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diff --git a/6327-h/6327-h.htm b/6327-h/6327-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..523dd48 --- /dev/null +++ b/6327-h/6327-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15116 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Works of Lucian of Samosata, Volume 1</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 175%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} +h3 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%; margin-top: 1.5em;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Works of Lucian of Samosata, Volume 1</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Works of Lucian of Samosata, Volume 1</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Lucian of Samosata</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translators: H.W. Fowler and F.G. Fowler</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 27, 2002 [eBook #6327]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 8, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Beth Constantine, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA ***</div> + +<h1>THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA</h1> + +<h4>Complete with exceptions specified in the preface</h4> + +<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> + +<h2>H. W. FOWLER AND F. G. FOWLER</h2> + +<h4>IN FOUR VOLUMES</h4> + +<p> +What work nobler than transplanting foreign thought into the barren domestic +soil? except indeed planting thought of your own, which the fewest are +privileged to do.—<i>Sarlor Resartus</i>. +</p> + +<p> +At each flaw, be this your first thought: the author doubtless said something +quite different, and much more to the point. And then you may hiss <i>me</i> +off, if you will.—LUCIAN, <i>Nigrinus, 9</i>. +</p> + +<p> +(LUCIAN) The last great master of Attic eloquence and Attic wit.—<i>Lord +Macaulay</i>. +</p> + +<h4>VOLUME I</h4> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap01"></a>PREFACE</h3> + +<p> +The text followed in this translation is that of Jacobitz, Teubner, 1901, all +deviations from which are noted. +</p> + +<p> +In the following list of omissions, italics denote that the piece is marked as +spurious both by Dindorf and by Jacobitz. The other omissions are mainly by way +of expurgation. In a very few other passages some isolated words and phrases +have been excised; but it has not been thought necessary to mark these in the +texts by asterisks. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Halcyon</i>; Deorum Dialogi, iv, v, ix, x, xvii, xxii, xxiii; Dialogi +Marini, xiii; Vera Historia, I. 22, II. 19; Alexander, 41,42; Eunuchus; <i>De +Astrologia</i>; <i>Amores</i>; <i>Lucius</i> sive <i>Asinus</i>; Rhetorum +Preceptor, 23; <i>Hippias</i>; Adversus Indoctum, 23; Pseudologista; +<i>Longaevi</i>; Dialogi Meretricii, v, vi, x; De Syria Dea; <i>Philopatris; +Charidemus; Nero</i>; Tragodopodagra; Ocypus; Epigrammata. +</p> + +<p> +A word may be said about four pieces that seem to stand apart from the rest. Of +these, the <i>Trial in the Court of Vowels</i> and <i>A Slip of the Tongue</i> +will be interesting only to those who are familiar with Greek. The +<i>Lexiphanes</i> and <i>A Purist Purized</i>, satirizing the pedants and +euphuists of Lucian’s day, almost defy translation, and they must be accepted +at best as an effort to give the general effect of the original. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Notes explanatory</i> at the end of vol. iv will be used by the reader +at his discretion. Reference is made to them at the foot of the page only when +it is not obvious what name should be consulted. +</p> + +<p> +The translators take this opportunity of offering their heartiest thanks to the +Delegates of the Clarendon Press for undertaking this work; and, in particular, +to the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford University, Dr. Merry, who has been good +enough to read the proofs, and to give much valuable advice both on the +difficult subject of excision and on details of style and rendering. In this +connexion, however, it should be added that for the retention of many modern +phrases, which may offend some readers as anachronistic, responsibility rests +with the translators alone. +</p> + +<h3>CONTENTS of VOL. I</h3> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">INTRODUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">THE VISION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">A LITERARY PROMETHEUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">NIGRINUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">TRIAL IN THE COURT OF VOWELS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">TIMON THE MISANTHROPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">PROMETHEUS ON CAUCASUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">DIALOGUES OF THE GODS</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>i, ii, iii, vi, vii, viii, xi, xii, xiii, xiv, xv, xvi, xviii, xix, xx, +xxi, xxiv, xxv, xxvi.</td> +</tr> + + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">DIALOGUES OF THE SEA-GODS</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, viii, ix, x, xi, xii, xiv, xv.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, +XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XXIV, XXV, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, +XXX.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">MENIPPUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHARON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">OF SACRIFICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">SALE OF CREEDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">THE FISHER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">VOYAGE TO THE LOWER WORLD</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap02"></a>INTRODUCTION</h3> + +<p class="letter"> +1. LIFE.<br/> +2. PROBABLE ORDER OF WRITINGS.<br/> +3. CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE TIME.<br/> +4. LUCIAN AS A WRITER. +</p> + +<p> +It is not to be understood that all statements here made are either ascertained +facts or universally admitted conjectures. The introduction is intended merely +to put those who are not scholars, and probably have not books of reference at +hand, in a position to approach the translation at as little disadvantage as +may be. Accordingly, we give the account that commends itself to us, without +discussion or reference to authorities. Those who would like a more complete +idea of Lucian should read Croiset’s <i>Essai sur la vie et les oeuvres de +Lucien</i>, on which the first two sections of this introduction are very +largely based. The only objections to the book (if they are objections) are +that it is in French, and of 400 octavo pages. It is eminently readable. +</p> + +<h4>1. LIFE</h4> + +<p> +With the exception of a very small number of statements, of which the truth is +by no means certain, all that we know of Lucian is derived from his own +writings. And any reader who prefers to have his facts at first rather than at +second hand can consequently get them by reading certain of his pieces, and +making the natural deductions from them. Those that contain biographical matter +are, in the order corresponding to the periods of his life on which they throw +light, <i>The Vision, Demosthenes, Nigrinus, The Portrait-study</i> and +<i>Defence</i> (in which Lucian is <i>Lycinus</i>), <i>The Way to write +History, The double Indictment</i> (in which he is <i>The Syrian</i>), <i>The +Fisher</i> (<i>Parrhesiades</i>), <i>Swans and Amber, Alexander</i>, +<i>Hermotimus</i> (<i>Lycinus</i>), <i>Menippus and Icaromenippus</i> (in which +<i>Menippus</i> represents him), <i>A literary Prometheus, Herodotus, Zeuxis, +Harmonides, The Scythian</i>, <i>The Death of Peregrine</i>, <i>The +Book-fancier</i>, <i>Demonax</i>, <i>The Rhetorician’s Vade mecum</i>, +<i>Dionysus</i>, <i>Heracles</i>, <i>A Slip of the Tongue</i>, <i>Apology for +‘The dependent Scholar.’</i> Of these <i>The Vision</i> is a direct piece of +autobiography; there is intentional but veiled autobiography in several of the +other pieces; in others again conclusions can be drawn from comparison of his +statements with facts known from external sources. +</p> + +<p> +Lucian lived from about 125 to about 200 A.D., under the Roman Emperors +Antoninus Pius, M. Aurelius and Lucius Verus, Commodus, and perhaps Pertinax. +He was a Syrian, born at Samosata on the Euphrates, of parents to whom it was +of importance that he should earn his living without spending much time or +money on education. His maternal uncle being a statuary, he was apprenticed to +him, having shown an aptitude for modelling in the wax that he surreptitiously +scraped from his school writing-tablets. The apprenticeship lasted one day. It +is clear that he was impulsive all through life; and when his uncle corrected +him with a stick for breaking a piece of marble, he ran off home, disposed +already to think he had had enough of statuary. His mother took his part, and +he made up his mind by the aid of a vision that came to him the same night. +</p> + +<p> +It was the age of the rhetoricians. If war was not a thing of the past, the +shadow of the <i>pax Romana</i> was over all the small states, and the aspiring +provincial’s readiest road to fame was through words rather than deeds. The +arrival of a famous rhetorician to lecture was one of the important events in +any great city’s annals; and Lucian’s works are full of references to the +impression these men produced, and the envy they enjoyed. He himself was +evidently consumed, during his youth and early manhood, with desire for a +position like theirs. To him, sleeping with memories of the stick, appeared two +women, corresponding to <i>Virtue</i> and <i>Pleasure</i> in Prodicus’s +<i>Choice of Heracles</i>—the working woman <i>Statuary</i>, and the lady +<i>Culture</i>. They advanced their claims to him in turn; but before +<i>Culture</i> had completed her reply, the choice was made: he was to be a +rhetorician. From her reminding him that she was even now not all unknown to +him, we may perhaps assume that he spoke some sort of Greek, or was being +taught it; but he assures us that after leaving Syria he was still a barbarian; +we have also a casual mention of his offering a lock of his hair to the Syrian +goddess in his youth. +</p> + +<p> +He was allowed to follow his bent and go to Ionia. Great Ionian cities like +Smyrna and Ephesus were full of admired sophists or teachers of rhetoric. But +it is unlikely that Lucian’s means would have enabled him to become the pupil +of these. He probably acquired his skill to a great extent by the laborious +method, which he ironically deprecates in <i>The Rhetorician’s Vade mecum</i>, +of studying exhaustively the old Attic orators, poets, and historians. +</p> + +<p> +He was at any rate successful. The different branches that a rhetorician might +choose between or combine were: (1) Speaking in court on behalf of a client; +(2) Writing speeches for a client to deliver; (3) Teaching pupils; (4) Giving +public displays of his skill. There is a doubtful statement that Lucian failed +in (1), and took to (2) in default. His surviving rhetorical pieces (<i>The +Tyrannicide, The Disinherited, Phalaris</i>) are declamations on hypothetical +cases which might serve either for (3) or (4); and <i>The Hall, The Fly, +Dipsas</i>, and perhaps <i>Demosthenes</i>, suggest (4). A common form of +exhibition was for a sophist to appear before an audience and let them propose +subjects, of which he must choose one and deliver an impromptu oration upon it. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever his exact line was, he earned an income in Ionia, then in Greece, had +still greater success in Italy, and appears to have settled for some time in +Gaul, perhaps occupying a professorial chair there. The intimate knowledge of +Roman life in some aspects which appears in <i>The dependent Scholar</i> +suggests that he also lived some time in Rome. He seems to have known some +Latin, since he could converse with boatmen on the Po; but his only clear +reference (<i>A Slip of the Tongue</i>, 13) implies an imperfect knowledge of +it; and there is not a single mention in all his works, which are crammed with +literary allusions, of any Latin author. He claims to have been during his time +in Gaul one of the rhetoricians who could command high fees; and his +descriptions of himself as resigning his place close about his lady’s (i.e. +Rhetoric’s) person, and as casting off his wife Rhetoric because she did not +keep herself exclusively to him, show that he regarded himself, or wished to be +regarded, as having been at the head of his profession. +</p> + +<p> +This brings us to about the year 160 A.D. We may conceive Lucian now to have +had some of that yearning for home which he ascribes in the <i>Patriotism</i> +even to the successful exile. He returned home, we suppose, a distinguished man +at thirty-five, and enjoyed impressing the fact on his fellow citizens in +<i>The Vision</i>. He may then have lived at Antioch as a rhetorician for some +years, of which we have a memorial in <i>The Portrait-study</i>. Lucius Verus, +M. Aurelius’s colleague, was at Antioch in 162 or 163 A.D. on his way to the +Parthian war, and <i>The Portrait-study</i> is a panegyric on Verus’s mistress +Panthea, whom Lucian saw there. +</p> + +<p> +A year or two later we find him migrating to Athens, taking his father with +him, and at Athens he settled and remained many years. It was on this journey +that the incident occurred, which he relates with such a curious absence of +shame in the <i>Alexander</i>, of his biting that charlatan’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +This change in his manner of life corresponds nearly with the change in habit +of mind and use of his powers that earned him his immortality. His fortieth +year is the date given by himself for his abandonment of Rhetoric and, as he +calls it, taking up with Dialogue, or, as we might say, becoming a man of +letters. Between Rhetoric and Dialogue there was a feud, which had begun when +Socrates five centuries before had fought his battles with the sophists. +Rhetoric appeals to the emotions and obscures the issues (such had been +Socrates’s position); the way to elicit truth is by short question and answer. +The Socratic method, illustrated by Plato, had become, if not the only, the +accredited instrument of philosophers, who, so far as they are genuine, are +truth-seekers; Rhetoric had been left to the legal persons whose object is not +truth but victory. Lucian’s abandonment of Rhetoric was accordingly in some +sort his change from a lawyer to a philosopher. As it turned out, however, +philosophy was itself only a transitional stage with him. +</p> + +<p> +Already during his career as a rhetorician, which we may put at 145-164 A.D., +he seems both to have had leanings to philosophy, and to have toyed with +dialogue. There is reason to suppose that the <i>Nigrinus</i>, with its strong +contrast between the noise and vulgarity of Rome and the peace and culture of +Athens, its enthusiastic picture of the charm of philosophy for a sensitive and +intelligent spirit, was written in 150 A.D., or at any rate described an +incident that occurred in that year; and the <i>Portrait-study</i> and its +<i>Defence</i>, dialogues written with great care, whatever their other merits, +belong to 162 or 163 A.D. But these had been excursions out of his own +province. After settling at Athens he seems to have adopted the writing of +dialogues as his regular work. The <i>Toxaris</i>, a collection of stories on +friendship, strung together by dialogue, the <i>Anacharsis</i>, a discussion on +the value of physical training, and the <i>Pantomime</i>, a description +slightly relieved by the dialogue form, may be regarded as experiments with his +new instrument. There is no trace in them of the characteristic use that he +afterwards made of dialogue, for the purposes of satire. +</p> + +<p> +That was an idea that we may suppose to have occurred to him after the +composition of the <i>Hermotimus</i>. This is in form the most philosophic of +his dialogues; it might indeed be a dialogue of Plato, of the merely +destructive kind; but it is at the same time, in matter, his farewell to +philosophy, establishing that the pursuit of it is hopeless for mortal man. +From this time onward, though he always professes himself a lover of true +philosophy, he concerns himself no more with it, except to expose its false +professors. The dialogue that perhaps comes next, <i>The Parasite</i>, is still +Platonic in form, but only as a parody; its main interest (for a modern reader +is outraged, as in a few other pieces of Lucian’s, by the disproportion between +subject and treatment) is in the combination for the first time of satire with +dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +One more step remained to be taken. In the piece called <i>A literary +Prometheus</i>, we are told what Lucian himself regarded as his claim to the +title of an original writer. It was the fusing of Comedy and Dialogue—the +latter being the prose conversation hat had hitherto been confined to +philosophical discussion. The new literary form, then, was conversation, +frankly for purposes of entertainment, as in Comedy, but to be read and not +acted. In this kind of writing he remains, though he has been often imitated, +first in merit as clearly as in time; and nearly all his great masterpieces +took this form. They followed in rapid succession, being all written, perhaps, +between 165 and 175 A.D. And we make here no further comment upon them, except +to remark that they fall roughly into three groups as he drew inspiration +successively from the writers of the New Comedy (or Comedy of ordinary life) +like Menander, from the satires of Menippus, and from writers of the Old Comedy +(or Comedy of fantastic imagination) like Aristophanes. The best specimens of +the first group are <i>The Liar</i> and the <i>Dialogues of the Hetaerae;</i> +of the second, the <i>Dialogues of the Dead</i> and <i>of the Gods, +Menippus</i> and <i>Icaromenippus, Zeus cross-examined;</i> of the third, +<i>Timon, Charon, A Voyage to the lower World, The Sale of Creeds, The Fisher, +Zeus Tragoedus, The Cock, The double Indictment, The Ship</i>. +</p> + +<p> +During these ten or more years, though he lived at Athens, he is to be imagined +travelling occasionally, to read his dialogues to audiences in various cities, +or to see the Olympic Games. And these excursions gave occasion to some works +not of the dialogue kind; the <i>Zeuxis</i> and several similar pieces are +introductions to series of readings away from Athens; The <i>Way to write +History</i>, a piece of literary criticism still very readable, if out of date +for practical purposes, resulted from a visit to Ionia, where all the literary +men were producing histories of the Parthian war, then in progress (165 A.D.). +An attendance at the Olympic Games of 169 A.D. suggested <i>The Death of +Peregrine</i>, which in its turn, through the offence given to Cynics, had to +be supplemented by the dialogue of <i>The Runaways. The True History</i>, most +famous, but, admirable as it is, far from best of his works, presumably belongs +to this period also, but cannot be definitely placed. The <i>Book-fancier</i> +and <i>The Rhetorician’s Vade mecum</i> are unpleasant records of bitter +personal quarrels. +</p> + +<p> +After some ten years of this intense literary activity, producing, reading, and +publishing, Lucian seems to have given up both the writing of dialogues and the +presenting of them to audiences, and to have lived quietly for many years. The +only pieces that belong here are the <i>Life of Demonax</i>, the man whom he +held the best of all philosophers, and with whom he had been long intimate at +Athens, and that of Alexander, the Asiatic charlatan, who was the prince of +impostors as Demonax of philosophers. When quite old, Lucian was appointed by +the Emperor Commodus to a well-paid legal post in Egypt. We also learn, from +the new introductory lectures called <i>Dionysus</i> and <i>Heracles</i>, that +he resumed the practice of reading his dialogues; but he wrote nothing more of +importance. It is stated in Suidas that he was torn to pieces by dogs; but, as +other statements in the article are discredited, it is supposed that this is +the Christian revenge for Lucian’s imaginary hostility to Christianity. We have +it from himself that he suffered from gout in his old age. He solaced himself +characteristically by writing a play on the subject; but whether the goddess +Gout, who gave it its name, was appeased by it, or carried him off, we cannot +tell. +</p> + +<h4>2. PROBABLE ORDER OF WRITINGS</h4> + +<p> +The received order in which Lucian’s works stand is admitted to be entirely +haphazard. The following arrangement in groups is roughly chronological, though +it is quite possible that they overlap each other. It is M. Croiset’s, put into +tabular form. Many details in it are open to question; but to read in this +order would at least be more satisfactory to any one who wishes to study Lucian +seriously than to take the pieces as they come. The table will also serve as a +rough guide to the first-class and the inferior pieces. The names italicized +are those of pieces rejected as spurious by M. Croiset, and therefore not +placed by him; we have inserted them where they seem to belong; as to their +genuineness, it is our opinion that the objections made (not by M. Croiset, who +does not discuss authenticity) to the <i>Demosthenes</i> and <i>The Cynic</i> +at least are, in view of the merits of these, unconvincing. +</p> + +<p> +(i) About 145 to 160 A.D. Lucian a rhetorician in Ionia, Greece, Italy, and +Gaul. +</p> + +<p> +The Tyrannicide, a rhetorical exercise. +</p> + +<p> +The Disinherited. +</p> + +<p> +Phalaris I & II. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Demosthenes</i>, a panegyric. +</p> + +<p> +Patriotism, an essay. +</p> + +<p> +The Fly, an essay. +</p> + +<p> +Swans and Amber, an introductory lecture. +</p> + +<p> +Dipsas, an introductory lecture. +</p> + +<p> +The Hall, an introductory lecture. +</p> + +<p> +Nigrinus, a dialogue on philosophy, 150 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +(ii) About 160 to 164 A.D. After Lucian’s return to Asia. +</p> + +<p> +The Portrait-study, a panegyric in dialogue, 162 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +Defence of The Portrait-study, in dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +A Trial in the Court of Vowels, a <i>jeu d’esprit</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Hesiod, a short dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +The Vision, an autobiographical address. +</p> + +<p> +(iii) About 165 A.D. At Athens. +</p> + +<p> +Pantomime, art criticism in dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +Anacharsis, a dialogue on physical training. +</p> + +<p> +Toxaris, stories of friendship in dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +Slander, a moral essay. +</p> + +<p> +The Way to write History, an essay in literary criticism. +</p> + +<p> +The next eight groups, iv-xi, belong to the years from about 165 A.D. to about +175 A.D., when Lucian was at his best and busiest; iv-ix are to be regarded +roughly as succeeding each other in time; x and xi being independent in this +respect. Pieces are assigned to groups mainly according to their subjects; but +some are placed in groups that do not seem at first sight the most appropriate, +owing to specialties in their treatment; e.g. <i>The Ship</i> might seem more +in place with vii than with ix; but M. Croiset finds in it a maturity that +induces him to put it later. +</p> + +<p> +(iv) About 165 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +Hermotimus, a philosophic dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +The Parasite, a parody of a philosophic dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +(v) Influence of the New Comedy writers. +</p> + +<p> +The Liar, a dialogue satirizing superstition. +</p> + +<p> +A Feast of Lapithae, a dialogue satirizing the manners of philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +Dialogues of the Hetaerae, a series of short dialogues. +</p> + +<p> +(vi) Influence of the Menippean satire. +</p> + +<p> +Dialogues of the Dead, a series of short dialogues. +</p> + +<p> +Dialogues of the Gods, a series of short dialogues. +</p> + +<p> +Dialogues of the Sea-Gods, a series of short dialogues. +</p> + +<p> +Menippus, a dialogue satirizing philosophy. +</p> + +<p> +Icaromenippus, a dialogue satirizing philosophy and religion. +</p> + +<p> +Zeus cross-examined, a dialogue satirizing religion. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Cynic</i>, a dialogue against luxury. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Of Sacrifice</i>, an essay satirizing religion. +</p> + +<p> +Saturnalia, dialogue and letters on the relation of rich and poor. +</p> + +<p> +The True History, a parody of the old Greek historians, +</p> + +<p> +(vii) Influence of the Old Comedy writers: vanity of human wishes. +</p> + +<p> +A Voyage to the Lower World, a dialogue on the vanity of power. +</p> + +<p> +Charon, a dialogue on the vanity of all things. +</p> + +<p> +Timon, a dialogue on the vanity of riches. +</p> + +<p> +The Cock, a dialogue on the vanity of riches and power, +</p> + +<p> +(viii) Influence of the Old Comedy writers: dialogues satirizing religion. +</p> + +<p> +Prometheus on Caucasus. +</p> + +<p> +Zeus Tragoedus. +</p> + +<p> +The Gods in Council. +</p> + +<p> +(ix) Influence of the Old Comedy writers: satire on philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +The Ship, a dialogue on foolish aspirations. +</p> + +<p> +The Life of Peregrine, a narrative satirizing the Cynics, 169 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +The Runaways, a dialogue satirizing the Cynics. +</p> + +<p> +The double Indictment, an autobiographic dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +The Sale of Creeds, a dialogue satirizing philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +The Fisher, an autobiographic dialogue satirizing philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +(x) 165-175 A.D. Introductory lectures. +</p> + +<p> +Herodotus. +</p> + +<p> +Zeuxis. +</p> + +<p> +Harmonides. +</p> + +<p> +The Scythian. +</p> + +<p> +A literary Prometheus. +</p> + +<p> +(xi) 165-175 A.D. Scattered pieces standing apart from the great dialogue +series, but written during the same period. +</p> + +<p> +The Book-fancier, an invective. About 170 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Purist purized</i>, a literary satire in dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +Lexiphanes, a literary satire in dialogue. +</p> + +<p> +The Rhetorician’s Vade-mecum, a personal satire. About 178 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +(xii) After 180 A.D. +</p> + +<p> +Demonax, a biography. +</p> + +<p> +Alexander, a satirical biography, +</p> + +<p> +(xiii) In old age. +</p> + +<p> +Mourning, an essay. +</p> + +<p> +Dionysus, an introductory lecture. +</p> + +<p> +Heracles, an introductory lecture. +</p> + +<p> +Apology for ‘The dependent Scholar.’ +</p> + +<p> +A Slip of the Tongue. +</p> + +<p> +In conclusion, we have to say that this arrangement of M. Croiset’s, which we +have merely tabulated without intentionally departing from it in any +particular, seems to us well considered in its broad lines; there are a few +modifications which we should have been disposed to make in it; but we thought +it better to take it entire than to exercise our own judgment in a matter where +we felt very little confidence. +</p> + +<h4>3. CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE TIME</h4> + +<p> +‘M. Aurelius has for us moderns this great superiority in interest over Saint +Louis or Alfred, that he lived and acted in a state of society modern by its +essential characteristics, in an epoch akin to our own, in a brilliant centre +of civilization. Trajan talks of “our enlightened age” just as glibly as <i>The +Times</i> talks of it.’ M. Arnold, <i>Essays in Criticism, M. Aurelius</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The age of M. Aurelius is also the age of Lucian, and with any man of that age +who has, like these two, left us a still legible message we can enter into +quite different relations from those which are possible with what M. Arnold +calls in the same essay ‘classical-dictionary heroes.’ A twentieth-century +Englishman, a second-century Greek or Roman, would be much more at home in each +other’s century, if they had the gift of tongues, than in most of those which +have intervened. It is neither necessary nor possible to go deeply into the +resemblance here [Footnote: Some words of Sir Leslie Stephen’s may be given, +however, describing the welter of religious opinions that prevailed at both +epochs: ‘The analogy between the present age and that which witnessed the +introduction of Christianity is too striking to have been missed by very many +observers. The most superficial acquaintance with the general facts shows how +close a parallel might be drawn by a competent historian. There are none of the +striking manifestations of the present day to which it would not be easy to +produce an analogy, though in some respects on a smaller scale. Now, as then, +we can find mystical philosophers trying to evolve a satisfactory creed by some +process of logical legerdemain out of theosophical moonshine; and amiable and +intelligent persons labouring hard to prove that the old mythology could be +forced to accept a rationalistic interpretation—whether in regard to the +inspection of entrails or prayers for fine weather; and philosophers framing +systems of morality entirely apart from the ancient creeds, and sufficiently +satisfactory to themselves, while hopelessly incapable of impressing the +popular mind; and politicians, conscious that the basis of social order was +being sapped by the decay of the faith in which it had arisen, and therefore +attempting the impossible task of galvanizing dead creeds into a semblance of +vitality; and strange superstitions creeping out of their lurking-places, and +gaining influence in a luxurious society whose intelligence was an ineffectual +safeguard against the most grovelling errors; and a dogged adherence of +formalists and conservatives to ancient ways, and much empty profession of +barren orthodoxy; and, beneath all, a vague disquiet, a breaking up of ancient +social and natural bonds, and a blind groping toward some more cosmopolitan +creed and some deeper satisfaction for the emotional needs of +mankind.’—<i>The Religion of all Sensible Men</i> in <i>An Agnostic’s +Apology</i>, 1893.]; all that need be done is to pass in review those points of +it, some important, and some trifling, which are sure to occur in a detached +way to readers of Lucian. +</p> + +<p> +The Graeco-Roman world was as settled and peaceful, as conscious of its +imperial responsibilities, as susceptible to boredom, as greedy of amusement, +could show as numerous a leisured class, and believed as firmly in money, as +our own. What is more important for our purpose, it was questioning the truth +of its religion as we are to-day questioning the truth of ours. Lucian was the +most vehement of the questioners. Of what played the part then that the +Christian religion plays now, the pagan religion was only one half; the other +half was philosophy. The gods of Olympus had long lost their hold upon the +educated, but not perhaps upon the masses; the educated, ill content to be +without any guide through the maze of life, had taken to philosophy instead. +Stoicism was the prevalent creed, and how noble a form this could take in a +cultivated and virtuous mind is to be seen in the <i>Thoughts</i> of M. +Aurelius. The test of a religion, however, is not what form it takes in a +virtuous mind, but what effects it produces on those of another sort. Lucian +applies the test of results alike to the religion usually so called, and to its +philosophic substitute. He finds both wanting; the test is not a satisfactory +one, but it is being applied by all sorts and conditions of men to Christianity +in our own time; so is the second test, that of inherent probability, which he +uses as well as the other upon the pagan theology; and it is this that gives +his writings, even apart from their wit and fancy, a special interest for our +own time. Our attention seems to be concentrated more and more on the ethical, +as opposed to the speculative or dogmatic aspect of religion; just such was +Lucian’s attitude towards philosophy. +</p> + +<p> +Some minor points of similarity may be briefly noted. As we read the +<i>Anacharsis</i>, we are reminded of the modern prominence of athletics; the +question of football <i>versus</i> drill is settled for us; light is thrown +upon the question of conscription; we think of our Commissions on national +deterioration, and the schoolmaster’s wail over the athletic +<i>Frankenstein’s</i> monster which, like <i>Eucrates</i> in <i>The Liar</i>, +he has created but cannot control. The ‘horsy talk in every street’ of the +<i>Nigrinus</i> calls up the London newsboy with his ‘All the winners.’ We +think of palmists and spiritualists in the police-courts as we read of +Rutilianus and the Roman nobles consulting the impostor Alexander. This +sentence reads like the description of a modern man of science confronted with +the supernatural: ‘It was an occasion for a man whose intelligence was steeled +against such assaults by scepticism and insight, one who, if he could not +detect the precise imposture, would at any rate have been perfectly certain +that, though this escaped him, the whole thing was a lie and an impossibility.’ +The upper-class audiences who listened to Lucian’s readings, taking his points +with quiet smiles instead of the loud applause given to the rhetorician, must +have been something like that which listens decorously to an Extension +lecturer. When Lucian bids us mark ‘how many there are who once were but +cyphers, but whom words have raised to fame and opulence, ay, and to noble +lineage too,’ we remember not only Gibbon’s remark about the very Herodes +Atticus of whom Lucian may have been thinking (‘The family of Herod, at least +after it had been favoured by fortune, was lineally descended from Cimon and +Miltiades’), but also the modern <i>carriere ouverte aux talents</i>, and the +fact that Tennyson was a lord. There are the elements of a socialist question +in the feelings between rich and poor described in the <i>Saturnalia</i>; +while, on the other hand, the fact of there being an audience for the +<i>Dialogues of the Hetaerae</i> is an illustration of that spirit of <i>humani +nihil a me alienum puto</i> which is again prevalent today. We care now to +realize the thoughts of other classes besides our own; so did they in Lucian’s +time; but it is significant that Francklin in 1780, refusing to translate this +series, says: ‘These dialogues exhibit to us only such kind of conversation as +we may hear in the purlieus of Covent Garden—lewd, dull, and insipid.’ +The lewdness hardly goes beyond the title; they are full of humour and insight; +and we make no apology for translating most of them. Lastly, a generation that +is always complaining of the modern over-production of books feels that it +would be at home in a state of society in which our author found that, not to +be too singular, he must at least write about writing history, if he declined +writing it himself, even as Diogenes took to rolling his tub, lest he should be +the only idle man when Corinth was bustling about its defences. +</p> + +<p> +As Lucian is so fond of saying, ‘this is but a small selection of the facts +which might have been quoted’ to illustrate the likeness between our age and +his. It may be well to allude, on the other hand, to a few peculiarities of the +time that appear conspicuously in his writings. +</p> + +<p> +The Roman Empire was rather Graeco-Roman than Roman; this is now a commonplace. +It is interesting to observe that for Lucian ‘we’ is on occasion the Romans; +‘we’ is also everywhere the Greeks; while at the same time ‘I’ is a barbarian +and a Syrian. Roughly speaking, the Roman element stands for energy, material +progress, authority, and the Greek for thought; the Roman is the British +Philistine, the Greek the man of culture. Lucian is conscious enough of the +distinction, and there is no doubt where his own preference lies. He may be a +materialist, so far as he is anything, in philosophy; but in practice he puts +the things of the mind before the things of the body. +</p> + +<p> +If our own age supplies parallels for most of what we meet with in the second +century, there are two phenomena which are to be matched rather in an England +that has passed away. The first is the Cynics, who swarm in Lucian’s pages like +the begging friars in those of a historical novelist painting the middle ages. +Like the friars, they began nobly in the desire for plain living and high +thinking; in both cases the thinking became plain, the living not perhaps high, +but the best that circumstances admitted of, and the class—with its +numbers hugely swelled by persons as little like their supposed teachers as a +Marian or Elizabethan persecutor was like the founder of Christianity—a +pest to society. Lucian’s sympathy with the best Cynics, and detestation of the +worst, make Cynicism one of his most familiar themes. The second is the class +so vividly presented in <i>The dependent Scholar</i>—the indigent learned +Greek who looks about for a rich vulgar Roman to buy his company, and finds he +has the worst of the bargain. His successors, the ‘trencher chaplains’ who +‘from grasshoppers turn bumble-bees and wasps, plain parasites, and make the +Muses mules, to satisfy their hunger-starved panches, and get a meal’s meat,’ +were commoner in Burton’s days than in our own, and are to be met in Fielding, +and Macaulay, and Thackeray. +</p> + +<p> +Two others of Lucian’s favourite figures, the parasite and the legacy-hunter, +exist still, no doubt, as they are sure to in every complex civilization; but +their operations are now conducted with more regard to the decencies. This is +worth remembering when we are occasionally offended by his frankness on +subjects to which we are not accustomed to allude; he is not an unclean or a +sensual writer, but the waters of decency have risen since his time and +submerged some things which were then visible. +</p> + +<p> +A slight prejudice, again, may sometimes be aroused by Lucian’s trick of +constant and trivial quotation; he would rather put the simplest statement, or +even make his transition from one subject to another, in words of Homer than in +his own; we have modern writers too who show the same tendency, and perhaps we +like or dislike them for it in proportion as their allusions recall memories or +merely puzzle us; we cannot all be expected to have agreeable memories stirred +by insignificant Homer tags; and it is well to bear in mind by way of +palliation that in Greek education Homer played as great a part as the Bible in +ours. He might be taken simply or taken allegorically; but one way or the other +he was the staple of education, and it might be assumed that every one would +like the mere sound of him. +</p> + +<p> +We may end by remarking that the public readings of his own works, to which the +author makes frequent reference, were what served to a great extent the purpose +of our printing-press. We know that his pieces were also published; but the +public that could be reached by hand-written copies would bear a very small +proportion to that which heard them from the writer’s own lips; and though the +modern system may have the advantage on the whole, it is hard to believe that +the unapproached life and naturalness of Lucian’s dialogue does not owe +something to this necessity. +</p> + +<h4>4. LUCIAN AS A WRITER</h4> + +<p> +With all the sincerity of Lucian in <i>The True History</i>, ‘soliciting his +reader’s incredulity,’ we solicit our reader’s neglect of this appreciation. We +have no pretensions whatever to the critical faculty; the following remarks are +to be taken as made with diffidence, and offered to those only who prefer being +told what to like, and why, to settling the matter for themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Goethe, aged fourteen, with seven languages on hand, devised the plan of a +correspondence kept up by seven imaginary brothers scattered over the globe, +each writing in the language of his adopted land. The stay-at-home in Frankfort +was to write Jew-German, for which purpose some Hebrew must be acquired. His +father sent him to Rector Albrecht. The rector was always found with one book +open before him—a well-thumbed Lucian. But the Hebrew vowel-points were +perplexing, and the boy found better amusement in putting shrewd questions on +what struck him as impossibilities or inconsistencies in the Old-Testament +narrative they were reading. The old gentleman was infinitely amused, had fits +of mingled coughing and laughter, but made little attempt at solving his +pupil’s difficulties, beyond ejaculating <i>Er narrischer Kerl! Er narrischer +Junge</i>! He let him dig for solutions, however, in an English commentary on +the shelves, and occupied the time with turning the familiar pages of his +Lucian [Footnote: <i>Wahrheit und Dichtung</i>, book iv. ]. The wicked old +rector perhaps chuckled to think that here was one who bade fair to love Lucian +one day as well as he did himself. +</p> + +<p> +For Lucian too was one who asked questions—spent his life doing little +else; if one were invited to draw him with the least possible expenditure of +ink, one’s pen would trace a mark of interrogation. That picture is easily +drawn; to put life into it is a more difficult matter. However, his is not a +complex character, for all the irony in which he sometimes chooses to clothe +his thought; and materials are at least abundant; he is one of the +self-revealing fraternity; his own personal presence is to be detected more +often than not in his work. He may give us the assistance, or he may not, of +labelling a character <i>Lucian</i> or <i>Lycinus</i>; we can detect him, +<i>volentes volentem</i>, under the thin disguise of <i>Menippus</i> or +<i>Tychiades</i> or <i>Cyniscus</i> as well. And the essence of him as he +reveals himself is the questioning spirit. He has no respect for authority. +Burke describes the majority of mankind, who do not form their own opinions, as +‘those whom Providence has doomed to live on trust’; Lucian entirely refuses to +live on trust; he ‘wants to know.’ It was the wish of <i>Arthur Clennam</i>, +who had in consequence a very bad name among the <i>Tite Barnacles</i> and +other persons in authority. Lucian has not escaped the same fate; ‘the scoffer +Lucian’ has become as much a commonplace as ‘<i>fidus Achates</i>,’ or ‘the +well-greaved Achaeans,’ the reading of him has been discountenanced, and, if he +has not actually lost his place at the table of Immortals, promised him when he +temporarily left the Island of the Blest, it has not been so ‘distinguished’ a +place as it was to have been and should have been. And all because he ‘wanted +to know.’ +</p> + +<p> +His questions, of course, are not all put in the same manner. In the +<i>Dialogues of the Gods</i>, for instance, the mark of interrogation is not +writ large; they have almost the air at first of little stories in dialogue +form, which might serve to instruct schoolboys in the attributes and legends of +the gods—a manual charmingly done, yet a manual only. But we soon see +that he has said to himself: Let us put the thing into plain natural prose, and +see what it looks like with its glamour of poetry and reverence stripped off; +the Gods do human things; why not represent them as human persons, and see what +results? What did result was that henceforth any one who still believed in the +pagan deities might at the cost of an hour’s light reading satisfy himself that +his gods were not gods, or, if they were, had no business to be. Whether many +or few did so read and so satisfy themselves, we have no means of knowing; it +is easy to over-estimate the effect such writing may have had, and to forget +that those who were capable of being convinced by exposition of this sort would +mostly be those who were already convinced without; still, so far as Lucian had +any effect on the religious position, it must have been in discrediting +paganism and increasing the readiness to accept the new faith beginning to make +its way. Which being so, it was ungrateful of the Christian church to turn and +rend him. It did so, partly in error. Lucian had referred in the <i>Life of +Peregrine</i> to the Christians, in words which might seem irreverent to +Christians at a time when they were no longer an obscure sect; he had described +and ridiculed in <i>The Liar</i> certain ‘Syrian’ miracles which have a +remarkable likeness to the casting out of spirits by Christ and the apostles; +and worse still, the <i>Philopatris</i> passed under his name. This dialogue, +unlike what Lucian had written in the <i>Peregrine</i> and <i>The Liar</i>, is +a deliberate attack on Christianity. It is clear to us now that it was written +two hundred years after his time, under Julian the Apostate; but there can be +no more doubt of its being an imitation of Lucian than of its not being his; it +consequently passed for his, the story gained currency that he was an apostate +himself, and his name was anathema for the church. It was only partly in error, +however. Though Lucian might be useful on occasion (‘When Tertullian or +Lactantius employ their labours in exposing the falsehood and extravagance of +Paganism, they are obliged to transcribe the eloquence of Cicero or the wit of +Lucian’ [Footnote: Gibbon, <i>Decline and Fall</i>, cap. xv.]), the very word +heretic is enough to remind us that the Church could not show much favour to +one who insisted always on thinking for himself. His works survived, but he was +not read, through the Middle Ages. With the Renaissance he partly came into his +own again, but still laboured under the imputations of scoffing and atheism, +which confined the reading of him to the few. +</p> + +<p> +The method followed in the <i>Dialogues of the Gods</i> and similar pieces is a +very indirect way of putting questions. It is done much more directly in +others, the <i>Zeus cross-examined</i>, for instance. Since the fallen angels +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + reasoned high<br/> + Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate—<br/> + Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute—<br/> + And found no end, in wandering mazes lost,<br/> +</p> + +<p> +these subjects have had their share of attention; but the questions can hardly +be put more directly, or more neatly, than in the <i>Zeus cross-examined</i>, +and the thirtieth <i>Dialogue of the Dead</i>. +</p> + +<p> +He has many other interrogative methods besides these, which may be left to +reveal themselves in the course of reading. As for answering questions, that is +another matter. The answer is sometimes apparent, sometimes not; he will not +refrain from asking a question just because he does not know the answer; his +<i>role</i> is asking, not answering. Nor when he gives an answer is it always +certain whether it is to be taken in earnest. Was he a cynic? one would say so +after reading <i>The Cynic</i>; was he an Epicurean? one would say so after +reading the <i>Alexander</i>; was he a philosopher? one would say Yes at a +certain point of the <i>Hermotimus</i>, No at another. He doubtless had his +moods, and he was quite unhampered by desire for any consistency except +consistent independence of judgement. Moreover, the difficulty of getting at +his real opinions is increased by the fact that he was an ironist. We have +called him a self-revealer; but you never quite know where to have an ironical +self-revealer. Goethe has the useful phrase, ‘direct irony’; a certain German +writer ‘makes too free a use of direct irony, praising the blameworthy and +blaming the praiseworthy—a rhetorical device which should be very +sparingly employed. In the long run it disgusts the sensible and misleads the +dull, pleasing only the great intermediate class to whom it offers the +satisfaction of being able to think themselves more shrewd than other people, +without expending much thought of their own’ (<i>Wahrheit und Dichtung</i>, +book vii). Fielding gives us in <i>Jonathan Wild</i> a sustained piece of +‘direct irony’; you have only to reverse everything said, and you get the +author’s meaning. Lucian’s irony is not of that sort; you cannot tell when you +are to reverse him, only that you will have sometimes to do so. He does use the +direct kind; <i>The Rhetorician’s Vade mecum</i> and <i>The Parasite</i> are +examples; the latter is also an example (unless a translator, who is condemned +not to skip or skim, is an unfair judge) of how tiresome it may become. But who +shall say how much of irony and how much of genuine feeling there is in the +fine description of the philosophic State given in the <i>Hermotimus</i> (with +its suggestions of <i>Christian</i> in <i>The Pilgrim’s Progress</i>, and of +the ‘not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble’), or +in the whimsical extravagance (as it strikes a modern) of the <i>Pantomime</i>, +or in the triumph permitted to the Cynic (against ‘Lycinus’ too) in the +dialogue called after him? In one of his own introductory lectures he compares +his pieces aptly enough to the bacchante’s thyrsus with its steel point +concealed. +</p> + +<p> +With his questions and his irony and his inconsistencies, it is no wonder that +Lucian is accused of being purely negative and destructive. But we need not +think he is disposed of in that way, any more than our old-fashioned literary +education is disposed of when it has been pointed out that it does not equip +its <i>alumni</i> with knowledge of electricity or of a commercially useful +modern language; it may have equipped them with something less paying, but more +worth paying for. Lucian, it is certain, will supply no one with a religion or +a philosophy; but it may be doubted whether any writer will supply more fully +both example and precept in favour of doing one’s thinking for oneself; and it +may be doubted also whether any other intellectual lesson is more necessary. He +is <i>nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri</i>, if ever man was; he is +individualist to the core. No religion or philosophy, he seems to say, will +save you; the thing is to think for yourself, and be a man of sense. ‘It was +but small consolation,’ says <i>Menippus</i>, ‘to reflect that I was in +numerous and wise and eminently sensible company, if I was a fool still, all +astray in my quest for truth.’ <i>Vox populi</i> is no <i>vox dei</i> for him; +he is quite proof against majorities; <i>Athanasius contra mundum</i> is more +to his taste. “What is this I hear?” asked Arignotus, scowling upon me; “you +deny the existence of the supernatural, when there is scarcely a man who has +not seen some evidence of it?” “Therein lies my exculpation,” I replied; “I do +not believe in the supernatural, because, unlike the rest of mankind, I do not +see it; if I saw, I should doubtless believe, just as you all do.”’ That +British schoolboys should have been brought up for centuries on Ovid, and +Lucian have been tabooed, is, in view of their comparative efficacy in +stimulating thought, an interesting example of <i>habent sua fata libelli</i>. +</p> + +<p> +It need not be denied that there is in him a certain lack of feeling, not +surprising in one of his analytic temper, but not agreeable either. He is a +hard bright intelligence, with no bowels; he applies the knife without the +least compunction—indeed with something of savage enjoyment. The veil is +relentlessly torn from family affection in the <i>Mourning</i>. <i>Solon</i> in +the <i>Charon</i> pursues his victory so far as to make us pity instead of +scorning <i>Croesus</i>. <i>Menippus</i> and his kind, in the shades, do their +lashing of dead horses with a disagreeable gusto, which tempts us to raise a +society for the prevention of cruelty to the Damned. A voyage through Lucian in +search of pathos will yield as little result as one in search of interest in +nature. There is a touch of it here and there (which has probably evaporated in +translation) in the <i>Hermotimus</i>, the <i>Demonax</i>, and the +<i>Demosthenes</i>; but that is all. He was perhaps not unconscious of all this +himself. ‘But what is your profession?’ asks <i>Philosophy</i>. ‘I profess +hatred of imposture and pretension, lying and pride… However, I do not neglect +the complementary branch, in which love takes the place of hate; it includes +love of truth and beauty and simplicity, and all that is akin to love. <i>But +the subjects for this branch of the profession are sadly few</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +Before going on to his purely literary qualities, we may collect here a few +detached remarks affecting rather his character than his skill as an artist. +And first of his relations to philosophy. The statements in the <i>Menippus</i> +and the <i>Icaromenippus</i>, as well as in <i>The Fisher</i> and <i>The double +Indictment</i>, have all the air of autobiography (especially as they are in +the nature of digressions), and give us to understand that he had spent much +time and energy on philosophic study. He claims <i>Philosophy</i> as his +mistress in <i>The Fisher</i>, and in a case where he is in fact judge as well +as party, has no difficulty in getting his claim established. He is for ever +reminding us that he loves philosophy and only satirizes the degenerate +philosophers of his day. But it <i>will</i> occur to us after reading him +through that he has dissembled his love, then, very well. There is not a +passage from beginning to end of his works that indicates any real +comprehension of any philosophic system. The external characteristics of the +philosophers, the absurd stories current about them, and the popular +misrepresentations of their doctrines—it is in these that philosophy +consists for him. That he had read some of them there is no doubt; but one has +an uneasy suspicion that he read Plato because he liked his humour and his +style, and did not trouble himself about anything further. Gibbon speaks of +‘the philosophic maze of the writings of Plato, of which the dramatic is +perhaps more interesting than the argumentative part.’ That is quite a +legitimate opinion, provided you do not undertake to judge philosophy in the +light of it. The apparently serious rejection of geometrical truth in the +<i>Hermotimus</i> may fairly suggest that Lucian was as unphilosophic as he was +unmathematical. Twice, and perhaps twice only, does he express hearty +admiration for a philosopher. Demonax is ‘the best of all philosophers’; but +then he admired him just because he was so little of a philosopher and so much +a man of ordinary common sense. And Epicurus is ‘the thinker who had grasped +the nature of things and been in solitary possession of truth’; but then that +is in the <i>Alexander</i>, and any stick was good enough to beat that dog +with. The fact is, Lucian was much too well satisfied with his own judgement to +think that he could possibly require guidance, and the commonplace test of +results was enough to assure him that philosophy was worthless: ‘It is no use +having all theory at your fingers’ ends, if you do not conform your conduct to +the right.’ There is a description in the <i>Pantomime</i> that is perhaps +truer than it is meant to pass for. ‘Lycinus’ is called ‘an educated man, and +<i>in some sort</i> a student of philosophy.’ +</p> + +<p> +If he is not a philosopher, he is very much a moralist; it is because +philosophy deals partly with morals that he thinks he cares for it. But here +too his conclusions are of a very commonsense order. The Stoic notion that +‘Virtue consists in being uncomfortable’ strikes him as merely absurd; no +asceticism for him; on the other hand, no lavish extravagance and <i>Persici +apparatus</i>; a dinner of herbs with the righteous—that is, the +cultivated Athenian—, a neat repast of Attic taste, is honestly his idea +of good living; it is probable that he really did sacrifice both money and fame +to live in Athens rather than in Rome, according to his own ideal. That ideal +is a very modest one; when <i>Menippus</i> took all the trouble to get down to +Tiresias in Hades via Babylon, his reward was the information that ‘the life of +the ordinary man is the best and the most prudent choice.’ So thought Lucian; +and it is to be counted to him for righteousness that he decided to abandon +‘the odious practices that his profession imposes on the advocate—deceit, +falsehood, bluster, clamour, pushing,’ for the quiet life of a literary man +(especially as we should probably never have heard his name had he done +otherwise). Not that the life was so quiet as it might have been. He could not +keep his satire impersonal enough to avoid incurring enmities. He boasts in the +<i>Peregrine</i> of the unfeeling way in which he commented on that enthusiast +to his followers, and we may believe his assurance that his writings brought +general dislike and danger upon him. His moralizing (of which we are happy to +say there is a great deal) is based on Tiresias’s pronouncement. Moralizing has +a bad name; but than good moralizing there is, when one has reached a certain +age perhaps, no better reading. Some of us like it even in our novels, feel +more at home with Fielding and Thackeray for it, and regretfully confess +ourselves unequal to the artistic aloofness of a Flaubert. Well, Lucian’s +moralizings are, for those who like such things, of the right quality; they are +never dull, and the touch is extremely light. We may perhaps be pardoned for +alluding to half a dozen conceptions that have a specially modern air about +them. The use that Rome may serve as a school of resistance to temptation +(<i>Nigrinus</i>, 19) recalls Milton’s ‘fugitive and cloistered virtue, +unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adversary.’ +‘Old age is wisdom’s youth, the day of her glorious flower’ (<i>Heracles</i>, +8) might have stood as a text for Browning’s <i>Rabbi ben Ezra</i>. The brands +visible on the tyrant’s soul, and the refusal of Lethe as a sufficient +punishment (<i>Voyage to the lower World</i>, 24 and 28), have their parallels +in our new eschatology. The decision of <i>Zeus</i> that <i>Heraclitus</i> and +<i>Democritus</i> are to be one lot that laughter and tears will go together +(<i>Sale of Creeds</i>, l3)—accords with our views of the emotional +temperament. <i>Chiron</i> is impressive on the vanity of fruition +(<i>Dialogues of the Dead</i>, 26). And the figuring of <i>Truth</i> as ‘the +shadowy creature with the indefinite complexion’ (<i>The Fisher</i>, 16) is +only one example of Lucian’s felicity in allegory. +</p> + +<p> +Another weak point, for which many people will have no more inclination to +condemn him than for his moralizing, is his absolute indifference to the +beauties of nature. Having already given him credit for regarding nothing that +is human as beyond his province, it is our duty to record the corresponding +limitation; of everything that was not human he was simply unconscious; with +him it was not so much that the <i>proper</i> as that the <i>only</i> study of +mankind is man. The apparent exceptions are not real ones. If he is interested +in the gods, it is as the creatures of human folly that he takes them to be. If +he writes a toy essay with much parade of close observation on the fly, it is +to show how amusing human ingenuity can be on an unlikely subject. But it is +worth notice that ‘the first of the moderns,’ though he shows himself in many +descriptions of pictures quite awake to the beauty manufactured by man, has in +no way anticipated the modern discovery that nature is beautiful. To readers +who have had enough of the pathetic fallacy, and of the second-rate novelist’s +local colour, Lucian’s tacit assumption that there is nothing but man is +refreshing. That he was a close enough observer of human nature, any one can +satisfy himself by glancing at the <i>Feast of Lapithae</i>, the <i>Dialogues +of the Hetaerae</i>, some of the <i>Dialogues of the Gods</i>, and perhaps best +of all, <i>The Liar</i>. +</p> + +<p> +As it occurs to himself to repel the imputation of plagiarism in <i>A literary +Prometheus</i>, the point must be briefly touched upon. There is no doubt that +Homer preceded him in making the gods extremely, even comically, human, that +Plato showed him an example of prose dialogue, that Aristophanes inspired his +constructive fancy, that Menippus provided him with some ideas, how far +developed on the same lines we cannot now tell, that Menander’s comedies and +Herodas’s mimes contributed to the absolute naturalness of his conversation. If +any, or almost any, of these had never existed, Lucian would have been more or +less different from what he is. His originality is not in the least affected by +that; we may resolve him theoretically into his elements; but he too had the +gift, that out of three sounds he framed, not a fourth sound, but a star. The +question of his originality is no more important—indeed much less +so—than that of Sterne’s. +</p> + +<p> +When we pass to purely literary matters, the first thing to be remarked upon is +the linguistic miracle presented to us. It is useless to dwell upon it in +detail, since this is an introduction not to Lucian, but to a translation of +Lucian; it exists, none the less. A Syrian writes in Greek, and not in the +Greek of his own time, but in that of five or six centuries before, and he does +it, if not with absolute correctness, yet with the easy mastery that we expect +only from one in a million of those who write in their mother tongue, and takes +his place as an immortal classic. The miracle may be repeated; an +English-educated Hindu may produce masterpieces of Elizabethan English that +will rank him with Bacon and Ben Jonson; but it will surprise us, when it does +happen. That Lucian was himself aware of the awful dangers besetting the writer +who would revive an obsolete fashion of speech is shown in the +<i>Lexiphanes</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Some faults of style he undoubtedly has, of which a word or two should perhaps +be said. The first is the general taint of rhetoric, which is sometimes +positively intolerable, and is liable to spoil enjoyment even of the best +pieces occasionally. Were it not that ‘Rhetoric made a Greek of me,’ we should +wish heartily that he had never been a rhetorician. It is the practice of +talking on unreal cases, doubtless habitual with him up to forty, that must be +responsible for the self-satisfied fluency, the too great length, and the +perverse ingenuity, that sometimes excite our impatience. Naturally, it is in +the pieces of inferior subject or design that this taint is most perceptible; +and it must be forgiven in consideration of the fact that without the toilsome +study of rhetoric he would not have been the master of Greek that he was. +</p> + +<p> +The second is perhaps only a special case of the first. Julius Pollux, a +sophist whom Lucian is supposed to have attacked in <i>The Rhetorician’s Vade +mecum</i>, is best known as author of an <i>Onomasticon</i>, or word-list, +containing the most important words relating to certain subjects. One would be +reluctant to believe that Lucian condescended to use his enemy’s manual; but it +is hard to think that he had not one of his own, of which he made much too good +use. The conviction is constantly forced on a translator that when Lucian has +said a thing sufficiently once, he has looked at his Onomasticon, found that +there are some words he has not yet got in, and forthwith said the thing again +with some of them, and yet again with the rest. +</p> + +<p> +The third concerns his use of illustrative anecdotes, comparisons, and phrases. +It is true that, if his pieces are taken each separately, he is most happy with +all these (though it is hard to forgive Alexander’s bathe in the Cydnus with +which <i>The Hall</i> opens); but when they are read continuously, the repeated +appearances of the tragic actor disrobed, the dancing apes and their nuts, of +Zeus’s golden cord, and of the ‘two octaves apart,’ produce an impression of +poverty that makes us momentarily forget his real wealth. +</p> + +<p> +We have spoken of the annoying tendency to pleonasm in Lucian’s style, which +must be laid at the door of rhetoric. On the other hand let it have part of the +credit for a thing of vastly more importance, his choice of dialogue as a form +when he took to letters. It is quite obvious that he was naturally a man of +detached mind, with an inclination for looking at both sides of a question. +This was no doubt strengthened by the common practice among professional +rhetoricians of writing speeches on both sides of imaginary cases. The +level-headedness produced by this combination of nature and training naturally +led to the selection of dialogue. In one of the preliminary trials of <i>The +double Indictment, Drink</i>, being one of the parties, and consciously +incapable at the moment of doing herself justice, employs her opponent, <i>The +Academy</i>, to plead for as well as against her. There are a good many pieces +in which Lucian follows the same method. In <i>The Hall</i> the legal form is +actually kept; in the <i>Peregrine</i> speeches are delivered by an admirer and +a scorner of the hero; in <i>The Rhetorician’s Vade mecum</i> half the piece is +an imaginary statement of the writer’s enemy; in the <i>Apology for ‘The +dependent Scholar’</i> there is a long imaginary objection set up to be +afterwards disposed of; the <i>Saturnalian Letters</i> are the cases of rich +and poor put from opposite sides. None of these are dialogues; but they are all +less perfect devices to secure the same object, the putting of the two views +that the man of detached mind recognizes on every question. Not that justice is +always the object; these devices, and dialogue still more, offer the further +advantage of economy; no ideas need be wasted, if the subject is treated from +more than one aspect. The choice of dialogue may be accounted for thus; it is +true that it would not have availed much if the chooser had not possessed the +nimble wit and the endless power of varying the formula which is so astonishing +in Lucian; but that it was a matter of importance is proved at once by +comparing the <i>Alexander</i> with <i>The Liar</i>, or <i>The dependent +Scholar</i> with the <i>Feast of Lapithae</i>. Lucian’s non-dialogue pieces +(with the exception of <i>The True History</i>) might have been written by +other people; the dialogues are all his own. +</p> + +<p> +About five-and-thirty of his pieces (or sets of pieces) are in dialogue, and +perhaps the greatest proof of his artistic skill is that the form never palls; +so great is the variety of treatment that no one of them is like another. The +point may be worth dwelling on a little. The main differences between +dialogues, apart from the particular writer’s characteristics, are these: the +persons may be two only, or more; they may be well or ill-matched; the +proportions and relations between conversation and narrative vary; and the +objects in view are not always the same. It is natural for a writer to fall +into a groove with some or all of these, and produce an effect of sameness. +Lucian, on the contrary, so rings the changes by permutations and combinations +of them that each dialogue is approached with a delightful uncertainty of what +form it may take. As to number of persons, it is a long step from the +<i>Menippus</i> to the crowded <i>dramatis personae</i> of <i>The Fisher</i> or +the <i>Zeus Tragoedus</i>, in the latter of which there are two independent +sets, one overhearing and commenting upon the other. It is not much less, +though of another kind, from <i>The Parasite</i>, where the interlocutor is +merely a man of straw, to the <i>Hermotimus</i>, where he has life enough to +give us ever fresh hopes of a change in fortune, or to the <i>Anacharsis</i>, +where we are not quite sure, even when all is over, which has had the best. +Then if we consider conversation and narrative, there are all kinds. +<i>Nigrinus</i> has narrative in a setting of dialogue, <i>Demosthenes</i> vice +versa, <i>The Liar</i> reported dialogue inside dialogue; <i>Icaromenippus</i> +is almost a narrative, while <i>The Runaways</i> is almost a play. Lastly, the +form serves in the <i>Toxaris</i> as a vehicle for stories, in the +<i>Hermotimus</i> for real discussion, in <i>Menippus</i> as relief for +narrative, in the <i>Portrait-study</i> for description, in <i>The Cock</i> to +convey moralizing, in <i>The double Indictment</i> autobiography, in the +<i>Lexiphanes</i> satire, and in the short series it enshrines prose idylls. +</p> + +<p> +These are considerations of a mechanical order, perhaps; it may be admitted +that technical skill of this sort is only valuable in giving a proper chance to +more essential gifts; but when those exist, it is of the highest value. And +Lucian’s versatility in technique is only a symbol of his versatile powers in +general. He is equally at home in heaven and earth and hell, with philosophers +and cobblers, telling a story, criticizing a book, describing a picture, +elaborating an allegory, personifying an abstraction, parodying a poet or a +historian, flattering an emperor’s mistress, putting an audience into good +temper with him and itself, unveiling an imposture, destroying a religion or a +reputation, drawing a character. The last is perhaps the most disputable of the +catalogue. How many of his personages are realities to us when we have read, +and not mere labels for certain modes of thought or conduct? Well, +characterization is not the first, but only the second thing with him; what is +said matters rather more than who says it; he is more desirous that the +argument should advance than that the person should reveal himself; +nevertheless, nothing is ever said that is out of character; while nothing can +be better of the kind than some of his professed personifications, his +<i>Plutus</i> or his <i>Philosophy</i>, we do retain distinct impressions of at +least an irresponsible <i>Zeus</i> and a decorously spiteful <i>Hera</i>, a +well-meaning, incapable <i>Helius</i>, a bluff <i>Posidon</i>, a gallant +<i>Prometheus</i>, a one-idea’d <i>Charon</i>; <i>Timon</i> is more than +misanthropy, <i>Eucrates</i> than superstition, <i>Anacharsis</i> than +intelligent curiosity, <i>Micyllus</i> than ignorant poverty, poor +<i>Hermotimus</i> than blind faith, and Lucian than a scoffer. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3>THE WORKS OF LUCIAN</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap03"></a>THE VISION</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A CHAPTER OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY +</p> + +<p> +When my childhood was over, and I had just left school, my father called a +council to decide upon my profession. Most of his friends considered that the +life of culture was very exacting in toil, time, and money: a life only for +fortune’s favourites; whereas our resources were quite narrow, and urgently +called for relief. If I were to take up some ordinary handicraft, I should be +making my own living straight off, instead of eating my father’s meat at my +age; and before long my earnings would be a welcome contribution. +</p> + +<p> +So the next step was to select the most satisfactory of the handicrafts; it +must be one quite easy to acquire, respectable, inexpensive as regards plant, +and fairly profitable. Various suggestions were made, according to the taste +and knowledge of the councillors; but my father turned to my mother’s brother, +supposed to be an excellent statuary, and said to him: ‘With you here, it would +be a sin to prefer any other craft; take the lad, regard him as your charge, +teach him to handle, match, and grave your marble; he will do well enough; you +know he has the ability.’ This he had inferred from certain tricks I used to +play with wax. When I got out of school, I used to scrape off the wax from my +tablets and work it into cows, horses, or even men and women, and he thought I +did it creditably; my masters used to cane me for it, but on this occasion it +was taken as evidence of a natural faculty, and my modelling gave them good +hopes of my picking up the art quickly. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as it seemed convenient for me to begin, I was handed over to my uncle, +and by no means reluctantly; I thought I should find it amusing, and be in a +position to impress my companions; they should see me chiselling gods and +making little images for myself and my favourites. The usual first experience +of beginners followed: my uncle gave me a chisel, and told me to give a gentle +touch to a plaque lying on the bench: ‘Well begun is half done,’ said he, not +very originally. In my inexperience I brought down the tool too hard, and the +plaque broke; he flew into a rage, picked up a stick which lay handy, and gave +me an introduction to art which might have been gentler and more encouraging; +so I paid my footing with tears. +</p> + +<p> +I ran off, and reached home still howling and tearful, told the story of the +stick, and showed my bruises. I said a great deal about his brutality, and +added that it was all envy: he was afraid of my being a better sculptor than +he. My mother was very angry, and abused her brother roundly; as for me, I fell +asleep that night with my eyes still wet, and sorrow was with me till the +morning. +</p> + +<p> +So much of my tale is ridiculous and childish. What you have now to hear, +gentlemen, is not so contemptible, but deserves an attentive hearing; in the +words of Homer, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To me in slumber wrapt a dream divine<br/> + Ambrosial night conveyed,<br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +a dream so vivid as to be indistinguishable from reality; after all these +years, I have still the figures of its persons in my eyes, the vibration of +their words in my ears; so clear it all was. +</p> + +<p> +Two women had hold of my hands, and were trying vehemently and persistently to +draw me each her way; I was nearly pulled in two with their contention; now one +would prevail and all but get entire possession of me, now I would fall to the +other again, All the time they were exchanging loud protests: ‘He is mine, and +I mean to keep him;’ ‘Not yours at all, and it is no use your saying he is.’ +One of them seemed to be a working woman, masculine looking, with untidy hair, +horny hands, and dress kilted up; she was all powdered with plaster, like my +uncle when he was chipping marble. The other had a beautiful face, a comely +figure, and neat attire. At last they invited me to decide which of them I +would live with; the rough manly one made her speech first. +</p> + +<p> +‘Dear youth, I am Statuary—the art which you yesterday began to learn, +and which has a natural and a family claim upon you. Your grandfather’ (naming +my mother’s father) ‘and both your uncles practised it, and it brought them +credit. If you will turn a deaf ear to this person’s foolish cajolery, and come +and live with me, I promise you wholesome food and good strong muscles; you +shall never fear envy, never leave your country and your people to go wandering +abroad, and you shall be commended not for your words, but for your works. +</p> + +<p> +‘Let not a slovenly person or dirty clothes repel you; such were the conditions +of that Phidias who produced the Zeus, of Polyclitus who created the Hera, of +the much-lauded Myron, of the admired Praxiteles; and all these are worshipped +with the Gods. If you should come to be counted among them, you will surely +have fame enough for yourself through all the world, you will make your father +the envy of all fathers, and bring your country to all men’s notice.’ This and +more said Statuary, stumbling along in a strange jargon, stringing her +arguments together in a very earnest manner, and quite intent on persuading me. +But I can remember no more; the greater part of it has faded from my memory. +When she stopped, the other’s turn came. +</p> + +<p> +‘And I, child, am Culture, no stranger to you even now, though you have yet to +make my closer acquaintance. The advantages that the profession of a sculptor +will bring with it you have just been told; they amount to no more than being a +worker with your hands, your whole prospects in life limited to that; you will +be obscure, poorly and illiberally paid, mean-spirited, of no account outside +your doors; your influence will never help a friend, silence an enemy, nor +impress your countrymen; you will be just a worker, one of the masses, cowering +before the distinguished, truckling to the eloquent, living the life of a hare, +a prey to your betters. You may turn out a Phidias or a Polyclitus, to be sure, +and create a number of wonderful works; but even so, though your art will be +generally commended, no sensible observer will be found to wish himself like +you; whatever your real qualities, you will always rank as a common craftsman +who makes his living with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +‘Be governed by me, on the other hand, and your first reward shall be a view of +the many wondrous deeds and doings of the men of old; you shall hear their +words and know them all, what manner of men they were; and your soul, which is +your very self, I will adorn with many fair adornments, with self-mastery and +justice and reverence and mildness, with consideration and understanding and +fortitude, with love of what is beautiful, and yearning for what is great; +these things it is that are the true and pure ornaments of the soul. Naught +shall escape you either of ancient wisdom or of present avail; nay, the future +too, with me to aid, you shall foresee; in a word, I will instill into you, and +that in no long time, all knowledge human and divine. +</p> + +<p> +‘This penniless son of who knows whom, contemplating but now a vocation so +ignoble, shall soon be admired and envied of all, with honour and praise and +the fame of high achievement, respected by the high-born and the affluent, +clothed as I am clothed’ (and here she pointed to her own bright raiment), +‘held worthy of place and precedence; and if you leave your native land, you +will be no unknown nameless wanderer; you shall wear my marks upon you, and +every man beholding you shall touch his neighbour’s arm and say, That is he. +</p> + +<p> +‘And if some great moment come to try your friends or country, then shall all +look to you. And to your lightest word the many shall listen open-mouthed, and +marvel, and count you happy in your eloquence, and your father in his son. ’Tis +said that some from mortal men become immortal; and I will make it truth in +you; for though you depart from life yourself, you shall keep touch with the +learned and hold communion with the best. Consider the mighty Demosthenes, +whose son he was, and whither I exalted him; consider Aeschines; how came a +Philip to pay court to the cymbal-woman’s brat? how but for my sake? Dame +Statuary here had the breeding of Socrates himself; but no sooner could he +discern the better part, than he deserted her and enlisted with me; since when, +his name is on every tongue. +</p> + +<p> +‘You may dismiss all these great men, and with them all glorious deeds, +majestic words, and seemly looks, all honour, repute, praise, precedence, +power, and office, all lauded eloquence and envied wisdom; these you may put +from you, to gird on a filthy apron and assume a servile guise; then will you +handle crowbars and graving tools, mallets and chisels; you will be bowed over +your work, with eyes and thoughts bent earthwards, abject as abject can be, +with never a free and manly upward look or aspiration; all your care will be to +proportion and fairly drape your works; to proportioning and adorning yourself +you will give little heed enough, making yourself of less account than your +marble.’ +</p> + +<p> +I waited not for her to bring her words to an end, but rose up and spoke my +mind; I turned from that clumsy mechanic woman, and went rejoicing to lady +Culture, the more when I thought upon the stick, and all the blows my +yesterday’s apprenticeship had brought me. For a time the deserted one was +wroth, with clenched fists and grinding teeth; but at last she stiffened, like +another Niobe, into marble. A strange fate, but I must request your belief; +dreams are great magicians, are they not? +</p> + +<p> +Then the other looked upon me and spoke:—‘For this justice done me,’ said +she, ‘you shall now be recompensed; come, mount this car’—and lo, one +stood ready, drawn by winged steeds like Pegasus—, ‘that you may learn +what fair sights another choice would have cost you.’ We mounted, she took the +reins and drove, and I was carried aloft and beheld towns and nations and +peoples from the East to the West; and methought I was sowing like Triptolemus; +but the nature of the seed I cannot call to mind—only this, that men on +earth when they saw it gave praise, and all whom I reached in my flight sent me +on my way with blessings. +</p> + +<p> +When she had presented these things to my eyes, and me to my admirers, she +brought me back, no more clad as when my flight began; I returned, methought, +in glorious raiment. And finding my father where he stood waiting, she showed +him my raiment, and the guise in which I came, and said a word to him upon the +lot which they had come so near appointing for me. All this I saw when scarce +out of my childhood; the confusion and terror of the stick, it may be, stamped +it on my memory. +</p> + +<p> +‘Good gracious,’ says some one, before I have done, ‘what a longwinded lawyer’s +vision!’ ‘This,’ interrupts another, ‘must be a winter dream, to judge by the +length of night required; or perhaps it took three nights, like the making of +Heracles. What has come over him, that he babbles such puerilities? memorable +things indeed, a child in bed, and a very ancient, worn-out dream! what stale +frigid stuff! does he take us for interpreters of dreams?’ Sir, I do not. When +Xenophon related that vision of his which you all know, of his father’s house +on fire and the rest, was it just by way of a riddle? was it in deliberate +ineptitude that he reproduced it? a likely thing in their desperate military +situation, with the enemy surrounding them! no, the relation was to serve a +useful purpose. +</p> + +<p> +Similarly I have had an object in telling you my dream. It is that the young +may be guided to the better way and set themselves to Culture, especially any +among them who is recreant for fear of poverty, and minded to enter the wrong +path, to the ruin of a nature not all ignoble. Such an one will be strengthened +by my tale, I am well assured; in me he will find an apt example; let him only +compare the boy of those days, who started in pursuit of the best and devoted +himself to Culture regardless of immediate poverty, with the man who has now +come back to you, as high in fame, to put it at the lowest, as any stonecutter +of them all. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap04"></a>A LITERARY PROMETHEUS</h3> + +<p> +So you will have me a Prometheus? If your meaning is, my good sir, that my +works, like his, are of clay, I accept the comparison and hail my prototype; +potter me to your heart’s content, though <i>my</i> clay is poor common stuff, +trampled by common feet till it is little better than mud. But perhaps it is in +exaggerated compliment to my ingenuity that you father my books upon the +subtlest of the Titans; in that case I fear men will find a hidden meaning, and +detect an Attic curl on your laudatory lips. Where do you find my ingenuity? in +what consists the great subtlety, the Prometheanism, of my writings? enough for +me if you have not found them sheer earth, all unworthy of Caucasian clay-pits. +How much better a claim to kinship with Prometheus have you gentlemen who win +fame in the courts, engaged in real contests; <i>your</i> works have true life +and breath, ay, and the warmth of fire. That is Promethean indeed, though with +the difference, it may be, that you do not work in clay; your creations are +oftenest of gold; we on the other hand who come before popular audiences and +offer mere lectures are exhibitors of imitations only. However, I have the +general resemblance to Prometheus, as I said before—a resemblance which I +share with the dollmakers—, that my modelling is in clay; but then there +is no motion, as with him, not a sign of life; entertainment and pastime is the +beginning and the end of my work. So I must look for light elsewhere; possibly +the title is a sort of <i>lucus a non lucendo</i>, applied to me as to Cleon in +the comedy: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Full well Prometheus-Cleon plans—the past. +</p> + +<p> +Or again, the Athenians used to call Prometheuses the makers of jars and stoves +and other, clay-workers, with playful reference to the material, and perhaps to +the use of fire in baking the ware. If that is all your ‘Prometheus’ means, you +have aimed your shaft well enough, and flavoured your jest with the right Attic +tartness; my productions are as brittle as their pottery; fling a stone, and +you may smash them all to pieces. +</p> + +<p> +But here some one offers me a crumb of comfort: ‘That was not the likeness he +found between you and Prometheus; he meant to commend your innovating +originality: at a time when human beings did not exist, Prometheus conceived +and fashioned them; he moulded and elaborated certain living things into +agility and beauty; he was practically their creator, though Athene assisted by +putting breath into the clay and bringing the models to life.’ So says my some +one, giving your remark its politest possible turn. Perhaps he has hit the true +meaning; not that I can rest content, however, with the mere credit of +innovation, and the absence of any original to which my work can be referred; +if it is not good as well as original, I assure you I shall be ashamed of it, +bring down my foot and crush it out of existence; its novelty shall not avail +(with me at least) to save its ugliness from annihilation. If I thought +otherwise, I admit that a round dozen of vultures would be none too many for +the liver of a dunce who could not see that ugliness was only aggravated by +strangeness. +</p> + +<p> +Ptolemy, son of Lagus, imported two novelties into Egypt; one was a pure black +Bactrian camel, the other a piebald man, half absolutely black and half +unusually white, the two colours evenly distributed; he invited the Egyptians +to the theatre, and concluded a varied show with these two, expecting to bring +down the house. The audience, however, was terrified by the camel and almost +stampeded; still, it <i>was</i> decked all over with gold, had purple housings +and a richly jewelled bridle, the spoil of Darius’ or Cambyses’ treasury, if +not of Cyrus’ own. As for the man, a few laughed at him, but most shrank as +from a monster. Ptolemy realized that the show was a failure, and the Egyptians +proof against mere novelty, preferring harmony and beauty. So he withdrew and +ceased to prize them; the camel died forgotten, and the parti-coloured man +became the reward of Thespis the fluteplayer for a successful after-dinner +performance. +</p> + +<p> +I am afraid my work is a camel in Egypt, and men’s admiration limited to the +bridle and purple housings; as to combinations, though the components may be of +the most beautiful (as Comedy and Dialogue in the present case), that will not +ensure a good effect, unless the mixture is harmonious and well-proportioned; +it is possible that the resultant of two beauties may be bizarre. The readiest +instance to hand is the centaur: not a lovely creature, you will admit, but a +savage, if the paintings of its drunken bouts and murders go for anything. +Well, but on the other hand is it not possible for two such components to +result in beauty, as the combination of wine and honey in superlative +sweetness? That is my belief; but I am not prepared to maintain that <i>my</i> +components have that property; I fear the mixture may only have obscured their +separate beauties. +</p> + +<p> +For one thing, there was no great original connexion or friendship between +Dialogue and Comedy; the former was a stay-at-home, spending his time in +solitude, or at most taking a stroll with a few intimates; whereas Comedy put +herself in the hands of Dionysus, haunted the theatre, frolicked in company, +laughed and mocked and tripped it to the flute when she saw good; nay, she +would mount her anapaests, as likely as not, and pelt the friends of Dialogue +with nicknames—doctrinaires, airy metaphysicians, and the like. The thing +she loved of all else was to chaff them and drench them in holiday +impertinence, exhibit them treading on air and arguing with the clouds, or +measuring the jump of a flea, as a type of their ethereal refinements. But +Dialogue continued his deep speculations upon Nature and Virtue, till, as the +musicians say, the interval between them was two full octaves, from the highest +to the lowest note. This ill-assorted pair it is that we have dared to unite +and harmonize—reluctant and ill-disposed for reconciliation. +</p> + +<p> +And here comes in the apprehension of yet another Promethean analogy: have I +confounded male and female, and incurred the penalty? Or no—when will +resemblances end?—have I, rather, cheated my hearers by serving them up +bones wrapped in fat, comic laughter in philosophic solemnity? As for +stealing—for Prometheus is the thief’s patron too—I defy you there; +that is the one fault you cannot find with me: from whom should I have stolen? +if any one has dealt before me in such forced unions and hybrids, I have never +made his acquaintance. But after all, what am I to do? I have made my bed, and +I must lie in it; Epimetheus may change his mind, but Prometheus, never. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap05"></a>NIGRINUS</h3> + +<p> +[Lucian to Nigrinus. Health. +</p> + +<p> +There is a proverb about carrying ‘owls to Athens’—an absurd undertaking, +considering the excellent supply already on the spot. Had it been my intention, +in presenting Nigrinus with a volume of my composition, to indulge him of all +people with a display of literary skill, I should indeed have been an arrant +‘owl-fancier in Athens.’ As however my object is merely to communicate to you +my present sentiments, and the profound impression produced upon me by your +eloquence, I may fairly plead Not Guilty, even to the charge of Thucydides, +that ‘Men are bold from ignorance, where mature consideration would render them +cautious.’ For I need not say that devotion to my subject is partly responsible +for my present hardihood; it is not <i>all</i> the work of ignorance. +Farewell.] +</p> + +<h4>NIGRINUS</h4> + +<p class="center"> +A DIALOGUE +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lucian. A Friend</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. What a haughty and dignified Lucian returns to us from his journey! +He will not vouchsafe us a glance; he stands aloof, and will hold no further +communion with us. Altogether a supercilious Lucian! The change is sudden. +Might one inquire the cause of this altered demeanour? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. ’Tis the work of Fortune. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Of Fortune! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. As an incidental result of my journey, you see in me a happy man; +‘thrice-blest,’ as the tragedians have it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Dear me. What, in this short time? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. Even so. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. But what does it all mean? What is the secret of your elation? I +decline to rejoice with you in this abridged fashion; I must have details. Tell +me all about it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. What should you think, if I told you that I had exchanged servitude +for freedom; poverty for true wealth; folly and presumption for good sense? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Extraordinary! But I am not quite clear of your meaning yet. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. Why, I went off to Rome to see an oculist—my eyes had been +getting worse— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Yes, I know about that. I have been hoping that you would light on a +good man. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. Well, I got up early one morning with the intention of paying a +long-deferred visit to Nigrinus, the Platonic philosopher. On reaching his +house, I knocked, and was duly announced and admitted to his presence. I found +him with a book in his hand, surrounded by various statues of the ancient +philosophers. Before him lay a tablet, with geometrical figures described on +it, and a globe of reeds, designed apparently to represent the universe. He +greeted me cordially, and asked after my welfare. I satisfied his inquiries, +and demanded, in my turn, how he did, and whether he had decided on another +trip to Greece. Once on that subject, he gave free expression to his +sentiments; and, I assure you, ’twas a veritable feast of ambrosia to me. The +spells of the Sirens (if ever there were Sirens), of the Pindaric ‘Charmers,’ +of the Homeric lotus, are things to be forgotten, after his truly divine +eloquence. Led on by his theme, he spoke the praises of philosophy, and of the +freedom which philosophy confers; and expressed his contempt for the vulgar +error which sets a value upon wealth and renown and dominion and power, upon +gold and purple, and all that dazzles the eyes of the world,—and once +attracted my own! I listened with rapt attention, and with a swelling heart. At +the time, I knew not what had come over me; my feelings were indescribable. My +dearest idols, riches and renown, lay shattered; one moment I was ready to shed +bitter tears over the disillusionment, the next, I could have laughed for scorn +of these very things, and was exulting in my escape from the murky atmosphere +of my past life into the brightness of the upper air. The result was curious: I +forgot all about my ophthalmic troubles, in the gradual improvement of my +spiritual vision; for till that day I had grovelled in spiritual blindness. +Little by little I came into the condition with which you were twitting me just +now. Nigrinus’s words have raised in me a joyous exaltation of spirit which +precludes every meaner thought. Philosophy seems to have produced the same +effect on me as wine is said to have produced on the Indians the first time +they drank it. The mere taste of such potent liquor threw them into a state of +absolute frenzy, the intoxicating power of the wine being doubled in men so +warm-blooded by nature. This is my case. I go about like one possessed; I am +drunk with the words of wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. This is not drunkenness, but sobriety and temperance. But I should +like to hear what Nigrinus actually said, if that may be. It is only right that +you should take that trouble for me; I am your friend, and share your +interests. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. Enough! You urge a willing steed. I was about to bespeak your +attention. You must be my witness to the world, that there is reason in my +madness. Indeed, apart from this, the work of recollection is a pleasure, and +has become a constant practice with me; twice, thrice in a day I repeat over +his words, though there is none to hear. A lover, in the absence of his +mistress, remembers some word, some act of hers, dwells on it, and beguiles +hours of sickness with her feigned presence. Sometimes he thinks he is face to +face with her; words, heard long since, come again from her lips; he rejoices; +his soul cleaves to the memory of the past, and has no time for present +vexations. It is so with me. Philosophy is far away, but I have heard a +philosopher’s words. I piece them together, and revolve them in my heart, and +am comforted. Nigrinus is the beacon-fire on which, far out in mid-ocean, in +the darkness of night, I fix my gaze; I fancy him present with me in all my +doings; I hear ever the same words. At times, in moments of concentration, I +see his very face, his voice rings in my ears. Of him it may truly be said, as +of Pericles, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In every heart he left his sting. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Stay, gentle enthusiast. Take a good breath, and start again; I am +waiting to hear what Nigrinus said. You beat about the bush in a manner truly +exasperating. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. True, I must make a start, as you say. And yet… Tell me, did you +never see a tragedy (nay, the comedies fare no better) murdered by bad acting, +and the culprits finally hissed off the stage for their pains? As often as not +the play is a perfectly good one, and has scored a success. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. I know the sort of thing; and what about it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. I am afraid that before I have done you will find that I make as +sad work of it as they do,—jumbling things together pell-mell, spoiling +the whole point sometimes by inadequate expression; and you will end by damning +the play instead of the actor. I could put up with my own share of the +disgrace; but it would vex me indeed, that my subject should be involved in my +downfall; I cannot have <i>it</i> discredited for my shortcomings. Remember, +then: whatever the imperfections in my speech, the author is not to be called +to account; he sits far aloof from the stage, and knows nothing of what is +going forward. The memory of the actor is all that you are invited to +criticize; I am neither more nor less than the ‘Messenger’ in a tragedy. At +each flaw in the argument, be this your first thought, that the author probably +said something quite different, and much more to the point;—and then you +may hiss me off if you will. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Bless me; here is quite a professional exordium! You are about to +add, I think, that ‘your consultation with your client has been but brief’; +that you ‘come into court imperfectly instructed’; that ‘it were to be desired +that your client were here to plead his own cause; as it is, you are reduced to +such a meagre and inadequate statement of the case, as memory will supply.’ Am +I right? Well then, spare yourself the trouble, as far as I am concerned. +Imagine all these preliminaries settled. I stand prepared to applaud: but if +you keep me waiting, I shall harbour resentment all through the case, and hiss +you accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. I should, indeed, have been glad to avail myself of the arguments +you mention, and of others too. I might have said, that mine would be no set +speech, no orderly statement such as that I heard; that is wholly beyond me. +Nor can I speak in the person of Nigrinus. There again I should be like a bad +actor, taking the part of Agamemnon, or Creon, or Heracles’ self; he is arrayed +in cloth of gold, and looks very formidable, and his mouth opens tremendously +wide; and what comes out of it? A little, shrill, womanish pipe of a voice that +would disgrace Polyxena or Hecuba! I for my part have no intention of exposing +myself in a mask several sizes too large for me, or of wearing a robe to which +I cannot do credit. Rather than play the hero’s part, and involve him in my +discomfiture, I will speak in my own person. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. Will the man never have done with his masks and his stages? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. Nay, that is all. And now to my subject. Nigrinus’s first words +were in praise of Greece, and in particular of the Athenians. They are brought +up, he said, to poverty and to philosophy. The endeavours, whether of +foreigners or of their own countrymen, to introduce luxury into their midst, +find no favour with them. When a man comes among them with this view, they +quietly set about to correct his tendency, and by gentle degrees to bring him +to a better course of life. He mentioned the case of a wealthy man who arrived +at Athens in all the vulgar pomp of retinue and gold and gorgeous raiment, +expecting that every eye would be turned upon him in envy of his lot; instead +of which, they heartily pitied the poor worm, and proceeded to take his +education in hand. Not an ill-natured word, not an attempt at direct +interference: it was a free city; he was at liberty to live in it as he thought +fit. But when he made a public nuisance of himself in the baths or gymnasiums, +crowding in with his attendants, and taking up all the room, someone would +whisper, in a sly aside, as if the words were not meant to reach his ears: ‘He +is afraid he will never come out from here alive; yet all is peace; there is no +need of such an army.’ The remark would be overheard, and would have its +educational effect. They soon eased him of his embroidery and purple, by +playful allusions to flower and colour. ‘Spring is early.’—‘How did that +peacock get here?’—‘His mother must have lent him that shawl,’—and +so on. The same with the rest, his rings, his elaborate coiffure, and his table +excesses. Little by little he came to his senses, and left Athens very much the +better for the public education he had received. +</p> + +<p> +Nor do they scruple to confess their poverty. He mentioned a sentence which he +heard pronounced unanimously by the assembled people at the Panathenaic +festival. A citizen had been arrested and brought before the Steward for making +his appearance in coloured clothes. The onlookers felt for him, and took his +part; and when the herald declared that he had violated the law by attending +the festival in that attire, they all exclaimed with one voice, as if they had +been in consultation, ‘that he must be pardoned for wearing those clothes, as +he had no others.’ +</p> + +<p> +He further commended the Athenian liberty, and unpretentious style of living; +the peace and learned leisure which they so abundantly enjoy. To dwell among +such men, he declared, is to dwell with philosophy; a single-hearted man, who +has been taught to despise wealth, may here preserve a pure morality; no life +could be more in harmony with the determined pursuit of all that is truly +beautiful. But the man over whom gold has cast its spell, who is in love with +riches, and measures happiness by purple raiment and dominion, who, living his +life among flatterers and slaves, knows not the sweets of freedom, the +blessings of candour, the beauty of truth; he who has given up his soul to +Pleasure, and will serve no other mistress, whose heart is set on gluttony and +wine and women, on whose tongue are deceit and hypocrisy; he again whose ears +must be tickled with lascivious songs, and the voluptuous notes of flute and +lyre;—let all such (he cried) dwell here in Rome; the life will suit +them. Our streets and market-places are filled with the things they love best. +They may take in pleasure through every aperture, through eye and ear, nostril +and palate; nor are the claims of Aphrodite forgotten. The turbid stream surges +everlastingly through our streets; avarice, perjury, adultery,—all tastes +are represented. Under that rush of waters, modesty, virtue, uprightness, are +torn from the soul; and in their stead grows the tree of perpetual thirst, +whose flowers are many strange desires. +</p> + +<p> +Such was Rome; such were the blessings she taught men to enjoy. ‘As for me,’ he +continued, ‘on returning from my first voyage to Greece, I stopped short a +little way from the city, and called myself to account, in the words of Homer, +for my return. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ah, wretch! and leav’st thou then the light of day—the joyous freedom of +Greece,<br/> +And wouldst behold— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +the turmoil of Rome? slander and insolence and gluttony, flatterers and false +friends, legacy-hunters and murderers? And what wilt thou do here? thou canst +not endure these things, neither canst thou escape them! Thus reasoning, I +withdrew myself out of range, as Zeus did Hector, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Far from the scene of slaughter, blood and strife, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and resolved henceforth to keep my house. I lead the life you see—a +spiritless, womanish life, most men would account it—holding converse +with Philosophy, with Plato, with Truth. From my high seat in this vast +theatre, I look down on the scene beneath me; a scene calculated to afford much +entertainment; calculated also to try a man’s resolution to the utmost. For, to +give evil its due, believe me, there is no better school for virtue, no truer +test of moral strength, than life in this same city of Rome. It is no easy +thing, to withstand so many temptations, so many allurements and distractions +of sight and sound. There is no help for it: like Odysseus, we must sail past +them all; and there must be no binding of hands, no stopping of our ears with +wax; that would be but sorry courage: our ears must hear, our hands must be +free,—and our contempt must be genuine. Well may that man conceive an +admiration of philosophy, who is a spectator of so much folly; well may he +despise the gifts of Fortune, who views this stage, and its multitudinous +actors. The slave grows to be master, the rich man is poor, the pauper becomes +a prince, a king; and one is His Majesty’s friend, and another is his enemy, +and a third he banishes. And here is the strangest thing of all: the affairs of +mankind are confessedly the playthings of Fortune, they have no pretence to +security; yet, with instances of this daily before their eyes, men will reach +after wealth and power;—not one of them but carries his load of hopes +unrealized. +</p> + +<p> +‘But I said that there was entertainment also to be derived from the scene; and +I will maintain it. Our rich men are an entertainment in themselves, with their +purple and their rings always in evidence, and their thousand vulgarities. The +latest development is the <i>salutation by proxy</i>; [Footnote: The +<i>spoken</i> salutation being performed by a servant.] they favour us with a +glance, and that must be happiness enough. By the more ambitious spirits, an +obeisance is expected; this is not performed at a distance, after the Persian +fashion—you go right up, and make a profound bow, testifying with the +angle of your body to the self-abasement of your soul; you then kiss his hand +or breast—and happy and enviable is he who may do so much! And there +stands the great man, protracting the illusion as long as may be. (I heartily +acquiesce, by the way, in the churlish sentence which excludes us from a nearer +acquaintance with their <i>lips</i>.) +</p> + +<p> +‘But if these men are amusing, their courtiers and flatterers are doubly so. +They rise in the small hours of the night, to go their round of the city, to +have doors slammed in their faces by slaves, to swallow as best they may the +compliments of “Dog,” “Toadeater,” and the like. And the guerdon of their +painful circumambulations? A vulgarly magnificent dinner, the source of many +woes! They eat too much, they drink more than they want, they talk more than +they should; and then they go away, angry and disappointed, grumbling at their +fare, and protesting against the scant courtesy shown them by their insolent +patron. You may see them vomiting in every alley, squabbling at every brothel. +The daylight most of them spend in bed, furnishing employment for the doctors. +Most of them, I say; for with some it has come to this, that they actually have +no time to be ill. My own opinion is that, of the two parties, the toadies are +more to blame, and have only themselves to thank for their patron’s insolence. +What can they expect him to think, after their commendations of his wealth, +their panegyrics on money, their early attendance at his doors, their servile +salutations? If by common consent they would abstain, were it only for a few +days, from this voluntary servitude, the tables must surely be turned, and the +rich come to the doors of the paupers, imploring them not to leave such +blessedness as theirs without a witness, their fine houses and elegant +furniture lying idle for want of some one to use them. Not wealth, but the envy +that waits on wealth, is the object of their desire. The truth is, gold and +ivory and noble mansions are of little avail to their owner, if there is no one +to admire them. If we would break the power of the rich, and bring down their +pretensions, we must raise up within their borders a stronghold of +Indifference. As it is, their vanity is fostered by the court that is paid to +them. In ordinary men, who have no pretence to education, this conduct, no +doubt, is less to be blamed. But that men who call themselves philosophers +should actually outdo the rest in degradation,—this, indeed, is the +climax. Imagine my feelings, when I see a brother philosopher, an old man, +perhaps, mingling in the herd of sycophants; dancing attendance on some great +man; adapting himself to the conversational level of a possible host! One +thing, indeed, serves to distinguish him from his company, and to accentuate +his disgrace;—he wears the garb of philosophy. It is much to be regretted +that actors of uniform excellence in other respects will not dress conformably +to their part. For in the achievements of the table, what toadeater besides can +be compared with them? There is an artlessness in their manner of stuffing +themselves, a frankness in their tippling, which defy competition; they sponge +with more spirit than other men, and sit on with greater persistency. It is not +an uncommon thing for the more courtly sages to oblige the company with a +song.’ +</p> + +<p> +All this he treated as a jest. But he had much to say on the subject of those +paid philosophers, who hawk about virtue like any other marketable commodity. +‘Hucksters’ and ‘petty traders’ were his words for them. A man who proposes to +teach the contempt of wealth, should begin (he maintained) by showing a soul +above fees. And certainly he has always acted on this principle himself. He is +not content with giving his services gratis to all comers, but lends a helping +hand to all who are in difficulties, and shows an absolute disregard for +riches. So far is he from grasping at other men’s goods, that he could +anticipate without concern the deterioration of his own property. He possessed +an estate at no great distance from the city, on which for many years he had +never even set foot. Nay, he disclaimed all right of property in it; meaning, I +suppose, that we have no natural claim to such things; law, and the rights of +inheritance, give us the use of them for an indefinite period, and for that +time we are styled ‘owners’; presently our term lapses, and another succeeds to +the enjoyment of a name. +</p> + +<p> +There are other points in which he sets an admirable example to the serious +followers of philosophy: his frugal life, his systematic habits of bodily +exercise, his modest bearing, his simplicity of dress, but above all, gentle +manners and a constant mind. He urges his followers not to postpone the pursuit +of good, as so many do, who allow themselves a period of grace till the next +great festival, after which they propose to eschew deceit and lead a righteous +life; there must be no shilly-shallying, when virtue is the goal for which we +start. On the other hand, there are philosophers whose idea of inculcating +virtue in their youthful disciples is to subject them to various tests of +physical endurance; whose favourite prescription is the strait waistcoat, +varied with flagellations, or the enlightened process of scarification. Of +these Nigrinus evidently had no opinion. According to him, our first care +should be to inure the <i>soul</i> to pain and hardship; he who aspired to +educate men aright must reckon with soul as well as body, with the age of his +pupils, and with their previous training; he would then escape the palpable +blunder of overtasking them. Many a one (he affirmed) had succumbed under the +unreasonable strain put upon him; and I met with an instance myself, of a man +who had tasted the hardships of those schools, but no sooner heard the words of +true wisdom, than he fled incontinently to Nigrinus, and was manifestly the +better for the change. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the philosophers to themselves, he reverted to more general subjects: +the din and bustle of the city, the theatres, the race-course, the statues of +charioteers, the nomenclature of horses, the horse-talk in every side-street. +The rage for horses has become a positive epidemic; many persons are infected +with it whom one would have credited with more sense. +</p> + +<p> +Then the scene changed to the pomp and circumstance attendant upon funerals and +testamentary dispositions. ‘Only once in his life’ (he observed) ‘does your +thoroughbred Roman say what he means; and then,’ meaning, in his will, ‘it +comes too late for him to enjoy the credit of it.’ I could not help laughing +when he told me how they thought it necessary to carry their follies with them +to the grave, and to leave the record of their inanity behind them in black and +white; some stipulating that their clothes or other treasures should be burnt +with them, others that their graves should be watched by particular servants, +or their monuments crowned with flowers;—sapient end to a life of +sapience! ‘Of their doings in this world,’ said he, ‘you may form some idea +from their injunctions with reference to the next. These are they who will pay +a long price for an entree; whose floors are sprinkled with wine and saffron +and spices; who in midwinter smother themselves in roses, ay, for roses are +scarce, and out of season, and altogether desirable; but let a thing come in +its due course, and oh, ’tis vile, ’tis contemptible. These are they whose +drink is of costly essences.’ He had no mercy on them here. ‘Very bunglers in +sensuality, who know not her laws, and confound her ordinances, flinging down +their souls to be trampled beneath the heels of luxury! As the play has it, +Door or window, all is one to them. Such pleasures are rank solecism.’ One +observation of his in the same spirit fairly caps the famous censure of Momus. +Momus found fault with the divine artificer for not putting his bull’s horns in +front of the eyes. Similarly, Nigrinus complained that when these men crown +themselves in their banquets, they put the garlands in the wrong place; if they +are so fond of the smell of violets and roses, they should tie on their +garlands as close as may be under their nostrils; they could then snuff up the +smell to their hearts’ content. +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding to the gentlemen who make such a serious work of their dinner, he +was exceedingly merry over their painful elaborations of sauce and seasoning. +‘Here again,’ he cried, ‘these men are sore put to it, to procure the most +fleeting of enjoyments. Grant them four inches of palate apiece—’tis the +utmost we can allow any man—and I will prove to you that they have four +inches of gratification for their trouble. Thus: there is no satisfaction to be +got out of the costliest viands before consumption; and after it a full stomach +is none the better for the price it has cost to fill it. <i>Ergo</i>, the money +is paid for the pleasure snatched <i>in transitu</i>. But what are we to +expect? These men are too grossly ignorant to discern those truer pleasures +with which Philosophy rewards our resolute endeavours.’ +</p> + +<p> +The Baths proved a fertile topic, what with the insolence of the masters and +the jostlings of their men;—‘they will not stand without the support of a +slave; it is much that they retain enough vitality to get away on their own +legs at all.’ One practice which obtains in the streets and Baths of Rome +seemed to arouse his particular resentment. Slaves have to walk on ahead of +their masters, and call out to them to ‘look to their feet,’ whenever there is +a hole or a lump in their way; it has come to this, that men must be +<i>reminded that they are walking</i>. ‘It is too much,’ he cried; ‘these men +can get through their dinner with the help of their own teeth and fingers; they +can hear with their own ears: yet they must have other men’s eyes to see for +them! They are in possession of all their faculties: yet they are content to be +spoken to in language which should only be addressed to poor maimed wretches! +And this goes on in broad daylight, in our public places; and among the +sufferers are men who are responsible for the welfare of cities!’ +</p> + +<p> +This he said, and much more to the same effect. At length he was silent. All +the time I had listened in awestruck attention, dreading the moment when he +should cease. And when it was all over, my condition was like that of the +Phaeacians. For a long time I gazed upon him, spellbound; then I was seized +with a violent attack of giddiness; I was bathed in perspiration, and when I +attempted to speak, I broke down; my voice failed, my tongue stammered, and at +last I was reduced to tears. Mine was no surface wound from a random shaft. The +words had sunk deep into a vital part; had come with true aim, and cleft my +soul asunder. For (if I may venture to philosophize on my own account) I +conceive the case thus:-A well-conditioned human soul is like a target of some +soft material. As life goes on, many archers take aim thereat; and every man’s +quiver is full of subtle and varied arguments, but not every man shoots aright. +Some draw the bow too tight, and let fly with undue violence. These hit the +true direction, but their shafts do not lodge in the mark; their impetus +carries them right through the soul, and they pass on their way, leaving only a +gaping wound behind them. Others make the contrary mistake: their bows are too +slack, and their shafts never reach their destination; as often as not their +force is spent at half distance, and they drop to earth. Or if they reach the +mark, they do but graze its surface; there can be no deep wound, where the +archer lacks strength. But a good marksman, a Nigrinus, begins with a careful +examination of the mark, in case it should be particularly soft,—or again +too hard; for there are marks which will take no impression from an arrow. +Satisfied on this point, he dips his shaft, not in the poisons of Scythia or +Crete, but in a certain ointment of his own, which is sweet in flavour and +gentle in operation; then, without more ado, he lets fly. The shaft speeds with +well-judged swiftness, cleaves the mark right through, and remains lodged in +it; and the drug works its way through every part. Thus it is that men hear his +words with mingled joy and grief; and this was my own case, while the drug was +gently diffusing itself through my soul. Hence I was moved to apostrophize him +in the words of Homer: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +So aim; and thou shalt bring (to some) salvation. +</p> + +<p> +For as it is not every man that is maddened by the sound of the Phrygian flute, +but only those who are inspired of Cybele, and by those strains are recalled to +their frenzy,—so too not every man who hears the words of the +philosophers will go away possessed, and stricken at heart, but only those in +whose nature is something akin to philosophy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. These are fearful and wonderful words; nay, they are divine. All +that you said of ambrosia and lotus is true; I little knew how sumptuous had +been your feast. I have listened to you with strange emotion, and now that you +have ceased, I feel oppressed, nay, in your own language, ‘sore stricken.’ This +need not surprise you. A person who has been bitten by a mad dog not only goes +mad himself, you know, but communicates his madness to any one whom he bites +whilst he is in that state, so that the infection may be carried on by this +means through a long succession of persons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. Ah, then you confess to a tenderness? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. I do; and beg that you will think upon some medicine for both our +wounded breasts. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. We must take a hint from Telephus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fr</i>. What is that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Luc</i>. We want a hair of the dog that bit us. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap06"></a>TRIAL IN THE COURT OF VOWELS</h3> + +<p class="letter"> +Archon, Aristarchus of Phalerum.<br/> +Seventh Pyanepsion.<br/> +Court of the Seven Vowels.<br/> +Action for assault with robbery.<br/> +Sigma <i>v</i>. Tau.<br/> +Plaintiff’s case—that the words in-ττ-are wrongfully withheld from +him. +</p> + +<p> +Vowels of the jury.—For some time this Mr. Tau’s trespasses and +encroachments on my property were of minor importance; I made no claim for +damages, and affected unconsciousness of what I heard; my conciliatory temper +both you and the other letters have reason to know. His covetousness and folly, +however, have now so puffed him up, that he is no longer content with my +habitual concessions, but insists on more; I accordingly find myself compelled +to get the matter settled by you who know both sides of it. The fact is, I am +in bodily fear, owing to the crushing to which I am subjected. This evergrowing +aggression will end by ousting me completely from my own; I shall be almost +dumb, lose my rank as a letter, and be degraded to a mere noise. +</p> + +<p> +Justice requires then that not merely you, the jury in this case, but the other +letters also, should be on your guard against such attempts. If any one who +chooses is to be licensed to leave his own place and usurp that of others, with +no objection on your part (whose concurrence is an indispensable condition of +all writing), I fail to see how combinations are to have their ancient +constitutional rights secured to them. But my first reliance is upon you, who +will surely never be guilty of the negligence and indifference which permits +injustice; and even if you decline the contest, I have no intention of sitting +down under that injustice myself. +</p> + +<p> +It is much to be regretted that the assaults of other letters were not repelled +when they first began their lawless practices; then we should not be watching +the still pending dispute between Lambda and Rho for possession of +κιφαλαλγία or +κιφαλαργία, +κίσηλις or +κίσηρις: Gamma would not have had to defend +its rights over γυάφαλλα, constantly +almost at blows with Kappa in the debatable land, and <i>per contra</i> it +would itself have dropped its campaign against Lambda (if indeed it is more +dignified than petty larceny) for converting μόλις to +μόγις: in fact lawless confusion generally would have +been nipped in the bud. And it is well to abide by the established order; such +trespasses betray a revolutionary spirit. +</p> + +<p> +Now our first legislators—Cadmus the islander, Palamedes, son of +Nauplius, or Simonides, whom some authorities credit with the +measure—were not satisfied with determining merely our order of +precedence in the alphabet; they also had an eye to our individual qualities +and faculties. You, Vowels of the jury, constitute the first Estate, because +you can be uttered independently; the semi-vowels, requiring support before +they can be distinctly heard, are the second; and the lowest Estate they +declared to consist of those nine which cannot be sounded at all by themselves. +The vowels are accordingly the natural guardians of our laws. +</p> + +<p> +But this—this Tau—I would give him a worse designation, but that is +a manifest impossibility; for without the assistance of two good presentable +members of your Estate, Alpha and Upsilon, he would be a mere +nonentity—he it is that has dared to outdo all injuries that I have ever +known, expelling me from the nouns and verbs of my inheritance, and hunting me +out of my conjunctions and prepositions, till his rapacity has become quite +unbearable. I am now to trace proceedings from the beginning. +</p> + +<p> +I was once staying at Cybelus, a pleasant little town, said to be an Athenian +colony; my travelling companion was the excellent Rho, best of neighbours. My +host was a writer of comedies, called Lysimachus; he seems to have been a +Boeotian by descent, though he represented himself as coming from the interior +of Attica. It was while with him that I first detected Tau’s depredations*. For +some earlier occasional attempts (as when he took to +τετταράκοντα for +τεσσαράκοντα, +τήμερον for +σήμερον, with little pilferings of that +sort) I had explained as a trick and peculiarity of pronunciation; I had +tolerated the sound without letting it annoy me seriously. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*Footnote: For the probably corrupt passage § 7 fin.—§ 8 init. I accept +Dindorf’s rearrangement as follows: mechr men gar oligois epecheirei, +tettarakonta legein axioun, eti de taemeron kai ta homoia epispomenon, +sunaetheian thmaen idia tauti legein, kai oiston aen moi to akousma kai ou panu +ti edaknomaen ep autois. 8. hupote d ek touton arxamenon etolmaese kattiteron +eipein kai kattuma kai pittan, eita aperuthriasan kai basilitgan onomazein, +aposteroun me ton suggegenaemenun moi kai suntethrammenun grammatun, ou metrius +ipi toutois aganaktu.] +</p> + +<p> +But impunity emboldened him; kassiteros became kattiteros, kassuma and pissa +shared its fate; and then he cast off all shame and assaulted basigissa. I +found myself losing the society in which I had been born and bred;* at such a +time equanimity is out of place; I am tortured with apprehension; how long will +it be before suka is tuka? Bear with me, I beseech you; I despair and have none +to help me; do I not well to be angry? It is no petty everyday peril, this +threatened separation from my long-tried familiars. My kissa, my talking bird +that nestled in my breast, he has torn away and named anew; my phassa, my +nhssai, my khossuphoi—all gone; and I had Aristarchus’s own word that +they were mine; half my melissai he has lured to strange hives; Attica itself +he has invaded, and wrongfully annexed its Hymettus (as he calls it); and you +and the rest looked on at the seizure. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*Footnote: For the probably corrupt passage § 7 fin.—§ 8 init. I accept +Dindorf’s rearrangement as follows: mechr men gar oligois epecheirei, +tettarakonta legein axioun, eti de taemeron kai ta homoia epispomenon, +sunaetheian thmaen idia tauti legein, kai oiston aen moi to akousma kai ou panu +ti edaknomaen ep autois. 8. hupote d ek touton arxamenon etolmaese kattiteron +eipein kai kattuma kai pittan, eita aperuthriasan kai basilitgan onomazein, +aposteroun me ton suggegenaemenun moi kai suntethrammenun grammatun, ou metrius +ipi toutois aganaktu.] +</p> + +<p> +But why dwell on such trifles? I am driven from all Thessaly (Thettaly, +forsooth!), θαλασσα is now <i>mare +clausum</i> to me; he will not leave me a poor garden-herb like seutlion, I +have never a passalos to hang myself upon. What a long-suffering letter I am +myself, your own knowledge is witness enough. When Zeta stole my smaragdos, and +robbed me of all Smyrna, I never took proceedings against him; Xi might break +all sunthhkai, and appeal to Thucydides (who ought to know) as sympathizing +with his xystem; I let them alone. My neighbour Rho I made no difficulty about +pardoning as an invalid, when he transplanted my mursinai into his garden, or, +in a fit of the spleen, took liberties with my khopsh. So much for my temper. +</p> + +<p> +Tau’s, on the other hand, is naturally violent; its manifestations are not +confined to me. In proof that he has not spared other letters, but assaulted +Delta, Theta, Zeta, and almost the whole alphabet, I wish his various victims +to be put in the box. Now, Vowels of the jury, mark the evidence of +Delta:—‘He robbed me of <i>endelecheia</i>, which he claimed, quite +illegally, as <i>entelecheia</i>.’ Mark Theta beating his breast and plucking +out his hair in grief for the loss of <i>kolokunthh</i>. And Zeta mourns for +<i>surizein</i> and <i>salpizein</i>—nay, <i>cannot</i> mourn, for lack +of his gryzein. What tolerance is possible, what penalty adequate, for this +criminal letter’s iniquities? +</p> + +<p> +But his wrongs are not even limited to us, his own species; he has now extended +his operations to mankind, as I shall show. He does not permit their tongues to +work straight. (But that mention of mankind calls me back for a moment, +reminding me how he turns glossa into glotta, half robbing me of the tongue +itself. Ay, you are a disease of the tongue in every sense, Tau.) But I return +from that digression, to plead the cause of mankind and its wrongs. The +prisoner’s designs include the constraint, racking, and mutilation of their +utterance. A man sees a beautiful thing, and wishes to describe it as kalon, +but in comes Tau, and forces the man to say ταλόν: +<i>he</i> must have precedence everywhere, of course. Another man has something +to say about a vine, and lo, before it is out, it is metamorphosed by this +miserable creature into misery; he has changed slaema to tlaema, with a +suggestive hint of τλήμων. And, not content with +middle-class victims, he aims at the Persian king himself, the one for whom +land and sea are said to have made way and changed their nature: Cyrus comes +out at his bidding as Tyrus. +</p> + +<p> +Such are his verbal offences against man; his offences in deed remain. Men +weep, and bewail their lot, and curse Cadmus with many curses for introducing +Tau into the family of letters; they say it was his body that tyrants took for +a model, his shape that they imitated, when they set up the erections on which +men are crucified. Stayros the vile engine is called, and it derives its vile +name from him. Now, with all these crimes upon him, does he not deserve death, +nay, many deaths? For my part I know none bad enough but that supplied by his +own shape—that shape which he gave to the gibbet named Stayros after him +by men. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap07"></a>TIMON THE MISANTHROPE</h3> + +<p> +<i>Timon. Zeus. Hermes. Plutus. Poverty. Gnathonides. Philiades. Demeas. +Thrasycles. Blepsias</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. O Zeus, thou arbiter of friendship, protector of the guest, +preserver of fellowship, lord of the hearth, launcher of the lightning, avenger +of oaths, compeller of clouds, utterer of thunder (and pray add any other +epithets; those cracked poets have plenty ready, especially when they are in +difficulties with their scansion; then it is that a string of your names saves +the situation and fills up the metrical gaps), O Zeus, where is now your +resplendent lightning, where your deep-toned thunder, where the glowing, +white-hot, direful bolt? we know now ’tis all fudge and poetic +moonshine—barring what value may attach to the rattle of the names. That +renowned projectile of yours, which ranged so far and was so ready to your +hand, has gone dead and cold, it seems; never a spark left in it to scorch +iniquity. +</p> + +<p> +If men are meditating perjury, a smouldering lamp-wick is as likely to frighten +them off it as the omnipotent’s levin-bolt; the brand you hold over them is one +from which they see neither flame nor smoke can come; a little soot-grime is +the worst that need be apprehended from a touch of it. No wonder if Salmoneus +challenged you to a thundering-match; he was reasonable enough when he backed +his artificial heat against so cool-tempered a Zeus. Of course he was; there +are you in your opiate-trance, never hearing the perjurers nor casting a glance +at criminals, your glazed eyes dull to all that happens, and your ears as deaf +as a dotard’s. +</p> + +<p> +When you were young and keen, and your temper had some life in it, you used to +bestir yourself against crime and violence; there were no armistices in those +days; the thunderbolt was always hard at it, the aegis quivering, the thunder +rattling, the lightning engaged in a perpetual skirmish. Earth was shaken like +a sieve, buried in snow, bombarded with hail. It rained cats and dogs (if you +will pardon my familiarity), and every shower was a waterspout. Why, in +Deucalion’s time, hey presto, everything was swamped, mankind went under, and +just one little ark was saved, stranding on the top of Lycoreus and preserving +a remnant of human seed for the generation of greater wickedness. +</p> + +<p> +Mankind pays you the natural wages of your laziness; if any one offers you a +victim or a garland nowadays, it is only at Olympia as a perfunctory +accompaniment of the games; he does it not because he thinks it is any good, +but because he may as well keep up an old custom. It will not be long, most +glorious of deities, before they serve you as you served Cronus, and depose +you. I will not rehearse all the robberies of your temple—those are +trifles; but they have laid hands on your person at Olympia, my lord +High-Thunderer, and you had not the energy to wake the dogs or call in the +neighbours; surely they might have come to the rescue and caught the fellows +before they had finished packing up the swag. But there sat the bold +Giant-slayer and Titan-conqueror letting them cut his hair, with a fifteen-foot +thunderbolt in his hand all the time! My good sir, when is this careless +indifference to cease? how long before you will punish such wickedness? +Phaethon-falls and Deucalion-deluges—a good many of them will be required +to suppress this swelling human insolence. +</p> + +<p> +To leave generalities and illustrate from my own case—I have raised any +number of Athenians to high position, I have turned poor men into rich, I have +assisted every one that was in want, nay, flung my wealth broadcast in the +service of my friends, and now that profusion has brought me to beggary, they +do not so much as know me; I cannot get a glance from the men who once cringed +and worshipped and hung upon my nod. If I meet one of them in the street, he +passes me by as he might pass the tombstone of one long dead; it has fallen +face upwards, loosened by time, but he wastes no moment deciphering it. Another +will take the next turning when he sees me in the distance; I am a sight of ill +omen, to be shunned by the man whose saviour and benefactor I had been not so +long ago. +</p> + +<p> +Thus in disgrace with fortune, I have betaken me to this corner of the earth, +where I wear the smock-frock and dig for sixpence a day, with solitude and my +spade to assist meditation. So much gain I reckon upon here—to be exempt +from contemplating unmerited prosperity; no sight that so offends the eye as +that. And now, Son of Cronus and Rhea, may I ask you to shake off that deep +sound sleep of yours—why, Epimenides’s was a mere nap to it—, put +the bellows to your thunderbolt or warm it up in Etna, get it into a good +blaze, and give a display of spirit, like a manly vigorous Zeus? or are we to +believe the Cretans, who show your grave among their sights? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Hermes, who is that calling out from Attica? there, on the lower +slopes of Hymettus—a grimy squalid fellow in a smock-frock; he is bending +over a spade or something; but he has a tongue in his head, and is not afraid +to use it. He must be a philosopher, to judge from his fluent blasphemy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What, father! have you forgotten Timon—son of Echecratides, +of Collytus? many is the time he has feasted us on unexceptionable victims; the +rich <i>parvenu</i> of the whole hecatombs, you know, who used to do us so well +at the Diasia. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Dear, dear, <i>quantum mutatus</i>! is this the admired, the rich, +the popular? What has brought him to this pass? There he is in filth and +misery, digging for hire, labouring at that ponderous spade. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, if you like to put it so, it was kindness and generosity and +universal compassion that ruined him; but it would be nearer the truth to call +him a fool and a simpleton and a blunderer; he did not realize that his +proteges were carrion crows and wolves; vultures were feeding on his +unfortunate liver, and he took them for friends and good comrades, showing a +fine appetite just to please him. So they gnawed his bones perfectly clean, +sucked out with great precision any marrow there might be in them, and went +off, leaving him as dry as a tree whose roots have been severed; and now they +do not know him or vouchsafe him a nod—no such fools—, nor ever +think of showing him charity or repaying his gifts. That is how the spade and +smock-frock are accounted for; he is ashamed to show his face in town; so he +hires himself out to dig, and broods over his wrongs—the rich men he has +made passing him contemptuously by, apparently quite unaware that his name is +Timon. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. This is a case we must take up and see to. No wonder he is down on +his luck. We should be putting ourselves on the level of his despicable +sycophants, if we forgot all the fat ox and goat thighs he has burnt on our +altars; the savour of them is yet in my nostrils. But I have been so busy, +there is such a din of perjury, assault, and burglary; I am so frightened of +the temple-robbers—they swarm now, you cannot keep them out, nor take a +nap with any safety; and, with one thing and another, it is an age since I had +a look at Attica. I have hardly been there since philosophy and argument came +into fashion; indeed, with their shouting-matches going on, prayers are quite +inaudible. One must sit with one’s ears plugged, if one does not want the drums +of them cracked; such long vociferous rigmaroles about Incorporeal Things, or +something they call Virtue! That is how we came to neglect this man—who +really deserved better. +</p> + +<p> +However, go to him now without wasting any more time, Hermes, and take Plutus +with you. Thesaurus is to accompany Plutus, and they are both to stay with +Timon, and not leave him so lightly this time, even though the generous fellow +does his best to find other hosts for them. As to those parasites, and the +ingratitude they showed him, I will attend to them before long; they shall have +their deserts as soon as I have got the thunderbolt in order again. Its two +best spikes are broken and blunted; my zeal outran my discretion the other day +when I took that shot at Anaxagoras the sophist; the Gods non-existent, indeed! +that was what he was telling his disciples. However, I missed him (Pericles had +held up his hand to shield him), and the bolt glanced off on to the Anaceum, +set it on fire, and was itself nearly pulverized on the rock. But meanwhile it +will be quite sufficient punishment for them to see Timon rolling in money. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Nothing like lifting up your voice, making yourself a nuisance, and +showing a bold front; it is equally effective whether you are pleading with +juries or deities. Here is Timon developing from pauper to millionaire, just +because his prayer was loud and free enough to startle Zeus; if he had dug +quietly with his face to his work, he might have dug to all eternity, for any +notice he would have got. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Well, Zeus, I am not going to him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Your reason, good Plutus; have I not told you to go? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Good God! why, he insulted me, threw me about, dismembered +me—me, his old family friend—and practically pitchforked me out of +the house; he could not have been in a greater hurry to be rid of me if I had +been a live coal in his hand. What, go there again, to be transferred to +toadies and flatterers and harlots? No, no, Zeus; send me to people who will +appreciate the gift, take care of me, value and cherish me. Let these gulls +consort with the poverty which they prefer to me; she will find them a +smock-frock and a spade, and they can be thankful for a miserable pittance of +sixpence a day, these reckless squanderers of 1,000 pound presents. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Ah, Timon will not treat you that way again. If his loins are not +of cast iron, his spade-work will have taught him a thing or two about your +superiority to poverty. You are so particular, you know; now, you are finding +fault with Timon for opening the door to you and letting you wander at your own +sweet will, instead of keeping you in jealous seclusion. Yesterday it was +another story: you were imprisoned by rich men under bolts and locks and seals, +and never allowed a glimpse of sunlight. That was the burden of your +complaint—you were stifled in deep darkness. We saw you pale and +careworn, your fingers hooked with coin-counting, and heard how you would like +to run away, if only you could get the chance. It was monstrous, then, that you +should be kept in a bronze or iron chamber, like a Danae condemned to +virginity, and brought up by those stern unscrupulous tutors, Interest, Debit +and Credit. +</p> + +<p> +They were perfectly ridiculous, you know, loving you to distraction, but not +daring to enjoy you when they might; you were in their power, yet they could +not give the reins to their passion; they kept awake watching you with their +eyes glued to bolt and seal; the enjoyment that satisfied them was not to enjoy +you themselves, but to prevent others’ enjoying you—true dogs in the +manger. Yes, and then how absurd it was that they should scrape and hoard, and +end by being jealous of their own selves! Ah, if they could but see that +rascally slave—steward—trainer—sneaking in bent on carouse! +little enough <i>he</i> troubles his head about the luckless unamiable owner at +his nightly accounts by a dim little half-fed lamp. How, pray, do you reconcile +your old strictures of this sort with your contrary denunciation of Timon? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Oh, if you consider the thing candidly, you will find both attitudes +reasonable. It is clear enough that Timon’s utter negligence comes from +slackness, and not from any consideration for me. As for the other sort, who +keep me shut up in the obscurity of strong-boxes, intent on making me heavy and +fat and unwieldy, never touching me themselves, and never letting me see the +light, lest some one else should catch sight of me, I always thought of them as +fools and tyrants; what harm had I done that they should let me rot in close +confinement? and did not they know that in a little while they would pass away +and have to resign me to some other lucky man? +</p> + +<p> +No, give me neither these nor the off-hand gentry; my beau ideal is the man who +steers a middle course, as far from complete abstention as from utter +profusion. Consider, Zeus, by your own great name; suppose a man were to take a +fair young wife, and then absolutely decline all jealous precautions, to the +point of letting her wander where she would by day or night, keeping company +with any one who had a mind to her—or put it a little stronger, and let +him be procurer, janitor, pander, and advertiser of her charms in his own +person—well, what sort of love is his? come, Zeus, you have a good deal +of experience, you know what love is. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, let a man make a suitable match for the express purpose of +raising heirs, and then let him neither himself have anything to do with her +ripe, yet modest, beauty, nor allow any other to set eyes on it, but shut her +up in barren, fruitless virginity; let him say all the while that he is in love +with her, and let his pallid hue, his wasting flesh and his sunken eyes confirm +the statement;—is he a madman, or is he not? he should be raising a +family and enjoying matrimony; but he lets this fair-faced lovely girl wither +away; he might as well be bringing up a perpetual priestess of Demeter. And now +you understand my feelings when one set of people kick me about or waste me by +the bucketful, and the others clap irons on me like a runaway convict. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. However, indignation is superfluous; both sets have just what they +deserve—one as hungry and thirsty and dry-mouthed as Tantalus, getting no +further than gaping at the gold; and the other finding its food swept away from +its very gullet, as the Harpies served Phineus. Come, be off with you; you will +find Timon has much more sense nowadays. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Oh, of course! he will not do his best to let me run out of a leaky +vessel before I have done running in! oh no, he will not be consumed with +apprehensions of the inflow’s gaining on the waste and flooding him! I shall be +supplying a cask of the Danaids; no matter how fast I pour in, the thing will +not hold water; every gallon will be out almost before it is in; the bore of +the waste-pipe is so large, and never a plug. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Well, if he does not stop the hole—if the leak is more than +temporary—you will run out in no time, and he can find his smock-frock +and spade again in the dregs of the cask. Now go along, both of you, and make +the man rich. And, Hermes, on your way back, remember to bring the Cyclopes +with you from Etna; my thunderbolt wants the grindstone; and I have work for it +as soon as it is sharp. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Come along, Plutus. Hullo! limping? My good man, I did not know you +were lame as well as blind. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. No, it is intermittent. As sure as Zeus sends me <i>to</i> any one, +a sort of lethargy comes over me, my legs are like lead, and I can hardly get +to my journey’s end; my destined host is sometimes an old man before I reach +him. As a parting guest, on the other hand, you may see me wing my way swifter +than any dream. ‘Are you ready?’ and almost before ‘Go’ has sounded, up goes my +name as winner; I have flashed round the course absolutely unseen sometimes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. You are not quite keeping to the truth; I could name you plenty of +people who yesterday had not the price of a halter to hang themselves with, and +to-day have developed into lavish men of fortune; they drive their pair of +high-steppers, whereas a donkey would have been beyond their means before. They +go about in purple raiment with jewelled fingers, hardly convinced yet that +their wealth is not all a dream. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Ah, those are special cases, Hermes. I do not go on my own feet on +those occasions, and it is not Zeus who sends me, but Pluto, who has his own +ways of conferring wealth and making presents; Pluto and Plutus are not +unconnected, you see. When I am to flit from one house to another, they lay me +on parchment, seal me up carefully, make a parcel of me and take me round. The +dead man lies in some dark corner, shrouded from the knees upward in an old +sheet, with the cats fighting for possession of him, while those who have +expectations wait for me in the public place, gaping as wide as young swallows +that scream for their mother’s return. +</p> + +<p> +Then the seal is taken off, the string cut, the parchment opened, and my new +owner’s name made known. It is a relation, or a parasite, or perhaps a domestic +minion, whose value lay in his vices and his smooth cheeks; he has continued to +supply his master with all sorts of unnatural pleasures beyond the years which +might excuse such service, and now the fine fellow is richly rewarded. But +whoever it is, he snatches me up, parchment included, and is off with me in a +flash; he used to be called Pyrrhias or Dromo or Tibius, but now he is +Megacles, Megabyzus, or Protarchus; off he goes, leaving the disappointed ones +staring at each other in very genuine mourning—over the fine fish which +has jumped out of the landing-net after swallowing their good bait. +</p> + +<p> +The fellow who <i>has</i> pounced on me has neither taste nor feeling; the +sight of fetters still gives him a start; crack a whip in his neighbourhood, +and his ears tingle; the treadmill is an abode of awe to him. He is now +insufferable—insults his new equals, and whips his old fellows to see +what that side of the transaction feels like. He ends by finding a mistress, or +taking to the turf, or being cajoled by parasites; these have only to swear he +is handsomer than Nireus, nobler than Cecrops or Codrus, wiser than Odysseus, +richer than a dozen Croesuses rolled into one; and so the poor wretch disperses +in a moment what cost so many perjuries, robberies, and swindles to amass. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. A very fair picture. But when you go on your own feet, how can a +blind man like you find the way? Zeus sends you to people who he thinks deserve +riches; but how do you distinguish them? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Do you suppose I do find them? not much. I should scarcely have +passed Aristides by, and gone to Hipponicus, Callias, and any number of other +Athenians whose merits could have been valued in copper. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, but what do you do when he sends you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. I just wander up and down till I come across some one; the first +comer takes me off home with him, and thanks—whom but the God of +windfalls, yourself? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. So Zeus is in error, and you do not enrich deserving persons +according to his pleasure? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. My dear fellow, how can he expect it? He knows I am blind, and he +sends me groping about for a thing so hard to detect, and so nearly extinct +this long time, that a Lynceus would have his work cut out spying for its +dubious remains. So you see, as the good are few, and cities are crowded with +multitudes of the bad, I am much more likely to come upon the latter in my +rambles, and they keep me in their nets. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. But when you are leaving them, how do you find escape so easy? you +do not know the way. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Ah, there is just one occasion which brings me quickness of eye and +foot; and that is flight. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yet another question. You are not only blind (excuse my frankness), +but pallid and decrepit; how comes it, then, that you have so many lovers? All +men’s looks are for you; if they get possession of you, they count themselves +happy men; if they miss you, life is not worth living. Why, I have known not a +few so sick for love of you that they have scaled some sky-pointing crag, and +thence hurled themselves to unplumbed ocean depths [Footnote: See Apology for +‘The Dependent Scholar,’], when they thought they were scorned by you, because +you would not acknowledge their first salute. I am sure you know yourself well +enough to confess that they must be lunatics, to rave about such charms as +yours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Why, you do not suppose they see me in my true shape, lame, blind, +and so forth? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. How else, unless they are all as blind themselves? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. They are not blind, my dear boy; but the ignorant misconceptions now +so prevalent obscure their vision. And then I contribute; not to be an absolute +fright when they see me, I put on a charming mask, all gilt and jewels, and +dress myself up. They take the mask for my face, fall in love with its beauty, +and are dying to possess it. If any one were to strip and show me to them +naked, they would doubtless reproach themselves for their blindness in being +captivated by such an ugly misshapen creature, +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. How about fruition, then? When they are rich, and have put the mask +on themselves, they are still deluded; if any one tries to take it off, they +would sooner part with their heads than with it; and it is not likely they do +not know by that time that the beauty is adventitious, now that they have an +inside view. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. There too I have powerful allies. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Namely—? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. When a man makes my acquaintance, and opens the door to let me in, +there enter unseen by my side Arrogance, Folly, Vainglory, Effeminacy, +Insolence, Deceit, and a goodly company more. These possess his soul; he begins +to admire mean things, pursues what he should abhor, reveres me amid my +bodyguard of the insinuating vices which I have begotten, and would consent to +anything sooner than part with me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What a smooth, slippery, unstable, evasive fellow you are, Plutus! +there is no getting a firm hold of you; you wriggle through one’s fingers +somehow, like an eel or a snake. Poverty is so different—sticky, +clinging, all over hooks; any one who comes near her is caught directly, and +finds it no simple matter to get clear. But all this gossip has put business +out of our heads. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Business? What business? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. We have forgotten to bring Thesaurus, and we cannot do without him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Oh, never mind him. When I come up to see you, I leave him on earth, +with strict orders to stay indoors, and open to no one unless he hears my +voice. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Then we may make our way into Attica; hold on to my cloak till I +find Timon’s retreat. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. It is just as well to keep touch; if you let me drop behind, I am as +likely as not to be snapped up by Hyperbolus or Cleon. But what is that noise? +it sounds like iron on stone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, here is Timon close to us; what a steep stony little plot he +has got to dig! Good gracious, I see Poverty and Toil in attendance, Endurance, +Wisdom, Courage, and Hunger’s whole company in full force—much more +efficient than your guards, Plutus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Oh dear, let us make the best of our way home, Hermes. We shall +never produce any impression on a man surrounded by such troops. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Zeus thought otherwise; so no cowardice. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pov</i>. Slayer of Argus, whither away, you two hand in hand? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Zeus has sent us to Timon here. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pov</i>. Now? What has Plutus to do with Timon now? I found him suffering +under Luxury’s treatment, put him in the charge of Wisdom and Toil (whom you +see here), and made a good worthy man of him. Do you take me for such a +contemptible helpless creature that you can rob me of my little all? have I +perfected him in virtue, only to see Plutus take him, trust him to Insolence +and Arrogance, make him as soft and limp and silly as before, and return him to +me a worn-out rag again? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. It is Zeus’s will. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pov</i>. I am off, then. Toil, Wisdom, and the rest of you, quick march! +Well, he will realize his loss before long; he had a good help meet in me, and +a true teacher; with me he was healthy in body and vigorous in spirit; he lived +the life of a man, and could be independent, and see the thousand and one +needless refinements in all their absurdity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. There they go, Plutus; let us come to him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Who are you, villains? What do you want here, interrupting a hired +labourer? You shall have something to take with you, confound you all! These +clods and stones shall provide you with a broken head or two. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Stop, Timon, don’t throw. We are not men; I am Hermes, and this is +Plutus; Zeus has sent us in answer to your prayers. So knock off work, take +your fortune, and much good may it do you! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. I dare say you <i>are</i> Gods; that shall not save you. I hate +every one, man or God; and as for this blind fellow, whoever he may be, I am +going to give him one over the head with my spade. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. For God’s sake, Hermes, let us get out of this! the man is +melancholy-mad, I believe; he will do me a mischief before I get off. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Now don’t be foolish, Timon; cease overdoing the ill-tempered boor, +hold out your hands, take your luck, and be a rich man again. Have Athens at +your feet, and from your solitary eminence you can forget ingratitude. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. I have no use for you; leave me in peace; my spade is riches enough +for me; for the rest, I am perfectly happy if people will let me alone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. My dear sir—so unsociable? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +So stiff and stubborn a reply to Zeus? +</p> + +<p> +A misanthrope you may well be, after the way men have treated you; but with the +Gods so thoughtful for you, you need not be a misotheist. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Very well, Hermes; I am extremely obliged to you and Zeus for your +thoughtfulness—there; but I will not have Plutus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, pray? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. He brought me countless troubles long ago—put me in the power +of flatterers, set designing persons on me, stirred up ill-feeling, corrupted +me with indulgence, exposed me to envy, and wound up with treacherously +deserting me at a moment’s notice. Then the excellent Poverty gave me a +drilling in manly labour, conversed with me in all frankness and sincerity, +rewarded my exertions with a sufficiency, and taught me to despise +superfluities; all hopes of a livelihood were to depend on myself, and I was to +know my true wealth, unassailable by parasites’ flattery or informers’ threats, +hasty legislatures or decree-mongering legislators, and which even the tyrant’s +machinations cannot touch. +</p> + +<p> +So, toil-hardened, working with a will at this bit of ground, my eyes rid of +city offences, I get bread enough and to spare out of my spade. Go your ways, +then, Hermes, and take Plutus back to Zeus. I am quite content to let every man +of them go hang. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh, that would be a pity; they are not all hanging-ripe. Don’t make +a passionate child of yourself, but admit Plutus. Zeus’s gifts are too good to +be thrown away. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Will you condescend to argue with me, Timon? or does my voice +provoke you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Oh, talk away; but be brief; no rascally lawyer’s ‘opening the +case.’ I can put up with a few words from you, for Hermes’ sake. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. A speech of some length might seem to be needed, considering the +number of your charges; however, just examine your imputations of injustice. It +was I that gave you those great objects of desire—consideration, +precedence, honours, and every delight; all eyes and tongues and attentions +were yours—my gifts; and if flatterers abused you, I am not responsible +for that. It is I who should rather complain; you prostituted me vilely to +scoundrels, whose laudations and cajolery of you were only samples of their +designs upon me. As to your saying that I wound up by betraying you, you have +things topsy-turvy again; <i>I</i> may complain; you took every method to +estrange me, and finally kicked me out neck and crop. That is why your revered +Dame Poverty has supplied you with a smock-frock to replace your soft raiment. +Why, I begged and prayed Zeus (and Hermes heard me) that I might be excused +from revisiting a person who had been so unfriendly to me as you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. But you see how he is changed, Plutus; you need not be afraid to +live with him now. Just go on digging, Timon; and you, Plutus, put Thesaurus in +position; he will come at your call. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. I must obey, and be a rich man again, Hermes; what can one do, when +Gods insist? But reflect what troubles you are bringing on my luckless head; I +have had a blissful life of late, and now for no fault of my own I am to have +my hands full of gold and care again. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Hard, intolerable fate! yet endure for my sake, if only that the +flatterers may burst themselves with envy. And now for heaven, via Etna. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. He is off, I suppose, from the beating of his wings. Now, you stay +where you are, while I go and fetch Thesaurus to you; or rather, dig hard. +Here, Gold! Thesaurus I say! answer Timon’s summons and let him unearth you. +Now, Timon, with a will; a deep stroke or two. I will leave you together. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Come, spade, show your mettle; stick to it; invite Thesaurus to +step up from his retreat…. O God of Wonders! O mystic priests! O lucky Hermes! +whence this flood of gold? Sure, ’tis all a dream; methinks ’twill be ashes +when I wake. And yet—coined gold, ruddy and heavy, a feast of delight! +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O gold, the fairest gift to mortal eyes! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +be it night, or be it day, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Thou dost outshine all else like living fire. +</p> + +<p> +Come to me, my own, my beloved. I doubt the tale no longer; well might Zeus +take the shape of gold; where is the maid that would not open her bosom to +receive so fair a lover gliding through the roof? +</p> + +<p> +Talk of Midas, Croesus, Delphic treasures! they were all nothing to Timon and +his wealth; why, the Persian King could not match it. My spade, my dearest +smock-frock, you must hang, a votive offering to Pan. And now I will buy up +this desert corner, and build a tiny castle for my treasure, big enough for me +to live in all alone, and, when I am dead, to lie in. And be the rule and law +of my remaining days to shun all men, be blind to all men, scorn all men. +Friendship, hospitality, society, compassion—vain words all. To be moved +by another’s tears, to assist another’s need—be such things illegal and +immoral. Let me live apart like a wolf; be Timon’s one friend—Timon. +</p> + +<p> +All others are my foes and ill-wishers; to hold communion with them is +pollution; to set eyes upon one of them marks the day unholy; let them be to me +even as images of bronze or stone. I will receive no herald from them, keep +with them no truce; the bounds of my desert are the line they may not cross. +Cousin and kinsman, neighbour and countryman—these are dead useless +names, wherein fools may find a meaning. Let Timon keep his wealth to himself, +scorn all men, and live in solitary luxury, quit of flattery and vulgar praise; +let him sacrifice and feast alone, his own associate and neighbour, far from* +the +world. Yea, when his last day comes, let there be none to close his eyes and +lay him out, but himself alone. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*Footnote: Reading, with Dindorf, <i>hekas on</i> for <i>ekseion</i>.] +</p> + +<p> +Be the name he loves Misanthropus, and the marks whereby he may be known +peevishness and spleen, wrath and rudeness and abhorrence. If ever one burning +to death should call for help against the flames, let me help—with pitch +and oil. If another be swept past me by a winter torrent, and stretch out his +hands for aid, then let mine press him down head under, that he never rise +again. So shall they receive as they have given. Mover of this +resolution—Timon, son of Echecratides of Collytus. Presiding +officer—the same Timon. The ayes have it. Let it be law, and duly +observed. +</p> + +<p> +All the same, I would give a good deal to have the fact of my enormous wealth +generally known; they would all be fit to hang themselves over it…. Why, what +is this? Well, that is quick work. Here they come running from every point of +the compass, all dusty and panting; they have smelt out the gold somehow or +other. Now, shall I get on top of this knoll, keep up a galling fire of stones +from my point of vantage, and get rid of them that way? Or shall I make an +exception to my law by parleying with them for once? contempt might hit harder +than stones. Yes, I think that is better; I will stay where I am, and receive +them. Let us see, who is this in front? Ah, Gnathonides the flatterer; when I +asked an alms of him the other day, he offered me a halter; many a cask of my +wine has he made a beast of himself over. I congratulate him on his speed; +first come, first served. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gna</i>. What did I tell them?—Timon was too good a man to be +abandoned by Providence. How are you, Timon? as good-looking and good-tempered, +as good a fellow, as ever? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. And you, Gnathonides, still teaching vultures rapacity, and men +cunning? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gna</i>. Ah, he always liked his little joke. But where do you dine? I have +brought a new song with me, a march out of the last musical thing on. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. It will be a funeral march, then, and a very touching one, with +spade <i>obbligato</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gna</i>. What means this? This is assault, Timon; just let me find a +witness! … Oh, my God, my God! … I’ll have you before the Areopagus for assault +and battery. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. You’d better not wait much longer, or you’ll have to make it +murder. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gna</i>. Mercy, mercy! … Now, a little gold ointment to heal the wound; it +is a first-rate styptic. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. What! you <i>won’t</i> go, won’t you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gna</i>. Oh, I am going. But you shall repent this. Alas, so genial once, +and now so rude! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Now who is this with the bald crown? Why, it is Philiades; if there +is a loathsome flatterer, it is he. When I sang that song that nobody else +would applaud, he lauded me to the skies, and swore no dying swan could be more +tuneful; his reward was one of my farms, and a 500 pounds portion for his +daughter. And then when he found I was ill, and had come to him for assistance, +his generous aid took the form of blows. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. You shameless creatures! yes, yes, <i>now</i> you know Timon’s +merits! <i>now</i> Gnathonides would be his friend and boon-companion! well, he +has the right reward of ingratitude. Some of us were his familiars and +playmates and neighbours; but <i>we</i> hold back a little; we would not seem +to thrust ourselves upon him. Greeting, lord Timon; pray let me warn you +against these abominable flatterers; they are your humble servants during +meal-times, and else about as useful as carrion crows. Perfidy is the order of +the day; everywhere ingratitude and vileness. I was just bringing a couple of +hundred pounds, for your immediate necessities, and was nearly here before I +heard of your splendid fortune. So I just came on to give you this word of +caution; though indeed you are wise enough (I would take your advice before +Nestor’s myself) to need none of my counsel. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Quite so, Philiades. But come near, will you not, and receive +my—spade! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. Help, help! this thankless brute has broken my head, for giving +him good counsel. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Now for number three. Lawyer Demeas—my cousin, as he calls +himself, with a decree in his hand. Between three and four thousand it was that +I paid in to the Treasury in ready money for him; he had been fined that amount +and imprisoned in default, and I took pity on him. Well, the other day he was +distributing-officer of the festival money [Footnote: Every citizen had the +right to receive from the State the small sum which would pay for his admission +to theatrical or other festival entertainments.]; when I applied for my share, +he pretended I was not a citizen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. Hail, Timon, ornament of our race, pillar of Athens, shield of +Hellas! The Assembly and both Councils are met, and expect your appearance. But +first hear the decree which I have proposed in your honour. ‘WHEREAS Timon son +of Echecratides of Collytus who adds to high position and character a sagacity +unmatched in Greece is a consistent and indefatigable promoter of his country’s +good and Whereas he has been victorious at Olympia on one day in boxing +wrestling and running as well as in the two and the four-horse chariot +races—’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Why, I was never so much as a spectator at Olympia. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. What does that matter? you will be some day. It looks better to +have a good deal of that sort in—‘and Whereas he fought with distinction +last year at Acharnae cutting two Peloponnesian companies to pieces—’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Good work that, considering that my name was not on the +muster-rolls, because I could not afford a suit of armour. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. Ah, you are modest; but it would be ingratitude in us to forget +your services—‘and Whereas by political measures and responsible advice +and military action he has conferred great benefits on his country Now for all +these reasons it is the pleasure of the Assembly and the Council the ten +divisions of the High Court and the Borough Councils individually and +collectively THAT a golden statue of the said Timon be placed on the Acropolis +alongside of Athene with a thunderbolt in the hand and a seven-rayed aureole on +the head Further that golden garlands be conferred on him and proclaimed this +day at the New Tragedies [Footnote: See <i>Dionysia</i> in Notes] the said day +being kept in his honour as the Dionysia. Mover of the Decree Demeas the +pleader the said Timon’s near relation and disciple the said Timon being as +distinguished in pleading as in all else wherein it pleases him to excel.’ +</p> + +<p> +So runs the decree. I had designed also to present to you my son, whom I have +named Timon after you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Why, I thought you were a bachelor, Demeas. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. Ah, but I intend to marry next year; my child—which is to be +a boy—I hereby name Timon. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. I doubt whether you will feel like marrying, my man, when I have +given you—this! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. Oh Lord! what is that for? … You are plotting a <i>coup d’etat</i>, +you Timon; you assault free men, and you are neither a free man nor a citizen +yourself. You shall soon be called to account for your crimes; it was you set +fire to the Acropolis, for one thing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Why, you scoundrel, the Acropolis has not been set on fire; you are +a common blackmailer. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. You got your gold by breaking into the Treasury. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. It has not been broken into, either; you are not even plausible. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. There is time for the burglary yet; meantime, you are in possession +of the treasures. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Well, here is another for you, anyhow. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dem</i>. Oh! oh! my back! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Don’t make such a noise, if you don’t want a third. It would be too +absurd, you know, if I could cut two companies of Spartans to pieces without my +armour, and not be able to give a single little scoundrel his deserts. My +Olympic boxing and wrestling victories would be thrown away. +</p> + +<p> +Whom have we now? is this Thrasycles the philosopher? sure enough it is. A halo +of beard, eyebrows an inch above their place, superiority in his air, a look +that might storm heaven, locks waving to the wind—’tis a very Boreas or +Triton from Zeuxis’ pencil. This hero of the careful get-up, the solemn gait, +the plain attire—in the morning he will utter a thousand maxims, +expounding Virtue, arraigning self- indulgence, lauding simplicity; and then, +when he gets to dinner after his bath, his servant fills him a bumper (he +prefers it neat), and draining this Lethe-draught he proceeds to turn his +morning maxima inside out; he swoops like a hawk on dainty dishes, elbows his +neighbour aside, fouls his beard with trickling sauce, laps like a dog, with +his nose in his plate, as if he expected to find Virtue there, and runs his +finger all round the bowl, not to lose a drop of the gravy. Let him monopolize +pastry or joint, he will still criticize the carving—that is all the +satisfaction his ravenous greed brings him—; when the wine is in, singing +and dancing are delights not fierce enough; he must brawl and rave. He has +plenty to say in his cups—he is then at his best in that kind—upon +temperance and decorum; he is full of these when his potations have reduced him +to ridiculous stuttering. Next the wine disagrees with him, and at last he is +carried out of the room, holding on with all his might to the flute-girl. Take +him sober, for that matter, and you will hardly find his match at lying, +effrontery or avarice. He is <i>facile princeps</i> of flatterers, perjury sits +on his tongue-tip, imposture goes before him, and shamelessness is his good +comrade; oh, he is a most ingenious piece of work, finished at all points, a +<i>multum in parvo</i>. I am afraid his kind heart will be grieved presently. +Why, how is this, Thrasycles? I must say, you have taken your time about +coming. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Thr</i>. Ah, Timon, I am not come like the rest of the crowd; <i>they</i> +are dazzled by your wealth; they are gathered together with an eye to gold and +silver and high living; they will soon be showing their servile tricks before +your unsuspicious, generous self. As for me, you know a crust is all the dinner +I care for; the relish I like best is a bit of thyme or cress; on festal days I +may go as far as a sprinkling of salt. My drink is the crystal spring; and this +threadbare cloak is better than your gay robes. Gold—I value it no higher +than pebbles on the beach. What brought <i>me</i> was concern for you; I would +not have you ruined by this same pestilent wealth, this temptation for +plunderers; many is the man it has sunk in helpless misery. Take my advice, and +fling it bodily into the sea; a good man, to whom the wealth of philosophy is +revealed, has no need of the other. It does not matter about deep water, my +good sir; wade in up to your waist when the tide is near flood, and <i>let no +one see you but me</i>. Or if that is not satisfactory, here is another plan +even better. Get it all out of the house as quick as you can, not reserving a +penny for yourself, and distribute it to the poor five shillings to one, five +pounds to another, a hundred to a third; philosophy might constitute a claim to +a double or triple share. For my part—and I do not ask for myself, only +to divide it among my needy friends—I should be quite content with as +much as my scrip would hold; it is something short of two standard bushels; if +one professes philosophy, one must be moderate and have few needs—none +that go beyond the capacity of a scrip. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Very right, Thrasycles. But instead of a mere scripful, pray take a +whole headful of clouts, standard measure by the spade. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Thr</i>. Land of liberty, equality, legality! protect me against this +ruffian! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. What is your grievance, my good man? is the measure short? here is +a pint or two extra, then, to put it right. +</p> + +<p> +Why, what now? here comes a crowd; friend Blepsias, Laches, Gniphon; their name +is legion; they shall howl soon. I had better get up on the rock; my poor tired +spade wants a little rest; I will collect all the stones I can lay hands on, +and pepper them at long range. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Bl</i>. Don’t throw, Timon; we are going. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tim</i>. Whether the retreat will be bloodless, however, is another +question. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap08"></a>PROMETHEUS ON CAUCASUS</h3> + +<p> +<i>Hermes. Hephaestus. Prometheus.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. This, Hephaestus, is the Caucasus, to which it is our painful duty +to nail our companion. We have now to select a suitable crag, free from snow, +on which the chains will have a good hold, and the prisoner will hang in all +publicity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. True. It will not do to fix him too low down, or these <i>men</i> +of his might come to their maker’s assistance; nor at the top, where he would +be invisible from the earth. What do you say to a middle course? Let him hang +over this precipice, with his arms stretched across from crag to crag. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. The very thing. Steep rocks, slightly overhanging, inaccessible on +every side; no foothold but a mere ledge, with scarcely room for the tips of +one’s toes; altogether a sweet spot for a crucifixion. Now, Prometheus, come +and be nailed up; there is no time to lose. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Nay, hear me; Hephaestus! Hermes! I suffer injustice: have +compassion on my woes! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. In other words, disobey orders, and promptly be gibbeted in your +stead! Do you suppose there is not room on the Caucasus to peg out a couple of +us? Come, your right hand! clamp it down, Hephaestus, and in with the nails; +bring down the hammer with a will. Now the left; make sure work of that +too.—So!—The eagle will shortly be here, to trim your liver; so +ingenious an artist is entitled to every attention. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. O Cronus, and Iapetus, and Mother Earth! Behold the sufferings of +the innocent! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, as to innocence,—to begin with, there was that business +of the sacrificial meats, your manner of distributing which was most unfair, +most disingenuous: you got all the choice parts for yourself, and put Zeus off +with bones ‘wrapped up in shining fat’; I remember the passage in Hesiod; those +are his very words. Then you made these human beings; creatures of unparalleled +wickedness, the women especially. And to crown all, you stole fire, the most +precious possession of the Gods, and gave it to them. And with all this on your +conscience, you protest that you have done nothing to deserve captivity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Ah, Hermes; you are as bad as Hector; you ‘blame the blameless.’ +For such crimes as these, I deserve a round pension, if justice were done. And +by the way, I should like, if you can spare the time, to answer to these +charges, and satisfy you of the injustice of my sentence. You can employ your +practised eloquence on behalf of Zeus, and justify his conduct in nailing me up +here at the Gates of the Caspian, for all Scythia to behold and pity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. There is nothing to be gained now by an appeal to another court; it +is too late. Proceed, however. We have to wait in any case till the eagle comes +to look after that liver of yours; and the time might be worse spent than in +listening to the subtleties of such a master in impudence as yourself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. You begin then, Hermes. Exert all your powers of invective; leave +no stone unturned to establish the righteousness of papa’s +judgements.—You, Hephaestus, shall compose the jury. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. The jury! Not a bit of it; I am a party in this case. My furnace +has been cold, ever since you stole that fire. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Well, at this rate you had better divide the prosecution between +you. You conduct the case of larceny, and Hermes can handle the man-making, and +the misappropriation of meat. I shall expect a great deal of you; you are both +artists. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Hermes shall speak for me. The law is not in my line; my forge +takes up most of my time. But Hermes is an orator; he has made a study of these +things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Well! I should never have thought that Hermes would have the heart +to reproach me with larceny; he ought to have a fellow-feeling for me there. +However, with this further responsibility on your shoulders, there is no time +to be lost, son of Maia; out with your accusation, and have done with it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. To deal adequately with your crimes, Prometheus, would require many +words and much preparation. It is not enough to mention the several counts of +the accusation; how, entrusted with the distribution of meats, you defrauded +the crown by retaining the choicer portions for your own use; how you created +the race of men, with absolutely no justification for so doing; how you stole +fire and conveyed it to these same men. You seem not to realize, my friend, +that, all-things considered, Zeus has dealt very handsomely by you. Now, if you +deny the charges, I shall be compelled to establish your guilt at some length, +and to set the facts in the clearest possible light. But if you admit the +distribution of meat in the manner described, the introduction of men, and the +theft of fire,—then my case is complete, and there is no more to be said. +To expatiate further would be to talk nonsense. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Perhaps there has been some nonsense talked already; that remains +to be seen. But as you say your case is now complete, I will see what I can do +in the way of refutation. And first about that meat. Though, upon my word, I +blush for Zeus when I name it: to think that he should be so touchy about +trifles, as to send off a God of my quality to crucifixion, just because he +found a little bit of bone in his share! Does he forget the services I have +rendered him? And does he think what it is that he is so angry about, and how +childish it is to show temper about a little thing like that? What if he did +miss getting the better share? Why, Hermes, these tricks that are played over +the wine-cups are not worth thinking twice about. A joke, perhaps, is carried a +little too far, in the warmth of the feast; still, it is a joke, and resentment +should be left behind in the dregs of the bowl. I have no patience with your +long memories; this nursing of grievances, this raking up of last night’s +squabbles, is unworthy of a king, let alone a king of Gods. Once take away from +our feasts the little elegancies of quip and crank and wile, and what is left? +Muzziness; repletion; silence;—cheerful accompaniments these to the +wine-bowl! For my part, I never supposed that Zeus would give the matter a +thought the next morning; much less that he would make such a stir about it, +and think himself so mightily injured; my little manoeuvre with the meat was +merely a playful experiment, to see which he would choose. It might have been +worse. Instead of giving him the inferior half, I might have defrauded him of +the whole. And what if I had? Would that have been a case for putting heaven +and earth in commotion, for deep designs of chain and cross and Caucasus, +dispatchings of eagles, rendings of livers? These things tell a sad tale, do +they not, of the puny soul, the little mind, the touchy temper of the aggrieved +party? How would he take the loss of a whole ox, who storms to such purpose +over a few pounds of meat? How much more reasonable is the conduct of mortals, +though one would have expected them to be more irritable than Gods! A mortal +would never want his cook crucified for dipping a finger into the stew-pan, or +filching a mouthful from the roast; they overlook these things. At the worst +their resentment is satisfied with a box on the ears or a rap on the head. I +find no precedent among them for crucifixion in such cases. So much for the +affair of the meat; there is little credit to be got in the refutation of such +a charge, and still less in the bringing of it. +</p> + +<p> +I am next to speak of my creation of mankind. And here the terms of your +accusation are ambiguous. I have to choose between two distinct possibilities. +Do you maintain that I had no right to create men at all, that I ought to have +left the senseless clay alone? Or do you only complain of the form in which I +designed them? However, I shall have something to say on both points. I shall +first endeavour to show that no harm has accrued to the Gods from my bringing +mankind into existence; and shall then proceed to the positive advantages and +improvements which have resulted to them from the peopling of the earth. The +question as to the harm done by my innovation is best answered by an appeal to +the past, to those days when the race of heaven-born Gods stood alone, and +earth was a hideous shapeless mass, a tangle of rude vegetation. The Gods had +no altars then, nor temples (for who should raise them?), no images of wood or +stone, such as now abound in every corner of the earth, and are honoured with +all observance. It was to me that the idea occurred—amid my ceaseless +meditations on the common welfare, on the aggrandizement of the Gods and the +promotion of order and beauty in the universe—of setting all to rights +with a handful of clay; of creating living things, and moulding them after our +own likeness. I saw what was lacking to our godhead: some counterpart, some +foil wherein to set off its blessedness. And that counterpart must be mortal; +but in all else exquisitely contrived, perfect in intelligence, keen to +appreciate our superiority. Thereupon, I moulded my material, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +With water mingling clay, +</p> + +<p> +and created man, calling in Athene to aid me in the task. And this is my rank +offence against the Gods. Destructive work,—to reduce inanimate clay to +life and motion! The Gods, it seems, are Gods no longer, now that there are +mortal creatures on the earth. To judge at least by Zeus’s indignation, one +would suppose that the Gods suffered some loss of prestige from the creation of +mankind; unless it is that he is afraid of another revolt, of their waging war +with heaven, like the Giants. +</p> + +<p> +That the cause of the Gods suffered nothing at my hands is evident; show me the +slightest instance to the contrary, and I will say no more; I have but my +deserts. But for the positive benefits I have conferred, use the evidence of +your eyes. The earth, no longer barren and untilled, is decked with cities and +farms and the fruits of cultivation; the sea has its ships, the islands their +inhabitants. Everywhere are altars and temples, everywhere festivals and +sacrifices: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Zeus with his presence fills their gatherings,<br/> + He fills their streets.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +Had I created mankind for my own private convenience, it might perhaps have +denoted a grasping spirit: but I made them common property; they are at the +service of every God of you. Nay more: temples of Zeus, and Apollo, and Hera, +temples of Hermes, are everywhere to be seen; but who ever saw a temple of +Prometheus? You may judge from this, how far I have sacrificed the common cause +to my private ambition. +</p> + +<p> +And further. Consider, Hermes: can any good thing whatsoever, be it gift of +Nature or work of our hands, give the full measure of enjoyment to its +possessor, when there is none to see, none to admire? You see whither my +question tends? But for mankind, the glories of the universe must have been +without a witness; and there was little satisfaction to be derived from a +wealth which was doomed to excite no envy in others. We should have lacked a +standard for comparison; and should never have known the extent of our +happiness, while all were as happy as ourselves. The great is not great, till +it is compared with the small. Yet instead of honouring me for my political +insight, you crucify me; such are the wages of wisdom! +</p> + +<p> +Ah, but (you will say) there is so much wickedness among them; adultery, war, +incest, parricide. Well, I fancy these are not unknown among ourselves? And I +am sure no one would think that a reason for saying that Uranus and Ge made a +mistake in creating us. Or again, you will complain that we have so much +trouble in looking after them. At that rate, a shepherd ought to object to the +possession of a flock, because he has to look after it. Besides, a certain show +of occupation is rather gratifying than otherwise; the responsibility is not +unwelcome,—it helps to pass the time. What should we do, if we had not +mankind to think of? There would be nothing to live for; we should sit about +drinking nectar and gorging ourselves with ambrosia. But what fairly takes away +my breath is, your assurance in finding fault with my <i>women</i> in +particular, when all the time you are in love with them: our bulls and satyrs +and swans are never tired of making descents upon the Earth; women, they find, +are good enough to be made the mothers of Gods! +</p> + +<p> +Yes, yes (you will say), it was quite right that men should be created, but +they should not have been made in our likeness. And what better model could I +have taken than this, whose perfection I knew? Was I to make them brute beasts +without understanding? Had they been other than they are, how should they have +paid you due honour and sacrifice? When the hecatombs are getting ready, you +think nothing of a journey to the ends of the earth to see the ‘blameless +Ethiopians’; and my reward for procuring you these advantages +is—crucifixion! But on this subject I have said enough. +</p> + +<p> +And now, with your permission, I will approach the subject of that stolen fire, +of which we hear so much. I have a question to ask, which I beg you will answer +frankly. Has there been one spark less fire in Heaven, since men shared it with +us? Of course not. It is the nature of fire, that it does not become less by +being imparted to others. A fire is not put out by kindling another from it. +No, this is sheer envy: you cannot bear that men should have a share of this +necessary, though you have suffered no harm thereby. For shame! Gods should be +beneficent, ‘givers of good’; they should be above all envy. Had I taken away +fire altogether, and left not a spark behind, it would have been no great loss. +You have no use for it. You are never cold; you need no artificial light; nor +is ambrosia improved by boiling. To man, on the other hand, fire is +indispensable for many purposes, particularly for those of sacrifice; how else +are they to fill their streets with the savour of burnt-offerings, and the +fumes of frankincense? how else to burn fat thigh-pieces upon your altars? I +observe that you take a particular pleasure in the steam arising therefrom, and +think no feast more delicious than the smell of roast meat, as it mounts +heavenwards +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In eddying clouds of smoke. +</p> + +<p> +Your present complaint, you see, is sadly at variance with this taste. I wonder +you do not forbid the Sun to shine on mankind. He too is of fire, and fire of a +purer and diviner quality. Has anything been said to <i>him</i> about his +lavish expenditure of your property? +</p> + +<p> +And now I have done. If there is any flaw in my defence, it is for you two to +refute me. I shall answer your objections in due course. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Nay, you are too hard for us, Prometheus; we will not attempt a +sophist of your mettle. Well for you that Zeus is not within earshot, or you +would have had a round dozen of hungry vultures to reckon with, for certain; in +clearing your own character, you have grievously mishandled his. But one thing +puzzles me: you are a prophet; you ought to have foreseen your sentence. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. All this I knew, and more than this; for I shall be released; nay, +even now the day is not far off when one of your blood shall come from Thebes, +and shoot this eagle with which you threaten me [Footnote: See +<i>Prometheus</i> in Notes.]. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. With all my heart! I shall be delighted to see you free again, and +feasting in our midst; but not, my friend, not carving for us! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. You may take my word for it; I shall be with you again. I have the +wherewithal to pay abundantly for my ransom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh, indeed? Come, tell us all about it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. You know Thetis—But no; the secret is best kept. Ransom and +reward depend upon it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, you know best. Now, Hephaestus, we must be going; see, here +comes the eagle.—Bear a brave heart, Prometheus; and all speed to your +Theban archer, who is to set a term to this creature’s activity. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap09"></a>DIALOGUES OF THE GODS</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p> +<i>Prometheus. Zeus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Release me, Zeus; I have suffered enough. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Release you? you? Why, by rights your irons should be heavier, you +should have the whole weight of Caucasus upon you, and instead of one, a dozen +vultures, not just pecking at your liver, but scratching out your eyes. You +made these abominable human creatures to vex us, you stole our fire, you +invented women. I need not remind you how you overreached me about the +meat-offerings; my portion, bones disguised in fat: yours, all the good. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. And have I not been punished enough—riveted to the Caucasus +all these years, feeding your bird (on which all worst curses light!) with my +liver? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. ’Tis not a tithe of your deserts. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Consider, I do not ask you to release me for nothing. I offer you +information which is invaluable. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Promethean wiles! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Wiles? to what end? you can find the Caucasus another time; and +there are chains to be had, if you catch me cheating. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Tell me first the nature of your ‘invaluable’ offer. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. If I tell you your present errand right, will that convince you +that I can prophesy too? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Of course it will. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. You are bound on a little visit to Thetis. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Right so far. And the sequel? I trust you now. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Have no dealings with her, Zeus. As sure as Nereus’s daughter +conceives by you, your child shall mete you the measure you meted to— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. I shall lose my kingdom, you would say? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Prom</i>. Avert it, Fate! I say only, that union portends this issue. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Thetis, farewell! and for this Hephaestus shall set you free. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p> +<i>Eros. Zeus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. You might let me off, Zeus! I suppose it <i>was</i> rather too bad +of me; but there!—I am but a child; a wayward child. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. A child, and born before Iapetus was ever thought of? You bad old +man! Just because you have no beard, and no white hairs, are you going to pass +yourself off for a child? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Well, and what such mighty harm has the old man ever done you, +that you should talk of chains? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Ask your own guilty conscience, what harm. The pranks you have +played me! Satyr, bull, swan, eagle, shower of gold,—I have been +everything in my time; and I have you to thank for it. You never by any chance +make the women in love with <i>me</i>; no one is ever smitten with <i>my</i> +charms, that I have noticed. No, there must be magic in it always; I must be +kept well out of sight. They like the bull or the swan well enough: but once +let them set eyes on <i>me</i>, and they are frightened out of their lives. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Well, of course. They are but mortals; the sight of Zeus is too +much for them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Then why are Branchus and Hyacinth so fond of Apollo? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Daphne ran away from him, anyhow; in spite of his beautiful hair +and his smooth chin. Now, shall I tell you the way to win hearts? Keep that +aegis of yours quiet, and leave the thunderbolt at home; make yourself as smart +as you can; curl your hair and tie it up with a bit of ribbon, get a purple +cloak, and gold-bespangled shoes, and march forth to the music of flute and +drum;—and see if you don’t get a finer following than Dionysus, for all +his Maenads. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Pooh! I’ll win no hearts on such terms. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Oh, in that case, don’t fall in love. Nothing could be simpler. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. I dare say; but I like being in love, only I don’t like all this +fuss. Now mind; if I let you off, it is on this understanding. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<p> +<i>Zeus. Hermes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Hermes, you know Inachus’s beautiful daughter? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I do. Io, you mean? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Yes; she is not a girl now, but a heifer. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Magic at work! how did that come about? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Hera had a jealous fit, and transformed her. But that is not all; +she has thought of a new punishment for the poor thing. She has put a cowherd +in charge, who is all over eyes; this Argus, as he is called, pastures the +heifer, and never goes to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, what am I to do? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Fly down to Nemea, where the pasture is, kill Argus, take Io +across the sea to Egypt, and convert her into Isis. She shall be henceforth an +Egyptian Goddess, flood the Nile, regulate the winds, and rescue mariners. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hera. Zeus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Zeus! What is your opinion of this man Ixion? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Why, my dear, I think he is a very good sort of man; and the best +of company. Indeed, if he were unworthy of our company, he would not be here. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. He <i>is</i> unworthy! He is a villain! Discard him! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Eh? What has he been after? I must know about this. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Certainly you must; though I scarce know how to tell you. The +wretch! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Oh, oh; if he is a ‘wretch,’ you must certainly tell me all about +it. I know what ‘wretch’ means, on your discreet tongue. What, he has been +making love? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. And to me! to me of all people! It has been going on for a long +time. At first, when he would keep looking at me, I had no idea—. And +then he would sigh and groan; and when I handed my cup to Ganymede after +drinking, he would insist on having it, and would stop drinking to kiss it, and +lift it up to his eyes; and then he would look at me again. And then of course +I knew. For a long time I didn’t like to say anything to you; I thought his mad +fit would pass. But when he actually dared to <i>speak</i> to me, I left him +weeping and groveling about, and stopped my ears, so that I might not hear his +impertinences, and came to tell you. It is for you to consider what steps you +will take. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Whew! I have a rival, I find; and with my own lawful wife. Here is +a rascal who has tippled nectar to some purpose. Well, we have no one but +ourselves to blame for it: we make too much of these mortals, admitting them to +our table like this. When they drink of our nectar, and behold the beauties of +Heaven (so different from those of Earth!), ’tis no wonder if they fall in +love, and form ambitious schemes! Yes, Love is all-powerful; and not with +mortals only: we Gods have sometimes fallen beneath his sway. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. He has made himself master of <i>you</i>; no doubt of that. He +does what he likes with you;—leads you by the nose. You follow him +whither he chooses, and assume every shape at his command; you are his chattel, +his toy. I know how it will be: you are going to let Ixion off, because you +have had relations with his wife; she is the mother of Pirithous. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Why, what a memory you have for these little outings of +mine!—Now, my idea about Ixion is this. It would never do to punish him, +or to exclude him from our table; that would not look well. No; as he is so +fond of you, so hard hit—even to weeping point, you tell me,— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Zeus! What <i>are</i> you going to say? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Don’t be alarmed. Let us make a cloud-phantom in your likeness, +and after dinner, as he lies awake (which of course he will do, being in love), +let us take it and lay it by his side. ’Twill put him out of his pain: he will +fancy he has attained his desire. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Never! The presumptuous villain! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Yes, I know. But what harm can it do to you, if Ixion makes a +conquest of a cloud? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. But he will think that <i>I</i> am the cloud; he will be working +his wicked will upon <i>me</i> for all he can tell. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Now you are talking nonsense. The cloud is not Hera, and Hera is +not the cloud. Ixion will be deceived; that is all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Yes, but these men are all alike—they have no delicacy. I +suppose, when he goes home, he will boast to every one of how he has enjoyed +the embraces of Hera, the wife of Zeus! Why, he may tell them that <i>I</i> am +in love with <i>him</i>! And they will believe it; <i>they</i> will know +nothing about the cloud. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. If he says anything of the kind he shall soon find himself in +Hades, spinning round on a wheel for all eternity. That will keep him busy! And +serve him right; not for falling in love—I see no great harm in +that—but for letting his tongue wag. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hephaestus. Apollo</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Have you seen Maia’s baby, Apollo? such a pretty little thing, +with a smile for everybody; you can see it is going to be a treasure. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. That baby a treasure? well, in mischief, Iapetus is young beside it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Why, what harm can it do, only just born? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Ask Posidon; it stole his trident. Ask Ares; he was surprised to +find his sword gone out of the scabbard. Not to mention myself, disarmed of bow +and arrows. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Never! that infant? he has hardly found his legs yet; he is not +out of his baby-linen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Ah, you will find out, Hephaestus, if he gets within reach of you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. He has been. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Well? all your tools safe? none missing? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Of course not. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. I advise you to make sure. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Zeus! where are my pincers? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Ah, you will find them among the baby-linen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. So light-fingered? one would swear he had practised petty larceny +in the womb. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Ah, and you don’t know what a glib young chatterbox he is; and, if +he has his way, he is to be our errand-boy! Yesterday he challenged +Eros—tripped up his heels somehow, and had him on his back in a +twinkling; before the applause was over, he had taken the opportunity of a +congratulatory hug from Aphrodite to steal her girdle; Zeus had not done +laughing before—the sceptre was gone. If the thunderbolt had not been too +heavy, and very hot, he would have made away with that too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. The child has some spirit in him, by your account. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Spirit, yes—and some music, moreover, young as he is. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. How can you tell that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. He picked up a dead tortoise somewhere or other, and contrived an +instrument with it. He fitted horns to it, with a cross-bar, stuck in pegs, +inserted a bridge, and played a sweet tuneful thing that made an old harper +like me quite envious. Even at night, Maia was saying, he does not stay in +Heaven; he goes down poking his nose into Hades—on a thieves’ errand, no +doubt. Then he has a pair of wings, and he has made himself a magic wand, which +he uses for marshalling souls—convoying the dead to their place. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Ah, I gave him that, for a toy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. And by way of payment he stole— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Well thought on; I must go and get them; you may be right about +the baby-linen. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<p> +VIII <i>Hephaestus. Zeus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. What are your orders, Zeus? You sent for me, and here I am; with +such an edge to my axe as would cleave a stone at one blow. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Ah; that’s right, Hephaestus. Just split my head in half, will +you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. You think I am mad, perhaps?—Seriously, now, what can I do +for you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. What I say: crack my skull. Any insubordination, now, and you +shall taste my resentment; it will not be the first time. Come, a good lusty +stroke, and quick about it. I am in the pangs of travail; my brain is in a +whirl. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. Mind you, the consequences may be serious: the axe is sharp, and +will prove but a rough midwife. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Hew away, and fear nothing. I know what I am about. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. H’m. I don’t like it: however, one must obey orders…. Why, what +have we here? A maiden in full armour! This is no joke, Zeus. You might well be +waspish, with this great girl growing up beneath your <i>pia mater</i>; in +armour, too! You have been carrying a regular barracks on your shoulders all +this time. So active too! See, she is dancing a war-dance, with shield and +spear in full swing. She is like one inspired; and (what is more to the point) +she is extremely pretty, and has come to marriageable years in these few +minutes; those grey eyes, even, look well beneath a helmet. Zeus, I claim her +as the fee for my midwifery. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Impossible! She is determined to remain a maid for ever. Not that +<i>I</i> have any objection, personally. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heph</i>. That is all I want. You can leave the rest to me. I’ll carry her +off this moment. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Well, if you think it so easy. But I am sure it is a hopeless +case. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Aphrodite. Selene</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. What is this I hear about you, Selene? When your car is over Caria, +you stop it to gaze at Endymion sleeping hunter-fashion in the open; sometimes, +they tell me, you actually get out and go down to him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sel</i>. Ah, Aphrodite, ask that son of yours; it is he must answer for it +all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Well now, what a naughty boy! he gets his own mother into all sorts +of scrapes; I must go down, now to Ida for Anchises of Troy, now to Lebanon for +my Assyrian stripling;—mine? no, he put Persephone in love with him too, +and so robbed me of half my darling. I have told him many a time that if he +would not behave himself I would break his artillery for him, and clip his +wings; and before now I have smacked his little behind with my slipper. It is +no use; he is frightened and cries for a minute or two, and then forgets all +about it. But tell me, is Endymion handsome? That is always a comfort in our +humiliation. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sel</i>. <i>Most</i> handsome, <i>I</i> think, my dear; you should see him +when he has spread out his cloak on the rock and is asleep; his javelins in his +left hand, just slipping from his grasp, the right arm bent upwards, making a +bright frame to the face, and he breathing softly in helpless slumber. Then I +come noiselessly down, treading on tiptoe not to wake and startle him—but +there, you know all about it; why tell you the rest? I am dying of love, that +is all. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Aphrodite. Eros</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Child, child, you must think what you are doing. It is bad enough +on earth,—you are always inciting men to do some mischief, to themselves +or to one another;—but I am speaking of the Gods. You change Zeus into +shape after shape as the fancy takes you; you make Selene come down from the +sky; you keep Helius loitering about with Clymene, till he sometimes forgets to +drive out at all. As for the naughty tricks you play on your own mother, you +know you are safe there. But Rhea! how could you <i>dare</i> to set her on +thinking of that young fellow in Phrygia, an old lady like her, the mother of +so many Gods? Why, you have made her quite mad: she harnesses those lions of +hers, and drives about all over Ida with the Corybantes, who are as mad as +herself, shrieking high and low for Attis; and there they are, slashing their +arms with swords, rushing about over the hills, like wild things, with +dishevelled hair, blowing horns, beating drums, clashing cymbals; all Ida is +one mad tumult. I am quite uneasy about it; yes, you wicked boy, your poor +mother is quite uneasy: some day when Rhea is in one of her mad fits (or when +she is in her senses, more likely), she will send the Corybantes after you, +with orders to tear you to pieces, or throw you to the lions. You are so +venturesome! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Be under no alarm, mother; I understand lions perfectly by this +time. I get on to their backs every now and then, and take hold of their manes, +and ride them about; and when I put my hand into their mouths, they only lick +it, and let me take it out again. Besides, how is Rhea going to have time to +attend to me? She is too busy with Attis. And I see no harm in just pointing +out beautiful things to people; they can leave them alone;—it is nothing +to do with me. And how would you like it if Ares were not in love with you, or +you with him? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Masterful boy! always the last word! But you will remember this +some day. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Zeus. Asclepius. Heracles</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Now, Asclepius and Heracles, stop that quarrelling; you might as +well be men; such behaviour is very improper and out of place at the table of +the Gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Is this druggist fellow to have a place above me, Zeus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Asc</i>. Of course I am; I am your better. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, you numskull? because it was Zeus’s bolt that cracked your +skull, for your unholy doings, and now you have been allowed your immortality +again out of sheer pity? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Asc</i>. You twit me with my fiery end; you seem to have forgotten that you +too were burnt to death, on Oeta. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Was there no difference between your life and mine, then? I am +Zeus’s son, and it is well known how I toiled, cleansing the earth, conquering +monsters, and chastising men of violence. Whereas you are a root-grubber and a +quack; I dare say you have your use for doctoring sick men, but you never did a +bold deed in your life. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Asc</i>. That comes well from you, whose burns I healed, when you came up +all singed not so long ago; between the tunic and the flames, your body was +half consumed. Anyhow, it would be enough to mention that I was never a slave +like you, never combed wool in Lydia, masquerading in a purple shawl and being +slippered by an Omphale, never killed my wife and children in a fit of the +spleen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her.</i> If you don’t stop being rude, I shall soon show you that +immortality is not much good. I will take you up and pitch you head over heels +out of Heaven, and Apollo himself shall never mend your broken crown. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus.</i> +Cease, I say, and let us hear ourselves speak, or I will send you both away +from table. Heracles, Asclepius died before you, and has the right to a better +place. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hermes. Apollo</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why so sad, Apollo? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Alas, Hermes,—my love! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh; that’s bad. What, are you still brooding over that affair of +Daphne? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. No. I grieve for my beloved; the Laconian, the son of Oebalus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Hyacinth? he is not dead? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Dead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Who killed him? Who could have the heart? That lovely boy! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. It was the work of my own hand. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. You must have been mad! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Not mad; it was an accident. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh? and how did it happen? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. He was learning to throw the quoit, and I was throwing with him. I +had just sent my quoit up into the air as usual, when jealous Zephyr (damned be +he above all winds! he had long been in love with Hyacinth, though Hyacinth +would have nothing to say to him)—Zephyr came blustering down from +Taygetus, and dashed the quoit upon the child’s head; blood flowed from the +wound in streams, and in one moment all was over. My first thought was of +revenge; I lodged an arrow in Zephyr, and pursued his flight to the mountain. +As for the child, I buried him at Amyclae, on the fatal spot; and from his +blood I have caused a flower to spring up, sweetest, fairest of flowers, +inscribed with letters of woe.—Is my grief unreasonable? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. It is, Apollo. You knew that you had set your heart upon a mortal: +grieve not then for his mortality. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hermes. Apollo</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. To think that a cripple and a blacksmith like him should marry two +such queens of beauty as Aphrodite and Charis! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Luck, Hermes—that is all. But I do wonder at their putting up +with his company; they see him running with sweat, bent over the forge, all +sooty-faced; and yet they cuddle and kiss him, and sleep with him! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes, it makes me angry too; how I envy him! Ah, Apollo, you may let +your locks grow, and play your harp, and be proud of your looks; I am a healthy +fellow, and can touch the lyre; but, when it comes to bedtime, we lie alone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Well, my loves never prosper; Daphne and Hyacinth were my great +passions; she so detested me that being turned to a tree was more attractive +than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me of them but wreaths +of their leaves and flowers. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, once, once, I and Aphrodite—but no; no boasting. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. I know; that is how Hermaphroditus is accounted for. But perhaps you +can tell me how it is that Aphrodite and Charis are not jealous of one another. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Because one is his wife in Lemnus and the other in Heaven. Besides, +Aphrodite cares most about Ares; he is her real love; so she does not trouble +her head about the blacksmith. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Do you think Hephaestus sees? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh, he sees, yes; but what can he do? he knows what a martial young +fellow it is; so he holds his tongue. He talks of inventing a net, though, to +take them in the act with. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Ah, all I know is, I would not mind being taken in that act. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XVI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hera. Leto</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. I must congratulate you, madam, on the children with whom you have +presented Zeus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Leto</i>. Ah, madam; we cannot all be the proud mothers of Hephaestuses. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. My boy may be a cripple, but at least he is of some use. He is a +wonderful smith, and has made Heaven look another place; and Aphrodite thought +him worth marrying, and dotes on him still. But those two of yours !—that +girl is wild and mannish to a degree; and now she has gone off to Scythia, and +her doings <i>there</i> are no secret; she is as bad as any Scythian +herself,—butchering strangers and eating them! Apollo, too, who pretends +to be so clever, with his bow and his lyre and his medicine and his prophecies; +those oracle-shops that he has opened at Delphi, and Clarus, and Dindyma, are a +cheat; he takes good care to be on the safe side by giving ambiguous answers +that no one can understand, and makes money out of it, for there are plenty of +fools who like being imposed upon,—but sensible people know well enough +that most of it is clap-trap. The prophet did not know that he was to kill his +favourite with a quoit; he never foresaw that Daphne would run away from him, +so handsome as he is, too, such beautiful hair! I am not sure, after all, that +there is much to choose between your children and Niobe’s. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Leto</i>. Oh, of course; my children are butchers and impostors. I know how +you hate the sight of them. You cannot bear to hear my girl complimented on her +looks, or my boy’s playing admired by the company. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. His playing, madam!—excuse a smile;—why, if the Muses +had not favoured him, his contest with Marsyas would have cost him his skin; +poor Marsyas was shamefully used on that occasion; ’twas a judicial +murder.—As for your charming daughter, when Actaeon once caught sight of +her charms, she had to set the dogs upon him, for fear he should tell all he +knew: I forbear to ask where the innocent child picked up her knowledge of +obstetrics. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Leto</i>. You set no small value on yourself, madam, because you are the +wife of Zeus, and share his throne; you may insult whom you please. But there +will be tears presently, when the next bull or swan sets out on his travels, +and you are left neglected. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XVIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hera. Zeus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Well, Zeus, I should be ashamed if <i>I</i> had such a son; so +effeminate, and so given to drinking; tying up his hair in a ribbon, indeed! +and spending most of his time among mad women, himself as much a woman as any +of them; dancing to flute and drum and cymbal! He resembles any one rather than +his father. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Anyhow, my dear, this wearer of ribbons, this woman among women, +not content with conquering Lydia, subduing Thrace, and enthralling the people +of Tmolus, has been on an expedition all the way to India with his womanish +host, captured elephants, taken possession of the country, and led their king +captive after a brief resistance. And he never stopped dancing all the time, +never relinquished the thyrsus and the ivy; always drunk (as you say) and +always inspired! If any scoffer presumes to make light of his ceremonial, he +does not go unpunished; he is bound with vine-twigs; or his own mother mistakes +him for a fawn, and tears him limb from limb. Are not these manful doings, +worthy of a son of Zeus? No doubt he is fond of his comforts, too, and his +amusements; we need not complain of that: you may judge from his drunken +achievements, what a handful the fellow would be if he were sober. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. I suppose you will tell me next, that the invention of wine is +very much to his credit; though you see for yourself how drunken men stagger +about and misbehave themselves; one would think the liquor had made them mad. +Look at Icarius, the first to whom he gave the vine: beaten to death with +mattocks by his own boon companions! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Pooh, nonsense. That is not Dionysus’s fault, nor the wine’s +fault; it comes of the immoderate use of it. Men <i>will</i> drink their wine +neat, and drink too much of it. Taken in moderation, it engenders cheerfulness +and benevolence. Dionysus is not likely to treat any of his guests as Icarius +was treated.—No; I see what it is:—you are jealous, my love; you +can’t forget about Semele, and so you must disparage the noble achievements of +her son. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XIX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Aphrodite</i>. <i>Eros</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Eros, dear, you have had your victories over most of the +Gods—Zeus, Posidon, Rhea, Apollo, nay, your own mother; how is it you +make an exception for Athene? against her your torch has no fire, your quiver +no arrows, your right hand no cunning. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. I am afraid of her, mother; those awful flashing eyes! she is like +a man, only worse. When I go against her with my arrow on the string, a toss of +her plume frightens me; my hand shakes so that it drops the bow. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. I should have thought Ares was more terrible still; but you +disarmed and conquered him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Ah, he is only too glad to have me; he calls me to him. Athene +always eyes me so! once when I flew close past her, quite by accident, with my +torch, ‘If you come near me,’ she called out, ‘I swear by my father, I will run +you through with my spear, or take you by the foot and drop you into Tartarus, +or tear you in pieces with my own hands’—and more such dreadful things. +And she has such a sour look; and then on her breast she wears that horrid face +with the snaky hair; that frightens me worst of all; the nasty bogy—I run +away directly I see it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Well, well, you are afraid of Athene and the Gorgon; at least so +you say, though you do not mind Zeus’s thunderbolt a bit. But why do you let +the Muses go scot free? do <i>they</i> toss their plumes and hold out Gorgons’ +heads? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Ah, mother, they make me bashful; they are so grand, always +studying and composing; I love to stand there listening to their music. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Let them pass too, because they are grand. And why do you never +take a shot at Artemis? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. Why, the great thing is that I cannot catch her; she is always +over the hills and far away. But besides that, her heart is engaged already. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Where, child? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eros</i>. In hunting stags and fawns; she is so fleet, she catches them up, +or else shoots them; she can think of nothing else. Her brother, now, though he +is an archer too, and draws a good arrow— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. I know, child, you have hit <i>him</i> often enough. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XX.<br/> +THE JUDGEMENT OF PARIS</h4> + +<p> +<i>Zeus. Hermes. Hera. Athene. Aphrodite. Paris</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Hermes, take this apple, and go with it to Phrygia; on the +Gargaran peak of Ida you will find Priam’s son, the herdsman. Give him this +message: ‘Paris, because you are handsome, and wise in the things of love, Zeus +commands you to judge between the Goddesses, and say which is the most +beautiful. And the prize shall be this apple.’—Now, you three, there is +no time to be lost: away with you to your judge. I will have nothing to do with +the matter: I love you all exactly alike, and I only wish you could all three +win. If I were to give the prize to one of you, the other two would hate me, of +course. In these circumstances, I am ill qualified to be your judge. But this +young Phrygian to whom you are going is of the royal blood—a relation of +Ganymede’s,—and at the same time a simple countryman; so that we need +have no hesitation in trusting his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. As far as I am concerned, Zeus, Momus himself might be our judge; +<i>I</i> should not be afraid to show myself. What fault could he find with +<i>me</i>? But the others must agree too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Oh, we are under no alarm, thank you,—though your admirer +Ares should be appointed. But Paris will do; whoever Paris is. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. And my little Athene; have we her approval? Nay, never blush, nor +hide your face. Well, well, maidens will be coy; ’tis a delicate subject. But +there, she nods consent. Now, off with you; and mind, the beaten ones must not +be cross with the judge; I will not have the poor lad harmed. The prize of +beauty can be but one. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Now for Phrygia. I will show the way; keep close behind me, +ladies, and don’t be nervous. I know Paris well: he is a charming young man; a +great gallant, and an admirable judge of beauty. Depend on it, he will make a +good award. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. I am glad to hear that; I ask for nothing better than a just +judge.—Has he a wife, Hermes, or is he a bachelor? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Not exactly a bachelor. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. What do you mean? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. I believe there is a wife, as it were; a good enough sort of +girl—a native of those parts—but sadly countrified! I fancy he does +not care very much about her.—Why do you ask? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. I just wanted to know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. Now, Hermes, that is not fair. No whispering with Aphrodite. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. It was nothing, Athene; nothing about you. She only asked me +whether Paris was a bachelor. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. What business is that of hers? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. None that I know of. She meant nothing by the question; she just +wanted to know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. Well, and is he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Why, no. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. And does he care for military glory? has he ambition? Or is he a +<i>mere</i> neatherd? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. I couldn’t say for certain. But he is a young man, so it is to be +presumed that distinction on the field of battle is among his desires. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. There, you see; <i>I</i> don’t complain; I say nothing when you +whisper with <i>her</i>. Aphrodite is not so particular as some people. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Athene asked me almost exactly the same as you did; so don’t be +cross. It will do you no harm, my answering a plain question.—Meanwhile, +we have left the stars far behind us, and are almost over Phrygia. There is +Ida: I can make out the peak of Gargarum quite plainly; and if I am not +mistaken, there is Paris himself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Where is he? I don’t see him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Look over there to the left, Hera: not on the top, but down the +side, by that cave where you see the herd. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. But I <i>don’t</i> see the herd. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. What, don’t you see them coming out from between the +rocks,—where I am pointing, look—and the man running down from the +crag, and keeping them together with his staff? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. I see him now; if he it is. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Oh, that is Paris. But we are getting near; it is time to alight +and walk. He might be frightened, if we were to descend upon him so suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Yes; very well. And now that we are on the earth, you might go on +ahead, Aphrodite, and show us the way. You know the country, of course, having +been here so often to see Anchises; or so I have heard. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Your sneers are thrown away on me, Hera. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Come; I’ll lead the way myself. I spent some time on Ida, while +Zeus was courting Ganymede. Many is the time that I have been sent here to keep +watch over the boy; and when at last the eagle came, I flew by his side, and +helped him with his lovely burden. This is the very rock, if I remember; yes, +Ganymede was piping to his sheep, when down swooped the eagle behind him, and +tenderly, oh, so tenderly, caught him up in those talons, and with the turban +in his beak bore him off, the frightened boy straining his neck the while to +see his captor. I picked up his pipes—he had dropped them in his fright +and—ah! here is our umpire, close at hand. Let us accost +him.—Good-morrow, herdsman! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Good-morrow, youngster. And who may you be, who come thus far +afield? And these dames? They are over comely, to be wandering on the +mountain-side. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. ‘These dames,’ good Paris, are Hera, Athene, and Aphrodite; and I +am Hermes, with a message from Zeus. Why so pale and tremulous? Compose +yourself; there is nothing the matter. Zeus appoints you the judge of their +beauty. ‘Because you are handsome, and wise in the things of love’ (so runs the +message), ‘I leave the decision to you; and for the prize,—read the +inscription on the apple.’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Let me see what it is about. FOR THE FAIR, it says. But, my lord +Hermes, how shall a mortal and a rustic like myself be judge of such +unparalleled beauty? This is no sight for a herdsman’s eyes; let the fine city +folk decide on such matters. As for me, I can tell you which of two goats is +the fairer beast; or I can judge betwixt heifer and heifer;—’tis my +trade. But here, where all are beautiful alike, I know not how a man may leave +looking at one, to look upon another. Where my eyes fall, there they +fasten,—for there is beauty: I move them, and what do I find? more +loveliness! I am fixed again, yet distracted by neighbouring charms. I bathe in +beauty: I am enthralled: ah, why am I not <i>all</i> eyes like Argus? Methinks +it were a fair award, to give the apple to all three. Then again: one is the +wife and sister of Zeus; the others are his daughters. Take it where you will, +’tis a hard matter to judge. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. So it is, Paris. At the same time—Zeus’s orders! There is no +way out of it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Well, please point out to them, Hermes, that the losers must not be +angry with me; the fault will be in my eyes only. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. That is quite understood. And now to work. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. I must do what I can; there is no help for it. But first let me +ask,—am I just to look at them as they are, or must I go into the matter +thoroughly? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. That is for you to decide, in virtue of your office. You have only +to give your orders; it is as you think best. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. As I think best? Then I will be thorough. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Herm</i>. Get ready, ladies. Now, Mr. Umpire.—I will look the other +way. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. I approve your decision, Paris. I will be the first to submit +myself to your inspection. You shall see that I have more to boast of than +white arms and large eyes: nought of me but is beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Aphrodite, will you also prepare? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. Oh, Paris,—make her take off that girdle, first; there is +magic in it; she will bewitch you. For that matter, she has no right to come +thus tricked out and painted,—just like a courtesan! She ought to show +herself unadorned. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. They are right about the girdle, madam; it must go. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Oh, very well, Athene: then take off that helmet, and show your +head bare, instead of trying to intimidate the judge with that waving plume. I +suppose you are afraid the colour of your eyes may be noticed, without their +formidable surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. Oh, here is my helmet. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. And here is my girdle. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. Now then. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. God of wonders! What loveliness is here! Oh, rapture! How exquisite +these maiden charms! How dazzling the majesty of Heaven’s true queen! And oh, +how sweet, how enthralling is Aphrodite’s smile! ’Tis too much, too much of +happiness.—But perhaps it would be well for me to view each in detail; +for as yet I doubt, and know not where to look; my eyes are drawn all ways at +once. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Yes, that will be best. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Withdraw then, you and Athene; and let Hera remain. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hera</i>. So be it; and when you have finished your scrutiny, you have next +to consider, how you would like the present which I offer you. Paris, give me +the prize of beauty, and you shall be lord of all Asia. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. I will take no presents. Withdraw. I shall judge as I think right. +Approach, Athene. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ath</i>. Behold. And, Paris, if you will say that I am the fairest, I will +make you a great warrior and conqueror, and you shall always win, in every one +of your battles. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. But I have nothing to do with fighting, Athene. As you see, there +is peace throughout all Lydia and Phrygia, and my father’s dominion is +uncontested. But never mind; I am not going to take your present, but you shall +have fair play. You can robe again and put on your helmet; I have seen. And now +for Aphrodite. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Here I am; take your time, and examine carefully; let nothing +escape your vigilance. And I have something else to say to you, handsome Paris. +Yes, you handsome boy, I have long had an eye on you; I think you must be the +handsomest young fellow in all Phrygia. But it is such a pity that you don’t +leave these rocks and crags, and live in a town; you will lose all your beauty +in this desert. What have you to do with mountains? What satisfaction can your +beauty give to a lot of cows? You ought to have been married long ago; not to +any of these dowdy women hereabouts, but to some Greek girl; an Argive, +perhaps, or a Corinthian, or a Spartan; Helen, now, is a Spartan, and such a +pretty girl—quite as pretty as I am—and so susceptible! Why, if she +once caught sight of <i>you</i>, she would give up everything, I am sure, to go +with you, and a most devoted wife she would be. But you have heard of Helen, of +course? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. No, ma’am; but I should like to hear all about her now. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Well, she is the daughter of Leda, the beautiful woman, you know, +whom Zeus visited in the disguise of a swan. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. And what is she like? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. She is fair, as might be expected from the swan, soft as down (she +was hatched from an egg, you know), and such a lithe, graceful figure; and only +think, she is so much admired, that there was a war because Theseus ran away +with her; and she was a mere child then. And when she grew up, the very first +men in Greece were suitors for her hand, and she was given to Menelaus, who is +descended from Pelops.—Now, if you like, she shall be your wife. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. What, when she is married already? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Tut, child, you are a simpleton: <i>I</i> understand these things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. I should like to understand them too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. You will set out for Greece on a tour of inspection: and when you +get to Sparta, Helen will see you; and for the rest—her falling in love, +and going back with you—that will be my affair. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. But that is what I cannot believe,—that she will forsake her +husband to cross the seas with a stranger, a barbarian. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Trust me for that. I have two beautiful children, Love and Desire. +They shall be your guides. Love will assail her in all his might, and compel +her to love you: Desire will encompass you about, and make you desirable and +lovely as himself; and I will be there to help. I can get the Graces to come +too, and between us we shall prevail. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. How this will end, I know not. All I do know is, that I am in love +with Helen already. I see her before me—I sail for Greece I am in +Sparta—I am on my homeward journey, with her at my side! Ah, why is none +of it true? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Wait. Do not fall in love yet. You have first to secure my interest +with the bride, by your award. The union must be graced with my victorious +presence: your marriage-feast shall be my feast of victory. Love, beauty, +wedlock; all these you may purchase at the price of yonder apple. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. But perhaps after the award you will forget all about <i>me</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. Shall I swear? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. No; but promise once more. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph</i>. I promise that you shall have Helen to wife; that she shall follow +you, and make Troy her home; and I will be present with you, and help you in +all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. And bring Love, and Desire, and the Graces? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aph.</i> Assuredly; and Passion and Hymen as well. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Take the apple: it is yours. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Ares. Hermes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ar</i>. Did you hear Zeus’s threat, Hermes? most complimentary, wasn’t it, +and most practicable? ‘If I choose,’ says he, ‘I could let down a cord from +Heaven, and all of you might hang on to it and do your very best to pull me +down; it would be waste labour; you would never move me. On the other hand, if +I chose to haul up, I should have you all dangling in mid air, with earth and +sea into the bargain and so on; you heard? Well, I dare say he <i>is</i> too +much for any of us individually, but I will never believe he outweighs the +whole of us in a body, or that, even with the makeweight of earth and sea, we +should not get the better of him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Mind what you say, Ares; it is not safe to talk like that; we might +get paid out for chattering. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ar</i>. You don’t suppose I should say this to every one; I am not afraid of +you; I know you can keep a quiet tongue. I <i>must</i> tell you what made me +laugh most while he stormed: I remember not so long ago, when Posidon and Hera +and Athene rebelled and made a plot for his capture and imprisonment, he was +frightened out of his wits; well, there were only three of them, and if Thetis +had not taken pity on him and called in the hundred-handed Briareus to the +rescue, he would actually have been put in chains, with his thunder and his +bolt beside him. When I worked out the sum, I could not help laughing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh, do be quiet; such things are too risky for you to say or me to +listen to. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XXIV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hermes</i>. <i>Maia</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Mother, I am the most miserable god in Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ma</i>. Don’t say such things, child. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Am I to do all the work of Heaven with my own hands, to be hurried +from one piece of drudgery to another, and never say a word? I have to get up +early, sweep the dining-room, lay the cushions and put all to rights; then I +have to wait on Zeus, and take his messages, up and down, all day long; and I +am no sooner back again (no time for a wash) than I have to lay the table; and +there was the nectar to pour out, too, till this new cup-bearer was bought. And +it really is too bad, that when every one else is in bed, I should have to go +off to Pluto with the Shades, and play the usher in Rhadamanthus’s court. It is +not enough that I must be busy all day in the wrestling-ground and the Assembly +and the schools of rhetoric, the dead must have their share in me too. Leda’s +sons take turn and turn about betwixt Heaven and Hades—<i>I</i> have to +be in both every day. And why should the sons of Alemena and Semele, paltry +women, why should they feast at their ease, and I—the son of Maia, the +grandson of Atlas—wait upon them? And now here am I only just back from +Sidon, where he sent me to see after Europa, and before I am in breath +again—off I must go to Argos, in quest of Danae, ‘and you can take +Boeotia on your way,’ says father, ‘and see Antiope.’ I am half dead with it +all. Mortal slaves are better off than I am: they have the chance of being sold +to a new master; I wish I had the same! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ma</i>. Come, come, child. You must do as your father bids you, like a good +boy. Run along now to Argos and Boeotia; don’t loiter, or you will get a +whipping. Lovers are apt to be hasty. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Zeus. Helius</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. What have you been about, you villainous Titan? You have utterly +done for the earth, trusting your car to a silly boy like that; he has got too +near and scorched it in one place, and in another killed everything with frost +by withdrawing the heat too far; there is not a single thing he has not turned +upside down; if I had not seen what was happening and upset him with the +thunderbolt, there would not have been a remnant of mankind left. A pretty +deputy driver! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hel</i>. I was wrong, Zeus; but do not be angry with me; my boy pressed me +so; how could I tell it would turn out so badly? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Oh, of course you didn’t know what a delicate business it is, and +how the slightest divergence ruins everything! it never occurred to you that +the horses are spirited, and want a tight hand! oh no! why, give them their +heads a moment, and they are out of control; just what happened: they carried +him now left, now right, now clean round backwards, and up or down, just at +their own sweet will; he was utterly helpless. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hel</i>. I knew it all; I held out for a long time and told him he mustn’t +drive. But he wept and entreated, and his mother Clymene joined in, and at last +I put him up. I showed him how to stand, and how far he was to mount upwards, +and where to begin descending, and how to hold the reins, and keep the spirited +beasts under control; and I told him how dangerous it was, if he did not keep +the track. But, poor boy, when he found himself in charge of all that fire, and +looking down into yawning space, he was frightened, and no wonder; and the +horses soon knew I was not behind them, took the child’s measure, left the +track, and wrought all this havoc; he let go the reins—I suppose he was +afraid of being thrown out—and held on to the rail. But he has suffered +for it, and my grief is punishment enough for me, Zeus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Punishment enough, indeed! after daring to do such a thing as +that!—Well, I forgive you this time. But if ever you transgress again, or +send another substitute like him, I will show you how much hotter the +thunderbolt is than your fire. Let his sisters bury him by the Eridanus, where +he was upset. They shall weep amber tears and be changed by their grief into +poplars. As for you, repair the car—the pole is broken, and one of the +wheels crushed—, put the horses to and drive yourself. And let this be a +lesson to you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XXVI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Apollo. Hermes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Hermes, have you any idea which of those two is Castor, and which is +Pollux? I never can make out. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. It was Castor yesterday, and Pollux to-day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. How do you tell? They are exactly alike. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, Pollux’s face is scarred with the wounds he got in boxing; +those that Amycus, the Bebrycian, gave him, when he was on that expedition with +Jason, are particularly noticeable. Castor has no marks; his face is all right. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Good; I am glad I know that. Everything else is the same for both. +Each has his half egg-shell, with the star on top, each his javelin and his +white horse. I am always calling Pollux Castor, and Castor Pollux. And, by the +way, why are they never both here together? Why should they be alternately gods +and shades? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That is their brotherly way. You see, it was decreed that one of +the sons of Leda must die, and the other be immortal; and by this arrangement +they split the immortality between them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. Rather a stupid way of doing it: if one of them is to be in Heaven, +whilst the other is underground, they will never see one another at all; and I +suppose that is just what they wanted to do. Then again: all the other gods +practise some useful profession, either here or on earth; for instance, I am a +prophet, Asclepius is a doctor, you are a first-rate gymnast and trainer, +Artemis ushers children into the world; now what are these two going to do? +surely two such great fellows are not to have a lazy time of it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh no. Their business is to wait upon Posidon, and ride the waves; +and if they see a ship in distress, they go aboard of her, and save the crew. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ap</i>. A most humane profession. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap10"></a>DIALOGUES OF THE SEA-GODS</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p> +<i>Doris. Galatea</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. A handsome lover, Galatea, this Sicilian shepherd who they say is +so mad for you! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gal</i>. Don’t be sarcastic, Doris; he is Posidon’s son, after all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Well, and if he were Zeus’s, and still such a wild shaggy creature, +with only one eye (there is nothing uglier than to have only one eye), do you +think his birth would improve his beauty? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gal</i>. Shagginess and wildness, as you call them, are not ugly in a man; +and his eye looks very well in the middle of his forehead, and sees just as +well as if it were two. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Why, my dear, from your raptures about him one would think it was +you that were in love, not he. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gal</i>. Oh no, I am not in love; but it is too bad, your all running him +down as you do. It is my belief you are jealous, Do you remember? we were +playing on the shore at the foot of Etna, where the long strip of beach comes +between the mountain and the sea; he was feeding his sheep, and spied us from +above; yes, but he never so much as glanced at the rest of you; I was the +pretty one; he was all eyes—eye, I mean—for me. That is what makes +you spiteful, because it showed I was better than you, good enough to be loved, +while you were taken no notice of. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Hoity-toity! jealous indeed! because a one-eyed shepherd thinks you +pretty! Why, what could he see in you but your white skin? and he only cared +for that because it reminded him of cheese and milk; he thinks everything +pretty that is like them. If you want to know any more than that about your +looks, sit on a rock when it is calm, and lean over the water; just a bit of +white skin, that is all; and who cares for that, if it is not picked out with +some red? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gal</i>. Well, if I <i>am</i> all white, I have got a lover of some sort; +there is not a shepherd or a sailor or a boatman to care for any of you. +Besides, Polyphemus is very musical. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Take care, dear; we heard him singing the other day when he +serenaded you. Heavens! one would have taken him for an ass braying. And his +lyre! what a thing! A stag’s skull, with its horns for the uprights; he put a +bar across, and fastened on the strings without any tuning-pegs! then came the +performance, all harsh and out of tune; he shouted something himself, and the +lyre played something else, and the love ditty sent us into fits of laughter. +Why, Echo, chatterbox that she is, would not answer him; she was ashamed to be +caught mimicking such a rough ridiculous song. Oh, and the pet that your beau +brought you in his arms!—a bear cub nearly as shaggy as himself. Now +then, Galatea, do you still think we envy you your lover? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Gal</i>. Well, Doris, only show us your own; no doubt he is much handsomer, +and sings and plays far better. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Oh, I have not got one; <i>I</i> do not set up to be lovely. But +one like the Cyclops—faugh, he might be one of his own goats!—he +eats raw meat, they say, and feeds on travellers—one like him, dear, you +may keep; I wish you nothing worse than to return his love. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p> +<i>Cyclops. Posidon</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Only look, father, what that cursed stranger has been doing to me! +He made me drunk, and set upon me whilst I was asleep, and blinded me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Po</i>. Who has dared to do this? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. He called himself ‘Noman’ at first: but when he had got safely out +of range, he said his name was Odysseus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Po</i>. I know—the Ithacan; on his way back from Troy. But how did he +come to do such a thing? He is not distinguished for courage. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. When I got back from the pasture, I caught a lot of the fellows in +my cave. Evidently they had designs upon the sheep: because when I had blocked +up my doorway (I have a great big stone for that), and kindled a fire, with a +tree that I had brought home from the mountain,—there they were trying to +hide themselves. I saw they were robbers, so I caught a few of them, and ate +them of course, and then that scoundrel of a Noman, or Odysseus, whichever it +is, gave me something to drink, with a drug in it; it tasted and smelt very +good, but it was villanously heady stuff; it made everything spin round; even +the cave seemed to be turning upside down, and I simply didn’t know where I +was; and finally I fell off to sleep. And then he sharpened that stake, and +made it hot in the fire, and blinded me in my sleep; and blind I have been ever +since, father. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Po</i>. You must have slept pretty soundly, my boy, or you would have jumped +up in the middle of it. Well, and how did Odysseus get off? He couldn’t move +that stone away, <i>I</i> know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. I took that away myself, so as to catch him as he went out. I sat +down in the doorway, and felt about for him with my hands. I just let the sheep +go out to pasture, and told the ram everything I wanted done. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Po</i>. Ah! and they slipped out under the sheep? But you should have set +the other Cyclopes on to him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. I did call them, and they came: but when they asked me who it was +that was playing tricks with me, I said ‘Noman’; and then they thought I was +mad, and went off home again. The villain! that name of his was just a trick! +And what I minded most was the way in which he made game of my misfortune: ‘Not +even Papa can put this right,’ he said. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Po</i>. Never mind, my boy; I will be even with him. I may not be able to +cure blindness, but he shall know that I have something to say to mariners. He +is not home yet. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<p> +<i>Posidon. Alpheus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. What is the meaning of this, Alpheus? unlike others, when you take +your plunge you do not mingle with the brine as a river should; you do not put +an end to your labours by dispersing; you hold together through the sea, keep +your current fresh, and hurry along in all your original purity; you dive down +to strange depths like a gull or a heron; I suppose you will come to the top +again and show yourself somewhere or other. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Al</i>. Do not press me, Posidon; a love affair; and many is the time you +have been in love yourself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Woman, nymph, or Nereid? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Al</i>. All wrong; she is a fountain. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. A fountain? and where does she flow? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Al</i>. She is an islander—in Sicily. Her name is Arethusa. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Ah, I commend your taste. She is pellucid, and bubbles up in +perfect purity; the water as bright over her pebbles as if it were a mass of +silver. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Al</i>. You know my fountain, Posidon, and no mistake. It is to her that I +go. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Go, then; and may the course of love run smooth! But pray where did +you meet her? Arcadia and Syracuse, you know! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Al</i>. I am in a hurry; you are detaining me, with these superfluous +questions. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Ah, so I am. Be off to your beloved, rise from the sea, mingle your +channels and be one water. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menelaus. Proteus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I can understand your turning into <i>water</i>, you know, Proteus, +because you <i>are</i> a sea-god. I can even pass the tree; and the lion is not +wholly beyond the bounds of belief. But the idea of your being able to turn +into <i>fire</i>, living under water as you do,—this excites my surprise, +not to say my incredulity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Don’t let it; because I can. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I have seen you do it. But (to be frank with you) I think there must +be some deception; you play tricks with one’s eyes; you don’t really turn into +anything of the kind? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Deception? What deception can there possibly be? Everything is +above-board. Your eyes were open, I suppose, and you saw me change into all +these things? If that is not enough for you, if you think it is a fraud, an +optical illusion, I will turn into fire again, and you can touch me with your +hand, my sagacious friend. You will then be able to conclude whether I am only +visible fire, or have the additional property of burning. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. That would be rash. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. I suppose you have never seen such a thing as a polypus, nor +observed the proceedings of that fish? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I have seen them; as to their proceedings, I shall be glad of your +information. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. The polypus, having selected his rock, and attached himself by +means of his suckers, assimilates himself to it, changing his colour to match +that of the rock. By this means he hopes to escape the observation of +fishermen: there is no contrast of colour to betray his presence; he looks just +like stone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. So I have heard. But yours is quite another matter, Proteus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. I don’t know what evidence would satisfy you, if you reject that of +your own eyes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I have seen it done, but it is an extraordinary business; fire and +water, one and the same person! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<p> +<i>Panope. Galene</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pa</i>. Galene, did you see what Eris did yesterday at the Thessalian +banquet, because she had not had an invitation? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ga</i>, No, I was not with you; Posidon had told me to keep the sea quiet +for the occasion. What did Eris do, then, if she was not there? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pa</i>. Thetis and Peleus had just gone off to the bridal chamber, conducted +by Amphitrite and Posidon, when Eris came in unnoticed—which was easy +enough; some were drinking, some dancing, or attending to Apollo’s lyre or the +Muses’ songs—Well, she threw down a lovely apple, solid gold, my dear; +and there was written on it, FOR THE FAIR. It rolled along as if it knew what +it was about, till it came in front of Hera, Aphrodite, and Athene. Hermes +picked it up and read out the inscription; of course we Nereids kept quiet; +what should <i>we</i> do in such company? But they all made for it, each +insisting that it was hers; and if Zeus had not parted them, there would have +been a battle. He would not decide the matter himself, though they asked him +to. ‘Go, all of you, to Ida,’ he said, ‘to the son of Priam; he is a man of +taste, quite capable of picking out the beauty; he will be no bad judge.’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ga</i>. Yes. and the Goddesses, Panope? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pa</i>. They are going to Ida to-day, I believe; we shall soon have news of +the result. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ga</i>. Oh, I can tell you that now; if the umpire is not a blind man, no +one else can win, with Aphrodite in for it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Triton. Posidon. Amymone</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Posidon, there is such a pretty girl coming to Lerna for water +every day; I don’t know that I ever saw a prettier. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. What is she, a lady? or a mere water-carrier? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Oh no; she is one of the fifty daughters of that Egyptian king. Her +name is Amymone; I asked about that and her family. Danaus understands +discipline; he is bringing them up to do everything for themselves; they have +to fetch water, and make themselves generally useful. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. And does she come all that way by herself, from Argos to Lerna? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Yes; and Argos, you know, is a thirsty place; she is always having +to get water. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Triton, this is most exciting. We must go and see her. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Very well. It is just her time now; I reckon she will be about +half-way to Lerna. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Bring out the chariot, then. Or no; it takes such a time getting it +ready, and putting the horses to. Just fetch me out a good fast dolphin; that +will be quickest. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Here is a racer for you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Good; now let us be off. You swim alongside.—Here we are at +Lerna. I’ll lie in ambush hereabouts; and you keep a look-out. When you see her +coming— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Here she comes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. A charming child; the dawn of loveliness. We must carry her off. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Am</i>. Villain! where are you taking me to? You are a kidnapper. I know who +sent you—my uncle Aegyptus. I shall call my father. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Hush, Amymone; it is Posidon. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Am</i>. Posidon? What do you mean? Unhand me, villain! would you drag me +into the sea? Help, help, I shall sink and be drowned. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Don’t be frightened; no harm shall be done to you. Come, you shall +have a fountain called after you; it shall spring up in this very place, near +the waves; I will strike the rock with my trident.—Think how nice it will +be being dead, and not having to carry water any more, like all your sisters. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p> +<i>South Wind. West Wind</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. Zephyr, is it true about Zeus and the heifer that Hermes is convoying +across the sea to Egypt?—that he fell in love with it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Certainly. She was not a heifer then, though, but a daughter of the +river Inachus. Hera made her what she is now; Zeus was so deep in love that +Hera was jealous. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. And is he still in love, now that she is a cow? +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Oh, yes; that is why he has sent her to Egypt, and told us not to +stir up the sea till she has swum across; she is to be delivered there of her +child, and both of them are to be Gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. The heifer a God? +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Yes, I tell you. And Hermes said she was to be the patroness of +sailors and our mistress, and send out or confine any of us that she chooses. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. So we must regard ourselves as her servants at once? +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Why, yes; she will be the kinder if we do. Ah, she has got across and +landed. Do you see? she does not go on four legs now; Hermes has made her stand +erect, and turned her back into a beautiful woman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. This is most remarkable, Zephyr; no horns, no tail, no cloven hoofs; +instead, a lovely maid. But what is the matter with Hermes? he has changed his +handsome face into a dog’s. +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. We had better not meddle; he knows his own business best. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Posidon. Dolphins</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Well done, Dolphins!—humane as ever. Not content with your +former exploit, when Ino leapt with Melicertes from the Scironian cliff, and +you picked the boy up and conveyed him to the Isthmus, one of you swims from +Methymna to Taenarum with this musician on his back, mantle and lyre and all. +Those sailors had almost had their wicked will of him; but you were not going +to stand that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dol</i>. You need not be surprised to find us doing a good turn to a man, +Posidon; we were men before we were fishes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Yes; I think it was too bad of Dionysus to celebrate his victory by +such a transformation scene; he might have been content with adding you to the +roll of his subjects.—Well, Dolphin, tell me all about Arion. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dol</i>. From what I can gather, Periander was very fond of him, and was +always sending for him to perform; till Arion grew quite rich at his expense, +and thought he would take a trip to Methymna, and show off his wealth at home. +He took ship accordingly; but it was with a crew of rogues. He had made no +secret of the gold and silver he had with him; and when they were in mid +Aegean, the sailors rose against him. As I was swimming alongside, I heard all +that went on. ‘Since your minds are made up,’ says Arion, ‘at least let me get +my mantle on, and sing my own dirge; and then I will throw myself into the sea +of my own accord.’—The sailors agreed. He threw his minstrel’s cloak +about him, and sang a most sweet melody; and then he let himself drop into the +water, never doubting but that his last moment had come. But I caught him up on +my back, and swam to shore with him at Taenarum. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. I am glad to find you a patron of the arts. This was handsome pay +for a song. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Posidon. Amphitrite and other Nereids</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. The strait where the child fell shall be called Hellespont after +her. And as for her body, you Nereids shall take it to the Troad to be buried +by the inhabitants. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Amph</i>. Oh no, Posidon. Let her grave be the sea which bears her name. We +are so sorry for her; that step-mother’s treatment of her was shocking. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. No, my dear, that may not be. And indeed it is not desirable that +she should lie here under the sand; her grave shall be in the Troad, as I said, +or in the Chersonese. It will be no small consolation to her that Ino will have +the same fate before long. She will be chased by Athamas from the top of +Cithaeron down the ridge which runs into the sea, and there plunge in with her +son in her arms. But her we must rescue, to please Dionysus; Ino was his nurse +and suckled him, you know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Amph</i>. Rescue a wicked creature like her? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Well, we do not want to disoblige Dionysus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Nereid</i>. I wonder what made the poor child fall off the ram; her brother +Phrixus held on all right. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Of course he did; a lusty youth equal to the flight; but it was all +too strange for her; sitting on that queer mount, looking down on yawning +space, terrified, overpowered by the heat, giddy with the speed, she lost her +hold on the ram’s horns, and down she came into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Nereid</i>. Surely her mother Nephele should have broken her fall. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. I dare say; but Fate is a great deal too strong for Nephele. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>X</h4> + +<p> +<i>Iris. Posidon</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ir</i>. Posidon: you know that floating island, that was torn away from +Sicily, and is still drifting about under water; you are to bring it to the +surface, Zeus says, and fix it well in view in the middle of the Aegean; and +mind it is properly secured; he has a use for it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. Very good. And when I have got it up, and anchored it, what is he +going to do with it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ir</i>. Leto is to lie in there; her time is near. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. And is there no room in Heaven? Or is Earth too small to hold her +children? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ir</i>. Ah, you see, Hera has bound the Earth by a great oath not to give +shelter to Leto in her travail. This island, however, being out of sight, has +not committed itself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pos</i>. I see.—Island, be still! Rise once more from the depths; and +this time there must be no sinking. Henceforth you are <i>terra firma</i>; it +will be your happiness to receive my brother’s twin children, fairest of the +Gods.—Tritons, you will have to convey Leto across. Let all be +calm.—As to that serpent who is frightening her out of her senses, wait +till these children are born; they will soon avenge their mother.—You can +tell Zeus that all is ready. Delos stands firm: Leto has only to come. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p> +<i>The Xanthus. The Sea</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Xan</i>. O Sea, take me to you; see how horribly I have been treated; cool +my wounds for me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sea</i>. What is this, Xanthus? who has burned you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Xan</i>. Hephaestus. Oh, I am burned to cinders! oh, oh, oh, I boil! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sea</i>. What made him use his fire upon you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Xan</i>. Why, it was all that son of your Thetis. He was slaughtering the +Phrygians; I tried entreaties, but he went raging on, damming my stream with +their bodies; I was so sorry for the poor wretches, I poured down to see if I +could make a flood and frighten him off them. But Hephaestus happened to be +about, and he must have collected every particle of fire he had in Etna or +anywhere else; on he came at me, scorched my elms and tamarisks, baked the poor +fishes and eels, made me boil over, and very nearly dried me up altogether. You +see what a state I am in with the burns. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sea</i>. Indeed you are thick and hot, Xanthus, and no wonder; the dead +men’s blood accounts for one, and the fire for the other, according to your +story. Well, and serve you right; assaulting my grandson, indeed! paying no +more respect to the son of a Nereid than that! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Xan</i>. Was I not to take compassion on the Phrygians? they are my +neighbours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sea</i>. And was Hephaestus not to take compassion on Achilles? He is the +son of Thetis. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Doris. Thetis</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Crying, dear? +</p> + +<p> +<i>The</i>. Oh, Doris, I have just seen a lovely girl thrown into a chest by +her father, and her little baby with her; and he gave the chest to some +sailors, and told them, as soon as they were far enough from the shore, to drop +it into the water; he meant them to be drowned, poor things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Oh, sister, but why? What was it all about? Did you hear? +</p> + +<p> +<i>The</i>. Her father, Acrisius, wanted to keep her from marrying. And, as she +was so pretty, he shut her up in an iron room. And—I don’t know whether +it’s true—but they say that Zeus turned himself into gold, and came +showering down through the roof, and she caught the gold in her lap,—and +it was Zeus all the time. And then her father found out about it—he is a +horrid, jealous old man—and he was furious, and thought she had been +receiving a lover; and he put her into the chest, the moment the child was +born. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. And what did she do then? +</p> + +<p> +<i>The</i>. She never said a word against her own sentence; <i>she</i> was +ready to submit: but she pleaded hard for the child’s life, and cried, and held +him up for his grandfather to see; and there was the sweet babe, that thought +no harm, smiling at the waves. I am beginning again, at the mere remembrance of +it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. You make me cry, too. And is it all over? +</p> + +<p> +<i>The</i>. No; the chest has carried them safely so far; it is by Seriphus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Then why should we not save them? We can put the chest into those +fishermen’s nets, look; and then of course they will be hauled in, and come +safe to shore. +</p> + +<p> +<i>The</i>. The very thing. She shall not die; nor the child, sweet treasure! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Triton. Iphianassa. Doris. Nereids</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Well, ladies: so the monster you sent against the daughter of +Cepheus has got killed himself, and never done Andromeda any harm at all! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Nereid</i>. Who did it? I suppose Cepheus was just using his daughter as a +bait, and had a whole army waiting in ambush to kill him? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. No, no.—Iphianassa, you remember Perseus, Danae’s +boy?—they were both thrown into the sea by the boy’s grandfather, in that +chest, you know, and you took pity on them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Iph</i>. I know; why, I suppose he is a fine handsome young fellow by now? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. It was he who killed your monster. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Iph</i>. But why? This was not the way to show his gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. I’ll tell you all about it. The king had sent him on this +expedition against the Gorgons, and when he got to Libya— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Iph</i>. How did he get there? all by himself? he must have had some one to +help him?—it is a dangerous journey otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. He flew,—Athene gave him wings.—Well, so when he got to +where the Gorgons were living, he caught them napping, I suppose, cut off +Medusa’s head, and flew away. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Iph</i>. How could he see them? The Gorgons are a forbidden sight. Whoever +looks at them will never look at any one else again. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tri</i>. Athene held up her shield—I heard him telling Andromeda and +Cepheus about it afterwards—Athene showed him the reflection of the +Gorgon in her shield, which is as bright as any mirror; so he took hold of her +hair in his left hand, grasped his scimetar with the right, still looking at +the reflection, cut off her head, and was off before her sisters woke up. +Lowering his flight as he reached the Ethiopian coast yonder, he caught sight +of Andromeda, fettered to a jutting rock, her hair hanging loose about her +shoulders; ye Gods, what loveliness was there exposed to view! And first pity +of her hard fate prompted him to ask the cause of her doom: but Fate had +decreed the maiden’s deliverance, and presently Love stole upon him, and he +resolved to save her. The hideous monster now drew near, and would have +swallowed her: but the youth, hovering above, smote him with the drawn scimetar +in his right hand, and with his left uncovered the petrifying Gorgon’s head: in +one moment the monster was lifeless; all of him that had met that gaze was +turned to stone. Then Perseus released the maiden from her fetters, and +supported her, as with timid steps she descended from the slippery +rock.—And now he is to marry her in Cepheus’s palace, and take her home +to Argos; so that where she looked for death, she has found an uncommonly good +match. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Iph</i>. I am not sorry to hear it. It is no fault of hers, if her mother +has the vanity to set up for our rival. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dor</i>. Still, she <i>is</i> Andromeda’s mother; and we should have had our +revenge on her through the daughter. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Iph</i>. My dear, let bygones be bygones. What matter if a barbarian queen’s +tongue runs away with her? She is sufficiently punished by the fright. So let +us take this marriage in good part. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XV</h4> + +<p> +<i>West Wind. South Wind</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Such a splendid pageant I never saw on the waves, since the day I +first blew. You were not there, Notus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. Pageant, Zephyr? what pageant? and whose? +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. You missed a most ravishing spectacle; such another chance you are +not likely to have. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. I was busy with the Red Sea; and I gave the Indian coasts a little +airing too. So I don’t know what you are talking about. +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Well, you know Agenor the Sidonian? +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. Europa’s father? what of him? +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Europa it is that I am going to tell you about. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. You need not tell me that Zeus has been in love with her this long +while; that is stale news. +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. We can pass the love, then, and get on to the sequel. +</p> + +<p> +Europa had come down for a frolic on the beach with her playfellows. Zeus +transformed himself into a bull, and joined the game. A fine sight he +was—spotless white skin, crumpled horns, and gentle eyes. He gambolled on +the shore with them, bellowing most musically, till Europa took heart of grace +and mounted him. No sooner had she done it than, with her on his back, Zeus +made off at a run for the sea, plunged in, and began swimming; she was +dreadfully frightened, but kept her seat by clinging to one of his horns with +her left hand, while the right held her skirt down against the puffs of wind. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. A lovely sight indeed, Zephyr, in every sense—Zeus swimming +with his darling on his back. +</p> + +<p> +<i>W</i>. Ay, but what followed was lovelier far. +</p> + +<p> +Every wave fell; the sea donned her robe of peace to speed them on their way; +we winds made holiday and joined the train, all eyes; fluttering Loves skimmed +the waves, just dipping now and again a heedless toe—in their hands +lighted torches, on their lips the nuptial song; up floated Nereids—few +but were prodigal of naked charms—and clapped their hands, and kept pace +on dolphin steeds; the Triton company, with every sea-creature that frights not +the eye, tripped it around the maid; for Posidon on his car, with Amphitrite by +him, led them in festal mood, ushering his brother through the waves. But, +crowning all, a Triton pair bore Aphrodite, reclined on a shell, heaping the +bride with all flowers that blow. +</p> + +<p> +So went it from Phoenice even to Crete. But, when he set foot on the isle, +behold, the bull was no more; ’twas Zeus that took Europa’s hand and led her to +the Dictaean Cave—blushing and downward-eyed; for she knew now the end of +her bringing. +</p> + +<p> +But we plunged this way and that, and roused the still seas anew. +</p> + +<p> +<i>S</i>. Ah me, what sights of bliss! and I was looking at griffins, and +elephants, and blackamoors! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap11"></a>DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p> +<i>Diogenes. Pollux</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Pollux, I have a commission for you; next time you go up—and +I think it is your turn for earth to-morrow—if you come across Menippus +the Cynic—you will find him about the Craneum at Corinth, or in the +Lyceum, laughing at the philosophers’ disputes—well, give him this +message:—Menippus, Diogenes advises you, if mortal subjects for laughter +begin to pall, to come down below, and find much richer material; where you are +now, there is always a dash of uncertainty in it; the question will always +intrude—who can be quite sure about the hereafter? Here, you can have +your laugh out in security, like me; it is the best of sport to see +millionaires, governors, despots, now mean and insignificant; you can only tell +them by their lamentations, and the spiritless despondency which is the legacy +of better days. Tell him this, and mention that he had better stuff his wallet +with plenty of lupines, and any un-considered trifles he can snap up in the way +of pauper doles [Footnote: In the Greek, ‘a Hecate’s repast lying at a street +corner.’ ‘Rich men used to make offerings to Hecate on the 30th of every month +as Goddess of roads at street corners; and these offerings were at once pounced +upon by the poor, or, as here, the Cynics.’ <i>Jacobitz</i>.] or lustral eggs. +[Footnote: ‘Eggs were often used as purificatory offerings and set out in front +of the house purified.’ <i>Id</i>.] +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. I will tell him, Diogenes. But give me some idea of his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Old, bald, with a cloak that allows him plenty of light and +ventilation, and is patched all colours of the rainbow; always laughing, and +usually gibing at pretentious philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Ah, I cannot mistake him now. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. May I give you another message to those same philosophers? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Oh, I don’t mind; go on. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Charge them generally to give up playing the fool, quarrelling +over metaphysics, tricking each other with horn and crocodile puzzles +[Footnote: See <i>Puzzles</i> in Notes.] and teaching people to waste wit on +such absurdities. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Oh, but if I say anything against their wisdom, they will call me +an ignorant blockhead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Then tell them from me to go to the devil. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Very well; rely upon me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. And then, my most obliging of Polluxes, there is this for the +rich:—O vain fools, why hoard gold? why all these pains over interest +sums and the adding of hundred to hundred, when you must shortly come to us +with nothing beyond the dead-penny? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. They shall have their message too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Ah, and a word to the handsome and strong; Megillus of Corinth, +and Damoxenus the wrestler will do. Inform them that auburn locks, eyes bright +or black, rosy cheeks, are as little in fashion here as tense muscles or mighty +shoulders; man and man are as like as two peas, tell them, when it comes to +bare skull and no beauty. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. That is to the handsome and strong; yes, I can manage that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Yes, my Spartan, and here is for the poor. There are a great many +of them, very sorry for themselves and resentful of their helplessness. Tell +them to dry their tears and cease their cries; explain to them that here one +man is as good as another, and they will find those who were rich on earth no +better than themselves. As for your Spartans, you will not mind scolding them, +from me, upon their present degeneracy? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. No, no, Diogenes; leave Sparta alone; that is going too far; your +other commissions I will execute. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Oh, well, let them off, if you care about it; but tell all the +others what I said. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p> +<i>Before Pluto: Croesus, Midas, and Sardanapalus v. Menippus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our +neighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we are going +to migrate. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Why, what harm does he do to your ghostly community? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry over +the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be laughing at us, +and calling us rude names; ‘slaves’ and ‘garbage,’ he says we are. And then he +sings; and that throws us out.—In short, he is a nuisance. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Menippus, what’s this I hear? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not +content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on talking +about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days. I take a positive +pleasure in annoying them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Yes, but you mustn’t. They have had terrible losses; they feel it +deeply. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Pluto! you are not going to lend <i>your</i> countenance to these +whimpering fools? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. It isn’t that: but I won’t have you quarrelling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no +misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there shall I +be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. Presumption! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men to +fall down before you, when you trampled on men’s liberty, and forgot there was +such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of teeth: for all is +lost! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mid</i>. My gold— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sar</i>. My little comforts— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. That’s right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I’ll chime in +with a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Amphilochus. Trophonius</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Now I wonder how it is that you two dead men have been honoured with +temples and taken for prophets; those silly mortals imagine you are Gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Amp</i>. How can we help it, if they are fools enough to have such fancies +about the dead? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Ah, they would never have had them, though, if you had not been +charlatans in your lifetime, and pretended to know the future and be able to +foretell it to your clients. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tro</i>. Well, Menippus, Amphilochus can take his own line, if he likes; as +for me, I <i>am</i> a Hero, and <i>do</i> give oracles to any one who comes +down to me. It is pretty clear you were never at Lebadea, or you would not be +so incredulous. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What do you mean? I must go to Lebadea, swaddle myself up in absurd +linen, take a cake in my hand, and crawl through a narrow passage into a cave, +before I could tell that you are a dead man, with nothing but knavery to +differentiate you from the rest of us? Now, on your seer-ship, what <i>is</i> a +Hero? I am sure <i>I</i> don’t know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tro</i>. He is half God, and half man. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. So what is neither man (as you imply) nor God, is both at once? +Well, at present what has become of your diviner half? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tro</i>. He gives oracles in Boeotia. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What you may mean is quite beyond me; the one thing I know for +certain is that you are dead—the whole of you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Hermes. Charon</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ferryman, what do you say to settling up accounts? It will prevent +any unpleasantness later on. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Very good. It does save trouble to get these things straight. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. One anchor, to your order, five shillings. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. That is a lot of money. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. So help me Pluto, it is what I had to pay. One rowlock-strap, +fourpence. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Five and four; put that down. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Then there was a needle, for mending the sail; ten-pence. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Down with it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Caulking-wax; nails; and cord for the brace. Two shillings the lot. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. They were worth the money. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That’s all; unless I have forgotten anything. When will you pay it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I can’t just now, Hermes; we shall have a war or a plague presently, +and then the passengers will come shoaling in, and I shall be able to make a +little by jobbing the fares. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. So for the present I have nothing to do but sit down, and pray for +the worst, as my only chance of getting paid? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. There is nothing else for it;—very little business doing just +now, as you see, owing to the peace. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That is just as well, though it does keep me waiting for my money. +After all, though, Charon, in old days men were men; you remember the state +they used to come down in,—all blood and wounds generally. Nowadays, a +man is poisoned by his slave or his wife; or gets dropsy from overfeeding; a +pale, spiritless lot, nothing like the men of old. Most of them seem to meet +their end in some plot that has money for its object. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Ah; money is in great request. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes; you can’t blame me if I am somewhat urgent for payment. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<p> +<i>Pluto. Hermes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. You know that old, old fellow, Eucrates the millionaire—no +children, but a few thousand would-be heirs? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes—lives at Sicyon. Well? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Well, Hermes, he is ninety now; let him live as much longer, please; +I should like it to be more still, if possible; and bring me down his toadies +one by one, that young Charinus, Damon, and the rest of them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. It would seem so strange, wouldn’t it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. On the contrary, it would be ideal justice. What business have they +to pray for his death, or pretend to his money? they are no relations. The most +abominable thing about it is that they vary these prayers with every public +attention; when he is ill, every one knows what they are after, and yet they +vow offerings if he recovers; talk of versatility! So let him be immortal, and +bring them away before him with their mouths still open for the fruit that +never drops. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, they <i>are</i> rascals, and it would be a comic ending. He +leads them a pretty life too, on hope gruel; he always looks more dead than +alive, but he is tougher than a young man. They have divided up the inheritance +among them, and feed on imaginary bliss. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Just so; now he is to throw off his years like Iolaus, and +rejuvenate, while they in the middle of their hopes find themselves here with +their dream-wealth left behind them. Nothing like making the punishment fit the +crime. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Say no more, Pluto; I will fetch you them one after another; seven +of them, is it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Down with them; and he shall change from an old man to a blooming +youth, and attend their funerals. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Terpsion. Pluto</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ter</i>. Now is this fair, Pluto,—that I should die at the age of +thirty, and that old Thucritus go on living past ninety? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Nothing could be fairer. Thucritus lives and is in no hurry for his +neighbours to die; whereas you always had some design against him; you were +waiting to step into his shoes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ter</i>. Well, an old man like that is past getting any enjoyment out of his +money; he ought to die, and make room for younger men. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. This is a novel principle: the man who can no longer derive pleasure +from his money is to die!—Fate and Nature have ordered it otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ter</i>. Then they have ordered it wrongly. There ought to be a proper +sequence according to seniority. Things are turned upside down, if an old man +is to go on living with only three teeth in his head, half blind, tottering +about with a pair of slaves on each side to hold him up, drivelling and +rheumy-eyed, having no joy of life, a living tomb, the derision of his +juniors,—and young men are to die in the prime of their strength and +beauty. ’Tis contrary to nature. At any rate the young men have a right to know +when the old are going to die, so that they may not throw away their attentions +on them for nothing, as is sometimes the case. The present arrangement is a +putting of the cart before the horse. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. There is a great deal more sound sense in it than you suppose, +Terpsion. Besides, what right have you young fellows got to be prying after +other men’s goods, and thrusting yourselves upon your childless elders? You +look rather foolish, when you get buried first; it tickles people immensely; +the more fervent your prayers for the death of your aged friend, the greater is +the general exultation when you precede him. It has become quite a profession +lately, this amorous devotion to old men and women,—childless, of course; +children destroy the illusion. By the way though, some of the beloved objects +see through your dirty motives well enough by now; they have children, but they +pretend to hate them, and so have lovers all the same. When their wills come to +be read, their faithful bodyguard is not included: nature asserts itself, the +children get their rights, and the lovers realize, with gnashings of teeth, +that they have been taken in. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ter</i>. Too true! The luxuries that Thucritus has enjoyed at my expense! He +always looked as if he were at the point of death. I never went to see him, but +he would groan and squeak like a chicken barely out of the shell: I considered +that he might step into his coffin at any moment, and heaped gift upon gift, +for fear of being outdone in generosity by my rivals; I passed anxious, +sleepless nights, reckoning and arranging all; ’twas this, the sleeplessness +and the anxiety, that brought me to my death. And he swallows my bait whole, +and attends my funeral chuckling. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Well done, Thucritus! Long may you live to enjoy your +wealth,—and your joke at the youngsters’ expense; many a toady may you +send hither before your own time comes! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ter</i>. Now I think of it, it <i>would</i> be a satisfaction if Charoeades +were to die before him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Charoeades! My dear Terpsion, Phido, Melanthus,—every one of +them will be here before Thucritus,—all victims of this same anxiety! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ter</i>. That is as it should be. Hold on, Thucritus! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Zenophantus. Callidemides</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ze</i>. Ah, Callidemides, and how did <i>you</i> come by your end? As for +me, I was free of Dinias’s table, and there died of a surfeit; but that is +stale news; you were there, of course. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cal</i>. Yes, I was. Now there was an element of surprise about <i>my</i> +fate. I suppose you know that old Ptoeodorus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ze</i>. The rich man with no children, to whom you gave most of your +company? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cal</i>. That is the man; he had promised to leave me his heir, and I used +to show my appreciation. However, it went on such a time; Tithonus was a +juvenile to him; so I found a short cut to my property. I bought a potion, and +agreed with the butler that next time his master called for wine (he is a +pretty stiff drinker) he should have this ready in a cup and present it; and I +was pledged to reward the man with his freedom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ze</i>. And what happened? this is interesting. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cal</i>. When we came from bath, the young fellow had two cups ready, one +with the poison for Ptoeodorus, and the other for me; but by some blunder he +handed me the poisoned cup, and Ptoeodorus the plain; and behold, before he had +done drinking, there was I sprawling on the ground, a vicarious corpse! Why are +you laughing so, Zenophantus? I am your friend; such mirth is unseemly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ze</i>. Well, it was such a humorous exit. And how did the old man behave? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cal</i>. He was dreadfully distressed for the moment; then he saw, I +suppose, and laughed as much as you over the butler’s trick. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ze</i>. Ah, short cuts are no better for you than for other people, you see; +the high road would have been safer, if not quite so quick. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Cnemon. Damnippus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cne</i>. Why, ’tis the proverb fulfilled! The fawn hath taken the lion. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. What’s the matter, Cnemon? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cne</i>. The matter! I have been fooled, miserably fooled. I have passed +over all whom I should have liked to make my heirs, and left my money to the +wrong man. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. How was that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cne</i>. I had been speculating on the death of Hermolaus, the millionaire. +He had no children, and my attentions had been well received by him. I thought +it would be a good idea to let him know that I had made my will in his favour, +on the chance of its exciting his emulation. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. Yes; and Hermolaus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cne</i>. What <i>his</i> will was, I don’t know. I died suddenly,—the +roof came down about my ears; and now Hermolaus is my heir. The pike has +swallowed hook and bait. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. And your anglership into the bargain. The pit that you digged for +other…. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cue</i>. That’s about the truth of the matter, confound it. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>IX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Simylus. Polystratus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. So here you are at last, Polystratus; you must be something very +like a centenarian. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Ninety-eight. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. And what sort of a life have you had of it, these thirty years? you +were about seventy when I died. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Delightful, though you may find it hard to believe. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. It is surprising that you could have any joy of your life—old, +weak, and childless, moreover. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. In the first place, I could do just what I liked; there were still +plenty of handsome boys and dainty women; perfumes were sweet, wine kept its +bouquet, Sicilian feasts were nothing to mine. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. This <i>is</i> a change, to be sure; you were very economical in my +day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Ah, but, my simple friend, these good things were +presents—came in streams. From dawn my doors were thronged with visitors, +and in the day it was a procession of the fairest gifts of earth. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Why, you must have seized the crown after my death. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Oh no, it was only that I inspired a number of tender passions. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Tender passions, indeed! what, you, an old man with hardly a tooth +left in your head! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Certainly; the first of our townsmen were in love with me. Such as +you see me, old, bald, blear-eyed, rheumy, they delighted to do me honour; +happy was the man on whom my glance rested a moment. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Well, then, you had some adventure like Phaon’s, when he rowed +Aphrodite across from Chios; your God granted your prayer and made you young +and fair and lovely again. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. No, no; I was as you see me, and I was the object of all desire. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Oh, I give it up. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Why, I should have thought you knew the violent passion for old men +who have plenty of money and no children. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Ah, now I comprehend your beauty, old fellow; it was the +<i>Golden</i> Aphrodite bestowed it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. I assure you, Simylus, I had a good deal of satisfaction out of my +lovers; they idolized me, almost. Often I would be coy and shut some of them +out. Such rivalries! such jealous emulations! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. And how did you dispose of your fortune in the end? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. I gave each an express promise to make him my heir; he believed, +and treated me to more attentions than ever; meanwhile I had another genuine +will, which was the one I left, with a message to them all to go hang. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Who was the heir by this one? one of your relations, I suppose. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Not likely; it was a handsome young Phrygian I had lately bought. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Age? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. About twenty. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Ah, I can guess his office. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pol</i>. Well, you know, he deserved the inheritance much better than they +did; he was a barbarian and a rascal; but by this time he has the best of +society at his beck. So he inherited; and now he is one of the aristocracy; his +smooth chin and his foreign accent are no bars to his being called nobler than +Codrus, handsomer than Nireus, wiser than Odysseus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Si</i>. Well, <i>I</i> don’t mind; let him be Emperor of Greece, if he +likes, so long as he keeps the property away from that other crew. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>X</h4> + +<p> +<i>Charon. Hermes. Various Shades</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I’ll tell you how things stand. Our craft, as you see, is small, and +leaky, and three-parts rotten; a single lurch, and she will capsize without +more ado. And here are all you passengers, each with his luggage. If you come +on board like that, I am afraid you may have cause to repent it; especially +those who have not learnt to swim. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Then how are we to make a trip of it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I’ll tell you. They must leave all this nonsense behind them on +shore, and come aboard in their skins. As it is, there will be no room to +spare. And in future, Hermes, mind you admit no one till he has cleared himself +of encumbrances, as I say. Stand by the gangway, and keep an eye on them, and +make them strip before you let them pass. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Very good. Well, Number One, who are you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. Menippus. Here are my wallet and staff; overboard with them. I had +the sense not to bring my cloak. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Pass on, Menippus; you’re a good fellow; you shall have the seat of +honour, up by the pilot, where you can see every one.—Here is a handsome +person; who is he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Char</i>. Charmoleos of Megara; the irresistible, whose kiss was worth a +thousand pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That beauty must come off,—lips, kisses, and all; the flowing +locks, the blushing cheeks, the skin entire. That’s right. Now we’re in better +trim;—you may pass on.—And who is the stunning gentleman in the +purple and the diadem? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lam</i>. I am Lampichus, tyrant of Gela. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. And what is all this splendour doing here, Lampichus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lam</i>. How! would you have a tyrant come hither stripped? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. A tyrant! That would be too much to expect. But with a shade we +must insist. Off with these things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lam</i>. There, then: away goes my wealth. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Pomp must go too, and pride; we shall be overfreighted else. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lam</i>. At least let me keep my diadem and robes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. No, no; off they come! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lam</i>. Well? That is all, as you see for yourself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. There is something more yet: cruelty, folly, insolence, hatred. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lam</i>. There then: I am bare. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Pass on.—And who may you be, my bulky friend? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. Damasias the athlete. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. To be sure; many is the time I have seen you in the gymnasium. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. You have. Well, I have peeled; let me pass. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Peeled! my dear sir, what, with all this fleshy encumbrance? Come, +off with it; we should go to the bottom if you put one foot aboard. And those +crowns, those victories, remove them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dam</i>. There; no mistake about it this time; I am as light as any shade +among them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That’s more the kind of thing. On with you.—Crato, you can +take off that wealth and luxury and effeminacy; and we can’t have that funeral +pomp here, nor those ancestral glories either; down with your rank and +reputation, and any votes of thanks or inscriptions you have about you; and you +need not tell us what size your tomb was; remarks of that kind come heavy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Well, if I must, I must; there’s no help for it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Hullo! in full armour? What does this mean? and why this trophy? +</p> + +<p> +<i>A General</i>. I am a great conqueror; a valiant warrior; my country’s +pride. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. The trophy may stop behind; we are at peace; there is no demand for +arms.—Whom have we here? whose is this knitted brow, this flowing beard? +’Tis some reverend sage, if outside goes for anything; he mutters; he is +wrapped in meditation. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. That’s a philosopher, Hermes; and an impudent quack not the +bargain. Have him out of that cloak; you will find something to amuse you +underneath it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Off with your clothes first; and then we will see to the rest. My +goodness, what a bundle: quackery, ignorance, quarrelsomeness, vainglory; idle +questionings, prickly arguments, intricate conceptions; humbug and gammon and +wishy-washy hair-splittings without end; and hullo! why here’s avarice, and +self-indulgence, and impudence! luxury, effeminacy and peevishness!—Yes, +I see them all; you need not try to hide them. Away with falsehood and swagger +and superciliousness; why, the three-decker is not built that would hold you +with all this luggage. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A Philosopher</i>. I resign them all, since such is your bidding. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. Have his beard off too, Hermes; only look what a ponderous bush of +a thing! There’s a good five pounds’ weight there. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes; the beard must go. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. And who shall shave me? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Menippus here shall take it off with the carpenter’s axe; the +gangway will serve for a block. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. Oh, can’t I have a saw, Hermes? It would be much better fun. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. The axe must serve.—Shrewdly chopped!—Why, you look +more like a man and less like a goat already. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. A little off the eyebrows? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, certainly; he has trained them up all over his forehead, for +reasons best known to himself.—Worm! what, snivelling? afraid of death? +Oh, get on board with you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. He has still got the biggest thumper of all under his arm. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What’s that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. Flattery; many is the good turn that has done him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. Oh, all right, Menippus; suppose you leave your independence +behind you, and your plain—speaking, and your indifference, and your high +spirit, and your jests!—No one else here has a jest about him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Don’t you, Menippus! you stick to them; useful commodities, these, +on shipboard; light and handy.—You rhetorician there, with your +verbosities and your barbarisms, your antitheses and balances and periods, off +with the whole pack of them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhet</i>. Away they go. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. All’s ready. Loose the cable, and pull in the gangway; haul up the +anchor; spread all sail; and, pilot, look to your helm. Good luck to our +voyage!—What are you all whining about, you fools? You philosopher, late +of the beard,—you’re as bad as any of them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. Ah, Hermes: I had thought that the soul was immortal. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. He lies: that is not the cause of his distress. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What is it, then? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. He knows that he will never have a good dinner again; never sneak +about at night with his cloak over his head, going the round of the brothels; +never spend his mornings in fooling boys out of their money, under the pretext +of teaching them wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. And pray are <i>you</i> content to be dead? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. It may be presumed so, as I sought death of my own accord.—By +the way, I surely heard a noise, as if people were shouting on the earth? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. You did; and from more than one quarter.—There are people +running in a body to the Town-hall, exulting over the death of Lampichus; the +women have got hold of his wife; his infant children fare no better,—the +boys are giving them handsome pelting. Then again you hear the applause that +greets the orator Diophantus, as he pronounces the funeral oration of our +friend Crato. Ah yes, and that’s Damasias’s mother, with her women, striking up +a dirge. No one has tear for you, Menippus; your remains are left in peace. +Privileged person! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. Wait a bit: before long you will hear the mournful howl of dogs, +and the beating of crows’ wings, as they gather to perform my funeral rites. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I like your spirit.—However, here we are in port. Away with +you all to the judgement-seat; it is straight ahead. The ferryman and I must go +back for a fresh load. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Men</i>. Good voyage to you, Hermes.—Let us be getting on; what are +you all waiting for? We have got to face the judge, sooner or later; and by all +accounts his sentences are no joke; wheels, rocks, vultures are mentioned. +Every detail of our lives will now come to light! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Crates. Diogenes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Did you know Moerichus of Corinth, Diogenes? A shipowner, rolling +in money, with a cousin called Aristeas, nearly as rich. He had a Homeric +quotation:—Wilt thou heave me? shall I heave thee? +</p> + +<p> +[Footnote: Homer, Il. xxiii. 724. When Ajax and Odysseus have wrestled for some +time without either’s producing any impression, and the spectators are getting +tired of it, the former proposes a change in tactics. “Let us hoist—try +you with me or I with you.” The idea evidently is that each in turn is to offer +only a passive resistance, and let his adversary try to fling him thus.’ +<i>Leaf</i>.] +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. What was the point of it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Why, the cousins were of equal age, expected to succeed to each +other’s wealth, and behaved accordingly. They published their wills, each +naming the other sole heir in case of his own prior decease. So it stood in +black and white, and they vied with each other in showing that deference which +the relation demands. All the prophets, astrologers, and Chaldean +dream-interpreters alike, and Apollo himself for that matter, held different +views at different times about the winner; the thousands seemed to incline now +to Aristeas’s side, now to Moerichus’s. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. And how did it end? I am quite curious. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. They both died on the same day, and the properties passed to +Eunomius and Thrasycles, two relations who had never had a presentiment of it. +They had been crossing from Sicyon to Cirrha, when they were taken aback by a +squall from the north-west, and capsized in mid-channel. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Cleverly done. Now, when we were alive, we never had such designs +on one another. I never prayed for Antisthenes’s death, with a view to +inheriting his staff—though it was an extremely serviceable one, which he +had cut himself from a wild olive; and I do not credit you, Crates, with ever +having had an eye to my succession; it included the tub, and a wallet with two +pints of lupines in it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Why, no; these things were superfluities to me—and to +yourself, indeed. The real necessities you inherited from Antisthenes, and I +from you; and in those necessities was more grandeur and majesty than in the +Persian Empire. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. You allude to—- +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Wisdom, independence, truth, frankness, freedom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. To be sure; now I think of it, I did inherit all this from +Antisthenes, and left it to you with some addition. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Others, however, were not interested in such property; no one paid +us the attentions of an expectant heir; they all had their eyes on gold, +instead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Of course; they had no receptacle for such things as we could +give; luxury had made them so leaky—as full of holes as a worn-out purse. +Put wisdom, frankness, or truth into them, and it would have dropped out; the +bottom of the bag would have let them through, like the perforated cask into +which those poor Danaids are always pouring. Gold, on the other hand, they +could grip with tooth or nail or somehow. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Result: our wealth will still be ours down here; while they will +arrive with no more than one penny, and even that must be left with the +ferryman. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Alexander. Hannibal. Minos. Scipio</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Libyan, I claim precedence of you. I am the better man. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Han</i>. Pardon me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Then let Minos decide. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Who are you both? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. This is Hannibal, the Carthaginian: I am Alexander, the son of +Philip. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Bless me, a distinguished pair! And what is the quarrel about? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. It is a question of precedence. He says he is the better general: +and I maintain that neither Hannibal nor (I might almost add) any of my +predecessors was my equal in strategy; all the world knows that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Well, you shall each have your say in turn: the Libyan first. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Han</i>. Fortunately for me, Minos, I have mastered Greek since I have been +here; so that my adversary will not have even that advantage of me. Now I hold +that the highest praise is due to those who have won their way to greatness +from obscurity; who have clothed themselves in power, and shown themselves fit +for dominion. I myself entered Spain with a handful of men, took service under +my brother, and was found worthy of the supreme command. I conquered the +Celtiberians, subdued Western Gaul, crossed the Alps, overran the valley of the +Po, sacked town after town, made myself master of the plains, approached the +bulwarks of the capital, and in one day slew such a host, that their +finger-rings were measured by bushels, and the rivers were bridged by their +bodies. And this I did, though I had never been called a son of Ammon; I never +pretended to be a god, never related visions of my mother; I made no secret of +the fact that I was mere flesh and blood. My rivals were the ablest generals in +the world, commanding the best soldiers in the world; I warred not with Medes +or Assyrians, who fly before they are pursued, and yield the victory to him +that dares take it. +</p> + +<p> +Alexander, on the other hand, in increasing and extending as he did the +dominion which he had inherited from his father, was but following the impetus +given to him by Fortune. And this conqueror had no sooner crushed his puny +adversary by the victories of Issus and Arbela, than he forsook the traditions +of his country, and lived the life of a Persian; accepting the prostrations of +his subjects, assassinating his friends at his own table, or handing them over +to the executioner. I in my command respected the freedom of my country, +delayed not to obey her summons, when the enemy with their huge armament +invaded Libya, laid aside the privileges of my office, and submitted to my +sentence without a murmur. Yet I was a barbarian all unskilled in Greek +culture; I could not recite Homer, nor had I enjoyed the advantages of +Aristotle’s instruction; I had to make a shift with such qualities as were mine +by nature.—It is on these grounds that I claim the pre-eminence. My rival +has indeed all the lustre that attaches to the wearing of a diadem, and—I +know not—for Macedonians such things may have charms: but I cannot think +that this circumstance constitutes a higher claim than the courage and genius +of one who owed nothing to Fortune, and everything to his own resolution. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Not bad, for a Libyan.—Well, Alexander, what do you say to +that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Silence, Minos, would be the best answer to such confident +self-assertion. The tongue of Fame will suffice of itself to convince you that +I was a great prince, and my opponent a petty adventurer. But I would have you +consider the distance between us. Called to the throne while I was yet a boy, I +quelled the disorders of my kingdom, and avenged my father’s murder. By the +destruction of Thebes, I inspired the Greeks with such awe, that they appointed +me their commander-in-chief; and from that moment, scorning to confine myself +to the kingdom that I inherited from my father, I extended my gaze over the +entire face of the earth, and thought it shame if I should govern less than the +whole. With a small force I invaded Asia, gained a great victory on the +Granicus, took Lydia, lonia, Phrygia,—in short, subdued all that was +within my reach, before I commenced my march for Issus, where Darius was +waiting for me at the head of his myriads. You know the sequel: yourselves can +best say what was the number of the dead whom on one day I dispatched hither. +The ferryman tells me that his boat would not hold them; most of them had to +come across on rafts of their own construction. In these enterprises, I was +ever at the head of my troops, ever courted danger. To say nothing of Tyre and +Arbela, I penetrated into India, and carried my empire to the shores of Ocean; +I captured elephants; I conquered Porus; I crossed the Tanais, and worsted the +Scythians—no mean enemies—in a tremendous cavalry engagement. I +heaped benefits upon my friends: I made my enemies taste my resentment. If men +took me for a god, I cannot blame them; the vastness of my undertakings might +excuse such a belief. But to conclude. I died a king: Hannibal, a fugitive at +the court of the Bithynian Prusias—fitting end for villany and cruelty. +Of his Italian victories I say nothing; they were the fruit not of honest +legitimate warfare, but of treachery, craft, and dissimulation. He taunts me +with self-indulgence: my illustrious friend has surely forgotten the pleasant +time he spent in Capua among the ladies, while the precious moments fleeted by. +Had I not scorned the Western world, and turned my attention to the East, what +would it have cost me to make the bloodless conquest of Italy, and Libya, and +all, as far West as Gades? But nations that already cowered beneath a master +were unworthy of my sword.—I have finished, Minos, and await your +decision; of the many arguments I might have used, these shall suffice. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sci</i>. First, Minos, let me speak. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. And who are you, friend? and where do you come from? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sci</i>. I am Scipio, the Roman general, who destroyed Carthage, and gained +great victories over the Libyans. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Well, and what have you to say? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sci</i>. That Alexander is my superior, and I am Hannibal’s, having defeated +him, and driven him to ignominious flight. What impudence is this, to contend +with Alexander, to whom I, your conqueror, would not presume to compare myself! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Honestly spoken, Scipio, on my word! Very well, then: Alexander +comes first, and you next; and I think we must say Hannibal third. And a very +creditable third, too. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Diogenes. Alexander</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Dear me, Alexander, <i>you</i> dead like the rest of us? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. As you see, sir; is there anything extraordinary in a mortal’s +dying? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. So Ammon lied when he said you were his son; you were Philip’s +after all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Apparently; if I had been Ammon’s, I should not have died. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Strange! there were tales of the same order about Olympias too. A +serpent visited her, and was seen in her bed; we were given to understand that +that was how you came into the world, and Philip made a mistake when he took +you for his. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Yes, I was told all that myself; however, I know now that my +mother’s and the Ammon stories were all moonshine. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Their lies were of some practical value to you, though; your +divinity brought a good many people to their knees. But now, whom did you leave +your great empire to? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Diogenes, I cannot tell you. I had no time to leave any directions +about it, beyond just giving Perdiccas my ring as I died. Why are you laughing? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Oh, I was only thinking of the Greeks’ behaviour; directly you +succeeded, how they flattered you! their elected patron, generalissimo against +the barbarian; one of the twelve Gods according to some; temples built and +sacrifices offered to the Serpent’s son! If I may ask, where did your +Macedonians bury you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. I have lain in Babylon a full month to-day; and Ptolemy of the +Guards is pledged, as soon as he can get a moment’s respite from present +disturbances, to take and bury me in Egypt, there to be reckoned among the +Gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. I have some reason to laugh, you see; still nursing vain hopes of +developing into an Osiris or Anubis! Pray, your Godhead, put these expectations +from you; none may re-ascend who has once sailed the lake and penetrated our +entrance; Aeacus is watchful, and Cerberus an awkward customer. But there is +one thing I wish you would tell me: how do you like thinking over all the +earthly bliss you left to come here—your guards and armour-bearers and +lieutenant-governors, your heaps of gold and adoring peoples, Babylon and +Bactria, your huge elephants, your honour and glory, those conspicuous drives +with white-cinctured locks and clasped purple cloak? does the thought of them +<i>hurt</i>? What, crying? silly fellow! did not your wise Aristotle include in +his instructions any hint of the insecurity of fortune’s favours? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Wise? call him the craftiest of all flatterers. Allow me to know a +little more than other people about Aristotle; his requests and his letters +came to <i>my</i> address; <i>I</i> know how he profited by my passion for +culture; how he would toady and compliment me, to be sure! now it was my +beauty—that too is included under The Good; now it was my deeds and my +money; for money too he called a Good—he meant that he was not going to +be ashamed of taking it. Ah, Diogenes, an impostor; and a past master at it +too. For me, the result of his wisdom is that I am distressed for the things +you catalogued just now, as if I had lost in them the chief Goods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Wouldst know thy course? I will prescribe for your distress. Our +flora, unfortunately, does not include hellebore; but you take plenty of +Lethe-water—good, deep, repeated draughts; that will relieve your +distress over the Aristotelian Goods. Quick; here are Clitus, Callisthenes, and +a lot of others making for you; they mean to tear you in pieces and pay you +out. Here, go the opposite way; and remember, repeated draughts. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Philip. Alexander</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. You cannot deny that you are my son this time, Alexander; you +would not have died if you had been Ammon’s. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. I knew all the time that you, Philip, son of Amyntas, were my +father. I only accepted the statement of the oracle because I thought it was +good policy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. What, to suffer yourself to be fooled by lying priests? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. No, but it had an awe-inspiring effect upon the barbarians. When +they thought they had a God to deal with, they gave up the struggle; which made +their conquest a simple matter. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. And whom did <i>you</i> ever conquer that was worth conquering? +Your adversaries were ever timid creatures, with their bows and their targets +and their wicker shields. It was other work conquering the Greeks: Boeotians, +Phocians, Athenians; Arcadian hoplites, Thessalian cavalry, javelin-men from +Elis, peltasts of Mantinea; Thracians, Illyrians, Paeonians; to subdue these +was something. But for gold-laced womanish Medes and Persians and +Chaldaeans,—why, it had been done before: did you never hear of the +expedition of the Ten Thousand under Clearchus? and how the enemy would not +even come to blows with them, but ran away before they were within bow-shot? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. Still, there were the Scythians, father, and the Indian elephants; +they were no joke. And <i>my</i> conquests were not gained by dissension or +treachery; I broke no oath, no promise, nor ever purchased victory at the +expense of honour. As to the Greeks, most of them joined me without a struggle; +and I dare say you have heard how I handled Thebes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. I know all about that; I had it from Clitus, whom you ran through +the body, in the middle of dinner, because he presumed to mention my +achievements in the same breath with yours. They tell me too that you took to +aping the manners of your conquered Medes; abandoned the Macedonian cloak in +favour of the <i>candys</i>, assumed the upright tiara, and exacted oriental +prostrations from Macedonian freemen! This is delicious. As to your brilliant +matches, and your beloved Hephaestion, and your scholars in lions’ +cages,—the less said the better. I have only heard one thing to your +credit: you respected the person of Darius’s beautiful wife, and you provided +for his mother and daughters; there you acted like a king. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. And have you nothing to say of my adventurous spirit, father, when +I was the first to leap down within the ramparts of Oxydracae, and was covered +with wounds? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. Not a word. Not that it is a bad thing, in my opinion, for a king +to get wounded occasionally, and to face danger at the head of his troops: but +this was the last thing that you were called upon to do. You were passing for a +God; and your being wounded, and carried off the field on a litter, bleeding +and groaning, could only excite the ridicule of the spectators: Ammon stood +convicted of quackery, his oracle of falsehood, his priests of flattery. The +son of Zeus in a swoon, requiring medical assistance! who could help laughing +at the sight? And now that you have died, can you doubt that many a jest is +being cracked on the subject of your divinity, as men contemplate the God’s +corpse laid out for burial, and already going the way of all flesh? Besides, +your achievements lose half their credit from this very circumstance which you +say was so useful in facilitating your conquests: nothing you did could come up +to your divine reputation. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Alex</i>. The world thinks otherwise. I am ranked with Heracles and +Dionysus; and, for that matter, I took Aornos, which was more than either of +them could do. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phil</i>. There spoke the son of Ammon. Heracles and Dionysus, indeed! You +ought to be ashamed of yourself, Alexander; when will you learn to drop that +bombast, and know yourself for the shade that you are? +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Antilochus. Achilles</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ant</i>. Achilles, what you were saying to Odysseus the other day about +death was very poor-spirited; I should have expected better things from a pupil +of Chiron and Phoenix. I was listening; you said you would rather be a servant +on earth to some poor hind ‘of scanty livelihood possessed,’ than king of all +the dead. Such sentiments might have been very well in the mouth of a +poor-spirited cowardly Phrygian, dishonourably in love with life: for the son +of Peleus, boldest of all Heroes, so to vilify himself, is a disgrace; it gives +the lie to all your life; you might have had a long inglorious reign in Phthia, +and your own choice was death and glory. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ach</i>. In those days, son of Nestor, I knew not this place; ignorant +whether of those two was the better, I esteemed that flicker of fame more than +life; now I see that it is worthless, let folk up there make what verses of it +they will. ’Tis dead level among the dead, Antilochus; strength and beauty are +no more; we welter all in the same gloom, one no better than another; the +shades of Trojans fear me not, Achaeans pay me no reverence; each may say what +he will; a man is a ghost, ‘or be he churl, or be he peer.’ It irks me; I would +fain be a servant, and alive. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ant</i>. But what help, Achilles? ’tis Nature’s decree that by all means all +die. We must abide by her law, and not fret at her commands. Consider too how +many of us are with you here; Odysseus comes ere long; how else? Is there not +comfort in the common fate? ’tis something not to suffer alone. See Heracles, +Meleager, and many another great one; they, methinks, would not choose return, +if one would send them up to serve poor destitute men. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ach</i>. Ay, your intent is friendly; but I know not, the thought of the +past life irks me—and each of you too, if I mistake not. And if you +confess it not, the worse for you, smothering your pain. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ant</i>. Not the worse, Achilles; the better; for we see that speech is +unavailing. Be silent, bear, endure—that is our resolve, lest such +longings bring mockery on us, as on you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XVI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Diogenes. Heracles</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Surely this is Heracles I see? By his godhead, ’tis no other! The +bow, the club, the lion’s-skin, the giant frame; ’tis Heracles complete. Yet +how should this be?—a son of Zeus, and mortal? I say, Mighty Conqueror, +are you dead? I used to sacrifice to you in the other world; I understood you +were a God! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Thou didst well. Heracles is with the Gods in Heaven, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And hath white-ankled Hebe there to wife. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I am his phantom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. His phantom! What then, can one half of any one be a God, and the +other half mortal? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Even so. The God still lives. ’Tis I, his counterpart, am dead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. I see. You’re a dummy; he palms you off upon Pluto, instead of +coming himself. And here are you, enjoying <i>his</i> mortality! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. ’Tis somewhat as thou hast said. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Well, but where were Aeacus’s keen eyes, that he let a counterfeit +Heracles pass under his very nose, and never knew the difference? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I was made very like to him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. I believe you! Very like indeed, no difference at all! Why, we may +find it’s the other way round, that you are Heracles, and the phantom is in +Heaven, married to Hebe! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Prating knave, no more of thy gibes; else thou shalt presently +learn how great a God calls me phantom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. H’m. That bow looks as if it meant business. And yet,—what +have I to fear now? A man can die but once. Tell me, phantom,—by your +great Substance I adjure you—did you serve him in your present capacity +in the upper world? Perhaps you were one individual during your lives, the +separation taking place only at your deaths, when he, the God, soared +heavenwards, and you, the phantom, very properly made your appearance here? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Thy ribald questions were best unanswered. Yet thus much thou shalt +know.—All that was Amphitryon in Heracles, is dead; I am that mortal +part. The Zeus in him lives, and is with the Gods in Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Ah, now I see! Alcmena had twins, you mean,—Heracles the son +of Zeus, and Heracles the son of Amphitryon? You were really half-bothers all +the time? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Fool! not so. We twain were one Heracles. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. It’s a little difficult to grasp, the two Heracleses packed into +one. I suppose you must have been like a sort of Centaur, man and God all mixed +together? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. And are not all thus composed of two elements,—the body and +the soul? What then should hinder the soul from being in Heaven, with Zeus who +gave it, and the mortal part—myself—among the dead? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Yes, yes, my esteemed son of Amphitryon,—that would be all +very well if you were a body; but you see you are a phantom, you have no body. +At this rate we shall get three Heracleses. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. <i>Three</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Yes; look here. One in Heaven: one in Hades, that’s you, the +phantom: and lastly the body, which by this time has returned to dust. That +makes three. Can you think of a good father for number Three? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Impudent quibbler! And who art <i>thou</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. I am Diogenes’s phantom, late of Sinope. But my original, I assure +you, is not ‘among th’ immortal Gods,’ but here among dead men; where he enjoys +the best of company, and snaps my fingers at Homer and all hair-splitting. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XVII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Tantalus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What are you crying out about, Tantalus? standing at the edge and +whining like that! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tan</i>. Ah, Menippus, I thirst, I perish! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What, not enterprise enough to bend down to it, or scoop up some in +your palm? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tan</i>. It is no use bending down; the water shrinks away as soon as it +sees me coming. And if I do scoop it up and get it to my mouth, the outside of +my lips is hardly moist before it has managed to run through my fingers, and my +hand is as dry as ever. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. A very odd experience, that. But by the way, why do you want to +drink? you have no body—the part of you that was liable to hunger and +thirst is buried in Lydia somewhere; how can you, the spirit, hunger or thirst +any more? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tan</i>. Therein lies my punishment—soul thirsts as if it were body. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, let that pass, as you say thirst is your punishment. But why +do you mind it? are you afraid of <i>dying</i>, for want of drink? I do not +know of any second Hades; can you die to this one, and go further? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tan</i>. No, that is quite true. But you see this is part of the sentence: I +must long for drink, though I have no need of it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. There is no meaning in that. There <i>is</i> a draught you need, +though; some neat hellebore is what <i>you</i> want; you are suffering from a +converse hydrophobia; you are not afraid of water, but you are of thirst. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tan</i>. I would as lief drink hellebore as anything, if I could but drink. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Never fear, Tantalus; neither you nor any other ghost will ever do +that; it is impossible, you see; just as well we have not all got a penal +thirst like you, with the water running away from us. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XVIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Hermes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Where are all the beauties, Hermes? Show me round; I am a new-comer. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I am busy, Menippus. But look over there to your right, and you +will see Hyacinth, Narcissus, Nireus, Achilles, Tyro, Helen, Leda,—all +the beauties of old. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I can only see bones, and bare skulls; most of them are exactly +alike. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Those bones, of which you seem to think so lightly, have been the +theme of admiring poets. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, but show me Helen; I shall never be able to make her out by +myself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. This skull is Helen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And for this a thousand ships carried warriors from every part of +Greece; Greeks and barbarians were slain, and cities made desolate. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, Menippus, you never saw the living Helen; or you would have +said with Homer, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Well might they suffer grievous years of toil<br/> + Who strove for such a prize.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +We look at withered flowers, whose dye is gone from them, and what can we call +them but unlovely things? Yet in the hour of their bloom these unlovely things +were things of beauty. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Strange, that the Greeks could not realize what it was for which +they laboured; how short-lived, how soon to fade. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I have no time for moralizing. Choose your spot, where you will, +and lie down. I must go to fetch new dead. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XIX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Aeacus. Protesilaus. Menelaus. Paris</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. Now then, Protesilaus, what do you mean by assaulting and +throttling Helen? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Why, it was all her fault that I died, leaving my house half built, +and my bride a widow. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. You should blame Menelaus, for taking you all to Troy after such a +light-o’-love. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. That is true; he shall answer it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. No, no, my dear sir; Paris surely is the man; he outraged all rights +in carrying off his host’s wife with him. <i>He</i> deserves throttling, if you +like, and not from you only, but from Greeks and barbarians as well, for all +the deaths he brought upon them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Ah, now I have it. Here, you—you <i>Paris! you</i> shall not +escape my clutches. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pa</i>. Oh, come, sir, you will never wrong one of the same gentle craft as +yourself. Am I not a lover too, and a subject of your deity? against love you +know (with the best will in the world) how vain it is to strive; ’tis a spirit +that draws us whither it will. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. There is reason in that. Oh, would that I had Love himself here in +these hands! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. Permit me to charge myself with his defence. He does not absolutely +deny his responsibility for Paris’s love; but that for your death he refers to +yourself, Protesilaus. You forgot all about your bride, fell in love with fame, +and, directly the fleet touched the Troad, took that rash senseless leap, which +brought you first to shore and to death. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Now it is my turn to correct, Aeacus. The blame does not rest with +me, but with Fate; so was my thread spun from the beginning. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. Exactly so; then why blame our good friends here? +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Aeacus. Various Shades</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. In Pluto’s name, Aeacus, show me all the sights of Hades. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. That would be rather an undertaking, Menippus. However, you shall +see the principal things. Cerberus here you know already, and the ferryman who +brought you over. And you saw the Styx on your way, and Pyriphlegethon. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Yes, and you are the gate-keeper; I know all that; and I have seen +the King and the Furies. But show me the men of ancient days, especially the +celebrities. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. This is Agamemnon; this is Achilles; near him, Idomeneus; next +comes Odysseus; then Ajax, Diomede, and all the great Greeks. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Why, Homer, Homer, what is this? All your great heroes flung down +upon the earth, shapeless, undistinguishable; mere meaningless dust; +‘strengthless heads,’ and no mistake.—Who is this one, Aeacus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. That is Cyrus; and here is Croesus; beyond him Sardanapalus, and +beyond him again Midas. And yonder is Xerxes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Ha! and it was before this creature that Greece trembled? this is +our yoker of Hellesponts, our designer of Athos-canals?—Croesus too! a +sad spectacle! As to Sardanapalus, I will lend him a box on the ear, with your +permission. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. And crack his skull, poor dear! Certainly not. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Then I must content myself with spitting in his ladyship’s face. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. Would you like to see the philosophers? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I should like it of all things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. First comes Pythagoras. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Good-day, Euphorbus, <i>alias</i> Apollo, <i>alias</i> what you +will. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Good-day, Menippus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What, no golden thigh nowadays? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Why, no. I wonder if there is anything to eat in that wallet of +yours? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Beans, friend; you don’t like beans. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Try me. My principles have changed with my quarters. I find that +down here our parents’ heads are in no way connected with beans. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. Here is Solon, the son of Execestides, and there is Thales. By them +are Pittacus, and the rest of the sages, seven in all, as you see. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. The only resigned and cheerful countenances yet. Who is the one +covered with ashes, like a loaf baked in the embers? He is all over blisters. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. That is Empedocles. He was half-roasted when he got here from Etna. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Tell me, my brazen-slippered friend, what induced you to jump into +the crater? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Em</i>. I did it in a fit of melancholy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Not you. Vanity, pride, folly; these were what burnt you up, +slippers and all; and serve you right. All that ingenuity was thrown away, too: +your death was detected.—Aeacus, where is Socrates? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. He is generally talking nonsense with Nestor and Palamedes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. But I should like to see him, if he is anywhere about. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. You see the bald one? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. They are all bald; that is a distinction without a difference. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. The snub-nosed one. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. There again: they are all snub-nosed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Do you want me, Menippus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. The very man I am looking for. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. How goes it in Athens? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. There are a great many young men there professing philosophy; and to +judge from their dress and their walk, they should be perfect in it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. I have seen many such. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. For that matter, I suppose you saw Aristippus arrive, reeking with +scent; and Plato, the polished flatterer from Sicilian courts? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. And what do they think about <i>me</i> in Athens? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Ah, you are fortunate in that respect. You pass for a most +remarkable man, omniscient in fact. And all the time—if the truth must +out—you know absolutely nothing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. I told them that myself: but they would have it that that was my +irony. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And who are your friends? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Charmides; Phaedrus; the son of Clinias. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Ha, ha! still at your old trade; still an admirer of beauty. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. How could I be better occupied? Will you join us? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. No, thank you; I am off, to take up my quarters by Croesus and +Sardanapalus. I expect huge entertainment from their outcries. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aea</i>. I must be off, too; or some one may escape. You shall see the rest +another day, Menippus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I need not detain you. I have seen enough. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Cerberus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. My dear coz—for Cerberus and Cynic are surely related through +the dog—I adjure you by the Styx, tell me how Socrates behaved during the +descent. A God like you can doubtless articulate instead of barking, if he +chooses. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cer</i>. Well, while he was some way off, he seemed quite unshaken; and I +thought he was bent on letting the people outside realize the fact too. Then he +passed into the opening and saw the gloom; I at the same time gave him a touch +of the hemlock, and a pull by the leg, as he was rather slow. Then he squalled +like a baby, whimpered about his children, and, oh, I don’t know what he didn’t +do. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. So <i>he</i> was one of the theorists, was he? His indifference was +a sham? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cer</i>. Yes; it was only that he accepted the inevitable, and put a bold +face on it, pretending to welcome the universal fate, by way of impressing the +bystanders. All that sort are the same, I tell you—bold resolute fellows +as far as the entrance; it is inside that the real test comes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What did you think of <i>my</i> performance? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cer</i>. Ah, Menippus, you were the exception; you are a credit to the +breed, and so was Diogenes before you. You two came in without any compulsion +or pushing, of your own free will, with a laugh for yourselves and a curse for +the rest. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Charon. Menippus. Hermes</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Your fare, you rascal. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Bawl away, Charon, if it gives you any pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I brought you across: give me my fare. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I can’t, if I haven’t got it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. And who is so poor that he has not got a penny? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I for one; I don’t know who else. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Pay: or, by Pluto, I’ll strangle you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And I’ll crack your skull with this stick. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. So you are to come all that way for nothing? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Let Hermes pay for me: he put me on board. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I dare say! A fine time I shall have of it, if I am to pay for the +shades. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I’m not going to let you off. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. You can haul up your ship and wait, for all I care. If I have not +got the money, I can’t pay you, can I? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. You knew you ought to bring it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I knew that: but I hadn’t got it. What would you have? I ought not +to have died, I suppose? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. So you are to have the distinction of being the only passenger that +ever crossed gratis? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Oh, come now: gratis! I took an oar, and I baled; and I didn’t cry, +which is more than can be said for any of the others. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. That’s neither here nor there. I must have my penny; it’s only +right. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, you had better take me back again to life. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Yes, and get a thrashing from Aeacus for my pains! I like that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, don’t bother me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Let me see what you have got in that wallet. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Beans: have some?—and a Hecate’s supper. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Where did you pick up this Cynic, Hermes? The noise he made on the +crossing, too! laughing and jeering at all the rest, and singing, when every +one else was at his lamentations. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, Charon, you little know your passenger! Independence, every +inch of him: he cares for no one. ’Tis Menippus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Wait till I catch you—- +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Precisely; I’ll wait—till you catch me again. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Protesilaus. Pluto. Persephone</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Lord, King, our Zeus! and thou, daughter of Demeter! Grant a +lover’s boon! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. What do you want? who are you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, of Phylace, one of the Achaean host, +the first that died at Troy. And the boon I ask is release and one day’s life. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Ah, friend, that is the love that all these dead men love, and none +shall ever win. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Nay, dread lord, ’tis not life I love, but the bride that I left +new wedded in my chamber that day I sailed away—ah me, to be slain by +Hector as my foot touched land! My lord, that yearning gives me no peace. I +return content, if she might look on me but for an hour. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Did you miss your dose of Lethe, man? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Nay, lord; but this prevailed against it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Oh, well, wait a little; she will come to you one day; it is so +simple; no need for you to be going up. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. My heart is sick with hope deferred; thou too, O Pluto, hast loved; +thou knowest what love is. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. What good will it do you to come to life for a day, and then renew +your pains? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. I think to win her to come with me, and bring two dead for one. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. It may not be; it never has been. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pro</i>. Bethink thee, Pluto. ’Twas for this same cause that ye gave Orpheus +his Eurydice; and Heracles had interest enough to be granted Alcestis; she was +of my kin. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Would you like to present that bare ugly skull to your fair bride? +will she admit you, when she cannot tell you from another man? I know well +enough; she will be frightened and run from you, and you will have gone all +that way for nothing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Per</i>. Husband, doctor that disease yourself: tell Hermes, as soon as +Protesilaus reaches the light, to touch him with his wand, and make him young +and fair as when he left the bridal chamber. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Well, I cannot refuse a lady. Hermes, take him up and turn him into +a bridegroom. But mind, you sir, a strictly temporary one. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XXIV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Diogenes. Mausolus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Why so proud, Carian? How are you better than the rest of us? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mau</i>. Sinopean, to begin with, I was a king; king of all Caria, ruler of +many Lydians, subduer of islands, conqueror of well-nigh the whole of Ionia, +even to the borders of Miletus. Further, I was comely, and of noble stature, +and a mighty warrior. Finally, a vast tomb lies over me in Halicarnassus, of +such dimensions, of such exquisite beauty as no other shade can boast. Thereon +are the perfect semblances of man and horse, carved in the fairest marble; +scarcely may a temple be found to match it. These are the grounds of my pride: +are they inadequate? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Kingship—beauty—heavy tomb; is that it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mau</i>. It is as you say. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. But, my handsome Mausolus, the power and the beauty are no longer +there. If we were to appoint an umpire now on the question of comeliness, I see +no reason why he should prefer your skull to mine. Both are bald, and bare of +flesh; our teeth are equally in evidence; each of us has lost his eyes, and +each is snub-nosed. Then as to the tomb and the costly marbles, I dare say such +a fine erection gives the Halicarnassians something to brag about and show off +to strangers: but I don’t see, friend, that you are the better for it, unless +it is that you claim to carry more weight than the rest of us, with all that +marble on the top of you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mau</i>. Then all is to go for nothing? Mausolus and Diogenes are to rank as +equals? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Equals! My dear sir, no; I don’t say that. While Mausolus is +groaning over the memories of earth, and the felicity which he supposed to be +his, Diogenes will be chuckling. While Mausolus boasts of the tomb raised to +him by Artemisia, his wife and sister, Diogenes knows not whether he has a tomb +or no—the question never having occurred to him; he knows only that his +name is on the tongues of the wise, as one who lived the life of a man; a +higher monument than yours, vile Carian slave, and set on firmer foundations. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXV</h4> + +<p> +<i>Nireus. Thersites. Menippus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ni</i>. Here we are; Menippus shall award the palm of beauty. Menippus, am I +not better-looking than he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, who are you? I must know that first, mustn’t I? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ni</i>. Nireus and Thersites. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Which is which? I cannot tell that yet. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ther</i>. One to me; I am like you; you have no such superiority as Homer +(blind, by the way) gave you when he called you the handsomest of men; he might +peak my head and thin my hair, our judge finds me none the worse. Now, +Menippus, make up your mind which is handsomer. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ni</i>. I, of course, I, the son of Aglaia and Charopus, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Comeliest of all that came ’neath Trojan walls. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. But not comeliest of all that come ’neath the earth, as far as I +know. Your bones are much like other people’s; and the only difference between +your two skulls is that yours would not take much to stove it in. It is a +tender article, something short of masculine. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ni</i>. Ask Homer what I was, when I sailed with the Achaeans. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Dreams, dreams. I am looking at what you are; what you were is +ancient history. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ni</i>. Am I not handsomer here, Menippus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. You are not handsome at all, nor any one else either. Hades is a +democracy; one man is as good as another here. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ther</i>. And a very tolerable arrangement too, if you ask me. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XXVI</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Chiron</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I have heard that you were a god, Chiron, and that you died of your +own choice? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chi</i>. You were rightly informed. I am dead, as you see, and might have +been immortal. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And what should possess you, to be in love with Death? He has no +charm for most people. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chi</i>. You are a sensible fellow; I will tell you. There was no further +satisfaction to be had from immortality. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Was it not a pleasure merely to live and see the light? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chi</i>. No; it is variety, as I take it, and not monotony, that constitutes +pleasure. Living on and on, everything always the same; sun, light, food, +spring, summer, autumn, winter, one thing following another in unending +sequence,—I sickened of it all. I found that enjoyment lay not in +continual possession; that deprivation had its share therein. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Very true, Chiron. And how have you got on since you made Hades your +home? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chi</i>. Not unpleasantly. I like the truly republican equality that +prevails; and as to whether one is in light or darkness, that makes no +difference at all. Then again there is no hunger or thirst here; one is +independent of such things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Take care, Chiron! You may be caught in the snare of your own +reasonings. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chi</i>. How should that be? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Why, if the monotony of the other world brought on satiety, the +monotony here may do the same. You will have to look about for a further +change, and I fancy there is no third life procurable. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chi</i>. Then what is to be done, Menippus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Take things as you find them, I suppose, like a sensible fellow, and +make the best of everything. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXVII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Diogenes. Antisthenes. Crates</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Now, friends, we have plenty of time; what say you to a stroll? we +might go to the entrance and have a look at the new-comers—what they are +and how they behave. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ant</i>. The very thing. It will be an amusing sight—some weeping, +some imploring to be let go, some resisting; when Hermes collars them, they +will stick their heels in and throw their weight back; and all to no purpose. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Very well; and meanwhile, let me give you my experiences on the way +down. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Yes, go on, Crates; I dare say you saw some entertaining sights. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. We were a large party, of which the most distinguished were +Ismenodorus, a rich townsman of ours, Arsaces, ruler of Media, and Oroetes the +Armenian. Ismenodorus had been murdered by robbers going to Eleusis over +Cithaeron, I believe. He was moaning, nursing his wound, apostrophizing the +young children he had left, and cursing his foolhardiness. He knew Cithaeron +and the Eleutherae district were all devastated by the wars, and yet he must +take only two servants with him—with five bowls and four cups of solid +gold in his baggage, too. Arsaces was an old man of rather imposing aspect; he +expressed his feelings in true barbaric fashion, was exceedingly angry at being +expected to walk, and kept calling for his horse. In point of fact it had died +with him, it and he having been simultaneously transfixed by a Thracian pikeman +in the fight with the Cappadocians on the Araxes. Arsaces described to us how +he had charged far in advance of his men, and the Thracian, standing his ground +and sheltering himself with his buckler, warded off the lance, and then, +planting his pike, transfixed man and horse together. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ant</i>. How could it possibly be done simultaneously? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cra</i>. Oh, quite simple. The Median was charging with his thirty-foot +lance in front of him; the Thracian knocked it aside with his buckler; the +point glanced by; then he knelt, received the charge on his pike, pierced the +horse’s chest—the spirited beast impaling itself by its own +impetus—, and finally ran Arsaces through groin and buttock. You see what +happened; it was the horse’s doing rather than the man’s. However, Arsaces did +not at all appreciate equality, and wanted to come down on horseback. As for +Oroetes, he was so tender-footed that he could not stand, far less walk. That +is the way with all the Medes—once they are off their horses, they go +delicately on tiptoe as if they were treading on thorns. He threw himself down, +and there he lay; nothing would induce him to get up; so the excellent Hermes +had to pick him up and carry him to the ferry; how I laughed! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ant</i>. When <i>I</i> came down, I did not keep with the crowd; I left them +to their blubberings, ran on to the ferry, and secured a comfortable seat for +the passage. Then as we crossed, they were divided between tears and +sea-sickness, and gave me a merry time of it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. You two have described your fellow passengers; now for mine. There +came down with me Blepsias, the Pisatan usurer, Lampis, an Acarnanian +freelance, and the Corinthian millionaire Damis. The last had been poisoned by +his son, Lampis had cut his throat for love of the courtesan Myrtium, and the +wretched Blepsias is supposed to have died of starvation; his awful pallor and +extreme emaciation looked like it. I inquired into the manner of their deaths, +though I knew very well. When Damis exclaimed upon his son, ‘You only have your +deserts,’ I remarked,—‘an old man of ninety living in luxury yourself +with your million of money, and fobbing off your eighteen-year son with a few +pence! As for you, sir Acarnanian’—he was groaning and cursing +Myrtium—, ‘why put the blame on Love? it belongs to yourself; you were +never afraid of an enemy—took all sorts of risks in other people’s +service—and then let yourself be caught, my hero, by the artificial tears +and sighs of the first wench you came across.’ Blepsias uttered his own +condemnation, without giving me time to do it for him: he had hoarded his money +for heirs who were nothing to him, and been fool enough to reckon on +immortality. I assure you it was no common satisfaction I derived from their +whinings. +</p> + +<p> +But here we are at the gate; we must keep our eyes open, and get the earliest +view. Lord, lord, what a mixed crowd! and all in tears except these babes and +sucklings. Why, the hoary seniors are all lamentation too; strange! has madam +Life given them a love-potion? I must interrogate this most reverend senior of +them all.—Sir, why weep, seeing that you have died full of years? has +your excellency any complaint to make, after so long a term? Ah, but you were +doubtless a king. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pauper</i>. Not so. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. A provincial governor, then? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pauper</i>. No, nor that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. I see; you were wealthy, and do not like leaving your boundless +luxury to die. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pauper</i>. You are quite mistaken; I was near ninety, made a miserable +livelihood out of my line and rod, was excessively poor, childless, a cripple, +and had nearly lost my sight. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. And you still wished to live? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pauper</i>. Ay, sweet is the light, and dread is death; would that one might +escape it! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. You are beside yourself, old man; you are like a child kicking at +the pricks, you contemporary of the ferryman. Well, we need wonder no more at +youth, when age is still in love with life; one would have thought it should +court death as the cure for its proper ills.—And now let us go our way, +before our loitering here brings suspicion on us: they may think we are +planning an escape. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XXVIII</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Tiresias</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Whether you are blind or not, Tiresias, would be a difficult +question. Eyeless sockets are the rule among us; there is no telling Phineus +from Lynceus nowadays. However, I know that you were a seer, and that you enjoy +the unique distinction of having been both man and woman; I have it from the +poets. Pray tell me which you found the more pleasant life, the man’s or the +woman’s? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. The woman’s, by a long way; it was much less trouble. Women have the +mastery of men; and there is no fighting for them, no manning of walls, no +squabbling in the assembly, no cross-examination in the law-courts. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, but you have heard how Medea, in Euripides, compassionates her +sex on their hard lot—on the intolerable pangs they endure in travail? +And by the way—Medea’s words remind me did you ever have a child, when +you were a woman, or were you barren? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. What do you mean by that question, Menippus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Oh, nothing; but I should like to know, if it is no trouble to you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. I was not barren: but I did not have a child, exactly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. No; but you might have had. That’s all I wanted to know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. Certainly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And your feminine characteristics gradually vanished, and you +developed a beard, and became a man? Or did the change take place in a moment? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. Whither does your question tend? One would think you doubted the +fact. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And what should I do but doubt such a story? Am I to take it in, +like a nincompoop, without asking myself whether it is possible or not? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. At that rate, I suppose you are equally incredulous when you hear of +women being turned into birds or trees or beasts,—Aedon for instance, or +Daphne, or Callisto? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. If I fall in with any of these ladies, I will see what they have to +say about it. But to return, friend, to your own case: were you a prophet even +in the days of your femininity? or did manhood and prophecy come together? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. Pooh, you know nothing of the matter. I once settled a dispute among +the Gods, and was blinded by Hera for my pains; whereupon Zeus consoled me with +the gift of prophecy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Ah, you love a lie still, Tiresias. But there, ’tis your trade. You +prophets! There is no truth in you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>XXIX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Agamemnon. Ajax</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ag</i>. If you went mad and wrought your own destruction, Ajax, in default +of that you designed for us all, why put the blame on Odysseus? Why would you +not vouchsafe him a look or a word, when he came to consult Tiresias that day? +you stalked past your old comrade in arms as if he was beneath your notice. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aj</i>. Had I not good reason? My madness lies at the door of my solitary +rival for the arms. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ag</i>. Did you expect to be unopposed, and carry it over us all without a +contest? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aj</i>. Surely, in such a matter. The armour was mine by natural right, +seeing I was Achilles’s cousin. The rest of you, his undoubted superiors, +refused to compete, recognizing my claim. It was the son of Laertes, he that I +had rescued scores of times when he would have been cut to pieces by the +Phrygians, who set up for a better man and a stronger claimant than I. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ag</i>. Blame Thetis, then, my good sir; it was she who, instead of +delivering the inheritance to the next of kin, brought the arms and left the +ownership an open question. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aj</i>. No, no; the guilt was in claiming them—alone, I mean. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ag</i>. Surely, Ajax, a mere man may be forgiven the sin of coveting +honour—that sweetest bait for which each one of us adventured; nay, and +he outdid you there, if a Trojan verdict counts. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Aj</i>. Who inspired that verdict [Footnote: Athene is meant. The allusion +is to Homer, <i>Od. xi. 547</i>, a passage upon the contest for the arms of +Achilles, in which Odysseus states that ‘The judges were the sons of the +Trojans, and Pallas Athene.’]? I know, but about the Gods we may not speak. Let +that pass; but cease to hate Odysseus? ’tis not in my power, Agamemnon, though +Athene’s self should require it of me. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<h4>XXX</h4> + +<p> +<i>Minos. Sostratus</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Sostratus, the pirate here, can be dropped into Pyriphlegethon, +Hermes; the temple-robber shall be clawed by the Chimera; and lay out the +tyrant alongside of Tityus, there to have his liver torn by the vultures. And +you honest fellows can make the best of your way to Elysium and the Isles of +the Blest; this it is to lead righteous lives. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. A word with you, Minos. See if there is not some justice in my +plea. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. What, more pleadings? Have you not been convicted of villany and +murder without end? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. I have. Yet consider whether my sentence is just. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Is it just that you should have your deserts? If so, the sentence is +just. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. Well, answer my questions; I will not detain you long. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Say on, but be brief; I have other cases waiting for me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. The deeds of my life—were they in my own choice, or were they +decreed by Fate? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Decreed, of course. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. Then all of us, whether we passed for honest men or rogues, were +the instruments of Fate in all that we did? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Certainly; Clotho prescribes the conduct of every man at his birth. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. Now suppose a man commits a murder under compulsion of a power +which he cannot resist, an executioner, for instance, at the bidding of a +judge, or a bodyguard at that of a tyrant. Who is the murderer, according to +you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. The judge, of course, or the tyrant. As well ask whether the sword +is guilty, which is but the tool of his anger who is prime mover in the affair. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. I am indebted to you for a further illustration of my argument. +Again: a slave, sent by his master, brings me gold or silver; to whom am I to +be grateful? who goes down on my tablets as a benefactor? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. The sender; the bringer is but his minister. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sos</i>. Observe then your injustice! You punish us who are but the slaves +of Clotho’s bidding, and reward these, who do but minister to another’s +beneficence. For it will never be said that it was in our power to gainsay the +irresistible ordinances of Fate? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Ah, Sostratus; look closely enough, and you will find plenty of +inconsistencies besides these. However, I see you are no common pirate, but a +philosopher in your way; so much you have gained by your questions. Let him go, +Hermes; he shall not be punished after that. But mind, Sostratus, you must not +put it into other people’s heads to ask questions of this kind. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap12"></a>MENIPPUS</h3> + +<h4>A NECROMANTIC EXPERIMENT</h4> + +<p> +<i>Menippus. Philonides</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. All hail, my roof, my doors, my hearth and home! How sweet again to +see the light and thee! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Menippus the cynic, surely; even so, or there are visions about. +Menippus, every inch of him. What has he been getting himself up like that for? +sailor’s cap, lyre, and lion-skin? However, here goes.—How are you, +Menippus? where do <i>you</i> spring from? You have disappeared this long time. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Death’s lurking-place I leave, and those dark gates Where Hades +dwells, a God apart from Gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Good gracious! has Menippus died, all on the quiet, and come to +life for a second spell? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Not so; a <i>living</i> guest in Hades I. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. But what induced you to take this queer original journey? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Youth drew me on—too bold, too little wise. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. My good man, truce to your heroics; get off those iambic stilts, +and tell me in plain prose what this get-up means; what did you want with the +lower regions? It is a journey that needs a motive to make it attractive. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Dear friend, to Hades’ realms I needs must go, To counsel with +Tiresias of Thebes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Man, you must be mad; or why string verses instead of talking like +one friend with another? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. My dear fellow, you need not be so surprised. I have just been in +Euripides’s and Homer’s company; I suppose I am full to the throat with verse, +and the numbers come as soon as I open my mouth. But how are things going up +here? what is Athens about? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Oh, nothing new; extortion, perjury, forty per cent, face-grinding. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Poor misguided fools! they are not posted up in the latest +lower-world legislation; the recent decrees against the rich will be too much +for all their evasive ingenuity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Do you mean to say the lower world has been making new regulations +for us? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Plenty of them, I assure you. But I may not publish them, nor reveal +secrets; the result might be a suit for impiety in the court of Rhadamanthus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Oh now, Menippus, in Heaven’s name, no secrets between friends! you +know I am no blabber; and I am initiated, if you come to that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. ’Tis a hard thing you ask, and a perilous; yet for you I must +venture it. It was resolved, then, that these rich who roll in money and keep +their gold under lock and key like a Danae—- +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Oh, don’t come to the decrees yet; begin at the beginning. I am +particularly curious about your object in going, who showed you the way, and +the whole story of what you saw and heard down there; you are a man of taste, +and sure not to have missed anything worth looking at or listening to. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I can refuse you nothing, you see; what is one to do, when a friend +insists? Well, I will show you first the state of mind which put me on the +venture. When I was a boy, and listened to Homer’s and Hesiod’s tales of war +and civil strife—and they do not confine themselves to the Heroes, but +include the Gods in their descriptions, adulterous Gods, rapacious Gods, +violent, litigious, usurping, incestuous Gods—, well, I found it all +quite proper, and indeed was intensely interested in it. But as I came to man’s +estate, I observed that the laws flatly contradicted the poets, forbidding +adultery, sedition, and rapacity. So I was in a very hazy state of mind, and +could not tell what to make of it. The Gods would surely never have been guilty +of such behaviour if they had not considered it good; and yet law-givers would +never have recommended avoiding it, if avoidance had not seemed desirable. +</p> + +<p> +In this perplexity, I determined to go to the people they call philosophers, +put myself in their hands, and ask them to make what they would of me and give +me a plain reliable map of life. This was my idea in going to them; but the +effort only shifted me from the frying-pan into the fire; it was just among +these that my inquiry brought the greatest ignorance and bewilderment to light; +they very soon convinced me that the real golden life is that of the man in the +street. One of them would have me do nothing but seek pleasure and ensue it; +according to him, Happiness was pleasure. Another recommended the exact +contrary—toil and moil, bring the body under, be filthy and squalid, +disgusting and abusive—concluding always with the tags from Hesiod about +Virtue, or something about indefatigable pursuit of the ideal. Another bade me +despise money, and reckon the acquisition of it as a thing indifferent; he too +had his contrary, who declared wealth a good in itself. I will spare you their +metaphysics; I was sickened with daily doses of Ideas, Incorporeal Things, +Atoms, Vacua, and a multitude more. The extraordinary thing was that people +maintaining the most opposite views would each of them produce convincing +plausible arguments; when the same thing was called hot and cold by different +persons, there was no refuting one more than the other, however well one knew +that it could not be hot and cold at once. I was just like a man dropping off +to sleep, with his head first nodding forward, and then jerking back. +</p> + +<p> +Yet that absurdity is surpassed by another. I found by observation that the +practice of these same people was diametrically opposed to their precepts. +Those who preached contempt of wealth would hold on to it like grim death, +dispute about interest, teach for pay, and sacrifice everything to the main +chance, while the depreciators of fame directed all their words and deeds to +nothing else but fame; pleasure, which had all their private devotions, they +were almost unanimous in condemning. +</p> + +<p> +Thus again disappointed of my hope, I was in yet worse case than before; it was +slight consolation to reflect that I was in numerous and wise and eminently +sensible company, if I was a fool still, all astray in my quest of Truth. One +night, while these thoughts kept me sleepless, I resolved to go to Babylon and +ask help from one of the Magi, Zoroaster’s disciples and successors; I had been +told that by incantations and other rites they could open the gates of Hades, +take down any one they chose in safety, and bring him up again. I thought the +best thing would be to secure the services of one of these, visit Tiresias the +Boeotian, and learn from that wise seer what is the best life and the right +choice for a man of sense. I got up with all speed and started straight for +Babylon. When I arrived, I found a wise and wonderful Chaldean; he was +white-haired, with a long imposing beard, and called Mithrobarzanes. My prayers +and supplications at last induced him to name a price for conducting me down. +</p> + +<p> +Taking me under his charge, he commenced with a new moon, and brought me down +for twenty-nine successive mornings to the Euphrates, where he bathed me, +apostrophizing the rising sun in a long formula, of which I never caught much; +he gabbled indistinctly, like bad heralds at the Games; but he appeared to be +invoking spirits. This charm completed, he spat thrice upon my face, and I went +home, not letting my eyes meet those of any one we passed. Our food was nuts +and acorns, our drink milk and hydromel and water from the Choaspes, and we +slept out of doors on the grass. When he thought me sufficiently prepared, he +took me at midnight to the Tigris, purified and rubbed me over, sanctified me +with torches and squills and other things, muttering the charm aforesaid, then +made a magic circle round me to protect me from ghosts, and finally led me home +backwards just as I was; it was now time to arrange our voyage. +</p> + +<p> +He himself put on a magic robe, Median in character, and fetched and gave me +the cap, lion’s skin, and lyre which you see, telling me if I were asked my +name not to say Menippus, but Heracles, Odysseus, or Orpheus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. What was that for? I see no reason either for the get-up or for the +choice of names. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Oh, obvious enough; there is no mystery in that. He thought that as +these three had gone down alive to Hades before us, I might easily elude +Aeacus’s guard by borrowing their appearance, and be passed as an +<i>habitue</i>; there is good warrant in the theatre for the efficiency of +disguise. +</p> + +<p> +Dawn was approaching when we went down to the river to embark; he had provided +a boat, victims, hydromel, and all necessaries for our mystic enterprise. We +put all aboard, and then, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Troubled at heart, with welling tears, we went. +</p> + +<p> +For some distance we floated down stream, until we entered the marshy lake in +which the Euphrates disappears. Beyond this we came to a desolate, wooded, +sunless spot; there we landed, Mithrobarzanes leading the way, and proceeded to +dig a pit, slay our sheep, and sprinkle their blood round the edge. Meanwhile +the Mage, with a lighted torch in his hand, abandoning his customary whisper, +shouted at the top of his voice an invocation to all spirits, particularly the +Poenae and Erinyes, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hecat’s dark might, and dread Persephone, +</p> + +<p> +with a string of other names, outlandish, unintelligible, and polysyllabic. +</p> + +<p> +As he ended, there was a great commotion, earth was burst open by the +incantation, the barking of Cerberus was heard far off, and all was overcast +and lowering; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Quaked in his dark abyss the King of Shades; +</p> + +<p> +for almost all was now unveiled to us, the lake, and Phlegethon, and the abode +of Pluto. Undeterred, we made our way down the chasm, and came upon +Rhadamanthus half dead with fear. Cerberus barked and looked like getting up; +but I quickly touched my lyre, and the first note sufficed to lull him. +Reaching the lake, we nearly missed our passage for that time, the ferry-boat +being already full; there was incessant lamentation, and all the passengers had +wounds upon them; mangled legs, mangled heads, mangled everything; no doubt +there was a war going on. Nevertheless, when good Charon saw the lion’s skin, +taking me for Heracles, he made room, was delighted to give me a passage, and +showed us our direction when we got off. +</p> + +<p> +We were now in darkness; so Mithrobarzanes led the way, and I followed holding +on to him, until we reached a great meadow of asphodel, where the shades of the +dead, with their thin voices, came flitting round us. Working gradually on, we +reached the court of Minos; he was sitting on a high throne, with the Poenae, +Avengers, and Erinyes standing at the sides. From another direction was being +brought a long row of persons chained together; I heard that they were +adulterers, procurers, publicans, sycophants, informers, and all the filth that +pollutes the stream of life. Separate from them came the rich and usurers, +pale, pot-bellied, and gouty, each with a hundredweight of spiked collar upon +him. There we stood looking at the proceedings and listening to the pleas they +put in; their accusers were orators of a strange and novel species. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. +Who, in God’s name? shrink not; let me know all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. It has not escaped your observation that the sun projects certain +shadows of our bodies on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. How should it have? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. These, when we die, are the prosecutors and witnesses who bring home +to us our conduct on earth; their constant attendance and absolute attachment +to our persons secures them high credit in the witness-box. +</p> + +<p> +Well, Minos carefully examined each prisoner, and sent him off to the place of +the wicked to receive punishment proportionate to his transgressions. He was +especially severe upon those who, puffed up with wealth and authority, were +expecting an almost reverential treatment; he could not away with their +ephemeral presumption and superciliousness, their failure to realize the +mortality of themselves and their fortunes. Stripped of all that made them +glorious, of wealth and birth and power, there they stood naked and downcast, +reconstructing their worldly blessedness in their minds like a dream that is +gone; the spectacle was meat and drink to me; any that I knew by sight I would +come quietly up to, and remind him of his state up here; what a spirit had his +been, when morning crowds lined his hall, expectant of his coming, being +jostled or thrust out by lacqueys! at last my lord Sun would dawn upon them, in +purple or gold or rainbow hues, not unconscious of the bliss he shed upon those +who approached, if he let them kiss his breast or his hand. These reminders +seemed to annoy them. +</p> + +<p> +Minos, however, did allow his decision to be influenced in one case. Dionysius +of Syracuse was accused by Dion of many unholy deeds, and damning evidence was +produced by his shadow; he was on the point of being chained to the Chimera, +when Aristippus of Cyrene, whose name and influence are great below, got him +off on the ground of his constant generosity as a patron of literature. +</p> + +<p> +We left the court at last, and came to the place of punishment. Many a piteous +sight and sound was there—cracking of whips, shrieks of the burning, rack +and gibbet and wheel; Chimera tearing, Cerberus devouring; all tortured +together, kings and slaves, governors and paupers, rich and beggars, and all +repenting their sins. A few of them, the lately dead, we recognized. These +would turn away and shrink from observation; or if they met our eyes, it would +be with a slavish cringing glance—how different from the arrogance and +contempt that had marked them in life! The poor were allowed half-time in their +tortures, respite and punishment alternating. Those with whom legend is so busy +I saw with my eyes—Ixion, Sisyphus, the Phrygian Tantalus in all his +misery, and the giant Tityus—how vast, his bulk covering a whole field! +</p> + +<p> +Leaving these, we entered the Acherusian plain, and there found the demi-gods, +men and women both, and the common dead, dwelling in their nations and tribes, +some of them ancient and mouldering, ‘strengthless heads,’ as Homer has it, +others fresh, with substance yet in them, Egyptians chiefly, these—so +long last their embalming drugs. But to know one from another was no easy task; +all are so like when the bones are bared; yet with pains and long scrutiny we +could make them out. They lay pell-mell in undistinguished heaps, with none of +their earthly beauties left. With all those anatomies piled together as like as +could be, eyes glaring ghastly and vacant, teeth gleaming bare, I knew not how +to tell Thersites from Nireus the beauty, beggar Irus from the Phaeacian king, +or cook Pyrrhias from Agamemnon’s self. Their ancient marks were gone, and +their bones alike—uncertain, unlabelled, indistinguishable. +</p> + +<p> +When I saw all this, the life of man came before me under the likeness of a +great pageant, arranged and marshalled by Chance, who distributed infinitely +varied costumes to the performers. She would take one and array him like a +king, with tiara, bodyguard, and crown complete; another she dressed like a +slave; one was adorned with beauty, another got up as a ridiculous hunchback; +there must be all kinds in the show. Often before the procession was over she +made individuals exchange characters; they could not be allowed to keep the +same to the end; Croesus must double parts and appear as slave and captive; +Maeandrius, starting as slave, would take over Polycrates’s despotism, and be +allowed to keep his new clothes for a little while. And when the procession is +done, every one disrobes, gives up his character with his body, and appears, as +he originally was, just like his neighbour. Some, when Chance comes round +collecting the properties, are silly enough to sulk and protest, as though they +were being robbed of their own instead of only returning loans. You know the +kind of thing on the stage—tragic actors shifting as the play requires +from Creon to Priam, from Priam to Agamemnon; the same man, very likely, whom +you saw just now in all the majesty of Cecrops or Erechtheus, treads the boards +next as a slave, because the author tells him to. The play over, each of them +throws off his gold-spangled robe and his mask, descends from the buskin’s +height, and moves a mean ordinary creature; his name is not now Agamemnon son +of Atreus or Creon son of Menoeceus, but Polus son of Charicles of Sunium or +Satyrus son of Theogiton of Marathon. Such is the condition of mankind, or so +that sight presented it to me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. Now, if a man occupies a costly towering sepulchre, or leaves +monuments, statues, inscriptions behind him on earth, does not this place him +in a class above the common dead? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Nonsense, my good man; if you had looked on Mausolus +himself—the Carian so famous for his tomb—, I assure you, you would +never have stopped laughing; he was a miserable unconsidered unit among the +general mass of the dead, flung aside in a dusty hole, with no profit of his +sepulchre but its extra weight upon him. No, friend, when Aeacus gives a man +his allowance of space—and it never exceeds a foot’s breadth—, he +must be content to pack himself into its limits. You might have laughed still +more if you had beheld the kings and governors of earth begging in Hades, +selling salt fish for a living, it might be, or giving elementary lessons, +insulted by any one who met them, and cuffed like the most worthless of slaves. +When I saw Philip of Macedon, I could not contain myself; some one showed him +to me cobbling old shoes for money in a corner. Many others were to be seen +begging—people like Xerxes, Darius, or Polycrates. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. These royal downfalls are extraordinary almost—incredible. +But what of Socrates, Diogenes, and such wise men? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Socrates still goes about proving everybody wrong, the same as ever; +Palamedes, Odysseus, Nestor, and a few other conversational shades, keep him +company. His legs, by the way, were still puffy and swollen from the poison. +Good Diogenes pitches close to Sardanapalus, Midas, and other specimens of +magnificence. The sound of their lamentations and better-day memories keeps him +in laughter and spirits; he is generally stretched on his back roaring out a +noisy song which drowns lamentation; it annoys them, and they are looking out +for a new pitch where he may not molest them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Phi</i>. I am satisfied. And now for that decree which you told me had been +passed against the rich. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well remembered; that was what I meant to tell you about, but I have +somehow got far astray. Well, during my stay the presiding officers gave notice +of an assembly on matters of general interest. So, when I saw every one +flocking to it, I mingled with the shades and constituted myself a member. +Various measures were decided upon, and last came this question of the rich. +Many grave accusations were preferred against them, including violence, +ostentation, pride, injustice; and at last a popular speaker rose and moved +this decree. +</p> + +<h4>DECREE</h4> + +<p> +‘Whereas the rich are guilty of many illegalities on earth, harrying and +oppressing the poor and trampling upon all their rights, it is the pleasure of +the Senate and People that after death they shall be punished in their bodies +like other malefactors, but their souls shall be sent on earth to inhabit +asses, until they have passed in that shape a quarter-million of years, +generation after generation, bearing burdens under the tender mercies of the +poor; after which they shall be permitted to die. Mover of this +decree—Cranion son of Skeletion of the deme Necysia in the Alibantid +[Footnote: The four names are formed from words meaning skull, skeleton, +corpse, anatomy.] tribe.’ The decree read, a formal vote was taken, in which +the people accepted it. A snort from Brimo and a bark from Cerberus completed +the proceedings according to the regular form. +</p> + +<p> +So went the assembly. And now, in pursuance of my original design, I went to +Tiresias, explained my case fully, and implored him to give me his views upon +the best life. He is a blind little old man, pale and weak-voiced. He smiled +and said:—‘My son, the cause of your perplexity, I know, is the fact that +doctors differ; but I may not enlighten you; Rhadamanthus forbids.’ ‘Ah, say +not so, father,’ I exclaimed; ‘speak out, and leave me not to wander through +life in a blindness worse than yours.’ So he drew me apart to a considerable +distance, and whispered in my ear:—‘The life of the ordinary man is the +best and most prudent choice; cease from the folly of metaphysical speculation +and inquiry into origins and ends, utterly reject their clever logic, count all +these things idle talk, and pursue one end alone—how you may do what your +hand finds to do, and go your way with ever a smile and never a passion.’ +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +So he, and sought the lawn of asphodel. +</p> + +<p> +It was now late, and I told Mithrobarzanes that our work was done, and we might +reascend. ‘Very well, Menippus,’ said he, ‘I will show you an easy short cut.’ +And taking me to a place where the darkness was especially thick, he pointed to +a dim and distant ray of light—a mere pencil admitted through a chink. +‘There,’ he said, ‘is the shrine of Trophonius, from which the Boeotian +inquirers start; go up that way, and you will be on Grecian soil without more +ado.’ I was delighted, took my leave of the Mage, crawled with considerable +difficulty through the aperture, and found myself, sure enough, at Lebadea. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap13"></a>CHARON</h3> + +<p> +<i>Hermes. Charon</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. So gay, Charon? What makes you leave your ferry to come up here? +You are quite a stranger in the upper world. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I thought I should like to see what life is like; what men do with +it, and what are these blessings of which they all lament the loss when they +come down to us. Never one of them has made the passage dry-eyed. So I got +leave from Pluto to take a day off, like that Thessalian lad [Footnote: See +Protesilaus in Notes.], you know; and here I am, in the light of day. I am in +luck, it seems, to fall in with you. You will show me round, of course, and +point out all that is to be seen, as you know all about it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. I have no time, good ferryman. I am bound on certain errands of the +Upper Zeus, certain human matters. He is short-tempered: any loitering on my +part, and he may hand me over to you Powers of Darkness for good and all; or +treat me as he did Hephaestus the other day—hurl me down headlong from +the threshold of Heaven; there would be a pair of lame cupbearers then, to +amuse the gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. And you would leave an old messmate wandering at large on the face +of the earth? Think of the cruises we have sailed together, the cargoes you and +I have handled! You might remember one thing, son of Maia; I have never set you +down to bale or row. You lie sprawling about the deck, you great strong lubber, +snoring away, or chatting the whole trip through with any communicative shade +you can find; and the old man plies both oars at once. Come, stand by me, like +a true son of Zeus as you are, and show me all the ins and outs, there’s a dear +lad. I want to see something of life before I go back, and if you leave me in +the lurch, I shall be no better off than a blind man: <i>he</i> comes to grief +because he is always in the dark, and, contrariwise, <i>I</i> can make nothing +of it in the light. Do me this good turn, and I’ll not forget it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Clearly this is to be a flogging matter for me. There will go some +shrewd knocks to the settlement of this reckoning. However, I must give you a +helping hand. What is one to do, when a friend is so pressing? Now, as to going +over everything thoroughly, it is out of the question; it would take us years. +Meanwhile, I should have the hue-and-cry out after me, you would be neglecting +your ghostly work, Pluto would lose the shades that you ought to be shipping +over all that time, and Aeacus would never take a single toll, and would be +proportionately furious. We have only to think, therefore, of contriving you a +general view of what is going on. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. You must do the best you can for me. I know nothing of the matter, +being a stranger up here. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. The main thing is to get an elevation from which you may see in +every direction. If you could come up to Heaven, we should be saved any further +trouble; you would then have a good bird’s-eye view of everything. But it would +be sacrilege for one so conversant with phantoms to set foot in the courts of +Zeus. Let us lose no time, therefore, in looking out a good high mountain. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. You know what I sometimes say to you on the ship, Hermes.—If a +sudden gust strikes the sail from a new quarter, and the waves are rising high, +you landsmen know not what to make of it; you are for taking in sail, or +slackening the sheet, or letting her go before the wind, and then I tell you +not to trouble your heads, for <i>I</i> know what to do. Well, now it is your +turn; you are sailing this ship; do as you think best, and I’ll sit quiet, as a +passenger should, and obey orders. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Just so; leave it to me, and I will find a good look-out. How would +Caucasus do? Or is Parnassus higher? Olympus, perhaps, is higher than either of +them. Olympus! stay, that reminds me; I have a happy thought. But there is work +for two here; I shall want your assistance. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Give your orders, I’ll bear a hand, to the best of my ability. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Homer tells us how the sons of Aloeus [Footnote: See <i>Olus</i> in +Notes.] (they were but two, like ourselves) took it into their heads, when they +were yet children, to drag up Ossa from its foundations, and plant it on the +top of Olympus, and then Pelion on the top of all; they thought that would +serve as a ladder for getting into heaven. The two boys were rightly punished +for their presumption. But <i>we</i> have no design against the Gods: why +should not we take the hint, and make an erection of mountains piled one on the +top of another? From such a height we should get a better view. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. What, shall we two be able to lift Pelion or Ossa? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why not? We are gods; I should hope we are as good as those two +infants. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Yes; but I should never have thought we could do such a job as that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, my dear Charon, you don’t understand these things; you have no +imagination. To the lofty spirit of Homer this is simplicity itself. Just a +couple of lines, and the mountains are in place;—we have only to walk up. +I wonder you make such a marvel of this. You know Atlas, of course? He holds up +the entire heaven by himself, Gods and all. And I dare say you have heard how +my brother Heracles relieved him once, and took the burden on his own shoulders +for a time? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Yes, I have heard it. But you and the poets best know whether it is +true. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh, perfectly true. What should induce wise men to lie?—Come, +let us get to work on Ossa first; for so the masterbuilder directs: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Ossa first;<br/> + On Ossa leafy Pelion.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +There! What think you of this? Is it suave work? is it poetry? I must run up, +and see whether we shall want another storey. Oh dear, we are no way up as yet. +On the East, it is all I can do to make out Ionia and Lydia; on the West is +nothing but Italy and Sicily; on the North, nothing to be seen beyond the +Danube; and on the South, Crete, none too clear. It looks to me as if we should +want Oeta, my nautical friend; and Parnassus into the bargain. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. So be it; but take care not to make the height too great for the +width; or down we shall come, ladder and all, and pay our footing in the +Homeric school of architecture with a cracked crown apiece. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. No fear; all will be safe enough. Pass Oeta along. Now trundle +Parnassus up. There; I’ll go up again…. That’s better! A fine view. You can +come now. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Give me a hand up, Hermes. This <i>is</i> an erection, and no +mistake! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, you know, you would see everything. Safety is one thing, my +friend, and sight-seeing is another. Here is my hand; hang on, and keep clear +of the slippery bits. There, now <i>you</i> are up. Let us sit down; here are +two peaks, one for each of us. Now take a general look round at the prospect. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I see a vast stretch of land, and a huge lake surrounding it, and +mountains, and rivers bigger than Cocytus and Pyriphlegethon; and men, tiny +little things! and I suppose their dens. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her. Dens</i>? Those are cities! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I tell you what it is, Hermes; all this is no use. Here have we been +shifting about Parnassus (Castalia and all complete), and Oeta, and these +others, and we might have spared ourselves the trouble! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. How so? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Why, I can make nothing out up here. These cities and mountains look +for all the world like a map. It is <i>men</i> that I am after; I want to see +what they do, and hear what they say. That is what I was laughing about just +now, when first you met me, and asked me what the joke was. I had heard +something that tickled me hugely. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. And what might that be? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. One of them had been asked by a friend to dinner, I think it was, +the next day. ‘Depend on it,’ says he, ‘I’ll be with you.’ And before the words +were out of his mouth, down came a tile—started somehow from the +roof—and he was a dead man! Ha, ha, thought I, <i>that</i> promise will +never be kept. So I think I shall go down again; I want to see and hear. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Sit where you are. I will soon put that right; you shall see with +the best; Homer has a charm for this too. Now, the moment I say the lines, +there must be no more dull eyes; all must be clear as daylight. Don’t forget! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Say on. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + See, from before thine eyes I lift the veil;<br/> + So shalt thou clearly know both God and man.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +Well? Are the eyes any better? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. A marvellous improvement! Lynceus is blind to me. Now, the next +thing I want is information. I have some questions to ask. Will you have them +couched in the Homeric style, to convince you that I am not wholly unversed in +his poems? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. And how should you know anything of Homer? A seaman, chained to the +oar! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Come, come; no abuse of my profession. The fact is, when he died, +and I ferried him over, I heard a good many of his ballads, and a few of them +still run in my head. There was a pretty stiff gale on at the time, too. You +see, he began singing a song about Posidon, which boded no good to us +mariners,—how Posidon gathered the clouds, and stirred the depths with +his trident, as with a ladle, and roused the whirlwind, and a good deal more +(enough to raise a storm of itself),—when suddenly there came a black +squall which nearly capsized the boat. The poet was extremely ill, and +disgorged such an avalanche of minstrelsy (Scylla, Charybdis, the Cyclops, all +came up bodily), that I had no difficulty in preserving a few snatches. I +should like to know, for instance, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Who is yon hero, stout and strong and tall,<br/> + O’ertopping all mankind by head and shoulders?<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That is Milo of Croton, the athlete. He has just picked up a bull, +and is carrying it along the race-course; and the Greeks are applauding him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. It would be more to the point, if they were to offer their +congratulations to <i>me</i>. I shall presently be picking up Milo himself, and +putting him into my boat; that will be after he has had his fall from Death, +that most invincible of antagonists, who will have him on his back before he +knows what is happening. We shall hear a sad tale then, no doubt, of the crowns +and the applause he has left behind him. Meanwhile, he is mightily elated over +the bull exploit, and the distinction it has won him. What is one to think? +Does it ever occur to him that he must <i>die</i> some day? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. How should he think of death? He is at his zenith. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Well, never mind him. We shall have sport enough with him before +long; he will come aboard with no strength left to pick up a gnat, let alone a +bull. But pray, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Who is yon haughty hero?<br/> + No Greek, to judge by his dress.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That is Cyrus, son of Cambyses, who transferred to the Persians the +ancient empire of the Medes. He has lately conquered Assyria, and reduced +Babylon; and now it looks as if he meditated an invasion of Lydia, to complete +his dominion by the overthrow of Croesus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. And whereabouts is Croesus? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Look over there. You see the great city with the triple wall? That +is Sardis. And there, look, is Croesus himself, reclining on a golden couch, +and conversing with Solon the Athenian. Shall we listen to what they are +saying? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Yes, let us. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr. Stranger, you have now seen my stores of treasure, my heaps of bullion, +and all my riches. Tell me therefore, whom do you account the happiest of +mankind</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. What will Solon say, I wonder? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Trust Solon; he will not disgrace himself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Croesus, few men are happy. Of those whom I know, the happiest, I +think, were Cleobis and Biton, the sons of the Argive priestess</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Ah, he means those two who yoked themselves to a waggon, and drew +their mother to the temple, and died the moment after. It was but the other +day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Ah. So they are first on the list. And who comes next</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Tellus the Athenian, who lived a righteous life, and died for his +country</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>And where do I come, reptile</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>That I am unable to say at present, Croesus; I must see you end +your days first. Death is the sure test;—a happy end to a life of +happiness</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Bravo, Solon; <i>you</i> have not forgotten us! As you say, Charon’s +ferry is the proper place for the decision of these questions.—But who +are these men whom Croesus is sending out? And what have they got on their +shoulders? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Those are bars of gold; they are going to Delphi, to pay for an +oracle, which oracle will presently be the ruin of Croesus. But oracles are a +hobby of his. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Oh, so that is <i>gold</i>, that glittering yellow stuff, with just +a tinge of red in it. I have often heard of gold, but never saw it before. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes, that is the stuff there is so much talking and squabbling +about. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Well now, I see no advantages about it, unless it is an advantage +that it is heavy to carry. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, you do not know what it has to answer for; the wars and plots +and robberies, the perjuries and murders; for this men will endure slavery and +imprisonment; for this they traffic and sail the seas. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. For this stuff? Why, it is not much different from copper. I know +copper, of course, because I get a penny from each passenger. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes, but copper is plentiful, and therefore not much esteemed by +men. Gold is found only in small quantities, and the miners have to go to a +considerable depth for it. For the rest, it comes out of the earth, just the +same as lead and other metals. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. What fools men must be, to be enamoured of an object of this sallow +complexion; and of such a weight! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, Solon, at any rate, seems to have no great affection for it. +See, he is making merry with Croesus and his outlandish magnificence. I think +he is going to ask him a question. Listen. +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Croesus, will those bars be any use to Apollo, do you think?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Any use! Why there is nothing at Delphi to be compared to them.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>And that is all that is wanting to complete his happiness, +eh?—some bar gold?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Undoubtedly.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Then they must be very hard up in Heaven, if they have to send all +the way to Lydia for their gold supply?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Where else is gold to be had in such abundance as with us?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Now is any iron found in Lydia?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Not much.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Ah; so you are lacking in the more valuable metal.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>More valuable? Iron more valuable than gold?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Bear with me, while I ask you a few questions, and I will convince +you it is so.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Well?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Of protector and protege, which is the better man?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>The protector, of course.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Now in the event of Cyrus’s invading Lydia—there is some talk +of it—shall you supply your men with golden swords? or will iron be +required, on the occasion?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Oh, iron.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Iron accordingly you must have, or your gold would be led captive +into Persia?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>Blasphemer!</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>Oh, we will hope for the best. But it is clear, on your own +admission, that iron is better than gold.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>And what would you have me do? Recall the gold, and offer the God +bars of iron?</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>So</i>. <i>He has no occasion for iron either. Your offering (be the metal what +it may) will fall into other hands than his. It will be snapped up by the +Phocians, or the Boeotians, or the God’s own priests; or by some tyrant or +robber. Your goldsmiths have no interest for Apollo.</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cr</i>. <i>You are always having a stab at my wealth. It is all envy!</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. This blunt sincerity is not to the Lydian’s taste. Things are come +to a strange pass, he thinks, if a poor man is to hold up his head, and speak +his mind in this frank manner! He will remember Solon presently, when the time +comes for Cyrus to conduct him in chains to the pyre. I heard Clotho, the other +day, reading over the various dooms. Among other things, Croesus was to be led +captive by Cyrus, and Cyrus to be murdered by the queen of the Massagetae. +There she is: that Scythian woman, riding on a white horse; do you see? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That is Tomyris. She will cut off Cyrus’s head, and put it into a +wine-skin filled with blood. And do you see his son, the boy there? That is +Cambyses. He will succeed to his father’s throne; and, after innumerable +defeats in Libya and Ethiopia, will finally slay the god Apis, and die a raving +madman. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. What fun! Why, at this moment no one would presume to meet their +eyes; from such a height do they look down on the rest of mankind. Who would +believe that before long one of them will be a captive, and the other have his +head in a bottle of blood?—But who is that in the purple robe, +Hermes?—the one with the diadem? His cook has just been cleaning a fish, +and is now handing him a ring,—“in yonder sea-girt isle”; “’tis, sure, +some king.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>.Ha, ha! A parody, this time.—That is Polycrates, tyrant of +Samos. He is extremely well pleased with his lot: yet that slave who now stands +at his side will betray him to the satrap Oroetes, and he will be crucified. It +will not take long to overturn <i>his</i> prosperity, poor man! This, too, I +had from Clotho. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I like Clotho; she is a lady of spirit. Have at them, madam! Off +with their heads! To the cross with them! Let them know that they are men. And +let them be exalted in the meantime; the higher they mount, the heavier will be +the fall. I shall have a merry time of it hereafter, identifying their naked +shades, as they come aboard; no more purple robes then; no tiaras; no golden +couches! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. So much for royalty; and now to the common herd. Do you see them, +Charon;—on their ships and on the field of battle; crowding the +law-courts and following the plough; usurers here, beggars there? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I see them. What a jostling life it is! What a world of ups and +downs! Their cities remind me of bee-hives. Every man keeps a sting for his +neighbour’s service; and a few, like wasps, make spoil of their weaker +brethren. But what are all these misty shapes that beset them on every side? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Hopes, Fears, Follies, Pleasures, Greeds, Hates, Grudges, and such +like. They differ in their habits. The Folly is a domestic creature, with +vested rights of its own. The same with the Grudge, the Hate, the Envy, the +Greed, the Know-not, and the What’s-to-do. But the Fear and the Hope fly +overhead. The Fear swoops on its prey from above; sometimes it is content with +startling a man out of his wits, sometimes it frightens him in real earnest. +The Hope hovers almost within reach, and just when a man thinks he is going to +catch it, off it flies, and leaves him gaping—like Tantalus in the water, +you know. Now look closely, and you will make out the Fates up aloft, spinning +each man his spindle-full; from that spindle a man hangs by a narrow thread. Do +you see what looks like a cobweb, coming down to each man from the spindles? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I see each has a very slight thread. They are mostly entangled, one +with another, and that other with a third. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Of course they are. Because the first man has got to be murdered by +the second, and he by the third; or again, B is to be A’s heir (A’s thread +being the shorter), and C is to be B’s. That is what the entangling means. But +you see what thin threads they all have to depend on. Now here is one drawn +high up into the air; presently his thread will snap, when the weight becomes +too much for it, and down he will come with a bang: whereas yonder fellow hangs +so low that when he does fall it makes no noise; his next-door neighbours will +scarcely hear him drop. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. How absurd it all is! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. My dear Charon, there is no word for the absurdity of it. They do +take it all so seriously, that is the best of it; and then, long before they +have finished scheming, up comes good old Death, and whisks them off, and all +is over! You observe that he has a fine staff of assistants at his +command;—agues, consumptions, fevers, inflammations, swords, robbers, +hemlock, juries, tyrants,—not one of which gives them a moment’s concern +so long as they are prosperous; but when they come to grief, then it is Alack! +and Well-a-day! and Oh dear me! If only they would start with a clear +understanding that they are mortal, that after a brief sojourn on the earth +they will wake from the dream of life, and leave all behind them,—they +would live more sensibly, and not mind dying so much. As it is, they get it +into their heads that what they possess they possess for good and all; the +consequence is, that when Death’s officer calls for them, and claps on a fever +or a consumption, they take it amiss; the parting is so wholly unexpected. +Yonder is a man building his house, urging the workmen to use all dispatch. How +would he take the news, that he was just to see the roof on and all complete, +when he would have to take his departure, and leave all the enjoyment to his +heir?—hard fate, not once to sup beneath it! There again is one rejoicing +over the birth of a son; the child is to inherit his grandfather’s name, and +the father is celebrating the occasion with his friends. He would not be so +pleased, if he knew that the boy was to die before he was eight years old! It +is natural enough: he sees before him some happy father of an Olympian victor, +and has no eyes for his neighbour there, who is burying a child; <i>that</i> +thin-spun thread escapes his notice. Behold, too, the money-grubbers, whom the +aforesaid Death’s-officers will never permit to be money-spenders; and the +noble army of litigant neighbours! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Yes! I see it all; and I ask myself, what is the satisfaction in +life? What is it that men bewail the loss of? Take their kings; they seem to be +best off, though, as you say, they have their happiness on a precarious tenure; +but apart from that, we shall find their pleasures to be outweighed by the +vexations inseparable from their position—worry and anxiety, flattery +here, conspiracy there, enmity everywhere; to say nothing of the tyranny of +Sorrow, Disease, and Passion, with whom there is confessedly no respect of +persons. And if the king’s lot is a hard one, we may make a pretty shrewd guess +at that of the commoner. Come now, I will give you a similitude for the life of +man. Have you ever stood at the foot of a waterfall, and marked the bubbles +rising to the surface and gathering into foam? Some are quite small, and break +as soon as they are born. Others last longer; new ones come to join them, and +they swell up to a great size: yet in the end they burst, as surely as the +rest; it cannot be otherwise. There you have human life. All men are bubbles, +great or small, inflated with the breath of life. Some are destined to last for +a brief space, others perish in the very moment of birth: but all must +inevitably burst. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Homer compares mankind to leaves. Your simile is full as good as +his. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. And being the things they are, they do—the things you see; +squabbling among themselves, and contending for dominion and power and riches, +all of which they will have to leave behind them, when they come down to us +with their penny apiece. Now that we are up here, how would it be for me to cry +out to them at the top of my voice, to abstain from their vain endeavours, and +live with the prospect of Death before their eyes? ‘Fools’ (I might say), ‘why +so much in earnest? Rest from your toils. You will not live for ever. Nothing +of the pomp of this world will endure; nor can any man take anything hence when +he dies. He will go naked out of the world, and his house and his lands and his +gold will be another’s, and ever another’s.’ If I were to call out something of +this sort, loud enough for them to hear, would it not do some good? Would not +the world be the better for it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, my poor friend, you know not what you say. Ignorance and deceit +have done for them what Odysseus did for his crew when he was afraid of the +Sirens; they have waxed men’s ears up so effectually, that no drill would ever +open them. How then should they hear you? You might shout till your lungs gave +way. Ignorance is as potent here as the waters of Lethe are with you. There are +a few, to be sure, who from a regard for Truth have refused the wax process; +men whose eyes are open to discern good and evil. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Well then, we might call out to <i>them</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. There again: where would be the use of telling them what they know +already? See, they stand aloof from the rest of mankind, and scoff at all that +goes on; nothing is as they would have it. Nay, they are evidently bent on +giving life the slip, and joining you. Their condemnations of folly make them +unpopular here. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Well done, my brave boys! There are not many of them, though, +Hermes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. These must serve. And now let us go down. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. There is still one thing I had a fancy to see. Show me the +receptacles into which they put the corpses, and your office will have been +discharged. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, <i>sepulchres</i>, those are called, or <i>tombs</i>, or +<i>graves</i>. Well, do you see those mounds, and columns, and pyramids, +outside the various city walls? Those are the store-chambers of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Why, they are putting flowers on the stones, and pouring costly +essences upon them. And in front of some of the mounds they have piled up +faggots, and dug trenches. Look: there is a splendid banquet laid out, and they +are burning it all; and pouring wine and mead, I suppose it is, into the +trenches! What does it all mean? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What satisfaction it affords to their friends in Hades, I am unable +to say. But the idea is, that the shades come up, and get as close as they can, +and feed upon the savoury steam of the meat, and drink the mead in the trench. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Eat and drink, when their skulls are dry bone? But I am wasting my +breath: you bring them down every day;—<i>you</i> can say whether they +are likely ever to get up again, once they are safely underground! That would +be too much of a good thing! You would have your work cut out for you and no +mistake, if you had not only to bring them down, but also to take them up again +when they wanted a drink. Oh, fools and blockheads! You little know how we +arrange matters, or what a gulf is set betwixt the living and the dead! +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The buried and unburied, both are Death’s.<br/> + He ranks alike the beggar and the king;<br/> + Thersites sits by fair-haired Thetis’ son.<br/> + Naked and withered roam the fleeting shades<br/> + Together through the fields of asphodel.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Bless me, what a deluge of Homer! And now I think of it, I must +show you Achilles’s tomb. There it is on the Trojan shore, at Sigeum. And +across the water is Rhoeteum, where Ajax lies buried. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Rather small tombs, considering. Now show me the great cities, those +that we hear talked about in Hades; Nineveh, Babylon, Mycenae, Cleonae, and +Troy itself. I shipped numbers across from there, I remember. For ten years +running I had no time to haul my boat up and clean it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, as to Nineveh, it is gone, friend, long ago, and has left no +trace behind it; there is no saying whereabouts it may have been. But there is +Babylon, with its fine battlements and its enormous wall. Before long it will +be as hard to find as Nineveh. As to Mycenae and Cleonae, I am ashamed to show +them to you, let alone Troy. You will throttle Homer, for certain, when you get +back, for puffing them so. They were prosperous cities, too, in their day; but +they have gone the way of all flesh. Cities, my friend, die, just like men; +stranger still, so do rivers! Inachus is gone from Argos—not a puddle +left. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Oh, Homer, Homer! You and your ‘holy Troy,’ and your ‘city of broad +streets,’ and your ‘strong-walled Cleonae’!—By the way, what is that +battle going on over there? What are they murdering one another about? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. It is between the Argives and the Lacedaemonians. The general who +lies there half-dead, writing an inscription on the trophy with his own blood, +is Othryades. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. And what were they fighting for? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. For the field of battle, neither more nor less. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. The fools! Not to know that though each one of them should win to +himself a whole Peloponnesus, he will get but a bare foot of ground from +Aeacus! As to yonder plain, one nation will till it after another, and many a +time will that trophy be turned up by the plough. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Even so. And now let us get down, and put these mountains to rights +again. After which, I must be off on my errand, and you back to your ferry. You +will see me there before long, with the day’s contingent of shades. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. I am much obliged to you, Hermes; the service shall be perpetuated +in my records. Thanks to you, my outing has been a success. Dear, dear, what a +world it is!—And never a word of Charon! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap14"></a>OF SACRIFICE</h3> + +<p> +Methinks that man must lie sore stricken under the hand of sorrow, who has not +a smile left for the folly of his superstitious brethren, when he sees them at +work on sacrifice and festival and worship of the gods, hears the subject of +their prayers, and marks the nature of their creed. Nor, I fancy, will a smile +be all. He will first have a question to ask himself: Is he to call them devout +worshippers or very outcasts, who think so meanly of God as to suppose that he +can require anything at the hand of man, can take pleasure in their flattery, +or be wounded by their neglect? Thus the afflictions of the Calydonians, that +long tale of misery and violence, ending with the death of Meleager—all +is attributed to the resentment of Artemis, at Oeneus’s neglect in not inviting +her to a feast. She must have taken the disappointment very much to heart. I +fancy I see her, poor Goddess, left all alone in Heaven, after the rest have +set out for Calydon, brooding darkly over the fine spread at which she will not +be present. Those Ethiopians, too; privileged, thrice-happy mortals! Zeus, one +supposes, is not unmindful of the handsome manner in which they entertained him +and all his family for twelve days running. With the Gods, clearly, nothing +goes for nothing. Each blessing has its price. Health is to be had, say, for a +calf; wealth, for a couple of yoke of oxen; a kingdom, for a hecatomb. A safe +conduct from Troy to Pylos has fetched as much as nine bulls, and a passage +from Aulis to Troy has been quoted at a princess. For six yoke of oxen and a +robe, Athene sold Hecuba a reprieve for Troy; and it is to be presumed that a +cock, a garland, a handful of frankincense, will each buy something. +</p> + +<p> +Chryses, that experienced divine and eminent theologian, seems to have realized +this principle. Returning from his fruitless visit to Agamemnon, he approaches +Apollo with the air of a creditor, and demands repayment of his loan. His +attitude is one of remonstrance, almost, ‘Good Apollo,’ he cries, ‘here have I +been garlanding your temple, where never garland hung before, and burning +unlimited thigh-pieces of bulls and goats upon your altars: yet when I suffer +wrong, you take no heed; you count my benefactions as nothing worth.’ The God +is quite put out of countenance: he seizes his bow, settles down in the harbour +and smites the Achaeans with shafts of pestilence, them and their mules and +their dogs. +</p> + +<p> +And now that I have mentioned Apollo, I cannot refrain from an allusion to +certain other passages in his life, which are recorded by the sages. With his +unfortunate love affairs—the sad end of Hyacinth, and the cruelty of +Daphne—we are not concerned. But when that vote of censure was passed on +him for the slaughter of the Cyclopes, he was dismissed from Heaven, and +condemned to share the fortunes of men upon earth. It was then that he served +Admetus in Thessaly, and Laomedon in Phrygia; and in the latter service he was +not alone. He and Posidon together, since better might not be, made bricks and +built the walls of Troy; and did not even get their full wages;—the +Phrygian, it is said, remained their debtor for no less a sum than +five-and-twenty shillings Trojan, and odd pence. These, and yet holier +mysteries than these, are the high themes of our poets. They tell of Hephaestus +and of Prometheus; of Cronus and Rhea, and well-nigh all the family of Zeus. +And as they never commence their poems without bespeaking the assistance of the +Muses, we must conclude that it is under that divine inspiration that they +sing, how Cronus unmanned his father Uranus, and was king in his room; and how, +like Argive Thyestes, he swallowed his own children; and how thereafter Rhea +saved Zeus by the fraud of the stone, and the child was exposed in Crete, and +suckled by a goat, as Telephus was by a hind, and Cyrus the Great by a bitch; +and how he dethroned his father, and threw him into prison, and was king; and +of his many wives, and how finally (like a Persian or an Assyrian) he married +his own sister Hera; and of his love adventures, and how he peopled the Heaven +with gods, ay, and with demi-gods, the rogue! for he wooed the daughters of +earth, appearing to them now in a shower of gold, now in the form of a bull or +a swan or an eagle; a very Proteus for versatility. Once, and only once, he +conceived within his own brain, and gave birth to Athene. For Dionysus, they +say, he tore from the womb of Semele before the fire had yet consumed her, and +hid the child within his thigh, till the time of travail was come. +</p> + +<p> +Similarly, we find Hera conceiving without external assistance, and giving +birth to Hephaestus; no child of fortune he, but a base mechanic, living all +his life at the forge, soot-begrimed as any stoker. He is not even sound of +limb; he has been lame ever since Zeus threw him down from Heaven. Fortunately +for us the Lemnians broke his fall, or there would have been an end of him, as +surely as there was of Astyanax when he was flung from the battlements. But +Hephaestus is nothing to Prometheus. Who knows not the sorrows of that +officious philanthropist? How he too fell a victim to the wrath of Zeus, and +was carried into Scythia, and nailed up on Caucasus, with an eagle to keep him +company and make daily havoc of his liver? However, <i>there</i> was a +reckoning settled, at any rate. But Rhea, now! We cannot, I think, pass over +her conduct unnoticed. It is surely most discreditable;—a lady of her +venerable years, the mother of such a family, still feeling the pangs of love +and jealousy, and carrying her beloved Attis about with her in the lion-drawn +car,—and he so ill qualified to play the lover’s part! After that, we can +but wink, if we find Aphrodite making a slip, or Selene time after time pulling +up in mid-career to pay a visit to Endymion. +</p> + +<p> +But enough of scandal. Borne on the wings of poesy, let us take flight for +Heaven itself, as Homer and Hesiod have done before us, and see how all is +disposed up there. The vault is of brass on the under side, as we know from +Homer. But climb over the edge, and take a peep up. You are now actually in +Heaven. Observe the increase of light; here is a purer Sun, and brighter stars; +daylight is everywhere, and the floor is of gold. We arrive first at the abode +of the Seasons; they are the fortresses of Heaven. Then we have Iris and +Hermes, the servants and messengers of Zeus; and next Hephaestus’s smithy, +which is stocked with all manner of cunning contrivances. Last come the +dwellings of the Gods, and the palace of Zeus. All are the work of Hephaestus; +and noble work it is. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hard by the throne of Zeus +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +(I suppose we must adapt our language to our altitude) +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +sit all the gods. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Their eyes are turned downwards; intently they search every corner of the +earth; is there nowhere a fire to be seen, or the steam of burnt- offerings +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +... in eddying clouds upborne? +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +If a sacrifice is going forward, all mouths are open to feast upon the smoke; +like flies they settle on the altar to drink up the trickling streams of blood. +If they are dining at home, nectar and ambrosia is the bill of fare. In ancient +days, mortals have eaten and drunk at their table. Such were Ixion and +Tantalus; but they forgot their manners, and talked too much. They are paying +the penalty for it to this day; and since then mortals have been excluded from +Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +The life of the Gods being such as I have described, our religious ordinances +are in admirable harmony with the divine requirements. Our first care has been +to supply each God with his sacred grove, his holy hill, and his own peculiar +bird or plant. The next step was to assign them their various sacred cities. +Apollo has the freedom of Delphi and Delos, Athene that of Athens (there is no +disputing <i>her</i> nationality); Hera is an Argive, Rhea a Mygdonian, +Aphrodite a Paphian. As for Zeus, he is a Cretan born and bred—and +buried, as any native of that island will show you. It was a mistake of ours to +suppose that Zeus was dispensing the thunder and the rain and the rest of +it;—he has been lying snugly underground in Crete all this time. As it +would never have done to leave the Gods without a hearth and home, temples were +now erected, and the services of Phidias, Polyclitus, and Praxiteles were +called in to create images in their likeness. Chance glimpses of their +originals (but where obtained I know not) enabled these artists to do justice +to the beard of Zeus, the perpetual youth of Apollo, the down on Hermes’s +cheek, Posidon’s sea-green hair, and Athene’s flashing eyes; with the result +that on entering the temple of Zeus men believe that they see before them, not +Indian ivory, nor gold from a Thracian mine, but the veritable son of Cronus +and Rhea, translated to earth by the hand of Phidias, with instructions to keep +watch over the deserted plains of Pisa, and content with his lot, if, once in +four years, a spectator of the games can snatch a moment to pay him sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +And now the altars stand ready; proclamation has been made, and lustration duly +performed. The victims are accordingly brought forward—an ox from the +plough, a ram or a goat, according as the worshipper is a farmer, a shepherd, +or a goatherd; sometimes it is only frankincense or a honey cake; nay, a poor +man may conciliate the God by merely kissing his hand. But it is with the +priests that we are concerned. They first make sure that the victim is without +blemish, and worthy of the sacrificial knife; then they crown him with garlands +and lead him to the altar, where he is slaughtered before the God’s eyes, to +the broken accompaniment of his own sanctimonious bellowings, most musical, +most melancholy. The delight of the Gods at such a spectacle, who can doubt? +</p> + +<p> +According to the proclamation, no man shall approach the holy ground with +<i>unclean hands</i>. Yet there stands the priest himself, wallowing in gore; +handling his knife like a very Cyclops, drawing out entrails and heart, +sprinkling the altar with blood,—in short, omitting no detail of his holy +office. Finally, he kindles fire, and sets the victim bodily thereon, sheep or +goat, unfleeced, unflayed. A godly steam, and fit for godly nostrils, rises +heavenwards, and drifts to each quarter of the sky. The Scythian, by the way, +will have nothing to do with paltry cattle: he offers <i>men</i> to Artemis; +and the offering is appreciated. +</p> + +<p> +But all this, and all that Assyria, Phrygia, and Lydia can show, amounts to +nothing much. If you would see the Gods in their glory, fit denizens of Heaven, +you must go to Egypt. There you will find that Zeus has sprouted ram’s horns, +our old friend Hermes has the muzzle of a dog, and Pan is perfect goat; ibis, +crocodile, ape,—each is a God in disguise. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And wouldst thou know the truth that lurks herein? +</p> + +<p> +If so, you will find no lack of sages and scribes and shaven priests to inform +you (after expulsion of the <i>profanum vulgus</i>) how, when the Giants and +their other enemies rose against them, the Gods fled to Egypt to hide +themselves, and there took the form of goat and ram, of bird and reptile, which +forms they preserve to this day. Of all this they have documentary evidence, +dating from thousands of years back, stored up in their temples. Their +sacrifices differ from others only in this respect, that they go into mourning +for the victim, slaying him first, and beating their breasts for grief +afterwards, and (in some parts) burying him as soon as he is killed. When their +great god Apis dies, off comes every man’s hair, however much he values himself +on it; though he had the purple lock of Nisus, it would make no difference: he +must show a sad crown on the occasion, if he die for it. It is as the result of +an election that each succeeding Apis leaves his pasture for the temple; his +superior beauty and majestic bearing prove that he is something more than bull. +</p> + +<p> +On such absurdities as these, such vulgar credulity, remonstrance would be +thrown away; a Heraclitus would best meet the case, or a Democritus; for the +ignorance of these men is as laughable as their folly is deplorable. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap15"></a>SALE OF CREEDS</h3> + +<p> +[Footnote: The distinction between the personified creeds or philosophies here +offered for sale, and their various founders or principal exponents, is but +loosely kept up. Not only do most of the creeds bear the names of their +founders, but some are even credited with their physical peculiarities and +their personal experiences.] +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus. Hermes. Several Dealers. Creeds</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Now get those benches straight there, and make the place fit to be +seen. Bring up the lots, one of you, and put them in line. Give them a rub up +first, though; we must have them looking their best, to attract bidders. +Hermes, you can declare the sale-room open, and a welcome to all +comers.—<i>For Sale! A varied assortment of Live Creeds. Tenets of every +description.—Cash on delivery; or credit allowed on suitable +security</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Hermes</i>. Here they come, swarming in. No time to lose; we must not keep +them waiting. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Well, let us begin. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What are we to put up first? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. The Ionic fellow, with the long hair. He seems a showy piece of +goods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Step up, Pythagoreanism, and show yourself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Go ahead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Now here is a creed of the first water. Who bids for this handsome +article? What gentleman says Superhumanity? Harmony of the Universe! +Transmigration of souls! Who bids? +</p> + +<p> +<i>First Dealer</i>. He looks all right. And what can he do? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Magic, music, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, jugglery. Prophecy +in all its branches. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Can I ask him some questions? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ask away, and welcome. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Where do you come from? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Samos. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Where did you get your schooling? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. From the sophists in Egypt. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. If I buy you, what will you teach me? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Nothing. I will remind you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Remind me? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. But first I shall have to cleanse your soul of its filth. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Well, suppose the cleansing process complete. How is the +reminding done? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. We shall begin with a long course of silent contemplation. Not a +word to be spoken for five years. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. You would have been just the creed for Croesus’s son! But +<i>I</i> have a tongue in my head; I have no ambition to be a statue. And after +the five years’ silence? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. You will study music and geometry. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. A charming recipe! The way to be wise: learn the guitar. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Next you will learn to count. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. I can do that already. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Let me hear you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. One, two, three, four,— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. There you are, you see. <i>Four</i> (as you call it) is <i>ten</i>. +Four the perfect triangle. Four the oath of our school. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Now by Four, most potent Four!—higher and holier +mysteries than these I never heard. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Then you will learn of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water; their action, +their movement, their shapes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Have Fire and Air and Water <i>shapes</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Clearly. That cannot move which lacks shape and form You will also +find that God is a number; an intelligence; a harmony. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. You surprise me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. More than this, you have to learn that you yourself are not the +person you appear to be. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. What, I am some one else, not the I who am speaking to you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. You are that you now: but you have formerly inhabited another body, +and borne another name. And in course of time you will change once more. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Why then I shall be immortal, and take one shape after another? +But enough of this. And now what is your diet? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. Of living things I eat none. All else I eat, except beans. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. And why no beans? Do you dislike them? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Py</i>. No. But they are sacred things. Their nature is a mystery. Consider +them first in their generative aspect; take a green one and peel it, and you +will see what I mean. Again, boil one and expose it to moonlight for a proper +number of nights, and you have—blood. What is more, the Athenians use +beans to vote with. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. Admirable! A very feast of reason. Now just strip, and let me +see what you are like. Bless me, here is a creed with a golden thigh! He is no +mortal, he is a God. I must have him at any price. What do you start him at? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Forty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First D</i>. He is mine for forty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Take the gentleman’s name and address. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. He must come from Italy, I should think; Croton or Tarentum, or one +of the Greek towns in those parts. But he is not the only buyer. Some three +hundred of them have clubbed together. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. They are welcome to him. Now up with the next. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What about yonder grubby Pontian? [Footnote: See <i>Diogenes</i> in +Notes.] +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Yes, he will do. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. You there with the wallet and cloak; come along, walk round the +room. Lot No. 2. A most sturdy and valiant creed, free-born. What offers? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Hullo, Mr. Auctioneer, are you going to sell a free man? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That was the idea. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Take care, he may have you up for kidnapping. This might be +matter for the Areopagus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Oh, he would as soon be sold as not. He feels just as free as ever. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. But what is one to do with such a dirty fellow? He is a +pitiable sight. One might put him to dig perhaps, or to carry water. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. That he can do and more. Set him to guard your house, and you will +find him better than any watch-dog.—They call him Dog for short. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Where does he come from? and what is his method? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. He can best tell you that himself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. I don’t like his looks. He will probably snarl if I go near +him, or take a snap at me, for all I know. See how he lifts his stick, and +scowls; an awkward-looking customer! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Don’t be afraid. He is quite tame. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Tell me, good fellow, where do you come from? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. Everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. What does that mean? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. It means that I am a citizen of the world. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. And your model? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. Heracles. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Then why no lion’s-skin? You have the orthodox club. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. My cloak is my lion’s-skin. Like Heracles, I live in a state of +warfare, and my enemy is Pleasure; but unlike him I am a volunteer. My purpose +is to purify humanity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. A noble purpose. Now what do I understand to be your strong +subject? What is your profession? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. The liberation of humanity, and the treatment of the passions. In +short, I am the prophet of Truth and Candour. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Well, prophet; and if I buy you, how shall you handle my case? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. I shall commence operations by stripping off your superfluities, +putting you into fustian, and leaving you closeted with Necessity. Then I shall +give you a course of hard labour. You will sleep on the ground, drink water, +and fill your belly as best you can. Have you money? Take my advice and throw +it into the sea. With wife and children and country you will not concern +yourself; there will be no more of that nonsense. You will exchange your +present home for a sepulchre, a ruin, or a tub. What with lupines and +close-written tomes, your knapsack will never be empty; and you will vote +yourself happier than any king. Nor will you esteem it any inconvenience, if a +flogging or a turn of the rack should fall to your lot. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. How! Am I a tortoise, a lobster, that I should be flogged and +feel it not? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. You will take your cue from Hippolytus; <i>mutates mutandis</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. How so? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. ‘The heart may burn, the tongue knows nought thereof’. [Footnote: +Hippolytus (in Euripides’s play of that name) is reproached with having broken +an oath, and thus defends himself: ‘The tongue hath sworn: the heart knew +nought thereof.’] Above all, be bold, be impudent; distribute your abuse +impartially to king and commoner. They will admire your spirit. You will talk +the Cynic jargon with the true Cynic snarl, scowling as you walk, and walking +as one should who scowls; an epitome of brutality. Away with modesty, +good-nature, and forbearance. Wipe the blush from your cheek for ever. Your +hunting-ground will be the crowded city. You will live alone in its midst, +holding communion with none, admitting neither friend nor guest; for such would +undermine your power. Scruple not to perform the deeds of darkness in broad +daylight: select your love-adventures with a view to the public entertainment: +and finally, when the fancy takes you, swallow a raw cuttle-fish, and die. Such +are the delights of Cynicism. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. Oh, vile creed! Monstrous creed! Avaunt! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Dio</i>. But look you, it is all so easy; it is within every man’s reach. No +education is necessary, no nonsensical argumentation. I offer you a short cut +to Glory. You may be the merest clown—cobbler, fishmonger, carpenter, +money-changer; yet there is nothing to prevent your becoming famous. Given +brass and boldness, you have only to learn to wag your tongue with dexterity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second D</i>. All this is of no use to me. But I might make a sailor or a +gardener of you at a pinch; that is, if you are to be had cheap. Three-pence is +the most I can give. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. He is yours, to have and to hold. And good riddance to the brawling +foul-mouthed bully. He is a slanderer by wholesale. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Now for the Cyrenaic, the crowned and purple-robed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Attend please, gentlemen all. A most valuable article, this, and +calls for a long purse. Look at him. A sweet thing in creeds. A creed for a +king. Has any gentleman a use for the Lap of Luxury? Who bids? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Third D</i>. Come and tell me what you know. If you are a practical creed, I +will have you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Please not to worry him with questions, sir. He is drunk, and +cannot answer; his tongue plays him tricks, as you see. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Third D</i>. And who in his senses would buy such an abandoned reprobate? +How he smells of scent! And how he slips and staggers about! Well, you must +speak for him, Hermes. What can he do? What is his line? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Well, for any gentleman who is not strait-laced, who loves a pretty +girl, a bottle, and a jolly companion, he is the very thing. He is also a past +master in gastronomy, and a connoisseur in voluptuousness generally. He was +educated at Athens, and has served royalty in Sicily [Footnote: See +<i>Aristippus</i> in Notes.], where he had a very good character. Here are his +principles in a nutshell: Think the worst of things: make the most of things: +get all possible pleasure out of things. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Third D</i>. You must look for wealthier purchasers. My purse is not equal +to such a festive creed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Zeus, this lot seems likely to remain on our hands. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Put it aside, and up with another. Stay, take the pair from Abdera +and Ephesus; the creeds of Smiles and Tears. They shall make one lot. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Come forward, you two. Lot No. 4. A superlative pair. The smartest +brace of creeds on our catalogue. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. Zeus! What a difference is here! One of them does nothing but +laugh, and the other might be at a funeral; he is all tears.—You there! +what is the joke? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Democr</i>. You ask? You and your affairs are all one vast joke. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. So! You laugh at us? Our business is a toy? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Democr</i>. It is. There is no taking it seriously. All is vanity. Mere +interchange of atoms in an infinite void. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. <i>Your</i> vanity is infinite, if you like. Stop that +laughing, you rascal.—And you, my poor fellow, what are you crying for? I +must see what I can make of you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heracl</i>. I am thinking, friend, upon human affairs; and well may I weep +and lament, for the doom of all is sealed. Hence my compassion and my sorrow. +For the present, I think not of it; but the future!—the future is all +bitterness. Conflagration and destruction of the world. I weep to think that +nothing abides. All things are whirled together in confusion. Pleasure and +pain, knowledge and ignorance, great and small; up and down they go, the +playthings of Time. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. And what is Time? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heracl</i>. A child; and plays at draughts and blindman’s-bluff. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. And men? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heracl</i>. Are mortal Gods. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. And Gods? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heracl</i>. Immortal men. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. So! Conundrums, fellow? Nuts to crack? You are a very oracle +for obscurity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heracl</i>. Your affairs do not interest me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. No one will be fool enough to bid for you at that rate. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Heracl</i>. Young and old, him that bids and him that bids not, a murrain +seize you all! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth D</i>. A sad case. He will be melancholy mad before long. Neither of +these is the creed for my money. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. No one bids. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Next lot. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. The Athenian there? Old Chatterbox? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. By all means. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Come forward!—A good sensible creed this. Who buys Holiness? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Let me see. What are you good for? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. I teach the art of love. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. A likely bargain for me! I want a tutor for my young Adonis. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. And could he have a better? The love I teach is of, the spirit, not +of the flesh. Under my roof, be sure, a boy will come to no harm. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Very unconvincing that. A teacher of the art of love, and never +meddle with anything but the spirit? Never use the opportunities your office +gives you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Now by Dog and Plane-tree, it is as I say! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Heracles! What strange Gods are these? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Why, the Dog is a God, I suppose? Is not Anubis made much of in +Egypt? Is there not a Dog-star in Heaven, and a Cerberus in the lower world? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Quite so. My mistake. Now what is your manner of life? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. I live in a city of my own building; I make my own laws, and have a +novel constitution of my own. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D.</i> I should like to hear some of your statutes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. You shall hear the greatest of them all. No woman shall be +restricted to one husband. Every man who likes is her husband. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. What! Then the laws of adultery are clean swept away? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. I should think they were! and a world of hair-splitting with them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. And what do you do with the handsome boys? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Their kisses are the reward of merit, of noble and spirited +actions. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Unparalleled generosity!—And now, what are the main +features of your philosophy? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Ideas and types of things. All things that you see, the earth and +all that is upon it, the sea, the sky,—each has its counterpart in the +invisible world. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. And where are they? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Nowhere. Were they anywhere, they were not what they are. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. I see no signs of these ‘types’ of yours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Of course not; because you are spiritually blind. <i>I</i> see the +counterparts of all things; an invisible you, an invisible me; everything is in +duplicate. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Come, such a shrewd and lynx-eyed creed is worth a bid. Let me +see. What do you want for him? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Five hundred. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Done with you. Only I must settle the bill another day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What name? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fifth D</i>. Dion; of Syracuse. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Take him, and much good may he do you. Now I want Epicureanism. Who +offers for Epicureanism? He is a disciple of the laughing creed and the drunken +creed, whom we were offering just now. But he has one extra +accomplishment—impiety. For the rest, a dainty, lickerish creed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sixth D</i>. What price? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Eight pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sixth D</i>. Here you are. By the way, you might let me know what he likes +to eat. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Anything sweet. Anything with honey in it. Dried figs are his +favourite dish. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sixth D</i>. That is all right. We will get in a supply of Carian fig-cakes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Call the next lot. Stoicism; the creed of the sorrowful +countenance, the close-cropped creed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah yes, several customers, I fancy, are on the look-out for him. +Virtue incarnate! The very quintessence of creeds! Who is for universal +monopoly? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. How are we to understand that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, here is monopoly of wisdom, monopoly of beauty, monopoly of +courage, monopoly of justice. Sole king, sole orator, sole legislator, sole +millionaire. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. And I suppose sole cook, sole tanner, sole carpenter, and all +that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Presumably. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Regard me as your purchaser, good fellow, and tell me all +about yourself. I dare say you think it rather hard to be sold for a slave? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Not at all. These things are beyond our control. And what is +beyond our control is indifferent. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. I don’t see how you make that out. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. What! Have you yet to learn that of <i>indifferentia</i> some are +<i>praeposita</i> and others <i>rejecta</i>? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Still I don’t quite see. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. No; how should you? You are not familiar with our terms. You lack +the <i>comprehensio visi</i>. The earnest student of logic knows this and more +than this. He understands the nature of subject, predicate, and contingent, and +the distinctions between them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Now in Wisdom’s name, tell me, pray, what is a predicate? +what is a contingent? There is a ring about those words that takes my fancy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. With all my heart. A man lame in one foot knocks that foot +accidentally against a stone, and gets a cut. Now the man is <i>subject</i> to +lameness; which is the <i>predicate</i>. And the cut is a <i>contingency</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Oh, subtle! What else can you tell me? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. I have verbal involutions, for the better hampering, crippling, +and muzzling of my antagonists. This is performed by the use of the far-famed +syllogism. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Syllogism! I warrant him a tough customer. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Take a case. You have a child? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Well, and what if I have? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. A crocodile catches him as he wanders along the bank of a river, +and promises to restore him to you, if you will first guess correctly whether +he means to restore him or not. Which are you going to say? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. A difficult question. I don’t know which way I should get him +back soonest. In Heaven’s name, answer for me, and save the child before he is +eaten up. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Ha, ha. I will teach you far other things than that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. For instance? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. There is the ‘Reaper.’ There is the ‘Rightful Owner.’ Better +still, there is the ‘Electra’ and the ‘Man in the Hood.’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Who was he? and who was Electra? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. She was <i>the</i> Electra, the daughter of Agamemnon, to whom +the same thing was known and unknown at the same time. She knew that Orestes +was her brother: yet when he stood before her she did not know (until he +revealed himself) that her brother was Orestes. As to the Man in the Hood, he +will surprise you considerably. Answer me now: do you know your own father? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Well now, if I present to you a man in a hood, shall you know +him? eh? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Of course not. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Well, but the Man in the Hood is your father. You don’t know the +Man in the Hood. Therefore you don’t know your own father. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Why, no. But if I take his hood off, I shall get at the +facts. Now tell me, what is the end of your philosophy? What happens when you +reach the goal of virtue? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. In regard to things external, health, wealth, and the like, I am +then all that Nature intended me to be. But there is much previous toil to be +undergone. You will first sharpen your eyes on minute manuscripts, amass +commentaries, and get your bellyful of outlandish terms. Last but not least, it +is forbidden to be wise without repeated doses of hellebore. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. All this is exalted and magnanimous to a degree. But what am +I to think when I find that you are also the creed of cent-per-cent, the creed +of the usurer? Has <i>he</i> swallowed his hellebore? is <i>he</i> made perfect +in virtue? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Assuredly. On none but the wise man does usury sit well. +Consider. His is the art of putting two and two together, and usury is the art +of putting interest together. The two are evidently connected, and one as much +as the other is the prerogative of the true believer; who, not content, like +common men, with simple interest, will also take interest <i>upon</i> interest. +For interest, as you are probably aware, is of two kinds. There is simple +interest, and there is its offspring, compound interest. Hear Syllogism on the +subject. ‘If I take simple interest, I shall also take compound. But I +<i>shall</i> take simple interest: therefore I shall take compound.’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. And the same applies to the fees you take from your youthful +pupils? None but the true believer sells virtue for a fee? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Quite right. I take the fee in my pupil’s interest, not because I +want it. The world is made up of diffusion and accumulation. I accordingly +practise my pupil in the former, and myself in the latter. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. But it ought to be the other way. The pupil ought to +accumulate, and you, ‘sole millionaire,’ ought to diffuse. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Ha! you jest with me? Beware of the shaft of insoluble syllogism. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. What harm can that do? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. It cripples; it ties the tongue, and turns the brain. Nay, I have +but to will it, and you are stone this instant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Stone! You are no Perseus, friend? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. See here. A stone is a body? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Well, and an animal is a body? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. And you are an animal? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. I suppose I am. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Therefore you are a body. Therefore a stone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Mercy, in Heaven’s name! Unstone me, and let me be flesh as +heretofore. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. That is soon done. Back with you into flesh! Thus: Is every body +animate? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. No. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Is a stone animate? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. No. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Now, you are a body? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. And an animate body? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Yes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Chrys</i>. Then being animate, you cannot be a stone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Ah! thank you, thank you. I was beginning to feel my limbs +growing numb and solidifying like Niobe’s. Oh, I must have you. What’s to pay? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Fifty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Here it is. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Are you sole purchaser? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Seventh D</i>. Not I. All these gentlemen here are going shares. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. A fine strapping lot of fellows, and will do the ‘Reaper’ credit. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. Don’t waste time. Next lot,—the Peripatetic! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Now, my beauty, now, Affluence! Gentlemen, if you want Wisdom for +your money, here is a creed that comprises all knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. What is he like? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. He is temperate, good-natured, easy to get on with; and his strong +point is, that he is twins. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. How can that be? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, he is one creed outside, and another inside. So remember, if +you buy him, one of him is called Esoteric, and the other Exoteric. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. And what has he to say for himself? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. He has to say that there are three kinds of good: spiritual, +corporeal, circumstantial. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. <i>There’s</i> something a man can understand. How much is he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Eighty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. Eighty pounds is a long price. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Not at all, my dear sir, not at all. You see, there is some money +with him, to all appearance. Snap him up before it is too late. Why, from him +you will find out in no time how long a gnat lives, to how many fathoms’ depth +the sunlight penetrates the sea, and what an oyster’s soul is like. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. Heracles! Nothing escapes him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Ah, these are trifles. You should hear some of his more abstruse +speculations, concerning generation and birth and the development of the +embryo; and his distinction between man, the laughing creature, and the ass, +which is neither a laughing nor a carpentering nor a shipping creature. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Eighth D</i>. Such knowledge is as useful as it is ornamental. Eighty pounds +be it, then. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. He is yours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Zeus</i>. What have we left? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. There is Scepticism. Come along, Pyrrhias, and be put up. Quick’s +the word. The attendance is dwindling; there will be small competition. Well, +who buys Lot 9? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. I. Tell me first, though, what do you know? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Nothing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. But how’s that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. There does not appear to me to <i>be</i> anything. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Are not <i>we</i> something? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. How do I know that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. And you yourself? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Of that I am still more doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Well, you <i>are</i> in a fix! And what have you got those +scales for? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. I use them to weigh arguments in, and get them evenly balanced, They +must be absolutely equal—not a feather-weight to choose between them; +then, and not till then, can I make uncertain which is right. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. What else can you turn your hand to? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Anything; except catching a runaway. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. And why not that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Because, friend, everything eludes my grasp. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. I believe you. A slow, lumpish fellow you seem to be. And what +is the end of your knowledge? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Ignorance. Deafness. Blindness. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. What! sight and hearing both gone? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. And with them judgement and perception, and all, in short, that +distinguishes man from a worm. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. You are worth money!—What shall we say for him? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Four pounds. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Here it is. Well, fellow; so you are mine? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. I doubt it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Nay, doubt it not! You are bought and paid for. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. It is a difficult case…. I reserve my decision. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Now, come along with me, like a good slave. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. But how am I to know whether what you say is true? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Ask the auctioneer. Ask my money. Ask the spectators. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Spectators? But can we be sure there are any? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Oh, I’ll send you to the treadmill. That will convince you with +a vengeance that I am your master. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sc</i>. Reserve your decision. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ninth D</i>. Too late. It is given. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Stop that wrangling and go with your purchaser. Gentlemen, we hope +to see you here again to-morrow, when we shall be offering some lots suitable +for plain men, artisans, and shopkeepers. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap16"></a>THE FISHER</h3> + +<h4>A RESURRECTION PIECE</h4> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Lucian or Parrhesiades. Socrates, Empedocles. Plato. Chrysippus.<br/> +Diogenes. Aristotle. Other Philosophers. Platonists. Pythagoreans.<br/> +Stoics. Peripatetics. Epicureans. Academics. Philosophy. Truth.<br/> +Temperance. Virtue. Syllogism. Exposure. Priestess of Athene</i>.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod him with +clods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leave him no way +out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it! Shoulder to shoulder, +close the ranks; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Let wallet succour wallet, staff aid staff! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +We are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed. You, +Diogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; stand firm, all of +you. Let him reap the fruits of his reveling. What, Epicurus, Aristippus, tired +already? ’tis too soon; ye sages, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Be men; relume that erstwhile furious wrath! +</p> + +<p> +Aristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you, villain. +You shall soon know a little more about the characters you have assailed. Now, +what shall we do with him? it must be rather an elaborate execution, to meet +all our claims upon him; he owes a separate death to every one of us. +</p> + +<p> +<i>First Phil</i>. Impale him, say I. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Second Phil</i>. Yes, but scourge him first. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Third Phil</i>. Tear out his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Fourth Phil</i>. Ah, but first out with the offending tongue. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. What say you, Empedocles? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Emp</i>. Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him to vilify his +betters. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. ’Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock; +</p> + +<p> +so each might have taken a piece home with him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Forbear; spare me; I appeal to the God of suppliants. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. Too late; no loophole is left you now. And you know your Homer: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +’Twixt men and lions, covenants are null.’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Why, it is in Homer’s name that I ask my boon. You will perhaps pay +reverence to his lines, and listen to a selection from him: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Slay not; no churl is he; a ransom take<br/> + Of bronze and gold, whereof wise hearts are fain.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Why, two can play at that game; <i>exempli gratia</i>, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Reviler, babble not of gold, nor nurse<br/> + Hope of escape from these our hands that hold thee.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Ah me, ah me! my best hopes dashed, with Homer! Let me fly to +Euripides; it may be he will protect me: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Leave him his life; the suppliant’s life is sacred. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Does this happen to be Euripides too— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Evil men evil treated is no evil? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. And will you slay me now for nought but words? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Most certainly; our author has something on that point too: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Unbridled lips<br/> + And folly’s slips<br/> + Invite Fate’s whips.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Oh, very well; as you are all set on murdering me, and escape is +impossible, do at least tell me who you are, and what harm I have done you; it +must be something irreparable, to judge by your relentless murderous pursuit. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. What harm you have done us, vile fellow? your own conscience and +your fine dialogues will tell you; you have called Philosophy herself bad +names, and as for us, you have subjected us to the indignity of a public +auction, and put up wise men—ay, and free men, which is more—for +sale. We have reason to be angry; we have got a short leave of absence from +Hades, and come up against you—Chrysippus here, Epicurus and myself, +Aristotle yonder, the taciturn Pythagoras, Diogenes and all of us that your +dialogues have made so free with. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Ah, I breathe again. Once hear the truth about my conduct to you, +and you will never put me to death. You can throw away those stones. Or, no, +keep them; you shall have a better mark for them presently. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. This is trifling. This day thou diest; nay, even now, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A suit of stones shalt don, thy livery due. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Believe me, good gentlemen, I have been at much pains on your behalf; +to slay me is to slay one who should rather be selected for commendation a +kindred spirit, a well-wisher, a man after your own heart, a promoter, if I may +be bold to say it, of your pursuits. See to it that you catch not the tone of +our latter-day philosophers, and be thankless, petulant, and hard of heart, to +him that deserves better of you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Talk of a brazen front! So to abuse us is to oblige us. I believe +you are under the delusion that you are really talking to slaves; after the +insolent excesses of your tongue, do you propose to chop gratitude with us? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. How or when was I ever insolent to you? I have always been an +admirer of philosophy, your panegyrist, and a student of the writings you left. +All that comes from my pen is but what you give me; I deflower you, like a bee, +for the behoof of mankind; and then there is praise and recognition; they know +the flowers, whence and whose the honey was, and the manner of my gathering; +their surface feeling is for my selective art, but deeper down it is for you +and your meadow, where you put forth such bright blooms and myriad dyes, if one +knows but how to sort and mix and match, that one be not in discord with +another. Could he that had found you such have the heart to abuse those +benefactors to whom his little fame was due? then he must be a Thamyris or +Eurytus, defying the Muses who gave his gift of song, or challenging Apollo +with the bow, forgetful from whom he had his marksmanship. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. All this, good sir, is quite according to the principles of +rhetoric; that is to say, it is clean contrary to the facts; your +unscrupulousness is only emphasized by this adding of insult to injury; you +confess that your arrows are from our quiver, and you use them against us; your +one aim is to abuse us. This is our reward for showing you that meadow, letting +you pluck freely, fill your bosom, and depart. For this alone you richly +deserve death. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. There; your ears are partial; they are deaf to the right. Why, I +would never have believed that personal feeling could affect a Plato, a +Chrysippus, an Aristotle; with you, of all men, I thought there was dry light. +But, dear sirs, do not condemn me unheard; give me trial first. Was not the +principle of your establishing—that the law of the stronger was not the +law of the State, and that differences should be settled in court after due +hearing of both sides? Appoint a judge, then; be you my accusers, by your own +mouths or by your chosen representative; and let me defend my own case; then if +I be convicted of wrong, and that be the court’s decision, I shall get my +deserts, and you will have no violence upon your consciences. But if +examination shows me spotless and irreproachable, the court will acquit me, and +then turn you your wrath upon the deceivers who have excited you against me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Ah, every cock to his own dunghill! You think you will hoodwink the +jury and get off. I hear you are a lawyer, an advocate, an old hand at a +speech. Have you any judge to suggest who will be proof against such an +experienced corrupter as you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Oh, be reassured. The official I think of proposing is no +suspicious, dubious character likely to sell a verdict. What say you to forming +the court yourselves, with Philosophy for your President? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Who is to prosecute, if we are the jury? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Oh, you can do both; I am not in the least afraid; so much stronger +is my case; the defence wins, hands down. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Pythagoras, Socrates, what do you think? perhaps the man’s appeal to +law is not unreasonable. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Soc</i>. No; come along, form the court, fetch Philosophy, and see what he +has to say for himself. To condemn unheard is a sadly crude proceeding, not for +us; leave that to the hasty people with whom might is right. We shall give +occasion to the enemy to blaspheme if we stone a man without a hearing, +professed lovers of justice as we are. We shall have to keep quiet about Anytus +and Meletus, my accusers, and the jury on that occasion, if we cannot spare an +hour to hear this fellow before he suffers. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Very true, Socrates. We will go and fetch Philosophy. The decision +shall be hers, and we will accept it, whatever it is. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Why, now, my masters, you are in a better and more law-abiding mood. +However, keep those stones, as I said; you will need them in court. But where +is Philosophy to be found? I do not know where she lives, myself. I once spent +a long time wandering about in search of her house, wishing to make her +acquaintance. Several times I met some long-bearded people in threadbare cloaks +who professed to be fresh from her presence; I took their word for it, and +asked them the way; but they knew considerably less about it than I, and either +declined to answer, by way of concealing their ignorance, or else pointed to +one door after another. I have never been able to find the right one to this +day. +</p> + +<p> +Many a time, upon some inward prompting or external offer of guidance, I have +come to a door with the confident hope that this time I really was right; there +was such a crowd flowing in and out, all of solemn persons decently habited and +thoughtful-faced; I would insinuate myself into the press and go in too. What I +found would be a woman who was not really natural, however skillfully she +played at beauty unadorned; I could see at once that the apparent +<i>neglige</i> of her hair was studied for effect, and the folds of her dress +not so careless as they looked. One could tell that nature was a scheme of +decoration with her, and artlessness an artistic device. The white lead and the +rouge did not absolutely defy detection, and her talk betrayed her real +vocation; she liked her lovers to appreciate her beauty, had a ready hand for +presents, made room by her side for the rich, and hardly vouchsafed her poorer +lovers a distant glance. Now and then, when her dress came a little open by +accident, I saw that she had on a massive gold necklace heavier than a penal +collar. That was enough for me; I would retrace my steps, sincerely pitying the +unfortunates whom she led by the—beard, and their Ixion embracings of a +phantom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. You are right there; the door is not conspicuous, nor generally +known. However, we need not go to her house; we will wait for her here in the +Ceramicus. I should think it is near her hour for coming back from the Academy, +and taking her walk in the Poecile; she is very regular; to be sure, here she +comes. Do you see the orderly, rather prim lady there, with the kindly look in +her eyes, and the slow meditative walk? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. I see several answering the description so far as looks and walk and +clothes go. Yet among them all the real lady Philosophy can be but one. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. True; but as soon as she opens her lips you will know. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Dear me, what are Plato and Chrysippus and Aristotle doing up +here, and the rest of them—a living dictionary of my teachings? Alive +again? how is this? have things been going wrong down there? you look angry. +And who is your prisoner? a rifler of tombs? A murderer? a temple-robber? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Worse yet, Philosophy. He has dared to slander your most sacred +self, and all of us who have been privileged to impart anything from you to +posterity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. And did you lose your tempers over abusive words? Did you forget +how Comedy handled me at the Dionysia, and how I yet counted her a friend? Did +I ever sue her, or go and remonstrate? Or did I let her enjoy her holidays in +the harmless old-fashioned way? I know very well that a jest spoils no real +beauty, but rather improves it; so gold is polished by hard rubs, and shines +all the brighter for it. But you seem to have grown passionate and censorious. +Come, why are you strangling him like that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. We have got this one day’s leave, and come after him to give him his +deserts. Rumours had reached us of the things he used to say about us in his +lectures. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. And are you going to kill him without a trial or a hearing? I +can see he wishes to say something. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. No; we decided to refer it all to you. If you will accept the task, +the decision shall be yours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Sir, what is your wish? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. The same, dear Mistress; for none but you can find the truth. It +cost me much entreaty to get the case reserved for you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. You call her Mistress now, scoundrel; the other day you were making +out Philosophy the meanest of things, when before that great audience you let +her several doctrines go for a pitiful threepence apiece. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. It may be that it was not Ourself he then reviled, but some +impostors who practised vile arts in our name. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. The truth will soon come to light, if you will hear his defence. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Come we to the Areopagus—or better, to the Acropolis, +where the panorama of Athens will be before us. +</p> + +<p> +Ladies, will you stroll in the Poecile meanwhile? I will join you when I have +given judgement. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Who are these, Philosophy? methinks their appearance is seemly as +your own. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. This with the masculine features is Virtue; then there is +Temperance, and Justice by her side. In front is Culture; and this shadowy +creature with the indefinite complexion is Truth. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. I do not see which you mean. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Not see her? over there, all naked and unadorned, shrinking from +observation, and always slipping out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Now I just discern her. But why not bring them all with you? there +would be a fullness and completeness about that commission. Ah yes, and I +should like to brief Truth on my behalf. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Well thought of; come, all of you; you will not mind sitting +through a single case—in which we have a personal interest, too? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Truth</i>. Go on, the rest of you; it is superfluous for me to hear what I +know all about before. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. But, Truth dear, your presence will be useful to us; you will +show us what to think. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Truth</i>. May I bring my two favourite maids, then? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. And as many more as you like. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Truth</i>. Come with me, Freedom and Frankness; this poor little adorer of +ours is in trouble without any real reason; we shall be able to get him out of +it. Exposure, my man, we shall not want you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Ah yes, Mistress, let us have him, of all others; my opponents are +no ordinary ruffians; they are people who make a fine show and are hard to +expose; they have always some back way out of a difficulty; we must have +Exposure. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Yes, we must, indeed; and you had better bring Demonstration +too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Truth</i>. Come all of you, as you are such important legal persons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ar</i>. What is this? Philosophy, he is employing Truth against us! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. And are Plato and Chrysippus and Aristotle afraid of her lying +on his behalf, being who she is? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Oh, well, no; only he is a sad plausible rogue; he will take her in. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Never fear; no wrong will be done, with madam Justice on the +bench by us. Let us go up. +</p> + +<p> +Prisoner, your name? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Parrhesiades, son of Alethion, son of Elenxicles.* +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[Footnote: i.e. Free-speaker, son of Truthful, son of Exposure.] +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. And your country? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. I am a Syrian from the Euphrates, my lady. But is the question +relevant? Some of my accusers I know to be as much barbarians by blood as +myself; but character and culture do not vary as a man comes from Soli or +Cyprus, Babylon or Stagira. However, even one who could not talk Greek would be +none the worse in your eyes, so long as his sentiments were right and just. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. True, the question was unnecessary. +</p> + +<p> +But what is your profession? that at least is essential. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. I profess hatred of pretension and imposture, lying, and pride; the +whole loathsome tribe of them I hate; and you know how numerous they are. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Upon my word, you must have your hands full at this profession! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. I have; you see what general dislike and danger it brings upon me. +However, I do not neglect the complementary branch, in which love takes the +place of hate; it includes love of truth and beauty and simplicity and all that +is akin to love. But the subjects for this branch of the profession are sadly +few; those of the other, for whom hatred is the right treatment, are reckoned +by the thousand. Indeed there is some danger of the one feeling being +atrophied, while the other is over-developed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. That should not be; they run in couples, you know. Do not +separate your two branches; they should have unity in diversity. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. You know better than I, Philosophy. My way is just to hate a +villain, and love and praise the good. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Well, well. Here we are at the appointed place. We will hold the +trial in the forecourt of Athene Polias. Priestess, arrange our seats, while we +salute the Goddess. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Polias, come to my aid against these pretenders, mindful of the +daily perjuries thou hearest from them. Their deeds too are revealed to thee +alone, in virtue of thy charge. Thou hast now thine hour of vengeance. If thou +see me in evil case, if blacks be more than whites, then cast thou thy vote and +save me! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. So. Now we are seated, ready to hear your words. Choose one of +your number, the best accuser you may, make your charge, and bring your proofs. +Were all to speak, there would be no end. And you, Parrhesiades, shall +afterwards make your defence. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. Plato, none of us will conduct the prosecution better than you. Your +thoughts are heaven-high, your style the perfect Attic; grace and persuasion, +insight and subtlety, the cogency of well-ordered proof—all these are +gathered in you. Take the spokesman’s office and say what is fitting on our +behalf. Call to memory and roll in one all that ever you said against Gorgias, +Polus, Hippias, Prodicus; you have now to do with a worse than them. Let him +taste your irony; ply him with your keen incessant questions; and if you will, +perorate with the mighty Zeus charioting his winged car through Heaven, and +grudging if this fellow get not his deserts. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Nay, nay; choose one of more strenuous temper—Diogenes, +Antisthenes, Crates, or yourself, Chrysippus. It is no time now for beauty or +literary skill; controversial and forensic resource is what we want. This +Parrhesiades is an orator. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Let me be accuser; no need for long speeches here. Moreover, I was +the worst treated of all; threepence was my price the other day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Philosophy, Diogenes will speak for us. But mind, friend, you are +not to represent yourself alone, but think of us all. If we have any private +differences of doctrine, do not go into that; never mind now which of us is +right, but keep your indignation for Philosophy’s wrongs and the names he has +called her. Leave alone the principles we differ about, and maintain what is +common to us all. Now mark, you stand for us all; on you our whole fame +depends; shall it come out majestic, or in the semblance he has given it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Never fear; nothing shall be omitted; I speak for all. Philosophy +may be softened by his words—she was ever gentle and +forgiving—<i>she</i> may be minded to acquit him; but the fault shall not +be mine; I will show him that our staves are more than ornaments. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Nay, take not that way; words, not bludgeons; ’tis better so. +But no delay now; your time-allowance has begun; and the court is all +attention. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. Philosophy, let the rest take their seats and vote with you, leaving +Diogenes as sole accuser. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Have you no fears of their condemning you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lu</i>. None whatever; I wish to increase my majority, that is all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. I commend your spirit. Gentlemen, take your seats. Now, +Diogenes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. With our lives on earth, Philosophy, you are acquainted; I need +not dwell long upon them. Of myself I say nothing; but Pythagoras, Plato, +Aristotle, Chrysippus, and the rest—who knows not the benefits that they +conferred on mankind? I will come at once, then, to the insults to which we +have been subjected by the thrice accursed Parrhesiades. He was, by his own +account, an advocate; but he has left the courts and the fame there to be won, +and has availed himself of all the verbal skill and proficiency so acquired for +a campaign of abuse against us. We are impostors and deceivers; his audiences +must ridicule and scorn us for nobodies. Did I say ‘nobodies’? he has made us +an abomination, rather, in the eyes of the vulgar, and yourself with us, +Philosophy. Your teachings are balderdash and rubbish; the noblest of your +precepts to us he parodies, winning for himself applause and approval, and for +us humiliation. For so it is with the great public; it loves a master of flouts +and jeers, and loves him in proportion to the grandeur of what he assails; you +know how it delighted long ago in Aristophanes and Eupolis, when they +caricatured our Socrates on the stage, and wove farcical comedies around him. +But they at least confined themselves to a single victim, and they had the +charter of Dionysus; a jest might pass at holiday time, and the laughing God +might be well pleased. +</p> + +<p> +But this fellow gets together an upper-class audience, gives long thought to +his preparations, writes down his slanders in a thick notebook, and uplifts his +voice in vituperation of Plato, Pythagoras, Aristotle, Chrysippus, and in short +all of us; <i>he</i> cannot plead holiday time, nor yet any private grievance; +he might perhaps be forgiven if he had done it in self-defence; but it was he +that opened hostilities. Worst of all, Philosophy, he shelters himself under +your name, entices Dialogue from our company to be his ally and mouthpiece, and +induces our good comrade Menippus to collaborate constantly with him; Menippus, +more by token, is the one deserter and absentee on this occasion. +</p> + +<p> +Does he not then abundantly deserve his fate? What conceivable defence is open +to him, after his public defamation of all that is noblest? On the public which +listened to him, too, the spectacle of his condign punishment will have a +healthy effect; we shall see no more ridicule of Philosophy. Tame submission to +insult would naturally enough be taken, not for moderation, but for +insensibility and want of spirit. Who could be expected to put up with his last +performance? He brought us to market like a gang of slaves, and handed us over +to the auctioneer. Some, I believe, fetched high prices; but others went for +four or five pounds, and as for me—confound his impudence, threepence! +And fine fun the audience had out of it! We did well to be angry; we have come +from Hades; and we ask you to give us satisfaction for this abominable outrage. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Resurgents</i>. Hear, hear! well spoken, Diogenes; well and loyally. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Silence in court! Time the defence. Parrhesiades, it is now your +turn; they are timing you; so proceed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Philosophy, Diogenes has been far indeed from exhausting his +material; the greater part of it, and the more strongly expressed, he has +passed by, for reasons best known to himself. I refer to statements of mine +which I am as far from denying that I made as from having provided myself with +any elaborate defence of them. Any of these that have been omitted by him, and +not previously emphasized by myself, I propose now to quote; this will be the +best way to show you who were the persons that I sold by auction and inveighed +against as pretenders and impostors; please to concentrate your vigilance on +the truth or falsehood of my descriptions. If what I say is injurious or +severe, your censure will be more fairly directed at the perpetrators than at +the discoverer of such iniquities. I had no sooner realized the odious +practices which his profession imposes on an advocate—the deceit, +falsehood, bluster, clamour, pushing, and all the long hateful list, than I +fled as a matter of course from these, betook myself to your dear service, +Philosophy, and pleased myself with the thought of a remainder of life spent +far from the tossing waves in a calm haven beneath your shadow. +</p> + +<p> +At my first peep into your realm, how could I but admire yourself and all these +your disciples? there they were, legislating for the perfect life, holding out +hands of help to those that would reach it, commending all that was fairest and +best; fairest and best—but a man must keep straight on for it and never +slip, must set his eyes unwaveringly on the laws that you have laid down, must +tune and test his life thereby; and that, Zeus be my witness, there are few +enough in these days of ours to do. +</p> + +<p> +So I saw how many were in love, not with Philosophy, but with the credit it +brings; in the vulgar externals, so easy for any one to ape, they showed a +striking resemblance to the real article, perfect in beard and walk and attire; +but in life and conduct they belied their looks, read your lessons backwards, +and degraded their profession. Then I was wroth; methought it was as though +some soft womanish actor on the tragic stage should give us Achilles or Theseus +or Heracles himself; he cannot stride nor speak out as a Hero should, but +minces along under his enormous mask; Helen or Polyxena would find him too +realistically feminine to pass for them; and what shall an invincible Heracles +say? Will he not swiftly pound man and mask together into nothingness with his +club, for womanizing and disgracing him? +</p> + +<p> +Well, these people were about as fit to represent you, and the degradation of +it all was too much for me. Apes daring to masquerade as heroes! emulators of +the ass at Cyme! The Cymeans, you know, had never seen ass or lion; so the ass +came the lion over them, with the aid of a borrowed skin and his most +awe-inspiring bray; however, a stranger who had often seen both brought the +truth to light with a stick. But what most distressed me, Philosophy, was this: +when one of these people was detected in rascality, impropriety, or immorality, +every one put it down to philosophy, and to the particular philosopher whose +name the delinquent took in vain without ever acting on his principles; the +living rascal disgraced you, the long dead; for you were not there in the flesh +to point the contrast; so, as it was clear enough that <i>his</i> life was vile +and disgusting, your case was given away by association with his, and you had +to share his disgrace. +</p> + +<p> +This spectacle, I say, was too much for me; I began exposing them, and +distinguishing between them and you; and for this good work you now arraign me. +So then, if I find one of the Initiated betraying and parodying the Mysteries +of the two Goddesses, and if I protest and denounce him, the transgression will +be mine? There is something wrong there; why, at the Games, if an actor who has +to present Athene or Posidon or Zeus plays his part badly, derogating from the +divine dignity, the stewards have him whipped; well, the Gods are not angry +with them for having the officers whip the man who wears their mask and their +attire; I imagine they approve of the punishment. To play a slave or a +messenger badly is a trifling offence, but to represent Zeus or Heracles to the +spectators in an unworthy manner—that is a crime and a sacrilege. +</p> + +<p> +I can indeed conceive nothing more extraordinary than that so many of them +should get themselves absolutely perfect in your words, and then live precisely +as if the sole object of reading and studying them had been to reverse them in +practice. All their professions of despising wealth and appearances, of +admiring nothing but what is noble, of superiority to passion, of being proof +against splendour, and associating with its owners only on equal +terms—how fair and wise and laudable they all are! But they take pay for +imparting them, they are abashed in presence of the rich, their lips water at +sight of coin; they are dogs for temper, hares for cowardice, apes for +imitativeness, asses for lust, cats for thievery, cocks for jealousy. They are +a perfect laughing-stock with their strivings after vile ends, their jostling +of each other at rich men’s doors, their attendance at crowded dinners, and +their vulgar obsequiousness at table. They swill more than they should and +would like to swill more than they do, they spoil the wine with unwelcome and +untimely disquisitions, and they cannot carry their liquor. The ordinary people +who are present naturally flout them, and are revolted by the philosophy which +breeds such brutes. +</p> + +<p> +What is so monstrous is that every man of them says he has no needs, proclaims +aloud that wisdom is the only wealth, and directly afterwards comes begging and +makes a fuss if he is refused; it would hardly be stranger to see one in kingly +attire, with tall tiara, crown, and all the attributes of royalty, asking his +inferiors for a little something more. When they want to get something, we hear +a great deal, to be sure, about community of goods—how wealth is a thing +indifferent—and what is gold and silver?—neither more nor less +worth than pebbles on the beach. But when an old comrade and tried friend needs +help and comes to them with his modest requirements, ah, then there is silence +and searchings of heart, unlearning of tenets and flat renunciation of +doctrines. All their fine talk of friendship, with Virtue and The Good, have +vanished and flown, who knows whither? they were winged words in sad truth, +empty phantoms, only meant for daily conversational use. +</p> + +<p> +These men are excellent friends so long as there is no gold or silver for them +to dispute the possession of; exhibit but a copper or two, and peace is broken, +truce void, armistice ended; their books are blank, their Virtue fled, and they +so many dogs; some one has flung a bone into the pack, and up they spring to +bite each other and snarl at the one which has pounced successfully. There is a +story of an Egyptian king who taught some apes the sword-dance; the imitative +creatures very soon picked it up, and used to perform in purple robes and +masks; for some time the show was a great success, till at last an ingenious +spectator brought some nuts in with him and threw them down. The apes forgot +their dancing at the sight, dropped their humanity, resumed their apehood, and, +smashing masks and tearing dresses, had a free fight for the provender. Alas +for the <i>corps de ballet</i> and the gravity of the audience! +</p> + +<p> +These people are just those apes; it is they that I reviled; and I shall never +cease exposing and ridiculing them; but about you and your like—for there +<i>are</i>, in spite of all, some true lovers of philosophy and keepers of your +laws—about you or them may I never be mad enough to utter an injurious or +rude word! Why, what could I find to say? what is there in your lives that +lends itself to such treatment? but those pretenders deserve my detestation, as +they have that of heaven. Why, tell me, all of you, what have such creatures to +do with you? Is there a trace in their lives of kindred and affinity? Does oil +mix with water? If they grow their beards and call themselves philosophers and +look solemn, do these things make them like you? I could have contained myself +if there had been any touch of plausibility in their acting; but the vulture is +more like the nightingale than they like philosophers. And now I have pleaded +my cause to the best of my ability. Truth, I rely upon you to confirm my words. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Parrhesiades, retire to a further distance. Well, and our +verdict? How think you the man has spoken? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Truth</i>. Ah, Philosophy, while he was speaking I was ready to sink through +the ground; it was all so true. As I listened, I could identify every offender, +and I was fitting caps all the time—this is so-and-so, that is the other +man, all over. I tell you they were all as plain as in a picture—speaking +likenesses not of their bodies only, but of their very souls. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Tem</i>. Yes, Truth, I could not help blushing at it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. What say you, gentlemen? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Res</i>. Why, of course, that he is acquitted of the charge, and stands +recorded as our friend and benefactor. Our case is just that of the Trojans, +who entertained the tragic actor only to find him reciting their own +calamities. Well, recite away, our tragedian, with these pests of ours for +dramatis personae. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. I too, Philosophy, give him my need of praise; I withdraw my +charges, and count him a worthy friend. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. I congratulate you, Parrhesiades; you are unanimously acquitted, +and are henceforth one of us. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Your humble servant. Or no, I must find more tragic words to fit +the solemnity of the occasion: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Victorious might<br/> + My life’s path light,<br/> + And ever strew with garlands bright!<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Vir</i>. Well, now we come to our second course; let us have in the other +people and try them for their insults. Parrhesiades shall accuse them each in +turn. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Well said, Virtue. Syllogism, my boy, put your head out over the +city and summon the philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Syl</i>. Oyez, oyez! All philosophers to the Acropolis to make their defence +before Virtue, Philosophy, and Justice. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. The proclamation does not bring them in flocks, does it? They have +their reasons for keeping clear of Justice. And a good many of them are too +busy with their rich friends. If you want them all to come, Syllogism, I will +tell you what to say. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. No, no; call them yourself, Parrhesiades, in your own way. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Quite a simple matter. Oyez, oyez! All who profess philosophy and +hold themselves entitled to the name of philosopher shall appear on the +Acropolis for largesse; 8 pounds, with a sesame cake, to each. A long beard +shall qualify for a square of compressed figs, in addition. Every applicant to +have with him, of temperance, justice, and self-control, any that he is in +possession of, it being clearly understood that these are not indispensable, +and, of syllogisms, a complete set of five, these being the condition precedent +of wisdom. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Two golden talents in the midst are set,<br/> + His prize who wrangles best amongst his peers.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +Just look! the ascent packed with a pushing crowd, at the very first sound of +my 8 pounds. More of them along the Pelasgicum, more by the temple of +Asclepius, a bigger crowd still over the Areopagus. Why, positively there are a +few at the tomb of Talos; and see those putting ladders against the temple of +Castor and Pollux; up they climb, buzzing and clustering like a swarm of bees. +In Homeric phrase, on this side are exceeding many, and on that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ten thousand, thick as leaves and flowers in spring. +</p> + +<p> +Noisily they settle, the Acropolis is covered with them in a trice; everywhere +wallet and beard, flattery and effrontery, staves and greed, logic and avarice. +The little company which came up at the first proclamation is swamped beyond +recovery, swallowed up in these later crowds; it is hopeless to find them, +because of the external resemblance. That is the worst of it, Philosophy; you +are really open to censure for not marking and labelling them; these impostors +are often more convincing than the true philosophers. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. It shall be done before long; at present let us receive them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Platon</i>. Platonists first! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pyth</i>. No, no; Pythagoreans first; our master is senior. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Stoics</i>. Rubbish! the Porch is the best. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Peri</i>. Now, now, this is a question of money; Peripatetics first there! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Epic</i>. Hand over those cakes and fig-squares; as to the money, Epicureans +will not mind waiting till the last. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Acad</i>. Where are the two talents? none can touch the Academy at a +wrangle; we will soon show you that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Stoics</i>. Not if we know it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Cease your strife. Cynics there, no more pushing! And keep those +sticks quiet. You have mistaken the nature of this summons. We three, +Philosophy, Virtue, and Truth, are about to decide which are the true +philosophers; that done, those whose lives are found to be in accord with our +pleasure will be made happy by our award; but the impostors who are not truly +of our kin we shall crush as they deserve, that they may no more make vain +claims to what is too high for them. Ha! you fly? In good truth they do, +jumping down the crags, most of them. Why, the Acropolis is deserted, except +for—yes, a few have stood their ground and are not afraid of the +judgement. +</p> + +<p> +Attendants, pick up the wallet which yonder flying Cynic has dropped. Let us +see what it contains—beans? a book? some coarse crust? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Oh dear no. Here is gold; some scent; a mirror; dice. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Ah, good honest man! such were his little necessaries for the +philosophic life, such his title to indulge in general abuse and instruct his +neighbours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. There you have them. The problem before you is, how the general +ignorance is to be dispersed, and other people enabled to discriminate between +the genuine and the other sort. Find the solution, Truth; for indeed it +concerns you; Falsehood must not prevail; shall Ignorance shield the base while +they counterfeit the good, and you never know it? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Truth</i>. I think we had better give Parrhesiades this commission; he has +been shown an honest man, our friend and your true admirer, Philosophy. Let him +take Exposure with him and have interviews with all who profess philosophy; any +genuine scion that he finds let him crown with olive and entertain in the +Banqueting Hall; and for the rascals—ah, how many!—who are only +costume philosophers, let him pull their cloaks off them, clip their beards +short with a pair of common goatshears, and mark their foreheads or brand them +between the eyebrows; the design on the branding iron to be a fox or an ape. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. Well planned, Truth. And, Parrhesiades, here is a test for you; +you know how young eagles are supposed to be tested by the sun; well, our +candidates have not got to satisfy us that they can look at light, of course; +but put gold, fame, and pleasure before their eyes; when you see one remain +unconscious and unattracted, there is your man for the olive; but when one +looks hard that way, with a motion of his hand in the direction of the gold, +first off with his beard, and then off with him to the brander. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. I will follow your instructions, Philosophy; you will soon find a +large majority ornamented with fox or ape, and very few with olive. If you +like, though, I will get some of them up here for you to see. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. What do you mean? bring them back after that stampede? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Oh yes, if the priestess will lend me the line I see there and the +Piraean fisherman’s votive hook; I will not keep them long. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Priestess</i>. You can have them; and the rod to complete the equipment. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Thanks; now quickly, please, a few dried figs and a handful of +gold. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Priestess</i>. There. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. What <i>is</i> all this about? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Priestess</i>. He has baited his hook with the figs and gold, and is sitting +on the parapet dangling it over the city. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. What <i>are</i> you doing, Parrhesiades? do you think you are +going to fish up stones from the Pelasgicum? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Hush! I wait till I get a bite. Posidon, the fisherman’s friend, +and you, dear Amphitrite, send me good fishing! +</p> + +<p> +Ah, a fine bass; no, it is not; it is a gilthead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Expo</i>. A shark, you mean; there, see, he is getting near the hook, +open-mouthed too. He scents the gold; now he is close—touching—he +has it; up with him! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Give me a hand with the line, Exposure; here he is. Now, my best of +fishes, what do we make of you? <i>Salmo Cynicus</i>, that is what <i>you</i> +are. Good gracious, what teeth! Aha, my brave fish, caught snapping up trifles +in the rocks, where you thought you could lurk unobserved? But now you shall +hang by the gills for every one to look at you. Pull out hook and bait. Why, +the hook is bare; he has not been long assimilating the figs, eh? and the gold +has gone down too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Make him disgorge; we want the bait for some more. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. There, then. Now, Diogenes, do you know who it is? has the fellow +anything to do with you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Nothing whatever. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Well, what do you put him at? threepence was the price fixed the +other day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Too much. His flavour and his looks are intolerable—a coarse +worthless brute. Drop him head first over the rock, and catch another. But take +care your rod does not bend to breaking point. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. No fear; they are quite light—about the weight of a gudgeon. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. About the weight and about the wit. However, up with them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Look; what is this one? a sole? flat as a plate, thin as one of his +own fillets; he gapes for the hook; down it goes; we have him; up he comes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. What is he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Expo</i>. His plateship would be a Platonist. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. You too after the gold, villain? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Well, Plato? what shall we do with him? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Pl</i>. Off with him from the same rock. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Diog</i>. Try again. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Ah, here is a lovely one coming, as far as one can judge in deep +water, all the colours of the rainbow, with gold bars across the back. Do you +see, Exposure? this is the sham Aristotle. There he is; no, he has shied. He is +having a good look round; here he comes again; his jaws open; caught! haul up. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ar</i>. You need not apply to me; I do not know him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Very well, Aristotle; over he goes. +</p> + +<p> +Hullo! I see a whole school of them together, all one colour, and covered with +spines and horny scales, as tempting to handle as a hedgehog. We want a net for +these; but we have not got one. Well, it will do if we pull up one out of the +lot. The boldest of them will no doubt try the hook. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Expo</i>. You had better sheathe a good bit of the line before you let it +down; else he will gorge the gold and then saw the line through. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. There it goes. Posidon grant me a quick catch! There now! they are +fighting for the bait, a lot of them together nibbling at the figs, and others +with their teeth well in the gold. That is right; one soundly hooked. Now let +me see, what do <i>you</i> call yourself? And yet how absurd to try and make a +fish speak; they are dumb. Exposure, tell us who is his master, +</p> + +<p> +<i>Expo</i>. Chrysippus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Ah, he must have a master with gold in his name, must he? +Chrysippus, tell me seriously, do you know these men? are you responsible for +the way they live? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ch</i>. My dear Parrhesiades, I take it ill that you should suggest any +connexion between me and such creatures. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Quite right, and like you. Over he goes head first like the others; +if one tried to eat him, those spines might stick in one’s throat. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Philos</i>. You have fished long enough, Parrhesiades; there are so many of +them, one might get away with gold, hook and all, and you have the priestess to +pay. Let us go for our usual stroll; and for all you it is time to be getting +back to your place, if you are not to outstay your leave. Parrhesiades, you and +Exposure can go the rounds now, and crown or brand as I told you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Good, Philosophy. Farewell, ye best of men. Come, Exposure, to our +commission. Where shall we go first? the Academy, do you think, or the Porch? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Expo</i>. We will begin with the Lyceum. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Par</i>. Well, it makes no difference. I know well enough that wherever we +go there will be few crowns wanted, and a good deal of branding. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="chap17"></a>VOYAGE TO THE LOWER WORLD</h3> + +<p> +<i>Charon. Clotho. Hermes. Shades. Rhadamanthus. Tisiphone. Lamp. Bed</i> +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. You see how it is, Clotho; here has all been ship-shape and ready +for a start this long time; the hold baled out, the mast stepped, the sail +hoisted, every oar in its rowlock; it is no fault of mine that we don’t weigh +anchor and sail. ’Tis Hermes keeps us; he should have been here long ago. Not a +passenger on board, as you may see; and we might have made the trip three times +over by this. Evening is coming on now; and never a penny taken all day! I know +how it will be: Pluto will think <i>I</i> have been wanting to my work. It is +not I that am to blame, but our fine gentleman of a supercargo. He is just like +any mortal: he has taken a drink of their Lethe up there, and forgotten to come +back to us. He’ll be wrestling with the lads, or playing on his lyre, or giving +his precious gift of the gab a good airing; or he’s off after plunder, the +rascal, for what I know: ’tis all in the day’s work with him. He is getting too +independent: he ought to remember that he belongs to us, one half of him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Well, well, Charon; perhaps he has been busy: Zeus may have had +some particular occasion for his services in the upper world; <i>he</i> has the +use of him too, remember. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. That doesn’t say that he should make use of him beyond what’s +reasonable. Hermes is common property. We have never kept him here when he was +due to go. No, I know what it is. In these parts of ours all is mist and gloom +and darkness, and nothing to be had but asphodel and libations and sacrificial +cakes and meats. Yonder in Heaven, all’s bright, with plenty of ambrosia, and +no end of nectar. Small wonder that he likes to loiter there. When he leaves +us, ’tis on wings; it is as though he escaped from prison. But when the time +comes for return, he tramps it on foot, and has much ado to get here at all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Well, never mind now; here he comes, look, and a fine host of +passengers with him; a fine flock, rather; he hustles them along with his staff +like so many goats. But what’s this? One of them is bound, and another enjoying +the joke; and there is one with a wallet slung beside him, and a stick in his +hand; a cantankerous-looking fellow; he keeps the rest moving. And just look at +Hermes! Bathed in perspiration, and his feet covered with dust! See how he +pants; he is quite out of breath. What is the matter, Hermes? Tell us all about +it; you seem disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. The matter is that this rascal ran away; I had to go after him, and +had well nigh played you false for this trip, I can tell you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Why, who is he? What did he want to run away for? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. His motive is sufficiently clear: he had a preference for remaining +alive. He is some king or tyrant, as I gather from his piteous allusions to +blessedness no longer his. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. And the fool actually tried to run away, and thought to prolong his +life when the thread of Fate was exhausted? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Tried! He would have got clean away, but for that capital fellow +there with the club; he gave me a hand, and we caught and bound him. The whole +way along, from the moment that Atropus handed him over to me, he dragged and +hung back, and dug his heels into the ground: it was no easy work getting him +along. Every now and then he would take to prayers and entreaties: Would I let +him go just for a few minutes? he would make it worth my while. Of course I was +not going to do that; it was out of the question.—Well, we had actually +got to the very pit’s mouth, when somehow or other this double-dyed knave +managed to slip off, whilst I was telling over the Shades to Aeacus, as usual, +and he checking them by your sister’s invoice. The consequence was, we were one +short of tally. Aeacus raised his eyebrows. ‘Hermes,’ he said, ‘everything in +its right place: no larcenous work here, please. You play enough of those +tricks in Heaven. We keep strict accounts here: nothing escapes us. The invoice +says 1,004; there it is in black and white. You have brought me one short, +unless you say that Atropus was too clever for you.’ I coloured up at that; and +then all at once I remembered what had happened on the way, and when I looked +round and this fellow was nowhere to be seen, I knew that he must have made +off, and I set off after him along the road to the upper world, as fast as I +could go. My worthy friend here volunteered for the service; so we made a race +of it, and caught the runaway just as he got to Taenarum! It was a near thing. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. There now, Charon! And we were beginning to accuse Hermes of +neglect. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. Well, and why are we waiting here, as if there had not been enough +delay already? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. True. Let them come aboard. I’ll to my post by the gangway, with my +notebook, and take their names and countries as they come up, and details of +their deaths; and you can stow them away as you get them.—Hermes, let us +have those babies in first; I shall get nothing out of them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Here, skipper. Three hundred of them, including those that were +exposed. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. A precious haul, on my word!—These are but green grapes, +Hermes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Who next, Clotho? The Unwept? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Ah! I take you.—Yes, up with the old fellows. I have no time +to-day for prehistoric research. All over sixty, pass on! What’s the matter +with them? They don’t hear me; they are deaf with age. I think you will have to +pick them up, like the babies, and get them along that way. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Here they are; fine well-matured fruit, gathered in due season; +three hundred and ninety-eight of them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. Nay, nay; these are no better than raisins. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Bring up the wounded next, Hermes. <i>Now</i> I can get to work. +Tell me how you were killed. Or no; I had better look at my notes, and call you +over. Eighty-four due to be killed in battle yesterday, in Mysia, These to +include Gobares, son of Oxyartes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Adsunt. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. The seven who killed themselves for love. Also Theagenes, the +philosopher, for love of the Megarian courtesan. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Here they are, look. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. And the rival claimants to thrones, who slew one another? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Here! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. And the one murdered by his wife and her paramour? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Straight in front of you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Now the victims of the law,—the cudgelled and the crucified. +And where are those sixteen who were killed by robbers? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Here; you may know them by their wounds. Am I to bring the women +too? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Yes, certainly; and all who were shipwrecked; it is the same kind +of death. And those who died of fever, bring them too, the doctor Agathocles +and all. Then there was a Cynic philosopher, who was to have succumbed to a +dinner with Dame Hecate, eked out with sacrificial eggs and a raw cuttlefish; +where is he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Here I stand this long time, my good Clotho.—Now what had I +done to deserve such a weary spell of life? You gave me pretty nearly a +spindleful of it. I often tried to cut the thread and away; but somehow it +never would give. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. I left you as a censor and physician of human frailties; pass on, +and good luck to you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. No, by Zeus! First let us see our captive safe on board. Your +judgement might be perverted by his entreaties. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Let me see; who is he? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes; tyrant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Come up, Megapenthes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Nay, nay, my lady Clotho; suffer me to return for a little while, +and I will come of my own accord, without waiting to be summoned. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. What do you want to go for? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I crave permission to complete my palace; I left the building +half-finished. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Pooh! Come along. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Oh Fate, I ask no long reprieve. Vouchsafe me this one day, that I +may inform my wife where my great treasure lies buried. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Impossible. ’Tis Fate’s decree. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And all that money is to be thrown away? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Not thrown away. Be under no uneasiness. Your cousin Megacles will +take charge of it. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Oh, monstrous! My enemy, whom from sheer good nature I omitted to +put to death? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. The same. He will survive you for rather more than forty years; in +the full enjoyment of your harem, your wardrobe, and your treasure. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. It is too bad of you, Clotho, to hand over my property to my worst +enemy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. My dear sir, it was Cydimachus’s property first, surely? You only +succeeded to it by murdering him, and butchering his children before his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Yes, but it was mine after that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Well, and now your term of possession expires. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. A word in your ear, madam; no one else must hear this.—Sirs, +withdraw for a space.—Clotho, if you will let me escape, I pledge myself +to give you a quarter of a million sterling this very day. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Ha, ha! So your millions are still running in your head? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Shall I throw in the two mixing-bowls that I got by the murder of +Cleocritus? They weigh a couple of tons apiece; refined gold! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Drag him up. We shall never get him to come on board by himself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I call you all to witness! My city-wall, my docks, remain +unfinished. I only wanted five days more to complete them. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Never mind. It will be another’s work now. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Stay! One request I can make with a clear conscience. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Well? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Suffer me only to complete the conquest of Persia; … and to impose +tribute on Lydia; … and erect a colossal monument to myself, … and inscribe +thereon the military achievements of my life. Then let me die. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Creature, this is no single day’s reprieve: you would want +something like twenty years. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Oh, but I am quite prepared to give security for my expeditious +return. Nay, I could provide a substitute, if preferred—my well-beloved! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Wretch! How often have you prayed that he might survive you! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. That was a long time ago. Now,—I see a better use for him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. But he is due to be here, shortly, let me tell you. He is to be put +to death by the new sovereign. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Well, Clotho, I hope you will not refuse my last request. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Which is? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I should like to know how things will be, now that I am gone. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Certainly; you shall have that mortification. Your wife will pass +into the hands of Midas, your slave; he has been her gallant for some time +past. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. A curse on him! ’Twas at her request that I gave him his freedom. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Your daughter will take her place in the harem of the present +monarch. Then all the old statues and portraits which the city set up in your +honour will be overturned,—to the entertainment, no doubt, of the +spectators. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And will no friend resent these doings? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Who was your friend? Who had any reason to be? Need I explain that +the cringing courtiers who lauded your every word and deed were actuated either +by hope or by fear—time-servers every man of them, with a keen eye to the +main chance? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And these are they whose feasts rang with my name! who, as they +poured their libations, invoked every blessing on my head! Not one but would +have died before me, could he have had his will; nay, they swore by no other +name. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Yes; and you dined with one of them yesterday, and it cost you your +life. It was that last cup you drank that brought you here. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Ah, I noticed a bitter taste.—But what was his object? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Oh, you want to know too much. It is high time you came on board. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Clotho, I had a particular reason for desiring one more glimpse of +daylight. I have a burning grievance! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. And what is that? Something of vast importance, I make no doubt. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. It is about my slave Carion. The moment he knew of my death, he came +up to the room where I lay; it was late in the evening; he had plenty of time +in front of him, for not a soul was watching by me; he brought with him my +concubine Glycerium (an old affair, this, I suspect), closed the door, and +proceeded to take his pleasure with her, as if no third person had been in the +room! Having satisfied the demands of passion, he turned his attention to me. +‘You little villain,’ he cried, ‘many’s the flogging I’ve had from you, for no +fault of mine!’ And as he spoke he plucked out my hair and smote me on the +face. ‘Away with you,’ he cried finally, spitting on me, ‘away to the place of +the damned!’—and so withdrew. I burned with resentment: but there I lay +stark and cold, and could do nothing. That baggage Glycerium, too, hearing +footsteps approaching, moistened her eyes and pretended she had been weeping +for me; and withdrew sobbing, and repeating my name.—If I could but get +hold of them— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Never mind what you would do to them, but come on board. The hour +is at hand when you must appear before the tribunal. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. And who will presume to give his vote against a tyrant? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Against a tyrant, who indeed? Against a Shade, Rhadamanthus will +take that liberty. He is strictly impartial, as you will presently observe, in +adapting his sentences to the requirements of individual cases. And now, no +more delay. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Dread Fate, let me be some common man,—some pauper! I have +been a king,—let me be a slave! Only let me live! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Where is the one with the stick? Hermes, you and he must drag him +up feet foremost. He will never come up by himself. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Come along, my runagate. Here you are, skipper. And I say, keep an +eye— +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. Never fear. We’ll lash him to the mast. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Look you, I must have the seat of honour. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. And why exactly? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. Can you ask? Was I not a tyrant, with a guard of ten thousand men? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Oh, dullard! And you complain of Carion’s pulling your hair! Wait +till you get a taste of this stick; you shall know what it is to be a tyrant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. What, shall a Cynic dare to raise his staff against me? Sirrah, have +you forgotten the other day, when I had all but nailed you to the cross, for +letting that sharp censorious tongue of yours wag too freely? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cynic</i>. Well, and now it is your turn to be nailed,—to the mast. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. And what of me, mistress? Am I to be left out of the reckoning? +Because I am poor, must I be the last to come aboard? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Who are you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Micyllus the cobbler. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. A cobbler, and cannot wait your turn? Look at the tyrant: see what +bribes he offers us, only for a short reprieve. It is very strange that delay +is not to your fancy too. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. It is this way, my lady Fate. I find but cold comfort in that +promise of the Cyclops: ‘Outis shall be eaten last,’ said he; but first or +last, the same teeth are waiting. And then, it is not the same with me as with +the rich. Our lives are what they call ‘diametrically opposed.’ This tyrant, +now, was thought happy while he lived; he was feared and respected by all: he +had his gold and his silver; his fine clothes and his horses and his banquets; +his smart pages and his handsome ladies,—and had to leave them all. No +wonder if he was vexed, and felt the tug of parting. For I know not how it is, +but these things are like birdlime: a man’s soul sticks to them, and will not +easily come away; they have grown to be a part of him. Nay, ’tis as if men were +bound in some chain that nothing can break; and when by sheer force they are +dragged away, they cry out and beg for mercy. They are bold enough for aught +else, but show them this same road to Hades, and they prove to be but cowards. +They turn about, and must ever be looking back at what they have left behind +them, far off though it be,—like men that are sick for love. So it was +with the fool yonder: as we came along, he was for running away; and now he +tires you with his entreaties. As for me, I had no stake in life; lands and +horses, money and goods, fame, statues,—I had none of them; I could not +have been in better trim: it needed but one nod from Atropus,—I was +busied about a boot at the time, but down I flung knife and leather with a +will, jumped up, and never waited to get my shoes, or wash the blacking from my +hands, but joined the procession there and then, ay, and headed it, looking +ever forward; I had left nothing behind me that called for a backward glance. +And, on my word, things begin to look well already. Equal rights for all, and +no man better than his neighbour; that is hugely to my liking. And from what I +can learn there is no collecting of debts in this country, and no taxes; better +still, no shivering in winter, no sickness, no hard knocks from one’s betters. +All is peace. The tables are turned: the laugh is with us poor men; it is the +rich that make moan, and are ill at ease. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. To be sure, I noticed that you were laughing, some time ago. What +was it in particular that excited your mirth? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. I’ll tell you, best of Goddesses. Being next door to a tyrant up +there, I was all eyes for what went on in his house; and he seemed to me +neither more nor less than a God. I saw the embroidered purple, the host of +courtiers, the gold, the jewelled goblets, the couches with their feet of +silver: and I thought, this is happiness. As for the sweet savour that arose +when his dinner was getting ready, it was too much for me; such blessedness +seemed more than human. And then his proud looks and stately walk and high +carriage, striking admiration into all beholders! It seemed almost as if he +must be handsomer than other men, and a good eighteen inches taller. But when +he was dead, he made a queer figure, with all his finery gone; though I laughed +more at myself than at him: there had I been worshipping mere scum on no better +authority than the smell of roast meat, and reckoning happiness by the blood of +Lacedaemonian sea-snails! There was Gniphon the usurer, too, bitterly +reproaching himself for having died without ever knowing the taste of wealth, +leaving all his money to his nearest relation and heir-at-law, the spendthrift +Rhodochares, when he might have had the enjoyment of it himself. When I saw +him, I laughed as if I should never stop: to think of him as he used to be, +pale, wizened, with a face full of care, his fingers the only rich part of him, +for they had the talents to count,—scraping the money together bit by +bit, and all to be squandered in no time by that favourite of Fortune, +Rhodochares!—But what are we waiting for now? There will be time enough +on the voyage to enjoy their woebegone faces, and have our laugh out. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Come on board, and then the ferryman can haul up the anchor. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. Now, now! What are you doing here? The boat is full. You wait till +to-morrow. We can bring you across in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. What right have you to leave me behind,—a shade of twenty-four +hours’ standing? I tell you what it is, I shall have you up before +Rhadamanthus. A plague on it, she’s moving! And here I shall be left all by +myself. Stay, though: why not swim across in their wake? No matter if I get +tired; a dead man will scarcely be drowned. Not to mention that I have not a +penny to pay my fare. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. Micyllus! Stop! You must not come across that way; Heaven forbid! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Ha, ha! I shall get there first, and I shouldn’t wonder. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. This will never do. We must get to him, and pick him up…. Hermes, +give him a hand up. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. And where is he to sit now he is here? We are full up, as you may +see. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. What do you say to the tyrant’s shoulders? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. A good idea that. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. Up with you then; and make the rascal’s back ache. And now, good +luck to our voyage! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Charon, I may as well tell you the plain truth at once. The penny +for my fare is not forthcoming; I have nothing but my wallet, look, and this +stick. But if you want a hand at baling, here I am; or I could take an oar; +only give me a good stout one, and you shall have no fault to find with me. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. To it, then; and I’ll ask no other payment of you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Shall I tip them a stave? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. To be sure, if you have a sea-song about you. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. I have several. Look here though, an opposition is starting: a song +of lamentation. It will throw me out. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Sh</i>. Oh, my lands, my lands!—Ah, my money, my +money!—Farewell, my fine palace!—The thousands that fellow will +have to squander!—Ah, my helpless children!—To think of the vines I +planted last year! Who, ah who, will pluck the grapes?—- +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Why, Micyllus, have <i>you</i> never an Oh or an Ah? It is quite +improper that any shade should cross the stream, and make no moan. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Get along with you. What have I to do with Ohs and Ahs? I’m enjoying +the trip! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Still, just a groan or two. It’s expected. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Well, if I must, here goes.—Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah, +Soles, old Soles!—Oh, ancient Boots!—Woe’s me! Never again shall I +sit empty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a winter’s +day, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl, will be another’s: +whose, ah! whose? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Yes, that will do. We are nearly there. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. Wait a bit! Fares first, please. Your fare, Micyllus; every one +else has paid; one penny. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. You don’t expect to get a penny out of the poor cobbler? You’re +joking, Charon; or else this is what they call a ‘castle in the air.’ I know +not whether your penny is square or round. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cha</i>. A fine paying trip this, I must say! However,—all ashore! I +must fetch the horses, cows, dogs, and other livestock. Their turn comes now. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Clo</i>. You can take charge of them for the rest of the way, Hermes. I am +crossing again to see after the Chinamen, Indopatres and Heramithres. They have +been fighting about boundaries, and have killed one another by this time. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Come, shades, let us get on;—follow me, I mean, in single +file. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Bless me, how dark it is! Where is handsome Megillus <i>now</i>? +There would be no telling Simmiche from Phryne. All complexions are alike here, +no question of beauty, greater or less. Why, the cloak I thought so shabby +before passes muster here as well as royal purple; the darkness hides both +alike. Cyniscus, whereabouts are you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Use your ears; here I am. We might walk together. What do you say? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Very good; give me your hand.—I suppose you have been admitted +to the mysteries at Eleusis? That must have been something like this, I should +think? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Pretty much. Look, here comes a torch-bearer; a grim, forbidding +dame. A Fury, perhaps? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. She looks like it, certainly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Here they are, Tisiphone. One thousand and four. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Ti</i>. It is time we had them. Rhadamanthus has been waiting. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Bring them up, Tisiphone. Hermes, you call out their names as they +are wanted. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Rhadamanthus, as you love your father Zeus, have me up first for +examination. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Why? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. There is a certain shade whose misdeeds on earth I am anxious to +denounce. And if my evidence is to be worth anything, you must first be +satisfied of my own character and conduct. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Who are you? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Cyniscus, your worship; a student of philosophy. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Come up for judgement; I will take you first. Hermes, summon the +accusers. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. If any one has an accusation to bring against Cyniscus here +present, let him come forward. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. No one stirs! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Ah, but that is not enough, my friend. Off with your clothes; I +must have a look at your brands. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Brands? Where will you find them? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Never yet did mortal man sin, but he carried about the secret +record thereof, branded on his soul. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Well, here I am stripped. Now for the ‘brands.’ +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Clean from head to heel, except three or four very faint marks, +scarcely to be made out. Ah! what does this mean? Here is place after place +that tells of the iron; all rubbed out apparently, or cut out. How do you +explain this, Cyniscus? How did you get such a clean skin again? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Why, in old days, when I knew no better, I lived an evil life, and +acquired thereby a number of brands. But from the day that I began to practise +philosophy, little by little I washed out all the scars from my +soul,—thanks to the efficiency of that admirable lotion. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Off with you then to the Isles of the Blest, and the excellent +company you will find there. But we must have your impeachment of the tyrant +before you go. Next shade, Hermes! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Mine is a very small affair, too, Rhadamanthus; I shall not keep you +long. I have been stripped all this time; so do take me next. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. And who may you be? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Mi</i>. Micyllus the cobbler. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Very well, Micyllus. As clean as clean could be; not a mark +anywhere. You may join Cyniscus. Now the Tyrant. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes, wanted! Where are you off to? This +way! You there, the Tyrant! Up with him, Tisiphone, neck and crop. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Now, Cyniscus, your accusation and your proofs. Here is the party. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. There is in fact no need of an accusation. You will very soon know +the man by the marks upon him. My words however may serve to unveil him, and to +show his character in a clearer light. With the conduct of this monster as a +private citizen, I need not detain you. Surrounded with a bodyguard, and aided +by unscrupulous accomplices, he rose against his native city, and established a +lawless rule. The persons put to death by him without trial are to be counted +by thousands, and it was the confiscation of their property that gave him his +enormous wealth. Since then, there is no conceivable iniquity which he has not +perpetrated. His hapless fellow-citizens have been subjected to every form of +cruelty and insult. Virgins have been seduced, boys corrupted, the feelings of +his subjects outraged in every possible way. His overweening pride, his +insolent bearing towards all who had to do with him, were such as no doom of +yours can adequately requite. A man might with more security have fixed his +gaze upon the blazing sun, than upon yonder tyrant. As for the refined cruelty +of his punishments, it baffles description; and not even his familiars were +exempt. That this accusation has not been brought without sufficient grounds, +you may easily satisfy yourself, by summoning the murderer’s +victims.—Nay, they need no summons; see, they are here; they press round +as though they would stifle him. Every man there, Rhadamanthus, fell a prey to +his iniquitous designs. Some had attracted his attention by the beauty of their +wives; others by their resentment at the forcible abduction of their children; +others by their wealth; others again by their understanding, their moderation, +and their unvarying disapproval of his conduct. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Villain, what have you to say to this? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Me</i>. I committed the murders referred to. As for the rest, the adulteries +and corruptions and seductions, it is all a pack of lies. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. I can bring witnesses to these points too, Rhadamanthus. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Witnesses, eh? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Hermes, kindly summon his Lamp and Bed. They will appear in +evidence, and state what they know of his conduct. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Her</i>. Lamp and Bed of Megapenthes, come into court. Good, they respond to +the summons. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Now, tell us all you know about Megapenthes. Bed, you speak first. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Bed</i>. All that Cyniscus said is true. But really, Mr. Rhadamanthus, I +don’t quite like to speak about it; such strange things used to happen +overhead. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Why, your unwillingness to speak is the most telling evidence of +all!—Lamp, now let us have yours. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Lamp</i>. What went on in the daytime I never saw, not being there. As for +his doings at night, the less said the better. I saw some very queer things, +though, monstrous queer. Many is the time I have stopped taking oil on purpose, +and tried to go out. But then he used to bring me close up. It was enough to +give any lamp a bad character. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Enough of verbal evidence. Now, just divest yourself of that +purple, and we will see what you have in the way of brands. Goodness gracious, +the man’s a positive network! Black and blue with them! Now, what punishment +can we give him? A bath in Pyriphlegethon? The tender mercies of Cerberus, +perhaps? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. No, no. Allow me,—I have a novel idea; something that will +just suit him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Yes? I shall be obliged to you for a suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. I fancy it is usual for departed spirits to take a draught of the +water of Lethe? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. Just so. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. Let him be the sole exception. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. What is the idea in that? +</p> + +<p> +<i>Cy</i>. His earthly pomp and power for ever in his mind; his fingers ever +busy on the tale of blissful items;—’tis a heavy sentence! +</p> + +<p> +<i>Rhad</i>. True. Be this the tyrant’s doom. Place him in fetters at +Tantalus’s side,—never to forget the things of earth. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +F. +</p> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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