Gauls were merely exacting pictorial vengeance for\nhis invasion of their territory; for in his search after the herds\nof Geryon he had overrun and plundered most of the peoples of the\nWest. However, I have yet to mention the most remarkable feature in\nthe portrait. This ancient Heracles drags after him a vast crowd of\nmen, all of whom are fastened by the ears with thin chains composed\nof gold and amber, and looking more like beautiful necklaces than\nanything else. From this flimsy bondage they make no attempt to\nescape, though escape must be easy. There is not the slightest show\nof resistance: instead of planting their heels in the ground and\ndragging back, they follow with joyful alacrity, singing their\ncaptor\u2019s praises the while; and from the eagerness with which they\nhurry after him to prevent the chains from tightening, one would\nsay that release is the last thing they desire. Nor will I conceal\nfrom you what struck me as the most curious circumstance of all.\nHeracles\u2019s right hand is occupied with the club, and his left with\nthe bow: how is he to hold the ends of the chains? The painter\nsolves the difficulty by boring a hole in the tip of the God\u2019s\ntongue, and making that the means of attachment; his head is turned\nround, and he regards his followers with a smiling countenance.\n\nFor a long time I stood staring at this in amazement: I knew not\nwhat to make of it, and was beginning to feel somewhat nettled,\nwhen I was addressed in admirable Greek by a Gaul who stood at my\nside, and who besides possessing a scholarly acquaintance with the\nGallic mythology, proved to be not unfamiliar with our own. \u2018Sir,\u2019\nhe said, \u2018I see this picture puzzles you: let me solve the riddle.\nWe Gauls connect eloquence not with Hermes, as you do, but with the\nmightier Heracles. Nor need it surprise you to see him represented\nas an old man. It is the prerogative of eloquence, that it reaches\nperfection in old age; at least if we may believe your poets, who\ntell us that\n\n  Youth is the sport of every random gust,\n\nwhereas old age\n\n  Hath that to say that passes youthful wit.\n\nThus we find that from Nestor\u2019s lips honey is distilled; and that\nthe words of the Trojan counsellors are compared to the lily,\nwhich, if I have not forgotten my Greek, is the name of a flower.\nHence, if you will consider the relation that exists between tongue\nand ear, you will find nothing more natural than the way in which\nour Heracles, who is Eloquence personified, draws men along with\ntheir ears tied to his tongue. Nor is any slight intended by the\nhole bored through that member: I recollect a passage in one of\nyour comic poets in which we are told that\n\n  There is a hole in every glib tongue\u2019s tip.\n\nIndeed, we refer the achievements of the original Heracles, from\nfirst to last, to his wisdom and persuasive eloquence. His shafts,\nas I take it, are no other than his words; swift, keen-pointed,\ntrue-aimed to do deadly execution on the soul.\u2019 And in conclusion\nhe reminded me of our own phrase, \u2018winged words.\u2019\n\nNow while I was debating within myself the advisability of\nappearing before you, and of submitting myself for a second time to\nthe verdict of this enormous jury, old as I am, and long unused to\nlecturing, the thought of this Heracles portrait came to my relief.\nI had been afraid that some of you would consider it a piece of\nyouthful audacity inexcusable in one of my years. \u2018Thy force,\u2019 some\nHomeric youth might remark with crushing effect, \u2018is spent; dull\nage hath borne thee down\u2019; and he might add, in playful allusion to\nmy gouty toes,\n\n  Slow are thy steeds, and weakness waits upon thee.\n\nBut the thought of having that venerable hero to keep me in\ncountenance emboldens me to risk everything: I am no older than he.\nGood-bye, then, to bodily perfections, to strength and speed and\nbeauty; Love, when he sees my grey beard, is welcome to fly past,\nas the poet of Teos [Footnote: Anacreon.] has it, with rush of\ngilded wings; \u2019tis all one to Hippoclides. Old age is Wisdom\u2019s\nyouth, the day of her glorious flower: let her draw whom she can by\nthe ears; let her shoot her bolts freely; no fear now lest the\nsupply run short. There is the old man\u2019s comfort, on the strength\nof which he ventures to drag down his boat, which has long lain\nhigh and dry, provision her as best he may, and once more put out\nto sea.\n\nNever did I stand in more need of a generous breeze, to fill my\nsails and speed me on my way: may the Gods dispose you to\ncontribute thereto; so shall I not be found wanting, and of me, as\nof Odysseus, it shall be said\n\n  How stout a thigh lurked \u2018neath the old man\u2019s rags!\n\n\n\n\nSWANS AND AMBER\n\n\nYou have no doubt a proper faith in the amber legend\u2014how it is the\ntears shed by poplars on the Eridanus for Phaethon, the said\npoplars being his sisters, who were changed to trees in the course\nof their mourning, and continue to distil their lacrimal amber.\nThat was what the poets taught me, and I looked forward, if ever\nfortune should bring me to the Eridanus, to standing under a\npoplar, catching a few tears in a fold of my dress, and having a\nsupply of the commodity.\n\nSure enough, I found myself there not long ago upon another errand,\nand had occasion to go up the Eridanus; but, though I was all eyes,\nI saw neither poplars nor amber, and the natives had not so much as\nheard of Phaethon. I started my inquiries by asking when we should\ncome to the amber poplars; the boatmen only laughed, and requested\nexplanations. I told them the story: Phaethon was a son of Helius,\nand when he grew up came to his father and asked if he might drive\nhis car, and be the day-maker just that once. His father consented,\nbut he was thrown out and killed, and his mourning sisters \u2018in this\nland of yours,\u2019 I said, \u2018where he fell on the Eridanus, turned into\npoplars, and still weep amber for him.\u2019\n\n\u2018What liar took you in like that, sir?\u2019 they said; \u2018we never saw a\ncoachman spilt; and where are the poplars? why, do you suppose, if\nit was true, we would row or tow up stream for sixpences? we should\nonly have to collect poplar-tears to be rich men.\u2019 This truth\nimpressed me a good deal; I said no more, and was painfully\nconscious of my childishness in trusting the poets; they deal in\nsuch extravagant fictions, they come to scorn sober fact. Here was\none hope gone; I had set my heart upon it, and was as much\nchagrined as if I had dropped the amber out of my hands; I had had\nall my plans ready for the various uses to which it was to be put.\n\nHowever, there was one thing I still thought I really should find\nthere, and that was flocks of swans singing on the banks. We were\nstill on the way up, and I applied to the boatmen again: \u2018About\nwhat time do the swans take post for their famous musical\nentertainment?\u2014Apollo\u2019s fellow craftsmen, you know, who were\nchanged here from men to birds, and still sing in memory of their\nancient art.\u2019\n\nBut they only jeered at me: \u2018Are you going to lie all day about our\ncountry and our river, pray? We are always on the water; we have\nworked all our lives on the Eridanus; well, we do see a swan now\nand again in the marshes; and a harsh feeble croak their note is;\ncrows or jackdaws are sirens to them; as for sweet singing such as\nyou tell of, not a ghost of it. We cannot make out where you folk\nget all these tales about us.\u2019\n\nSuch disappointments are the natural consequence of trusting\npicturesque reporters. Well now, I am afraid the newcomers among\nyou, who hear me for the first time, may have been expecting swans\nand amber from me, and may presently depart laughing at the people\nwho encouraged them to look for such literary treasures. But I\nsolemnly aver that no one has ever heard or ever shall hear me\nmaking any such claims. Other persons in plenty you may find who\nare Eridanuses, rich not in amber, but in very gold, and more\nmelodious far than the poets\u2019 swans. But you see how plain and\nunromantic is my material; song is not in me. Any one who expects\ngreat things from me will be like a man looking at an object in\nwater. Its image is magnified by an optical effect; he takes the\nreality to correspond to the appearance, and when he fishes it up\nis disgusted to find it so small. So I pour out the water, exhibit\nmy wares, and warn you not to hope for a large haul; if you do, you\nhave only yourselves to blame. H.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLY, AN APPRECIATION\n\n\nThe fly is not the smallest of winged things, on a level with\ngnats, midges, and still tinier creatures; it is as much larger\nthan they as smaller than the bee. It has not feathers of the usual\nsort, is not fledged all over like some, nor provided with quill-\nfeathers like other birds, but resembles locusts, grasshoppers, and\nbees in being gauze-winged, this sort of wing being as much more\ndelicate than the ordinary as Indian fabrics are lighter and softer\nthan Greek. Moreover, close inspection of them when spread out and\nmoving in the sun will show them to be peacock-hued.\n\nIts flight is accompanied neither by the incessant wing-beat of the\nbat, the jump of the locust, nor the buzz of the wasp, but carries\nit easily in any direction. It has the further merit of a music\nneither sullen as with the gnat kind, deep as with the bee, nor\ngrim and threatening as with the wasp; it is as much more tuneful\nthan they as the flute is sweeter than trumpet or cymbals.\n\nAs for the rest of its person, the head is very slenderly attached\nby the neck, easily turned, and not all of one piece with the body\nas in the locust; the eyes are projecting and horny; the chest\nstrong, with the legs springing freely from it instead of lying\nclose like a wasp\u2019s. The belly also is well fortified, and looks\nlike a breastplate, with its broad bands and scales. Its weapons\nare not in the tail as with wasp and bee, but in its mouth and\nproboscis; with the latter, in which it is like the elephant, it\nforages, takes hold of things, and by means of a sucker at its tip\nattaches itself firmly to them. This proboscis is also supplied\nwith a projecting tooth, with which the fly makes a puncture, and\nso drinks blood. It does drink milk, but also likes blood, which it\ngets without hurting its prey much. Of its six legs, four only are\nfor walking, and the front pair serves for hands; you may see it\nstanding on four legs and holding up a morsel in these hands, which\nit consumes in very human fashion.\n\nIt does not come into being in its ultimate shape, but starts as a\nworm in the dead body of man or animal; then it gradually develops\nlegs, puts forth wings and becomes a flying instead of a creeping\nthing, which generates in turn and produces a little worm, one day\nto be a fly. Living with man, sharing his food and his table, it\ntastes everything except his oil, to drink which is death to it. In\nany case it soon perishes, having but a short span of life allotted\nto it, but while it lives it loves the light, and is active only\nunder its influence; at night it rests, neither flying nor buzzing,\nbut retiring and keeping quiet.\n\nI am able to record its considerable wisdom, shown in evading the\nplots of its enemy the spider. It is always on the look-out for his\nambushes, and in the most circumspect way dodges about, that it may\nnot be caught, netted, and entangled in his meshes. Its valour and\nspirit require no mention of mine; Homer, mightiest-voiced of\npoets, seeking a compliment for the greatest of heroes, likens his\nspirit not to a lion\u2019s, a panther\u2019s, a boar\u2019s, but to the courage\nof the fly, to its unshrinking and persistent assault; mark, it is\nnot mere audacity, but courage, that he attributes to it. Though\nyou drive it off, he says, it will not leave you; it will have its\nbite. He is so earnest an admirer of the fly that he alludes to it\nnot once nor twice, but constantly; a mention of it is felt to be a\npoetic ornament. Now it is its multitudinous descent upon the milk\nthat he celebrates; now he is in want of an illustration for Athene\nas she wards off a spear from the vitals of Menelaus; so he makes\nher a mother caring for her sleeping child, and in comes the fly\nagain. Moreover he gives them that pretty epithet, \u2018thick-\nclust\u2019ring\u2019; and \u2018nations\u2019 is his dignified word for a swarm of\nthem.\n\nThe fly\u2019s force is shown by the fact that its bite pierces not\nmerely the human skin, but that of cattle and horses; it annoys\nthe elephant by getting into the folds of its hide, and letting\nit know the efficiency of even a tiny trunk. There is much ease\nand freedom about their love affairs, which are not disposed of\nso expeditiously as by the domestic fowl; the act of union is\nprolonged, and is found quite compatible with flight. A fly will\nlive and breathe for some time after its head is cut off.\n\nThe most remarkable point about its natural history is that which I\nam now to mention. It is the one fact that Plato seems to me to\nhave overlooked in his discourse of the soul and its immortality.\nIf a little ashes be sprinkled on a dead fly, it gets up,\nexperiences a second birth, and starts life afresh, which is\nrecognized as a convincing proof that its soul is immortal,\ninasmuch as after it has departed it returns, recognizes and\nreanimates the body, and enables it to fly; so is confirmed the\ntale about Hermotimus of Clazomenae\u2014how his soul frequently left\nhim and went off on its own account, and afterwards returning\noccupied the body again and restored the man to life.\n\nIt toils not, but lives at its case, profiting by the labours of\nothers, and finding everywhere a table spread for it. For it the\ngoats are milked, for its behoof and man\u2019s the honey is stored, to\nits palate the _chef_ adapts his sauces; it tastes before the\nking himself, walks upon his table, shares his meal, and has the\nuse of all that is his.\n\nNest, home, local habitation, it has none; like the Scythians, it\nelects to lead a wandering life, and where night finds it, there is\nits hearth and its chamber. But as I said, it works no deeds of\ndarkness; \u2018live openly\u2019 is its motto; its principle is to do no\nvillany that, done in the face of day, would dishonour it.\n\nLegend tells how Myia (the fly\u2019s ancient name) was once a maiden,\nexceeding fair, but over-given to talk and chatter and song,\nSelene\u2019s rival for the love of Endymion. When the young man slept,\nshe was for ever waking him with her gossip and tunes and\nmerriment, till he lost patience, and Selene in wrath turned her to\nwhat she now is. And therefore it is that she still, in memory of\nEndymion, grudges all sleepers their rest, and most of all the\nyoung and tender. Her very bite and blood-thirst tell not of\nsavagery, but of love and human kindness; she is but enjoying\nmankind as she may, and sipping beauty.\n\nIn ancient times there was a woman of her name, a poetess wise and\nbeautiful, and another a famous Attic courtesan, of whom the comic\npoet wrote:\n\n  As deep as to his heart fair Myia bit him.\n\nThe comic Muse, we see, disdained not the name, nor refused it the\nhospitality of the boards; and parents took no shame to give it to\ntheir daughters. Tragedy goes further and speaks of the fly in high\nterms of praise, as witness the following:\n\n  Foul shame the little fly, with might courageous,\n  Should leap upon men\u2019s limbs, athirst for blood,\n  But men-at-arms shrink from the foeman\u2019s steel!\n\nI might add many details about Pythagoras\u2019s daughter Myia, were not\nher story too well known.\n\nThere are also flies of very large size, called generally soldier-\nflies, or dog-flies; these have a hoarse buzz, a very rapid\nflight, and quite long lives; they last the winter through without\nfood, mostly in sheltered nooks below the roof; the most remarkable\nfact about these is that they are hermaphrodites.\n\nBut I must break off; not that my subject is exhausted; only that\nto exhaust such a subject is too like breaking a butterfly on the\nwheel.\n\n\n\n\nREMARKS ADDRESSED TO AN ILLITERATE BOOK-FANCIER\n\n\nLet me tell you, that you are choosing the worst way to attain your\nobject. You think that by buying up all the best books you can lay\nyour hands on, you will pass for a man of literary tastes: not a\nbit of it; you are merely exposing thereby your own ignorance of\nliterature. Why, you cannot even buy the right things: any casual\nrecommendation is enough to guide your choice; you are as clay in\nthe hands of the unscrupulous amateur, and as good as cash down to\nany dealer. How are you to know the difference between genuine old\nbooks that are worth money, and trash whose only merit is that it\nis falling to pieces? You are reduced to taking the worms and moths\ninto your confidence; their activity is your sole clue to the value\nof a book; as to the accuracy and fidelity of the copyist, that is\nquite beyond you.\n\nAnd supposing even that you had managed to pick out such veritable\ntreasures as the exquisite editions of Callinus, or those of the\nfar-famed Atticus, most conscientious of publishers,\u2014what does it\nprofit you? Their beauty means nothing to you, my poor friend; you\nwill get precisely as much enjoyment out of them as a blind lover\nwould derive from the possession of a handsome mistress. Your eyes,\nto be sure, are open; you do see your books, goodness knows, see\nthem till you must be sick of the sight; you even read a bit here\nand there, in a scrambling fashion, your lips still busy with one\nsentence while your eyes are on the next. But what is the use of\nthat? You cannot tell good from bad: you miss the writer\u2019s general\ndrift, you miss his subtle arrangements of words: the chaste\nelegance of a pure style, the false ring of the counterfeit,\u2014\u2019tis\nall one to you.\n\nAre we to understand that you possess literary discernment without\nthe assistance of any study? And how should that be? perhaps, like\nHesiod, you received a laurel-branch from the Muses? As to that, I\ndoubt whether you have so much as heard of Helicon, the reputed\nhaunt of those Goddesses; your youthful pursuits were not those of\na Hesiod; take not the Muses\u2019 names in vain. They might not have\nany scruples about appearing to a hardy, hairy, sunburnt shepherd:\nbut as for coming near such a one as you (you will excuse my\nparticularizing further just now, when I appeal to you in the name\nof the Goddess of Lebanon?) they would scorn the thought; instead\nof laurel, you would have tamarisk and mallow-leaves about your\nback; the waters of Olmeum and Hippocrene are for thirsty sheep and\nstainless shepherds, they must not be polluted by unclean lips. I\ngrant you a very creditable stock of effrontery: but you will\nscarcely have the assurance to call yourself an educated man; you\nwill scarcely pretend that your acquaintance with literature is\nmore than skin-deep, or give us the names of your teacher and your\nfellow students?\n\nNo; you think you are going to work off all arrears by the simple\nexpedient of buying a number of books. But there again: you may get\ntogether the works of Demosthenes, and his eight beautiful copies\nof Thucydides, all in the orator\u2019s own handwriting, and all the\nmanuscripts that Sulla sent away from Athens to Italy,\u2014and you\nwill be no nearer to culture at the end of it, though you should\nsleep with them under your pillow, or paste them together and wear\nthem as a garment; an ape is still an ape, says the proverb, though\nhis trappings be of gold. So it is with you: you have always a book\nin your hand, you are always reading; but what it is all about, you\nhave not an idea; you do but prick up asinine ears at the lyre\u2019s\nsound. Books would be precious things indeed, if the mere\npossession of them guaranteed culture to their owner. You rich men\nwould have it all your own way then; we paupers could not stand\nagainst you, if learning were a marketable commodity; and as for\nthe dealers, no one would presume to contest the point of culture\nwith men who have whole shopfuls of books at their disposal.\nHowever, you will find on examination that these privileged persons\nare scarcely less ignorant than yourself. They have just your vile\naccent, and are as deficient in intelligence as one would expect\nmen to be who have never learnt to distinguish good from bad. Now\nyou see, _you_ have merely bought a few odd volumes from them:\nthey are at the fountain-head, and are handling books day and\nnight. Judge from this how much good your purchases are likely to\ndo you; unless you think that your very book-cases acquire a\ntincture of learning, from the bare fact of their housing so many\nancient manuscripts.\n\nOblige me by answering some questions; or rather, as circumstances\nwill not admit of your answering, just nod or shake your head. If\nthe flute of Timotheus, or that of Ismenias, which its owner sold\nin Corinth for a couple of thousand pounds, were to fall into the\nhands of a person who did not know how to play the instrument,\nwould that make him a flute-player? would his acquisition leave him\nany wiser than it found him? You very properly shake your head. A\nman might possess the instrument of a Marsyas or an Olympus, and\nstill he would not be able to play it if he had never learnt. Take\nanother case: a man gets hold of Heracles\u2019s bow and arrows: but he\nis no Philoctetes; he has neither that marksman\u2019s strength nor his\neye. What do you say? will he acquit himself creditably? Again you\nshake your head. The same will be the case with the ignorant pilot\nwho is entrusted with a ship, or with the unpractised rider on\nhorseback. Nothing is wanting to the beauty and efficiency of the\nvessel, and the horse may be a Median or a Thessalian or a Koppa\n[Footnote: The brand of the obsolete letter Koppa is supposed to\nhave denoted the Corinthian breed.]: yet I take it that the\nincompetence of their respective owners will be made clear; am I\nright? And now let me ask your assent to one more proposition: if\nan illiterate person like yourself goes in for buying books, he is\nthereby laying himself open to ridicule. You hesitate? Yet surely\nnothing could be clearer: who could observe such a man at work, and\nabstain from the inevitable allusion to pearls and swine?\n\nThere was a wealthy man in Asia, not many years ago, who was so\nunfortunate as to lose both his feet; I think he had been\ntravelling through snow-drifts, and had got them frost-bitten.\nWell, of course, it was a very hard case; and in ordering a pair of\nwooden feet, by means of which he contrived to get along with the\nassistance of servants, he was no doubt only making the best of a\nbad job. But the absurd thing was, that he would always make a\npoint of having the smartest and newest of shoes to set off his\nstumps\u2014feet, I mean. Now are you any wiser than he, when for the\nadornment of that hobbling, wooden understanding of yours you go to\nthe expense of such golden shoes as would tax the agility of a\nsound-limbed intellect?\n\nAmong your other purchases are several copies of Homer. Get some\none to turn up the second book of the Iliad, and read to you. There\nis only one part you need trouble about; the rest does not apply to\nyour case. I refer to the harangue of a certain ludicrous, maimed,\ndistorted creature called Thersites. Now imagine this Thersites,\nsuch as he is there depicted, to have clothed himself in the armour\nof Achilles. What will be the result? Will he be converted there\nand then into a stalwart, comely warrior, clearing the river at a\nbound, and staining its waters with Phrygian blood? Will he prove a\nslayer of Asteropaeuses and Lycaons, and finally of Hectors, he who\ncannot so much as bear Achilles\u2019s spear upon his shoulders? Of\ncourse not. He will simply be ridiculous: the weight of the shield\nwill cause him to stagger, and will presently bring him on to his\nnose; beneath the helmet, as often as he looks up, will be seen\nthat squint; the Achillean greaves will be a sad drag to his\nprogress, and the rise and fall of the breast-plate will tell a\ntale of a humped-back; in short, neither the armourer nor the owner\nof the arms will have much to boast of. You are just like\nThersites, if only you could see it. When you take in hand your\nfine volume, purple-cased, gilt-bossed, and begin reading with that\naccent of yours, maiming and murdering its contents, you make\nyourself ridiculous to all educated men: your own toadies commend\nyou, but they generally get in a chuckle too, as they catch one\nanother\u2019s eye.\n\nLet me tell you a story of what happened once at Delphi. A native\nof Tarentum, Evangelus by name, a person of some note in his own\ncity, conceived the ambition of winning a prize in the Pythian\nGames. Well, he saw at once that the athletic contests were quite\nout of the question; he had neither the strength nor the agility\nrequired. A musical victory, on the other hand, would be an easy\nmatter; so at least he was persuaded by his vile parasites, who\nused to burst into a roar of applause the moment he touched the\nstrings of his lyre. He arrived at Delphi in great style: among\nother things, he had provided himself with gold-bespangled\ngarments, and a beautiful golden laurel-wreath, with full-size\nemerald berries. As for his lyre, that was a most gorgeous and\ncostly affair\u2014solid gold throughout, and ornamented with all\nkinds of gems, and with figures of Apollo and Orpheus and the\nMuses, a wonder to all beholders. The eventful day at length\narrived. There were three competitors, of whom Evangelus was to\ncome second. Thespis the Theban performed first, and acquitted\nhimself creditably; and then Evangelus appeared, resplendent in\ngold and emeralds, beryls and jacinths, the effect being heightened\nby his purple robe, which made a background to the gold; the house\nwas all excitement and wondering anticipation. As singing and\nplaying were an essential part of the competition, Evangelus now\nstruck up with a few meaningless, disconnected notes, assaulting\nhis lyre with such needless violence that he broke three strings at\nthe start; and when he began to sing with his discordant pipe of a\nvoice the whole audience was convulsed with laughter, and the\nstewards, enraged at his presumption, scourged him out of the\ntheatre. Our golden Evangelus now presented a very queer spectacle,\nas the floggers drove him across the stage, weeping and bloody-\nlimbed, and stooping to pick up the gems that had fallen from the\nlyre; for that instrument had come in for its share of the\ncastigation. His place was presently taken by one Eumelus of Elis:\nhis lyre was an old one, with wooden pegs, and his clothes and\ncrown would scarcely have fetched ten shillings between them. But\nfor all that his well-managed voice and admirable execution caused\nhim to be proclaimed the victor; and he was very merry over the\nunavailing splendours of his rival\u2019s gem-studded instrument.\n\u2018Evangelus,\u2019 he is reported to have said to him, \u2018yours is the\ngolden laurel\u2014you can afford it: I am a pauper, and must put up\nwith the Delphian wreath. No one will be sorry for your defeat;\nyour arrogance and incompetence have made you an object of\ndetestation; that is all your equipment has done for you.\u2019 Here\nagain the application is obvious; Evangelus differing from you only\nin his sensibility to public ridicule.\n\nI have also an old Lesbian story which is very much to the point.\nIt is said that after Orpheus had been torn to pieces by the\nThracian women, his head and his lyre were carried down the Hebrus\ninto the sea; the head, it seems, floated down upon the lyre,\nsinging Orpheus\u2019s dirge as it went, while the winds blew an\naccompaniment upon the strings. In this manner they reached the\ncoast of Lesbos; the head was then taken up and buried on the site\nof the present temple of Bacchus, and the lyre was long preserved\nas a relic in the temple of Apollo. Later on, however, Neanthus,\nson of the tyrant Pittacus, hearing how the lyre had charmed beasts\nand trees and stones, and how after Orpheus\u2019s destruction it had\nplayed of its own accord, conceived a violent fancy for the\ninstrument, and by means of a considerable bribe prevailed upon the\npriest to give him the genuine lyre, and replace it with one of\nsimilar appearance. Not thinking it advisable to display his\nacquisition in the city in broad daylight, he waited till night,\nand then, putting it under his cloak, walked off into the\noutskirts; and there this youth, who had not a note of music in\nhim, produced his instrument and began jangling on the strings,\nexpecting such divine strains to issue therefrom as would subdue\nall souls, and prove him the fortunate heir to Orpheus\u2019s power. He\nwent on till a number of dogs collected at the sound and tore him\nlimb from limb; thus far, at least, his fate resembled that of\nOrpheus, though his power of attraction extended only to hostile\ndogs. It was abundantly proved that the charm lay not in the lyre,\nbut solely in those peculiar gifts of song and music that had been\nbestowed upon Orpheus by his mother; as to the lyre, it was just\nlike other lyres.\n\nBut there: what need to go back to Orpheus and Neanthus? We have\ninstances in our own days: I believe the man is still alive who\npaid 120 pounds for the earthenware lamp of Epictetus the Stoic. I\nsuppose he thought he had only to read by the light of that lamp,\nand the wisdom of Epictetus would be communicated to him in his\ndreams, and he himself assume the likeness of that venerable sage.\nAnd it was only a day or two ago that another enthusiast paid down\n250 pounds for the staff dropped by the Cynic Proteus [Footnote:\nSee _Peregrine_ in Notes.] when he leaped upon the pyre. He\ntreasures this relic, and shows it off just as the people of Tegea\ndo the hide of the Calydonian boar [Footnote: See _Oenevs_ in\nNotes.], or the Thebans the bones of Geryon, or the Memphians Isis\u2019\nhair. Now the original owner of this precious staff was one who for\nignorance and vulgarity would have borne away the palm from\nyourself.\u2014My friend, you are in a bad way: a stick across the head\nis what you want.\n\nThey say that when Dionysius took to tragedy-writing he made such\nsad stuff of it that Philoxenus was more than once thrown into the\nquarries because he could not control his laughter. Finding that\nhis efforts only made him ridiculous, Dionysius was at some pains\nto procure the tablets on which Aeschylus had been wont to write.\nHe looked to draw divine inspiration from them: as it turned out,\nhowever, he now wrote considerably worse rubbish than before. Among\nthe contents of the tablets I may quote:\n\n  \u2019Twas Dionysius\u2019 wife, Doridion.\n\nHere is another:\n\n  Most serviceable woman! thou art gone!\n\nGenuine tablet that, and the next:\n\n  Men that are fools are their own folly\u2019s butt.\n\nTaken with reference to yourself, by the way, nothing could be more\nto the point than this last line; Dionysius\u2019s tablets deserved\ngilding, if only for that.\n\nWhat is your idea, now, in all this rolling and unrolling of\nscrolls? To what end the gluing and the trimming, the cedar-oil and\nsaffron, the leather cases and the bosses? Much good your purchases\nhave been to you; one sees that already: why, your language\u2014no, I\nam wrong there, you are as dumb as a fish-but your life, your\nunmentionable vices, make every one hate the sight of you; if that\nis what books do, one cannot keep too clear of them. There are two\nways in which a man may derive benefit from the study of the\nancients: he may learn to express himself, or he may improve his\nmorals by their example and warning; when it is clear that he has\nnot profited in either of these respects, what are his books but a\nhabitation for mice and vermin, and a source of castigation to\nnegligent servants?\n\nAnd how very foolish you must look when any one finds you with a\nbook in your hand (and you are never to be seen without) and asks\nyou who is your orator, your poet, or your historian: you have seen\nthe title, of course, and can answer that question pat: but then\none word brings up another, and some criticism, favourable or the\nreverse, is passed upon the contents of your volume: you are dumb\nand helpless; you pray for the earth to open and swallow you; you\nstand like Bellerophon with the warrant for your own execution in\nyour hand.\n\nOnce in Corinth Demetrius the Cynic found some illiterate person\nreading aloud from a very handsome volume, the Bacchae of\nEuripides, I think it was. He had got to the place where the\nmessenger is relating the destruction of Pentheus by Agave, when\nDemetrius snatched the book from him and tore it in two: \u2018Better,\u2019\nhe exclaimed, \u2018that Pentheus should suffer one rending at my hands\nthan many at yours.\u2019\n\nI have often wondered, though I have never been able to satisfy\nmyself, what it is that makes you such an ardent buyer of books.\nThe idea of your making any profitable use of them is one that\nnobody who has the slightest acquaintance with you would entertain\nfor a moment: does the bald man buy a comb, the blind a mirror, the\ndeaf a flute-player? the eunuch a concubine, the landsman an oar,\nthe pilot a plough? Are you merely seizing an opportunity of\ndisplaying your wealth? Is it just your way of showing the public\nthat you can afford to spend money even on things that are of no\nuse to you? Why, even a Syrian like myself knows that if you had\nnot got your name foisted into that old man\u2019s will, you would have\nbeen starving by this time, and all your books must have been put\nup to sale.\n\nOnly one possible explanation remains: your toadies have made you\nbelieve that in addition to your charms of person you have an\nextraordinary gift for rhetoric, history, and philosophy; and you\nbuy books merely to countenance their flatteries. It seems that you\nactually hold forth to them at table; and they, poor thirsty frogs,\nmust croak dry-throated applause till they burst, or there is no\ndrink for them. You are a most curiously gullible person: you take\nin every word they say to you. You were made to believe at one time\nthat your features resembled those of a certain Emperor. We had had\na pseudo-Alexander, and a pseudo-Philip, the fuller, and there was\na pseudo-Nero as recently as our own grandfathers\u2019 times: you were\nfor adding one more to the noble army of pseudos. After all, it was\nnothing for an illiterate fool like you to take such a fancy into\nhis head, and walk about with his chin in the air, aping the gait\nand dress and expression of his supposed model: even the Epirot\nking Pyrrhus, remarkable man that he was in other respects, had the\nsame foible, and was persuaded by his flatterers that he was like\nAlexander, Alexander the Great, that is. In point of fact, I have\nseen Pyrrhus\u2019s portrait, and the two\u2014to borrow a musical phrase\u2014\nare about as much like one another as bass and treble; and yet he\nwas convinced he was the image of Alexander. However, if that were\nall, it would be rather too bad of me to insult Pyrrhus by the\ncomparison: but I am justified by the sequel; it suits your case so\nexactly. When once Pyrrhus had got this fancy into his head, every\none else ran mad for company, till at last an old woman of Larissa,\nwho did not know Pyrrhus, told him the plain truth, and cured his\ndelusion. After showing her portraits of Philip, Perdiccas,\nAlexander, Casander, and other kings, Pyrrhus finally asked her\nwhich of these he resembled, taking it as a matter of course that\nshe would fix upon Alexander: however, she considered for some\ntime, and at length informed him that he was most like Batrachion\nthe cook, there being a cook of that name in Larissa who _was_\nvery like Pyrrhus. What particular theatrical pander _you_\nmost resemble I will not pretend to decide: all I can state with\ncertainty is that to this day you pass for a raving madman on the\nstrength of this fancy. After such an instance of your critical\ndiscernment, we need not be surprised to find that your flatterers\nhave inspired you with the further ambition of being taken for a\nscholar.\n\nBut I am talking nonsense. The cause of your bibliomania is clear\nenough; I must have been dozing, or I should have seen it long ago.\nThis is your idea of strategy: you know the Emperor\u2019s scholarly\ntastes, and his respect for culture, and you think it will be worth\nsomething to you if he hears of your literary pursuits. Once let\nyour name be mentioned to him as a great buyer and collector of\nbooks, and you reckon that your fortune is made. Vile creature! and\nis the Emperor drugged with mandragora that he should hear of this\nand never know the rest, your daylight iniquities, your tipplings,\nyour monstrous nightly debauches? Know you not that an Emperor has\nmany eyes and many ears? Yet _your_ deeds are such as cannot\nbe concealed from the blind or the deaf. I may tell you at once, as\nyou seem not to know it, that a man\u2019s hopes of the Imperial favour\ndepend not on his book-bills, but on his character and daily life.\nAre you counting upon Atticus and Callinus, the copyists, to put in\na good word for you? Then you are deceived: those relentless\ngentlemen propose, with the Gods\u2019 good leave, to grind you down and\nreduce you to utter destitution. Come to your senses while there is\nyet time: sell your library to some scholar, and whilst you are\nabout it sell your new house too, and wipe off part of your debt to\nthe slave-dealers.\n\nYou see, you will ride both these hobbies at once; there is the\ntrouble: besides your expensive books you must have your\nsuperannuated minions; you are insatiable in these pursuits, and\nyou cannot follow both without money. Now observe how precious a\nthing is counsel. I recommend you to dispense with the superfluous,\nand confine your attention to your other foible; in other words,\nkeep your money for the slave-dealers, or your private supplies\nwill run short, and you will be reduced to calling in the services\nof freemen, who will want every penny you possess; otherwise there\nis nothing to prevent them from telling how your time is spent when\nyou are in liquor. Only the other day I heard some very ugly\nstories about you\u2014backed, too, by ocular evidence: the bystanders\non that occasion are my witnesses how angry I was on your account;\nI was in two minds about giving the fellow a thrashing; and the\nannoying part of it was that he appealed to more than one witness\nwho had had the same experience and told just the same tale. Let\nthis be a warning to you to economize, so that you may be able to\nhave your enjoyments at home in all security. I do not suggest that\nyou should give up these practices: that is quite hopeless; the dog\nthat has gnawed leather once will gnaw leather always.\n\nOn the other hand, you can easily do without books. Your education\nis complete; you have nothing more to learn; you have the ancients\nas it were on the tip of your tongue; all history is known to you;\nyou are a master of the choice and management of words, you have\ngot the true Attic vocabulary; the multitude of your books has made\na ripe scholar of you. (You love flattery, and there is no reason\nwhy I should not indulge you as well as another.)\n\nBut I am rather curious on one point: what are your favourite books\namong so many? Plato? Antisthenes? Archilochus? Hipponax? Or are\nthey passed over in favour of the orators? Do you ever read the\nspeech of Aeschines against Timarchus? All that sort of thing I\nsuppose you have by heart. And have you grappled with Aristophanes\nand Eupolis? Did you ever go through the _Baptae_ [Footnote:\nSee Cotytto in Notes.]? Well then, you must surely have come on\nsome embarrassing home-truths in that play? It is difficult to\nimagine that mind of yours bent upon literary studies, and those\nhands turning over the pages. When do you do your reading? In the\ndaytime, or at night? If the former, you must do it when no one is\nlooking: and if the latter, is it done in the midst of more\nengrossing pursuits, or do you work it in before your rhetorical\noutpourings? As you reverence Cotytto, venture not again into the\npaths of literature; have done with books, and keep to your own\npeculiar business. If you had any sense of shame, to be sure, you\nwould abandon that too: think of Phaedra\u2019s indignant protest\nagainst her sex:\n\n  Darkness is their accomplice, yet they fear not,\n  Fear not the chamber-walls, their confidants.\n\nBut no: you are determined not to be cured. Very well: buy book\nupon book, shut them safely up, and reap the glory that comes of\npossession: only, let that be enough; presume not to touch nor\nread; pollute not with that tongue the poetry and eloquence of the\nancients; what harm have they ever done to you?\n\nAll this advice is thrown away, I know that. Shall an Ethiopian\nchange his skin? You will go on buying books that you cannot use\u2014\nto the amusement of educated men, who derive profit not from the\nprice of a book, nor from its handsome appearance, but from the\nsense and sound of its contents. You think by the multitude of\nbooks to supply the deficiencies of your education, and to throw\ndust in our eyes. Did you but know it, you are exactly like the\nquack doctors, who provide themselves with silver cupping-glasses,\ngold-handled lancets, and ivory cases for their instruments; they\nare quite incapable of using them when the time comes, and have to\ngive place to some properly qualified surgeon, who produces a\nlancet with a keen edge and a rusty handle, and affords immediate\nrelief to the sufferer. Or here is a better parallel: take the case\nof the barbers: you will find that the skilled practitioners have\njust the razor, scissors, and mirror that their work requires: the\nimpostors\u2019 razors are numerous, and their mirrors magnificent.\nHowever, that does not serve to conceal their incompetence, and the\nresult is most amusing: the average man gets his hair cut by one of\ntheir more capable neighbours, and then goes and arranges it before\n_their_ glasses. That is just what your books are good for\u2014to\nlend to other people; you are quite incapable of using them\nyourself. Not that you ever have lent any one a single volume; true\nto your dog-in-the-manger principles, you neither eat the corn\nyourself, nor give the horse a chance.\n\nThere you have my candid opinion about your books: I shall find\nother opportunities of dealing with your disreputable conduct in\ngeneral.","title":"The Works of Lucian of Samosata \u2014 Volume 03","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":93544}