THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA

Complete with exceptions specified in the preface

TRANSLATED BY

H. W. FOWLER AND F. G. FOWLER

IN FOUR VOLUMES

What work nobler than transplanting foreign thought into the barrendomestic soil? except indeed planting thought of your own, which thefewest are privileged to do. --_Sartor Resartus_. 

At each flaw, be this your first thought: the author doubtless saidsomething quite different, and much more to the point. And then you mayhiss _me_ off, if you will. --LUCIAN, _Nigrinus_, 9. 

(LUCIAN) The last great master of Attic eloquence and Attic wit. --_LordMacaulay_. 

VOLUME II

CONTENTS OF VOL. II

THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR

APOLOGY FOR 'THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR'

A SLIP OF THE TONGUE IN SALUTATION

HERMOTIMUS, OR THE RIVAL PHILOSOPHIES

HERODOTUS AND AETION

ZEUXIS AND ANTIOCHUS

HARMONIDES

THE SCYTHIAN

THE WAY TO WRITE HISTORY

THE TRUE HISTORY

THE TYRANNICIDE

THE DISINHERITED

PHALARIS, I

PHALARIS, II

ALEXANDER THE ORACLE-MONGER

OF PANTOMIME

LEXIPHANES

THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR

The dependent scholar! The great man's licensed friend!--if friend, notslave, is to be the word. Believe me, Timocles, amid the humiliation anddrudgery of his lot, I know not where to turn for a beginning. Many, ifnot most, of his hardships are familiar to me; not, heaven knows, frompersonal experience, for I have never been reduced to such extremity, andpray that I never may be; but from the lips of numerous victims; from thebitter outcries of those who were yet in the snare, and the complacentrecollections of others who, like escaped prisoners, found a pleasure indetailing all that they had been through. The evidence of the latter wasparticularly valuable. Mystics, as it were, of the highest grade, Dependency had no secrets for them. Accordingly, it was with keeninterest that I listened to their stories of miraculous deliverance frommoral shipwreck. They reminded me of the mariners who, duly cropped, gather at the doors of a temple, with their tale of stormy seas andmonster waves and promontories, castings out of cargoes, snappings ofmasts, shatterings of rudders; ending with the appearance of those twinbrethren [Footnote: The Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux, who were supposed toappear to sailors in distress. ] so indispensable to nautical story, or ofsome other _deus ex machina_, who, seated at the masthead orstanding at the helm, guides the vessel to some sandy shore, there tobreak up at her leisure--not before her crew (so benevolent is the God!)have effected a safe landing. The mariner, however, is liberal inembellishment, being prompted thereto by the exigencies of his situation;for by his appearance as a favourite of heaven, not merely a victim offortune, the number of the charitable is increased. It is otherwise withthose whose narrative is of domestic storms, of billows rising mountainhigh (if so I may phrase it) within four walls. They tell us of theseductive calm that first lured them on to those waters, of thesufferings they endured throughout the voyage, the thirst, thesea-sickness, the briny drenchings; and how at last their luckless craftwent to pieces upon some hidden reef or at the foot of some steep crag, leaving them to swim for it, and to land naked and utterly destitute. Allthis they tell us: but I have ever suspected them of having convenientlapses of memory, and omitting the worst part for very shame. For myself, I shall have no such scruple. All that I have heard, or can reasonablyinfer, of the evils of dependence, I shall place before you. For either, friend, my penetration is at fault, or you have long had a hankering forthis profession. 

Yes, I have seen it from the first, whenever the conversation has fallenon this subject of salaried intellects. 'Happy men!' some enthusiast hascried. 'The _elite_ of Rome are their friends. They dinesumptuously, and call for no reckoning. They are lodged splendidly, andtravel comfortably--nay, luxuriously--with cushions at their backs, andas often as not a fine pair of creams in front of them. And, as if thiswere not enough, the friendship they enjoy and the handsome treatmentthey receive is made good to them with a substantial salary. They sownot, they plough not; yet all things grow for their use. ' How I have seenyou prick up your ears at such words as these! How wide your mouth hasopened to the bait!

Now I will have a clear conscience in this matter. I will not be toldhereafter that I saw you swallowing this palpable bait, and never stirreda finger to snatch it from you, and show you the hook while there was yettime; that I watched you nibbling, saw the hook well in and the fishhauled up, and then stood by shedding useless tears. A grave charge, indeed, were I to leave it in your power to bring it; such neglect wouldadmit of no palliation. You shall therefore hear the whole truth. Now, inleisurely fashion, from without, not hereafter from within, shall youexamine this weel from which no fish escapes. You shall take in hand thishook of subtle barb. You shall try the prongs of this eel-spear againstyour inflated cheek; and if you decide that they are not sharp, that theywould be easily evaded, that a wound from them would be no great matter, that they are deficient in power and grasp--then write me among those whohave cowardice to thank for their empty bellies; and for yourself, takeheart of grace, and swoop upon your prey, and cormorant-wise, if youwill, swallow all at a gulp. 

But however much the present treatise is indebted to you for itsexistence, its application is not confined to you who are philosophers, whose ambition it is to form your conduct upon serious principles; itextends to the teachers of literature, of rhetoric, of music, --to all, inshort, whose intellectual attainments can command a maintenance and awage. And where the life, from beginning to end, is one and the same forall, the philosopher (I need not say), so far from being a privilegedperson, has but the additional ignominy of being levelled with the rest, and treated by his paymaster with as scant ceremony as the rest. Inconclusion, whatever disclosures I may be led to make, the blame mustfall in the first instance on the aggressors, and in the second instanceon those who suffer the aggression. For me, unless truth and candour becrimes, I am blameless. 

As to the vulgar rabble of trainers and toadies, illiterate, mean-souledcreatures, born to obscurity, should we attempt to dissuade _them_from such pursuits, our labour would be wasted. Nor can we fairly blamethem, for putting up any affront, rather than part with their employers. The life suits them; they are in their element. And what other channel isthere, into which their energies could be directed? Take away this, theirsole vocation, and they are idle cumberers of the earth. They havenothing, then, to complain of; nor are their employers unreasonable inturning these humble vessels to the use for which they were designed. They come into a house prepared for such treatment from the first; it istheir profession to endure and suffer wrong. 

But the case of educated men, such as I have mentioned above, is anothermatter; it calls for our indignation, and for our utmost endeavours torestore them to liberty. I think it will not be amiss, if I first examineinto the provocations under which they turn to a life of dependence. Byshowing how trivial, how inadequate these provocations are, I shallforestall the main argument used by the defenders of voluntary servitude. Most of them are content to cloak their desertion under the names ofPoverty and Necessity. It is enough, they think, to plead in extenuation, that they sought to flee from this greatest of human ills, Poverty. Theognis comes pat to their purpose. His

 Poverty, soul-subduing Poverty, is in continual requisition, together with other fearful utterances ofour most degenerate poets to the same effect. Now if I could see thatthey really found an escape from poverty in the lives they lead, I wouldnot be too nice on the point of absolute freedom. But when we find them(to use the expression of a famous orator) 'faring like men that aresick, ' what conclusion is then left to us to draw? What but this, thathere again they have been misled, the very evil which they sold theirliberty to escape remaining as it was? Poverty unending is their lot. From the bare pittance they receive nothing can be set apart. Suppose itpaid, and paid in full: the whole sum is swallowed up to the lastfarthing, before their necessities are supplied. I would advise them tothink upon better expedients; not such as are merely the protectors andaccomplices of Poverty, but such as will make an end of her altogether. What say you, Theognis? Might this be a case for, Steep plunge from crags into the teeming deep?

For when a pauper, a needy hireling, persuades himself that by being whathe is he has escaped poverty, one cannot avoid the conclusion that helabours under some mistake. 

Others tell a different tale. For them, mere poverty would have had noterrors, had they been able, like other men, to earn their bread by theirlabours. But, stricken as they were by age or infirmity, they turned tothis as the easiest way of making a living. Now let us consider whetherthey are right. This 'easy' way may be found to involve much labourbefore it yields any return; more labour perhaps than any other. To findmoney ready to one's hand, without toil or trouble on one's own part, would indeed be a dream of happiness. But the facts are otherwise. Thetoils and troubles of their situation are such as no words can adequatelydescribe. Health, as it turns out, is nowhere more essential than in thisvocation, in which a thousand daily labours combine to grind the victimdown, and reduce him to utter exhaustion. These I shall describe in duecourse, when I come to speak of their other grievances. For the presentlet it suffice to have shown that this excuse for the sale of one'sliberty is as untenable as the former. 

And now for the true reason, which you will never hear from their lips. Voluptuousness and a whole pack of desires are what induce them to forcetheir way into great houses. The dazzling spectacle of abundant gold andsilver, the joys of high feeding and luxurious living, the immediateprospect of wallowing in riches, with no man to say them nay, --these arethe temptations that lure them on, and make slaves of free men; not lackof the necessaries of life, as they pretend, but lust of itssuperfluities, greed of its costly refinements. And their employers, likefinished coquettes, exercise their rigours upon these hapless slaves oflove, and keep them for ever dangling in amorous attendance; but forfruition, no! never so much as a kiss may they snatch. To grant thatwould be to give the lover his release, a conclusion against which theyare jealously on their guard. But upon hopes he is abundantly fed. Despair might else cure his ardent passion, and the lover be lover nomore. So there are smiles for him, and promises; always something shallbe done, some favour shall be granted, a handsome provision shall be madefor him, --some day. Meanwhile, old age steals upon the pair; thesuperannuated lover ceases from desire, and his mistress has nothing leftto give. Life has gone by, and all they have to show for it is _hope_. 

Well now, that a man for the sake of pleasure should put up with everyhardship is perhaps no great matter. Devoted to this one object, he canthink of nothing, but how to procure it. Let that pass. Though it seemsbut a scurvy bargain, a bargain for a slave; to sell one's liberty forpleasures far less pleasant than liberty itself. Still, as I say, letthat pass, provided the price is paid. But to endure unlimited pain, merely in the hope that pleasure may come of it, this surely is carryingfolly to the height of absurdity. And men do it with their eyes open. Thehardships, they know, are certain, unmistakable, inevitable. As to thepleasure, that vague, hypothetic pleasure, they have never had it in allthese years, and in all reasonable probability they never will. Thecomrades of Odysseus forgot all else in the Lotus: but it was while theywere tasting its sweets. They esteemed lightly of Honour: but it was inthe immediate presence of Pleasure. In men so occupied, such forgetfulnesswas not wholly unnatural. But to dwell a prisoner, with Famine forcompany, to watch one's neighbour fattening on the Lotus, and keeping itall to himself, and to forget Honour and Virtue in the bare prospect of apossible mouthful, --by Heaven, it is too absurd, and calls in good truthfor Homeric scourgings. 

Such, as nearly as I can describe them, are men's motives for takingservice with the rich, for handing themselves over bodily, to be used astheir employers think fit. There is one class, however, of which I oughtperhaps to make mention--those whose vanity is gratified by the mere factof being seen in the company of well-born and well-dressed men. For thereare those who consider this a distinguished privilege; though for my ownpart I would not give a fig to enjoy and to be seen enjoying the companyof the King of Persia, if I was to get nothing by it. 

And now, since we understand what it is that these men would be at, letus mentally review their whole career;--the difficulties that beset theapplicant before he gains acceptance; his condition when he is dulyinstalled in his office; and the closing scene of his life's drama. Youmay perhaps suppose that his situation, whatever its drawbacks, is atleast attainable without much trouble; that you have but to will it, andthe thing is done in a trice. Far from it. Much tramping about is instore for you, much kicking of heels. You will rise early, and stand longbefore your patron's closed door; you will be jostled; you will hearoccasional comments on your impudence. You will be exposed to the vilegabble of a Syrian porter, and to the extortions of a Libyan nomenclator, whose memory must be fee'd, if he is not to forget your name. You mustdress beyond your means, or you will be a discredit to your patron; andselect his favourite colours, or you will be out of harmony with yoursurroundings. Finally, you will be indefatigable in following his steps, or rather in preceding them, for you will be thrust forward by hisslaves, to swell his triumphal progress. And for days together you willnot be favoured with a glance. 

But one day the best befalls you. You catch his eye; he beckons you tohim, and puts a random question. In that supreme moment what cold sweats, what palpitations, what untimely tremors are yours! and what mirth istheirs who witness your confusion! 'Who was the king of the Achaeans?' isthe question: and your answer, as likely as not, 'A thousand sail. ' Withthe charitable this passes for bashfulness; but to the impudent you are acraven, and to the ill-natured a yokel. This first experience teaches youthat the condescensions of the great are not unattended with danger; andas you depart you pronounce upon yourself a sentence of utter despair. Thereafter, many a sleepless night, Many a day of strife shall be thy lot--

not for the sake of Helen, not for the towers of Troy, but for thesevenpence halfpenny of your desire. At length some heaven-sent protectorgives you an introduction: the scholar is brought up for examination. Forthe great man, who has but to receive your flatteries and compliments, this is an agreeable pastime: for you, it is a life-and-death struggle;all is hazarded on the one throw. For it will of course occur to you, that if you are rejected at the first trial, you will never pass currentwith any one else. A thousand different feelings now distract you. Youare jealous of your rivals (for we will assume that there is competitionfor the post); you are dissatisfied with your own replies; you hope; youfear; you cannot remove your eye from the countenance of your judge. Doeshe pooh-pooh your efforts? You are a lost man. Was that a smile? Yourejoice, and hope rises high. It is only to be expected, that many of thecompany are your enemies, and others your rivals, and each has his secretshaft to let fly at you from his lurking-place. What a picture! Thevenerable grey-beard being put through his paces. Is he any use? Some sayyes, others no. Time is taken for consideration. Your antecedents areindustriously overhauled. Some envious compatriot, some neighbour with atrivial grievance, is asked his opinion; he has but to drop a word of'loose morality, ' and your business is done; 'the man speaks God'struth!' Every one else may testify to your character: their evidenceproves nothing; they are suspected; they are venal. The fact is, you mustgain every point; there must be no hitch anywhere. That is your onlychance of success. 

And now, take it that you _have_ succeeded--beyond all expectation. Your words have found favour with the great man. Those friends, by whosejudgement in such matters he sets most store, have made no attempt toalter his decision. His wife approves his choice; the steward and themajor-domo have neither of them anything against you. No aspersions havebeen cast on your character; all is propitious, every omen is in yourfavour. Hail, mighty conqueror, wreathed in the Olympian garland! Babylonis yours, Sardis falls before you. The horn of plenty is within yourgrasp; pigeons shall yield you milk. 

Now, if your crown is to be of anything better than leaves, there must besome solid benefits to compensate you for the labours you have undergone. A considerable salary will be placed at your disposal, and you will drawupon it without ceremony, whenever you have occasion. You will be aprivileged person in every respect. As for toils, and muddy tramps, andwakeful nights, the time for those have gone by. Your prayers have beenheard: you will take your ease, and sleep your fill. You will do the workyou were engaged to do, and not a stroke besides. This, indeed, is whatyou have a right to expect. There would be no great hardship in bowingone's neck to a yoke so light, so easy--and so superbly gilded. But alas, Timocles, many, nay all of these requirements are unsatisfied. Youroffice, now that you have got it, is attended with a thousand detailsinsufferable to all but slaves. Let me rehearse them to you; you shalljudge for yourself whether any man with the slightest pretence to culturewould endure such treatment. 

Let me begin with your first invitation to dinner, which may reasonablybe expected to follow, as an earnest of the patronage to come. It isbrought to you by a most communicative slave, whose goodwill it must beyour first care to secure. Five shillings is the least you can slip intohis palm, if you would do the thing properly. He has scruples. 'Really, sir--couldn't think of it; no, indeed, sir. ' But he is prevailed upon atlast, and goes off, grinning from ear to ear. You then look out your bestclothes, have your bath, make yourself as presentable as possible, andarrive--in fear and trembling lest you should be the first, which wouldwear an awkward air, just as it savours of ostentation to arrive last. Accordingly you contrive to hit on the right moment, are received withevery attention, and shown to your place, a little above the host, separated from him only by a couple of his intimates. And now you feel asif you were in heaven. You are all admiration; everything you seedone throws you into ecstasies. It is all so new and strange! The waitersstare at you, the company watch your movements. Nor is the host withoutcuriosity. Some of his servants have instructions to observe younarrowly, lest your glance should fall too often on his wife or children. The other guests' men perceive your amazement at the novel scene, andexchange jesting asides. From the fact that you do not know what to makeof your napkin, they conclude that this is your first experience ofdining-out. You perspire with embarrassment; not unnaturally. You arethirsty, but you dare not ask for wine, lest you should be thought atippler. The due connexion between the various dishes which make theirappearance is beyond you: which ought you to take first? which next?There is nothing for it but to snatch a side glance at your neighbour, doas he does, and learn to dine in sequence. On the whole, your feelingsare mingled, your spirit perturbed, and stricken with awe. One moment youare envying your host his gold, his ivory, and all his magnificence; thenext, you are pitying yourself, --that miserable nonentity which calls itsexistence life; and then at intervals comes the thought, 'how happy shallI be, sharing in these splendours, enjoying them as if they were my own!'For you conceive of your future life as one continual feast; and thesmiling attendance of gracious Ganymedes gives a charming finish to thepicture. That line of Homer keeps coming to your lips: Small blame toTrojan or to greaved Achaean, if such happiness as this was to be thereward of their toils and sufferings. Presently healths are drunk. Thehost calls for a large beaker, and drinks to 'the Professor, ' or whateveryour title is to be. You, in your innocence, do not know that you oughtto say something in reply; you receive the cup in silence, and are setdown as a boor. 

Apart from this, your host's pledge has secured you the enmity of many ofhis old friends, with some of whom it was already a grievance, that anacquaintance of a few hours' standing should sit above men who have beendrinking the cup of slavery for years. Tongues are busy with you at once. Listen to some of them. 'So! We are to give place to new-comers! Itwanted but this. The gates of Rome are open to none but these Greeks. Nowwhat is their claim to be set over our heads? I suppose they think theyare conferring a favour on us with their wordy stuff?' 'How he did drink, to be sure!' says another. 'And did you see how he shovelled his fooddown, hand over hand? Mannerless starveling! He has never so much asdreamt of white bread before. 'Twas the same with the capon and pheasant;much if he left us the bones to pick!' 'My dear sirs' (cries numberthree), 'I give him five days at the outside; after which you will seehim at our end of the table, making like moan with ourselves. He is a newpair of shoes just now, and is treated with all ceremony. Wait till hehas been worn a few times, and the mud has done its work; he will beflung under the bed, poor wretch, like the rest of us, to be a receptaclefor bugs. ' Such are some among the many comments you excite; and, for allwe know, mischief may be brewing at this moment. 

Meanwhile, you are the guest of the evening, and the principal theme ofconversation. Your unwonted situation has led you on to drink more thanwas advisable. For some time you have been feeling uncomfortable effectsfrom your host's light, eager wine. To get up before the rest would bebad manners: to remain is perilous. The drinking is prolonged; subjectupon subject is started, spectacle after spectacle is produced; for yourhost is determined that you shall see all he has to show. You suffer thetorments of the damned. You see nothing of what is going forward: somefavourite singer or musician is performing--you hear him not; and whileyou force out some complimentary phrase, you are praying that anearthquake may swallow up all, or that the news of a fire may break upthe party. 

Such, my friend, is your first dinner, the best you will ever get. For mypart, give me a dinner of herbs, with liberty to eat when I will and asmuch as I will. I shall spare you the recital of the nocturnal woes thatfollow your excess. The next morning, you have to come to terms as to theamount of your salary, and the times of payment. Appearing in answer tohis summons, you find two or three friends with him. He bids you beseated, and begins to speak. 'You have now seen the sort of way in whichwe live--no ostentation, no fuss; everything quite plain and ordinary. Now you will consider everything here as your own. It would be a strangething, indeed, were I to entrust you with the highest responsibility ofall, the moral guidance of myself and my children'--if there are childrento be taught--'and yet hesitate to place the rest at your disposal. Something, however, must be settled. I know your moderate, independentspirit. I quite realize that you come to us from no mercenary motive, that you are influenced only by the regard and uniform respect which willbe assured to you in this house. Still, as I say, something must besettled. Now, my dear sir, tell me yourself, what you think right;remembering that there is something to be expected at the greatfestivals; for you will not find me remiss in that respect, though I saynothing definite at present; and these occasions, as you know, comepretty frequently in the course of the year. This consideration will nodoubt influence you in settling the amount of your salary; and apart fromthat, it sits well on men of culture like yourself, to be above thethought of money. ' Your hopes are blasted at the words, and your proudspirit is tamed. The dream of the millionaire and landed proprietor fadesaway, as you gradually catch his parsimonious drift. Yet you smirkappreciation of the promise. You are to 'consider everything as yourown'; there, surely, is something solid? 'Tis a draught (did you but knowit)

 That wets the lips, but leaves the palate dry. After an interval of embarrassment, you leave the matter to his decision. He declines the responsibility, and calls for the intervention of one ofthe company: let him name a sum, at once worthy of your acceptance, andnot burdensome to his purse, which has so many more urgent calls upon it. 'Sir, ' says this officious old gentleman, who has been a toady from hisyouth, 'Sir, you are the luckiest man in Rome. Deny it if you can! Youhave gained a privilege which many a man has longed for, and is not liketo obtain at Fortune's hands. You have been admitted to enjoy the companyand share the hearth and home of the first citizen of our empire. Usedaright, such a privilege will be more to you than the wealth of a Croesusor a Midas. Knowing as I do how many there are--persons of high standing--who would be glad to pay money down, merely for the honour and glory ofthe acquaintanceship, of being seen in his company, and ranking as hisfriends and intimates, --knowing this, I am at a loss for words in whichto express my sense of your good fortune. You are not only to enjoy thishappiness, but to be paid for enjoying it! Under the circumstances, Ithink we shall satisfy your most extravagant expectations, if we say'--and he names a sum which in itself is of the smallest, quite apart fromall reference to your brilliant hopes. However, there is nothing for itbut to submit with a good grace. It is too late now for escape; you arein the toils. So you open your mouth for the bit, and are very manageablefrom the first. You give your rider no occasion to keep a tight rein, orto use the spur; and at last by imperceptible degrees you are quitebroken in to him. 

The outside world from that time watches you with envy. You dwell withinhis courts; you have free access; you are become a person of consequence. Yet it is now incomprehensible to you how they can suppose you to behappy. At the same time, you are not without a certain exultation: youcheat yourself from day to day with the thought that there are betterthings to come. Quite the contrary turns out to be the case. Yourprospects, like the proverbial sacrifice of Mandrobulus, dwindle andcontract from day to day. Gradually you get some faint glimmerings of thetruth. It begins to dawn upon you at last, that those golden hopes wereneither more nor less than gilded bubbles: the vexations, on the otherhand, are realities; solid, abiding, uncompromising realities. 'And whatare these vexations?' you will perhaps exclaim; 'I see nothing sovexatious about the matter; I know not what are the hardships and thedrudgery alluded to. ' Then listen. And do not confine yourself to thearticle of drudgery, but keep a sharp look-out for ignominy, fordegradation, for everything, in short, that is unworthy of a free man. 

Let me remind you then, to begin with, that you are no longer free-born, no longer a man of family. Birth, freedom, ancestry, all these you willleave on the other side of the door, when you enter upon the fulfilmentof your servile contract; for Freedom will never bear you company in thatignoble station. You are a slave, wince as you may at the word; and, beassured, a slave of many masters; a downward-looking drudge, from morningtill night

 serving for sorry wage. 

Then again, you are a backward pupil: Servitude was not the nurse of yourchildhood; you are getting on in years when she takes you in hand;accordingly, you will do her little credit, and give little satisfactionto your lord. Recollections of Freedom will exercise their demoralizinginfluence upon you, causing you to jib at times, and you will makevillanous work of your new profession. Or will your aspirations afterFreedom be satisfied, perhaps, with the thought, that you are no son of aPyrrhias or a Zopyrion, no Bithynian, to be knocked down under the hammerof a bawling auctioneer? My dear sir, when pay-day comes round eachmonth, and you mingle in the herd of Pyrrhiases and Zopyrions, and holdout your hand for the wage that is due to you, what is that but a sale?No need of an auctioneer, for the man who can cry his own wares, andhawks his liberty about from day to day. Wretch! (one is prompted toexclaim, and particularly when the culprit is a professed philosopher)Wretch! Were you captured and sold by a pirate or a brigand, you wouldbewail your lot, and think that Fortune had dealt hardly with you. Were aman to lay violent hands on you, and claim a master's rights in you, loudand bitter would be your outcry: 'By heaven and earth, 'tis monstrous! Iappeal to the laws!' And now, at an age at which a born slave may beginto look towards Freedom, _now_ for a few pence do you sell yourself, your virtue and wisdom, in one parcel? And could Plato's noble words, could all that Chrysippus and Aristotle have said, of the blessings offreedom and the curse of slavery, raise no compunction in you? Do youcount it no shame to be pitted against toadies and vulgar parasites? noshame to sit at the noisy banquets of a promiscuous, and for the mostpart a disreputable company, a Greek among Romans, wearing the foreigngarb of philosophy, and stammering their tongue with a foreign accent?How fulsome are your flatteries on these occasions! how indecent yourtipplings! And next morning the bell rings, and up you must get, losingthe best of your sleep, to trudge up and down with yesterday's mud stillon your shoes. Were lupines and wild herbs so scarce with you? had thesprings ceased to give their wonted supply, that you were brought to sucha pass? No, the cause of your captivity is too clear. Not water, notlupines were the object of your desire, but dainty viands and fragrantwines; and your sin has found you out: you are hooked like a pike by yourgreedy jaws. We have not far to look for the reward of gluttony. Like amonkey with a collar about its neck, you are kept to make amusement forthe company; fancying yourself supremely happy, because you are unstintedin the matter of dried figs. As to freedom and generosity, they are fled, with the memories of Greece, and have left no trace behind them. Andwould that that were all, the disgrace of falling from freedom toservitude! Would that your employments were not those of a very menial!Consider: are your duties any lighter than those of a Dromo or a Tibius?As to the studies in which your employer professed an interest when heengaged you, they are nothing to him. Shall an ass affect the lyre?Remove from these men's minds the gold and the silver, with the caresthat these involve, and what remains? Pride, luxury, sensuality, insolence, wantonness, ignorance. Consuming must be their desire, doubtit not, for the wisdom of Homer, the eloquence of Demosthenes, thesublimity of Plato!

No, your employer has no need of your services in this direction. On theother hand, you have a long beard and a venerable countenance; theGrecian cloak hangs admirably upon your shoulders, and you are known tobe a professor of rhetoric, or literature, or philosophy; it will not beamiss, he thinks, to have such pursuits represented in the numerousretinue that marches before him. It will give him an air of Grecianculture, of liberal curiosity in fact. Friend, friend! your stock-in-trade would seem to be not words of wisdom, but a cloak and a beard. Ifyou would do your duty, therefore, be always well in evidence; begin yourunfailing attendance from the early hours of the morning, and never quithis side. Now and again he places a hand upon your shoulder, and mutterssome nonsense for the benefit of the passers-by, who are to understandthat though he walk abroad the Muses are not forgotten, that in all hiscomings and goings he can find elegant employment for his mind. Breathless and perspiring, you trot, a pitiable spectacle, at thelitter's side; or if he walks--you know what Rome is--, up hill and downdale after him you tramp. While he is paying a call on a friend, you areleft outside, where, for lack of a seat, you are fain to take out yourbook and read standing. 

Night finds you hungry and thirsty. You snatch an apology for a bath; andit is midnight or near it before you get to dinner. You are no longer anhonoured guest; no longer do you engage the attention of the company. Youhave retired to make room for some newer capture. Thrust into the mostobscure corner, you sit watching the progress of dinner, gnawing incanine sort any bones that come down to you and regaling yourself withhungry zest on such tough mallow-leaves--the wrappers of daintier fare--as may escape the vigilance of those who sit above you. No slight iswanting. You have not so much as an egg to call your own; for there is noreason why you should expect to be treated in the same way as a stranger;that would be absurd. The birds that fall to your lot are not like otherbirds. Your neighbour gets some plump, luscious affair; you, a poor half-chicken, or lean pigeon, an insult, a positive outrage in poultry. Asoften as not, an extra guest appears unexpectedly, and the waiter solvesthe difficulty by removing your share (with the whispered consolationthat you are 'one of the family'), and placing it before the new-comer. When the joint, be it pork or venison, is brought in to be carved, let ushope that you stand well with the carver, or you will receive aPromethean helping of 'bones wrapped up in fat. ' And the way in which adish is whisked past you, after remaining with your neighbour till he caneat no more!--what free man would endure it, though he were as innocentof gall as any stag? And I have said nothing yet of the wine. While theother guests are drinking of some rare old vintage, you have vile thickstuff, whose colour you must industriously conceal with the help of agold or silver cup, lest it should betray the estimation in which thedrinker is held. It would be something if you could get enough even ofthis. Alas! you may call and call: the waiter is

 as one that marketh not. 

Many are your grievances; nay, all is one huge grievance. And the climaxis reached, when you find yourself eclipsed by some minion, some dancing-master, some vile Alexandrian patterer of Ionic lays. How should you hopeto rank with the minister of Love's pleasures, with the stealthy conveyerof billets-doux? You cower shamefaced in your corner, and bewail yourhard lot, as well you may; cursing your luck that you have never asmattering of such graceful accomplishments yourself. I believe you wishthat _you_ could turn love-songs, or sing other men's with a goodgrace; perceiving as you do what a thing it is to be in request. Nay, youcould find it in you to play the wizard's, the fortune-teller's part; todeal in thrones and in millions of money. For these, too, you observe, make their way in the world, and are high in favour. Gladly would youenter on any one of these vocations, rather than be a useless castaway. Alas, even these are beyond you; you lack plausibility. It remains foryou to give place to others; to endure neglect, and keep your complaintsto yourself. 

Nay, more. Should some slave whisper that you alone withheld your praise, when his mistress's favourite danced or played, the neglect may cost youdear. Then let your dry throat be as busy as any thirsty frog's. See toit, that your voice is heard leading the chorus of applause; and timeafter time, when all else are silent, throw in some studied servilecompliment. The situation is not without humour. Hungry as you are, ay, and thirsty into the bargain, you must anoint yourself with oil ofgladness, and crown your head with garlands. It reminds one of theofferings made by recent mourners at a tomb. The tomb gets the ointmentand the garlands, while the mourners drink and enjoy the feast. 

If your patron is of a jealous disposition, and has a young wife orhandsome children, and you are not wholly without personal attractions, then beware! you are on dangerous ground. Many are the ears of a king, and many the eyes, that see not the truth only, but ever something overand above the truth, lest they should seem to fail of their office. Imagine yourself, therefore, at a Persian banquet. Keep your eyesdownwards, lest a eunuch should catch them resting on one of theconcubines. For see, there stands another with his bow ever on thestretch: one glance at the forbidden object as you raise your cup, andhis arrow is through your jaw before you can put it down. 

And now dinner is over; you retire, and snatch a little sleep. But atcock-crow you are aroused. 'Wretch! Worm that I am!' you exclaim. 'Tosacrifice the pursuits, the society of former days, the placid lifewherein sleep was measured by inclination, and my comings and goings wereunfettered, and all to precipitate myself bodily into this hideous gulf!And why? What, in God's name, is my glorious recompense? Was there noother way? Could I not have provided for myself better than this, andpreserved liberty and free-will into the bargain? Alas! the lion is fastbound in the net. I am haled hither and thither. Pitiable is my lot, where no honour is to be won, no favour to be hoped for. Untaught, unpractised in the arts of flattery, I am pitted against professionals. Iam no choice spirit, no jolly companion; to raise a laugh is beyond me. My presence (well do I know it) is a vexation to my patron, and then mostwhen he is in his most gracious mood. He finds me sullen; and how toattune myself to him I know not. If I wear a grim face, I am a sourfellow, scarcely to be endured. If I assume my most cheerful expression, my smiles arouse his contempt and disgust. As well attempt to act a comicpart in the mask of tragedy! And what is the end of it all? My presentlife has been another's: do I look to have a new life which shall be myown?'

Your soliloquy is interrupted by the bell. The old routine awaits you:you must trudge, and you must stand; and first anoint your limbs, if youwould hold out to the end. Dinner will be the same as ever, and go on aslate as ever. The change from all your former habits, the wakeful night, the violent exercise, the exhaustion, are slowly undermining your healthat this moment, and preparing you for consumption or colic, for asthma orthe delights of gout. However, you hold out in spite of all, though manya time your right place would be in bed. But that would never do: thatlooks like shamming, like shirking your work. The result is that you growas pallid as a man at the point of death. 

So much for your city life. And now for an excursion into the country. I will content myself with a single detail. As likely as not it is a wetday. Your turn for the carriage (as might be expected) comes last. Youwait and wait, till at last its return is out of the question, and youare squeezed into some vehicle with the cook, or with my lady's _friseur_, without even a proper allowance of straw. I shall make no scruple ofrelating to you an experience of Thesmopolis the Stoic, which I had fromhis own mouth; a most amusing incident, and just the sort of thing onemight expect to find happening again. He was in the service of a certainwealthy and luxurious lady of quality, whom on one occasion he had toaccompany on a journey from Rome. The fun began at once. The philosopherreceived as his travelling companion a beardless exquisite of thepitch-plastering persuasion, by whom, you may be certain, my lady setgreat store; his name, she informed the philosopher, was 'Robinetta. ' Isnot this a promising start?--the grave and reverend Thesmopolis, with hishoary beard (you know what a long, venerable affair it is), side by sidewith this rouged and painted ogler, whose drooping neck and pluckedthroat suggested the vulture rather than the robin! 'Twas all thatThesmopolis could do to persuade him not to wear his hair-net; and as itwas he had a sad journey of it, with the fellow singing and whistling allthe time--I daresay he would have danced there and then, if Thesmopolishad not prevented him. But there was more to come, as you will see. 'Thesmopolis, ' cries my lady, calling him to her, 'I have a great favourto ask of you; now please don't say no, and don't wait to be asked twice, there's a good creature. ' Of course, he said he would do anything shewished. 'I only ask you, because I know you are to be trusted; you are sogood-natured and affectionate! I want you to take my little dog Myrrhinain with you, and see that she wants for nothing. Poor little lady! she issoon to become a mother. These hateful, inattentive servants take nonotice of _me_ when we are travelling, much less of her. You will be doingme a great kindness, I assure you, in taking charge of her; I am so fondof the sweet little pet!' She prayed and almost wept; and Thesmopolispromised. Imagine the ludicrous picture. The little beast peeping out frombeneath the philosophic cloak; within licking distance of that beard, which perhaps still held traces of the thick soup of yesterday; yappingaway with its shrill pipe of a voice, as Maltese terriers will; and nodoubt taking other liberties, which Thesmopolis did not think worthmentioning. That night at dinner, the exquisite, his fellow traveller, after cracking a passable joke here and there at the expense of the otherguests, came to Thesmopolis. 'Of him, ' he remarked, 'I have only this tosay, that our Stoic has turned Cynic. ' According to what I heard, thelittle animal actually littered in his mantle!

Such are the caprices, nay, the insults, let me rather say, with whichthe patron gradually breaks the spirit of his dependants. I know myselfof an orator, a very free speaker, who was actually ordered to stand upand deliver a speech at table; and a masterly speech it was, trenchantand terse. He received the congratulations of the company on being timedby a _wine_--instead of a _water_-clock; and this affront, it is said, hewas content to put up, for the consideration of 8 pounds. But what ofthat? Wait till you get a patron who has poetical or historicaltendencies, and spouts passages of his own works all through dinner: youmust praise, you must flatter, you must devise original compliments forhim, --or die in the attempt. Then there are the beaux, the Adonises andHyacinths, as you must be careful to call them, undeterred by theeighteen inches or so of nose that some of them carry on their faces. Doyour praises halt? 'Tis envy, 'tis treason! Away with you, Philoxenusthat you are, to Syracusan quarries!--Let them be orators, let them bephilosophers, if they will: what matter for a solecism here and there?Find Attic elegance, find honey of Hymettus in every word; and pronounceit law henceforth, to speak as they speak. 

If we had only men to deal with, it would be something: but there are thewomen too. For among the objects of feminine ambition is this, of havinga scholar or two in their pay, to dance attendance at the litter's side;it adds one more to the list of their adornments, if they can get thereputation of culture and philosophy, of turning a song which will bearcomparison with Sappho's. So they too keep their philosopher, theirorator, or their _litterateur_; and give him audience--when, thinkyou? Why, at the toilet, by all that is ridiculous, among the rouge-potsand hair-brushes; or else at the dinner-table. They have no leisure atother times. As it is, the philosopher is often interrupted by theentrance of a maid with a billet-doux. Virtue has then to bide her time;for the audience will not be resumed till the gallant has his answer. 

At rare intervals, at the Saturnalia or the Feast of Minerva, you will bepresented with a sorry cloak, or a worn-out tunic; and a world ofceremony will go to the presentation. The first who gets wind of thegreat man's intention flies to you with the news of what is in storefor you; and the bringer of glad tidings does not go away empty-handed. Thenext morning a dozen of them arrive, conveying the present, each with histale of how he spoke up for you, or the hints he threw out, or how he wasentrusted with the choice, and chose the best. Not a man of them butdeparts with your money in his pocket, grumbling that it is no more. 

As to that salary, it will be paid to you sixpence at a time, and therewill be black looks when you ask for it. Still, you must get it somehow. Ply your patron therefore with flatteries and entreaties, and pay dueobservance to his steward, and let it be the kind of observance thatstewards like best; nor must you forget your kind introducer. You do getsomething at last; but it all goes to pay the tailor, the doctor, or theshoemaker, and you are left the proud possessor of nothing at all. 

Meanwhile, jealousy is rife, and some slander is perhaps working itsstealthy way to ears which are predisposed to hear anything to yourdiscredit. For your employer perceives that by this time incessantfatigues have worn you out; you are crippled, you are good for nothingmore, and gout is coming on. All the profit that was to be had of you, hehas effectually sucked out. Your prime has gone by, your bodily vigour isexhausted, you are a tattered remnant. He begins to look about for aconvenient dunghill whereon to deposit you, and for an able-bodiedsubstitute to do your work. You have attempted the honour of one of hisminions: you have been trying to corrupt his wife's maid, venerablesinner that you are!--any accusation will serve. You are gagged andturned out neck and crop into the darkness. Away you go, helpless anddestitute, with gout for the cheering companion of your old age. Whateveryou once knew, you have unlearnt in all these years: on the other hand, you have developed a paunch like a balloon; a monster insatiable, inexorable, which has acquired a habit of asking for more, and likes notat all the unlearning process. It is not to be supposed that any one elsewill give you employment, at your age; you are like an old horse, whosevery hide has deteriorated in value. Not to mention that the worstinterpretation will be put upon your late dismissal; you will be creditedwith adultery, or poisoning, or something of that kind. Your accuser, yousee, is convincing even in silence; whereas you--you are a loose-principled, unscrupulous _Greek_. That is the character we Greeksbear; and it serves us right; I see excellent grounds for the opinionthey have of us. Greek after Greek who enters their service sets up (indefault of any other practical knowledge) for wizard or poisoner, anddeals in love-charms and evil spells; and these are they who talk ofculture, who wear grey beards and philosophic cloaks! When these, who areaccounted the best of us, stand thus exposed, when men observe theirinterested servility, their gross flatteries at table and elsewhere, itis not to be wondered at that we have all fallen under suspicion. Thosewhom they have cast off, they hate, and seek to make an end of themaltogether; arguing, naturally enough, that men who know their secrets, and have seen them in all their nakedness, may divulge many a foiblewhich will not bear the light; and the thought is torment to them. Thefact is, that these great men are for all the world like handsomely boundbooks. Outside are the gilt edges and the purple cover: and within? aThyestes feasts upon his own children; an Oedipus commits incest with hismother; a Tereus woos two sisters at once. Such are these human books:their brilliancy attracts all eyes, but between the purple covers lurksmany a horrid tale. Turn over the pages of any one of them, and you finda drama worthy the pen of Sophocles or Euripides: close the volume--allis gilt edge and exquisite tooling. Well may they hate the confidants ofsuch crimes, and plot their destruction! What if the outcast should taketo rehearsing in public the tragedy that he has got by heart?

I am minded to give you, after the manner of Cebes, a life-picture ofDependence; with this before your eyes, you may judge for yourself, whether it is the life for you. I would gladly call in the aid of anApelles or a Parrhasius, an Aetion or a Euphranor, but no such perfectpainters are to be found in these days; I must sketch you the picture inoutline as best I can. I begin then with tall golden gates, not set inthe plain, but high upon a hill. Long and steep and slippery is theascent; and many a time when a man looks to reach the top, his footslips, and he is plunged headlong. Within the gates sits Wealth, a figureall of gold (so at least she seems); most fair, most lovely. Her loverpainfully scales the height, and draws near to the door; and that goldensight fills him with amazement. The beautiful woman in gorgeous raimentwho now takes him by the hand is Hope. As she leads him in, his spirit isstricken with awe. Hope still shows the way; but two others, Despair andServitude, now take charge of him, and conduct him to Toil, who grindsthe poor wretch down with labour, and at last hands him over to Age. Helooks sickly now, and all his colour is gone. Last comes Contempt, andlaying violent hands on him drags him into the presence of Despair; it isnow time for Hope to take wing and vanish. Naked, potbellied, pale andold, he is thrust forth, not by those golden gates by which he entered, but by some obscure back-passage. One hand covers his nakedness; with theother he would fain strangle himself. Now let Regret meet him without, dropping vain tears and heaping misery on misery, --and my picture iscomplete. 

Examine it narrowly in all its details, and see whether you like the ideaof going in at my golden front door, to be expelled ignominiously at theback. And whichever way you decide, remember the words of the wise man:'Blame not Heaven, but your own choice. '

APOLOGY FOR 'THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR'

DEAR SABINUS, I have been guessing how you are likely to have expressed yourself uponreading my essay about dependants. I feel pretty sure you read it all andhad a laugh over it; but it is your running and general comment in wordsthat I am trying to piece on to it. If I am any good at divination, thisis the sort of thing: _To think that a man can set down such a scathingindictment of the life, and then forget it all, get hold of the other endof the stick, and plunge headlong into such manifest conspicuous slavery!Take Midas, Croesus, golden Pactolus, roll them into one, multiply them, and could they induce him to relinquish the freedom which he has lovedand consorted with from a child? He is nearly in the clutches of Aeacus, one foot is on the ferryman's boat, and it is now that he lets himself bedragged submissively about by a golden collar. _ [Footnote: Omitting asa scholium, with Dindorf and Fritzsche, the words: hoia esti tontryphonton plousion ta sphingia kai ta kourallia. ] _There is someslight inconsistency between his life and his treatise; the rivers arerunning up-hill; topsy-turvydom prevails; our recantations are new-fashioned; the first palinodist_ [Footnote: See _Stesichorus_ inNotes. ] _mended words with words for Helen of Troy; but we spoil words(those words we thought so wise) with deeds. _

Such, I imagine, were your inward remarks. And I dare say you will giveme some overt advice to the same effect; well, it will not be ill-timed;it will illustrate your friendship, and do you credit as a good man and aphilosopher. If I render your part respectably for you, that will do, andwe will pay our homage to the God of words; [Footnote: i. E. Hermes. ] if Ifail, you will fill in the deficiency for yourself. There, the stage isready; I am to hold my tongue, and submit to any necessary carving andcauterizing for my good, and you are to plaster me, and have your scalpelhandy, and your iron red-hot. Sabinus takes the word, and thus addressesme:

_My dear friend, this treatise of yours has quite rightly been earningyou a fine reputation, from its first delivery before the great audienceI had described to me, to its private use by the educated who haveconsulted and thumbed it since. For indeed it presents the casemeritoriously; there is study of detail and experience of life inabundance; your views are the reverse of vague; and above all the book ispractically useful, chiefly but not exclusively to the educated whom itmight save from an unforeseen slavery. However, your mind is changed; thelife you described is now the better; good-bye to freedom; your motto isthat contemptible line:

 Give me but gain, I'll turn from free to slave. 

Let none hear the lecture from you again, then; see to it that no copy ofit comes under the eyes of any one aware of your present life; ask Hermesto bring Lethe-water from below, enough to drug your former hearers; elseyou will remind us of the Corinthian tale, and your writing, likeBellerophon's, be your own condemnation. I assure you I see no decentdefence you can make, at least if your detractors have the humour tocommend the independence of the writings while the writer is a slave anda voluntary beast of burden before their eyes. 

They will say with some plausibility: Either the book is some othergood man's work, and you a jackdaw strutting in borrowed, plumes; or, ifit is really yours, you are a second Salaethus; the Crotoniate legislatormade most severe laws against adultery, was much looked up to on thestrength of it, and was shortly after taken in adultery with hisbrother's wife. You are an exact reproduction of Salaethus, they willsay; or rather he was not half so bad as you, seeing that he was masteredby passion, as he pleaded in court, and moreover preferred to leapinto the flames, like a brave man, when the Crotoniates were moved tocompassion and gave him the alternative of exile. The difference between_your_ precept and practice is infinitely more ridiculous; you drawa realistic word-picture of that servile life; you pour contempt on theman who runs into the trap of a rich man's house, where a thousanddegradations, half of them self-inflicted, await him; and then in extremeold age, when you are on the border between life and death, you take thismiserable servitude upon you and make a sort of circus exhibition of yourchains. The conspicuousness of your position will only make the moreridiculous that contrast between your book and your life. 

But I need not beat my brains for phrases of reprobation; there is onegood enough in a noble tragedy:

 Wisdom begins at home; no wisdom, else. 

And your censors will find no lack of illustrations against you; somewill compare you to the tragic actor; on the stage he is Agamemnon orCreon or great Heracles; but off it, stripped of his mask, he is justPolus or Aristodemus, a hireling liable to be hissed off, or even whippedon occasion, at the pleasure of the audience. Others will say you havehad the experience of Queen Cleopatra's monkey: the docile creature usedto dance in perfect form and time, and was much admired for theregularity and decorum of its movements, adapted to the voices andinstruments of a bridal chorus; alas, one day it spied a fig or almond alittle way off on the ground; flutes and measures and steps were allforgotten, the mask was far off in several pieces, and there was hechewing his find. 

You, they will say, are the author (for 'actor' would understate thecase) who has laid down the laws of noble conduct; and no sooner is thelump of figs presented than the monkey is revealed; your lips are thelips of a philosopher, and your heart is quite other; it is no injusticeto say that those sentiments for which you claim admiration have 'wettedyour lips, and left your palate dry. ' You have not had to wait long forretribution; you spoke unadvisedly in scorn of human needs; and, thislittle while after, behold you making public renunciation of yourfreedom! Surely Nemesis was standing behind your back as you drank in theflattering tributes to your superiority; did she not smile in her divinefore-knowledge of the impending change, and mark how you forgot topropitiate her before you assailed the victims whom fortune's mutabilityhad reduced to such courses?

Now I want you to imagine a rhetorician writing on the theme thatAeschines, after his indictment of Timarchus, was himself proved guiltyby eyewitnesses of similar iniquity; would, or would not, the amusementof the audience be heightened by the fact that he had got Timarchuspunished for offences excused by youth, whereas he was himself an old manat the time of his own guilt? Why, you are like the quack who offered acough-mixture which was to cure instantaneously, and could hardly get thepromise out for coughing. _

Yes, Sabinus, and there is plenty more of the same sort for an accuserlike you to urge; the subject is all handles; you can take hold of itanywhere. I have been looking about for my best line of defence. Had Ibetter turn craven, face right-about, confess my sin, and have recourseto the regular plea of Chance, Fate, Necessity? Shall I humbly beseech mycritics to pardon me, remembering that nothing is in a man's own choice--we are led by some stronger power, one of the three I mentioned, probably, and are not true agents but guiltless altogether, whatever we say or do?Or will you tell me this might do well enough for one of the common herd, but you cannot have _me_ sheltering myself so? _I_ must not brief Homer;it will not serve me to plead:

 No mortal man e'er yet escaped his fate;

nor again, His thread was spun, then when his mother bare him. 

On the other hand, I might avoid that plea as wanting in plausibility, and say that I did not accept this association under the temptation ofmoney or any prospects of that kind, but in pure admiration of thewisdom, strength, and magnanimity of my patron's character, whichinspired the wish to partake his activity. But I fear I should only havebrought on myself the additional imputation of flattery. It would be acase of 'one nail drives out one nail, ' and this time the one left inwould be the bigger; for flattery is the most servile, and consequentlyreckoned the worst, of all vices. 

Both these pleas, then, being excluded, what is left me but to confessthat I have no sound defence to make? I have indeed one anchor yetaboard: I may whine over age and ill health, and their attendant poverty, from which a man will purchase escape at any cost. The situation temptsme to send an invitation to Euripides's _Medea_: will she come andrecite certain lines of hers on my behalf, kindly making the slightchanges needed?--

 Too well I know how monstrous is the deed; My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

And every one knows the place in Theognis, whether I quote it or not, where he approves of people's flinging themselves to the unplumbed deepfrom sky-pointing crags, if one may be quit of poverty that way. 

That about exhausts the obvious lines of defence; and none of them isvery promising. But never fear, my friend, I am not going to try any ofthem. May never Argos be so hard put to it that Cyllarabis must be sown!nor ever I be in such straits for a tolerable defence as to be drivenupon these evasions! No, I only ask you to consider the vast differencebetween being a hireling in a rich man's house, where one is a slave, andmust put up with all that is described in my book--between that andentering the public service, doing one's best as an administrator, andtaking the Emperor's pay for it. Go fully into the matter; take the twothings separately and have a good look at them; you will find that theyare two octaves apart, as the musical people say; the two lives are aboutas like each other as lead is to silver, bronze to gold, an anemone to arose, a monkey to a man; there is pay, and there is subordination, ineach case; but the essence of the two things is utterly different. In onewe have manifest slavery; the new-comers who accept the terms are barelydistinguishable from the human chattels a man has bought or bred; butpersons who have the management of public business, and give theirservices to states and nations, are not to have insinuations aimed atthem just because they are paid; that single point of resemblance is notto level them down to the others. If that is to be the principle, we hadbetter do away with all such offices at once; governors of wholeprovinces, prefects of cities, commanders of legions and armies, will allfall under the same condemnation; for they are paid. But of courseeverything is not to be upset to suit a single case; all who receive payare not to be lumped together. 

It is all a mistake; I never said that all drawers of salaries lived adegraded life; I only pitied those domestic slaves who have been caughtby compliments on their culture. My position, you see, is entirelydifferent; my private relations are as they were before, though in apublic capacity I am now an active part of the great Imperial machine. Ifyou care to inquire, you will find that my charge is not the leastimportant in the government of Egypt. I control the cause-list, see thattrials are properly conducted, keep a record of all proceedings andpleas, exercise censorship over forensic oratory, and edit the Emperor'srescripts with a view to their official and permanent preservation in themost lucid, accurate, and genuine form. My salary comes from no privateperson, but from the Emperor; and it is considerable, amounting to manyhundreds. In the future too there is before _me_ the brilliant prospect ofattaining in due course to a governorship or other distinguishedemployment. 

Accordingly I am now going to throw off reserve, come to grips with thecharge against me, and prove my case _a fortiori_. I tell you that nobodydoes anything for nothing; you may point to people in high places--as highas you like; the Emperor himself is paid. I am not referring to the taxesand tribute which flow in annually from subjects; the chief item in theEmperor's pay is panegyrics, world-wide fame, and grateful devotion; thestatues, temples, and consecrated ground which their subjects bestow uponthem, what are these but pay for the care and forethought which they applyto public policy and improvements? To compare small things with great, ifyou will begin at the top of the heap and work down through the grains ofwhich it is composed, you will find that we inferior ones differ from thesuperior in point of size, but all are wage-earners together. 

If the law I laid down had been that no one should do anything, I mightfairly have been accused of transgressing it; but as my book containsnothing of the sort, and as goodness consists in doing good, what betteruse can you make of yourself than if you join forces with your friends inthe cause of progress, come out into the open, and let men see that youare loyal and zealous and careful of your trust, not what Homer calls avain cumberer of the earth?

But before all, my critics are to remember that in me they will becriticizing not a wise man (if indeed there is such a person on earth), but one of the common people, one who has indeed practised rhetoric andwon some little reputation therein, but has never been trained up to theperfect virtue of the really great. Well, I may surely be forgiven forthat; if any one ever did come up to the ideal of the wise man, it hasnot been my fortune to meet him. And I confess further that I should bedisappointed if I found you criticizing my present life; you knew me longago when I was making a handsome income out of the public profession ofrhetoric; for on that Atlantic tour of yours which included Gaul, youfound me numbered among those teachers who could command high fees. Now, my friend, you have my defence; I am exceedingly busy, but could not beindifferent to securing _your_ vote of acquittal; as for others, letthem all denounce me with one voice if they will; on them I shall wasteno more words than, What cares Hippoclides?

A SLIP OF THE TONGUE IN SALUTATION[Footnote: This piece, which even in the Greek fails to convince us thatAsclepius heard the prayer with which it concludes, is still flatter inEnglish, because we have no words of salutation which correspond at oncein etymological meaning and in conventional usage to the Greek. TheEnglish reader who cares to understand a piece so little worth hisattention, will obligingly bear in mind that the Greek word representedhere by Joy and Rejoice roughly answered in Lucian's time to our Good-morning and How do you do, as well as to the epistolary My dear----;while that represented by Hail or Health did the work of Good-night, Good-bye, Farewell, and (in letters) Yours truly. ]

If a poor mortal has some difficulty in guarding against that spirit ofmischief which dwells aloft, he has still more in clearing himself of theabsurd consequences when that spirit trips him up. I am in bothpredicaments at once; coming to make you my morning salutation, whichshould have taken the orthodox form of Rejoice, I bade you, in a verychoice fit of absent-mindedness, Be healthy--a good enough wish in itsway, but a little untimely and unconnected with that early hour. I atonce went moist and red, not quite aware whether I was on my head or myheels; some of the company took me for a lunatic, no doubt, some thoughtI was in my second childhood, some that I had not quite got over my lastnight's wine--though you yourself were the pink of good manners, notshowing your consciousness of the slip by any ghost of a smile. Itoccurred to me to write to myself a little something in the way ofcomfort, and so modify the distress my blunder gave me--prove to myselfthat it was not absolutely unpardonable for an old man to transgressetiquette so flagrantly before so many witnesses. As to apology, therecould be no occasion for that, when one's slip had resulted in so well-omened a wish. 

I began to write expecting my task to be very difficult, but found plentyof material as I went on. I will defer it, however, till I have clearedthe way with a few necessary remarks on the three forms--Rejoice or Joy, Prosper or Prosperity, Hail or Health. Joy is a very ancient greeting; butit was not confined to the morning, or the first meeting. They diduse it when they first saw one another:

 Joy to thee, Lord of this Tirynthian land!

But again at the moment when the wine succeeded to the meal:

 Achilles, Joy! We lack not fair repast--

so says Odysseus discharging his embassy. And even at parting:

 Joy be with you! And henceforth know me God, No longer mortal man. 

In fact the apostrophe was not limited to any particular season, as nowto the morning alone; indeed they used it on gloomy, nay, on the mostlamentable occasions; in Euripides, Polynices ends his life with thewords, Joy with you! for the darkness closes on me. 

Nor was it necessarily significative of friendliness; it could expresshatred and the determination to see no more of another. To wish much joyto, was a regular form for ceasing to care about. 

The modern use of the word dates back to Philippides the dispatch-runner. Bringing the news of Marathon, he found the archons seated, in suspenseregarding the issue of the battle. 'Joy, we win!' he said, and died uponhis message, breathing his last in the word Joy. The earliest letterbeginning with it is that in which Cleon the Athenian demagogue, writingfrom Sphacteria, sends the good news of his victory and capture ofSpartans at that place. However, later than that we find Nicias writingfrom Sicily and keeping to the older custom of coming to business at oncewith no such introduction. 

Now the admirable Plato, no bad authority on such matters, would have usreject the salutation Joy altogether; it is a mean wish, wanting inseriousness, according to him; his substitute is Prosperity, which standsfor a satisfactory condition both of body and soul; in a letter toDionysius, he reproves him for commencing a hymn to Apollo with Joy, which he maintains is unworthy of the Pythian, and not fit even for menof any discretion, not to mention Gods. 

Pythagoras the mystic has vouchsafed us no writings of his own; but wemay infer from his disciples, Ocellus the Lucanian and Archytas, forinstance, that he headed his letters neither with Joy nor Prosperity, butrecommended beginning with Hail. At any rate all the Pythagoreans inwriting to one another (when their tone is serious, that is) started withwishing Health, which they took to be the prime need of soul and bodyalike, and to include all human blessings. The Pentagram [Footnote: See_Pythagoras_ in Notes. ], that interlaced triple triangle which served themas a sort of password, they called by the name Health. They argued thatHealth included Joy and Prosperity, but that neither of those two wascoextensive with Health. Some of them gave to the Quaternion, [Footnote:See _Pythagoras_ in Notes. ] which is their most solemn oath, and sumstheir perfect number, the name of Beginning of Health. Philolaus might bequoted. 

But I need hardly go so far back. Epicurus assuredly rejoiced in joy--pleasure was the chief Good in his eyes; yet in his most earnest letters(which are not very numerous), and in those to his most intimate friends, he starts with Hail. And in tragedy and the old comedy you willconstantly find it used quite at the beginning. You remember, Hail to thee, joy be thine--

which puts health before rejoicing clearly enough. And says Alexis:

 All hail, my lord; after long time thou comest. 

Again Achaeus:

 I come in sorry plight, yet wish thee health. 

And Philemon:

 Health first I ask, and next prosperity, Joy thirdly, and to owe not any man. 

As for the writer of the drinking-song mentioned in Plato, what sayshe?--'Best is health, and second beauty, and third wealth'; joy henever so much as names. I need hardly adduce the trite saw:

 Chief of them that blessings give, Health, with thee I mean to live. 

But, if Health is chief, her gift, which is the enjoyment of health, should rank before other Goods. 

I could multiply these examples by the thousand from poets, historians, philosophers, who give Health the place of honour; but you will notrequire any such childish pedantry of me, wiping out my original offenceby another; I shall do better to add a historical anecdote or two whichoccur to me as relevant. 

Eumenes of Cardia, writing to Antipater, states that just before thebattle of Issus, Hephaestion came at dawn into Alexander's tent. Eitherin absence of mind and confusion like mine, or else under a divineimpulse, he gave the evening salutation like me--'Hail, sire; 'tis timewe were at our posts. ' All present were confounded at the irregularity, and Hephaestion himself was like to die of shame, when Alexander said, 'Itake the omen; it is a promise that we shall come back safe from battle. '

Antiochus Soter, about to engage the Galatians, dreamed that Alexanderstood over him and told him to give his men the password Health; and withthis word it was that he won that marvellous victory. 

Ptolemy, the son of Lagus, in a letter to Seleucus, just reversed theusual order, bidding him Hail at the beginning, and adding Rejoice at theend instead of wishing him Health; this is recorded by Dionysodorus, thecollector of his letters. 

The case of Pyrrhus the Epirot is well worth mention; as a general he wasonly second to Alexander, and he experienced a thousand vicissitudes offortune. In all his prayers, sacrifices, and offerings, he never askedfor victory or increase of his royal dignity, for fame or excessivewealth; his whole prayer was always in one word, Health; as long as hehad that, he thought all else would come of itself. And it was truewisdom, in my opinion; he remembered that all other good things areworthless, if health is wanting. 

Oh, certainly (says some one); but we have assigned each form to itsproper place by this time; and if you disregard that--even though therewas no bad meaning in what you did say--you cannot fairly claim to havemade no mistake; it is as though one should put a helmet on the shins, orgreaves on the head. My dear sir (I reply), your simile would go on allfours if there were any season at all which did not require health; butin point of fact it is needed in the morning and at noonday and at night--especially by busy rulers like you Romans, to whom physical conditionis so important. And again, the man who gives you Joy is only beginningauspiciously; it is no more than a prayer; whereas he who bids you Hailis doing you a practical service in reminding you of the means to health;his is more than a prayer, it is a precept. 

Why, in that book of instructions which you all receive from the Emperor, is not the first recommendation to take care of your health? Quiterightly; that is the condition precedent of efficiency. Moreover, if Iknow any Latin, you yourselves, in _returning_ a salutation, constantlyuse the equivalent of Health. 

However, all this does not mean that I have deliberately abandonedRejoice and substituted Hail for it. I admit that it was quiteunintentional; I am not so foolish as to innovate like that, and exchangethe regular formulae. 

No, I only thank Heaven that my stumble had such very fortunate results, landing me in a better position than I had designed; may it not be thatHealth itself, or Asclepius, inspired me to give you this promise ofhealth? How else should it have befallen me? In the course of a long lifeI have never been guilty of such a confusion before. 

Or, if I may not have recourse to the supernatural, it is no wonder thatmy extreme desire to be known to you for good should so confuse me as towork the contrary effect. Possibly, too, one might be robbed of one'spresence of mind by the crowd of military persons pushing for precedence, or treating the salutation ceremony in their cavalier fashion. 

As to yourself, I feel sure that, however others may have referred it tostupidity, ignorance, or lunacy, you took it as the sign of a modest, simple, unspoiled, unsophisticated soul. Absolute confidence in suchmatters comes dangerously near audacity and impudence. My first wishwould be to make no such blunder; my second that, if I did, the resultingomen should be good. 

There is a story told of the first Augustus. He had given a correct legaldecision, which acquitted a maligned person of a most serious charge. Thelatter expressed his gratitude in a loud voice, thus:--'I thank yourmajesty for this bad and inequitable verdict. ' Augustus's attendantsraged, and were ready to tear the man to pieces. But the Emperorrestrained them; 'Never mind what he said; it is what he meant thatmatters. ' That was Augustus's view. Well, take my meaning, and it wasgood; or take my word, and it was auspicious. 

And now that I have got to this point, I have reason to fear that I maybe suspected of having made the slip on purpose, leading up to thisapology. O God of health, only grant me that the quality of my piece mayjustify the notion that I wanted no more than a peg whereon to hang anessay!

HERMOTIMUS, OR THE RIVAL PHILOSOPHIES

_Lycinus. Hermotimus_

_Ly_. Good morning, Hermotimus; I guess by your book and the paceyou are going at that you are on your way to lecture, and a little late. You were conning over something as you walked, your lips working andmuttering, your hand flung out this way and that as you got a speech intoorder in your mind; you were doubtless inventing one of your crookedquestions, or pondering some tricky problem; never a vacant mind, even inthe streets; always on the stretch and in earnest, bent on advancing inyour studies. 

_Her_. I admit the impeachment; I was running over the details ofwhat he said in yesterday's lecture. One must lose no chance, you know;the Coan doctor [Footnote: Hippocrates] spoke so truly: _ars longa, vita brevis_. And what be referred to was only physic--a simplermatter. As to philosophy, not only will you never attain it, however longyou study, unless you are wide awake all the time, contemplating it withintense eager gaze; the stake is so tremendous, too, --whether you shallrot miserably with the vulgar herd, or be counted among philosophers andreach Happiness. 

_Ly_. A glorious prize, indeed! however, you cannot be far off itnow, if one may judge by the time you have given to philosophy, and theextraordinary vigour of your long pursuit. For twenty years now, I shouldsay, I have watched you perpetually going to your professors, generallybent over a book taking notes of past lectures, pale with thought andemaciated in body. I suspect you find no release even in your dreams, youare so wrapped up in the thing. With all this you must surely get hold ofHappiness soon, if indeed you have not found it long ago without tellingus. 

_Her_. Alas, Lycinus, I am only just beginning to get an inkling ofthe right way. Very far off dwells Virtue, as Hesiod says, and long andsteep and rough is the way thither, and travellers must bedew it withsweat. 

_Ly_. And you have not yet sweated and travelled enough?

_Her_. Surely not; else should I have been on the summit, withnothing left between me and bliss; but I am only starting yet, Lycinus. 

_Ly_. Ah, but Hesiod, your own authority, tells us, Well begun ishalf done; so we may safely call you half-way by this time. 

_Her_. Not even there yet; that would indeed have been much. 

_Ly_. Where _shall_ we put you, then?

_Her_. Still on the lower slopes, just making an effort to get on;but it is slippery and rough, and needs a helping hand. 

_Ly_. Well, your master can give you that; from his station on thesummit, like Zeus in Homer with his golden cord, he can let you down hisdiscourse, and therewith haul and heave you up to himself and to theVirtue which he has himself attained this long time. 

_Her_. The very picture of what he is doing; if it depended on himalone, I should have been hauled up long ago; it is my part that is stillwanting. 

_Ly_. You must be of good cheer and keep a stout heart; gaze at theend of your climb and the Happiness at the top, and remember that he isworking with you. What prospect does he hold out? when are you to be up?does he think you will be on the top next year--by the Great Mysteries, or the Panathenaea, say?

_Her_. Too soon, Lycinus. 

_Ly_. By next Olympiad, then?

_Her_. All too short a time, even that, for habituation to Virtueand attainment of Happiness. 

_Ly_. Say two Olympiads, then, for an outside estimate. You may fairly befound guilty of laziness, if you cannot get it done by then; the timewould allow you three return trips from the Pillars of Heracles to India, with a margin for exploring the tribes on the way instead of sailingstraight and never stopping. How much higher and more slippery, pray, isthe peak on which your Virtue dwells than that Aornos crag which Alexanderstormed in a few days?

_Her_. There is no resemblance, Lycinus; this is not a thing, as youconceive it, to be compassed and captured quickly, though ten thousandAlexanders were to assault it; in that case, the sealers would have beenlegion. As it is, a good number begin the climb with great confidence, and do make progress, some very little indeed, others more; but when theyget half-way, they find endless difficulties and discomforts, lose heart, and turn back, panting, dripping, and exhausted. But those who endure tothe end reach the top, to be blessed thenceforth with wondrous days, looking down from their height upon the ants which are the rest ofmankind. 

_Ly_. Dear me, what tiny things you make us out--not so big as the Pygmieseven, but positively grovelling on the face of the earth. I quiteunderstand it; your thoughts are up aloft already. And we, the common menthat walk the earth, shall mingle you with the Gods in our prayers; foryou are translated above the clouds, and gone up whither you have so longstriven. 

_Her_. If but that ascent might be, Lycinus! but it is far yet. 

_Ly_. But you have never told me _how_ far, in terms of time. 

_Her_. No; for I know not precisely myself. My guess is that it willnot be more than twenty years; by that time I shall surely be on thesummit. 

_Ly_. Mercy upon us, you take long views!

_Her_. Ay; but, as the toil, so is the reward. 

_Ly_. That may be; but about these twenty years--have you your master'spromise that you will live so long? is he prophet as well as philosopher?or is it a soothsayer or Chaldean expert that you trust? such things areknown to them, I understand. You would never, of course, if there were anyuncertainty of your life's lasting to the Virtue-point, slave and toilnight and day like this; why, just as you were close to the top, your fatemight come upon you, lay hold of you by the heel, and lug you down withyour hopes unfulfilled. 

_Her_. God forbid! these are words of ill omen, Lycinus; may life begranted me, that I may grow wise, and have if it be but one day ofHappiness!

_Ly_. For all these toils will you be content with your one day?

_Her_. Content? yes, or with the briefest moment of it. 

_Ly_. But is there indeed Happiness up there--and worth all the pains? Howcan you tell? You have never been up yourself. 

_Her_. I trust my master's word; and he knows well; is he not on thetopmost height?

_Ly_. Oh, do tell me what he says about it; what is Happiness like?wealth, glory, pleasures incomparable?

_Her_. Hush, friend! all these have nought to do with the Virtuouslife. 

_Ly_. Well, if these will not do, what _are_ the good things he offers tothose who carry their course right through?

_Her_. Wisdom, courage, true beauty, justice, full and firm knowledge ofall things as they are; but wealth and glory and pleasure and all bodilythings--these a man strips off and abandons before he mounts up, likeHeracles burning on Mount Oeta before deification; he too cast offwhatever of the human he had from his mother, and soared up to the Godswith his divine part pure and unalloyed, sifted by the fire. Even so thoseI speak of are purged by the philosophic fire of all that deluded mencount admirable, and reaching the summit have Happiness with never athought of wealth and glory and pleasure--except to smile at any who countthem more than phantoms. 

_Ly_. By Heracles (and his death on Oeta), they quit themselves likemen, and have their reward, it seems. But there is one thing I shouldlike to know: are they allowed to come down from their elevationsometimes, and have a taste of what they left behind them? or when theyhave once got up, must they stay there, conversing with Virtue, andsmiling at wealth and glory and pleasure?

_Her_. The latter, assuredly; more than that, a man once admitted ofVirtue's company will never be subject to wrath or fear or desire anymore; no, nor can he feel pain, nor any such sensation. 

_Ly_. Well, but--if one might dare to say what one thinks--but no--let mekeep a good tongue in my head--it were irreverent to pry into what wisemen do. 

_Her_. Nay, nay; let me know your meaning. 

_Ly_. Dear friend, I have not the courage. 

_Her_. Out with it, my good fellow; we are alone. 

_Ly_. Well, then--most of your account I followed and accepted--howthey grow wise and brave and just, and the rest--indeed I was quitefascinated by it; but then you went on to say they despised wealth andglory and pleasure; well, just there (quite between ourselves, you know)I was pulled up; I thought of a scene t'other day with--shall I tell youwhom? Perhaps we can do without a name?

_Her_. No, no; we must have that too. 

_Ly_. Your own professor himself, then, --a person to whom allrespect is due, surely, not to mention his years. 

_Her_. Well?

_Ly_. You know the Heracleot, quite an old pupil of his in philosophy bythis time--red-haired--likes an argument?

_Her_. Yes; Dion, he is called. 

_Ly_. Well, I suppose he had not paid up punctually; anyhow the other daythe old man haled him before the magistrate, with a halter made of his owncoat; he was shouting and fuming, and if some friends had not come up andgot the young man out of his hands, he would have bitten off his nose, hewas in such a temper. 

_Her_. Ah, _he_ is a bad character, always an unconscionable time payinghis debts. There are plenty of others who owe the professor money, and hehas never treated any of them so; they pay him his interest punctually. 

_Ly_. Not so fast; what in the world does it matter to him, if they do notpay up? he is purified by philosophy, and has no further need of the castclothes of Oeta. 

_Her_. Do you suppose his interest in such things is selfish? no, but hehas little ones; his care is to save them from indigence. 

_Ly_. Whereas he ought to have brought them up to Virtue too, and let themshare his inexpensive Happiness. 

_Her_. Well, I have no time to argue it, Lycinus; I must not be late forlecture, lest in the end I find myself left behind. 

_Ly_. Don't be afraid, my duteous one; to-day is a holiday; I can save youthe rest of your walk. 

_Her_. What do you mean?

_Ly_. You will not find him just now, if the notice is to be trusted;there was a tablet over the door announcing in large print, No meetingthis day. I hear he dined yesterday with the great Eucrates, who waskeeping his daughter's birthday. He talked a good deal of philosophyover the wine, and lost his temper a little with Euthydemus thePeripatetic; they were debating the old Peripatetic objections to thePorch. His long vocal exertions (for it was midnight before they brokeup) gave him a bad headache, with violent perspiration. I fancy he hadalso drunk a little too much, toasts being the order of the day, andeaten more than an old man should. When he got home, he was very ill, they said, just managed to check and lock up carefully the slices of meatwhich he had conveyed to his servant at table, and then, giving ordersthat he was not at home, went to sleep, and has not waked since. Ioverheard Midas his man telling this to some of his pupils; there were anumber of them coming away. 

_Her_. Which had the victory, though, he or Euthydemus--if Midas saidanything about that?

_Ly_. Why, at first, I gathered, it was very even between them; but youStoics had it in the end, and your master was much too hard for him. Euthydemus did not even get off whole; he had a great cut on his head. Hewas pretentious, insisted on proving his point, would not give in, andproved a hard nut to crack; so your excellent professor, who had a gobletas big as Nestor's in his hand, brought this down on him as he lay withineasy reach, and the victory was his. 

_Her_. Good; so perish all who will not yield to their betters!

_Ly_. Very reasonable, Hermotimus; what was Euthydemus thinking of, toirritate an old man who is purged of wrath and master of his passions, when he had such a heavy goblet in his hand?

But we have time to spare--you might tell a friend like me the story ofyour start in philosophy; then I might perhaps, if it is not too late, begin now and join your school; you are my friends; you will not beexclusive?

_Her_. If only you would, Lycinus! you will soon find out how much you aresuperior to the rest of men. I do assure you, you will think them allchildren, you will be so much wiser. 

_Ly_. Enough for me, if after twenty years of it I am where you are now. 

_Her_. Oh, I was about your age when I started on philosophy; I was forty;and you must be about that. 

_Ly_. Just that; so take and lead me on the same way; that is but right. And first tell me--do you allow learners to criticize, if they finddifficulties in your doctrines, or must juniors abstain from that?

_Her_. Why, yes, they must; but _you_ shall have leave to ask questionsand criticize; you will learn easier that way. 

_Ly_. I thank you for it, Hermotimus, by your name-God Hermes. 

Now, is there only one road to philosophy--the Stoic way? they tell methere are a great many other philosophers; is that so?

_Her_. Certainly--Peripatetics, Epicureans, Platonists, followers ofDiogenes, Antisthenes, Pythagoras, and more yet. 

_Ly_. Quite so; numbers of them. Now, are their doctrines the same, or different?

_Her_. Entirely different. 

_Ly_. But the truth, I presume, is bound to be in one of them, and not inall, as they differ?

_Her_. Certainly. 

_Ly_. Then, as you love me, answer this: when you first went in pursuit ofphilosophy, you found many gates wide open; what induced you to pass theothers by, and go in at the Stoic gate? Why did you assume that that wasthe only true one, which would set you on the straight road to Virtue, while the rest all opened on blind alleys? What was the test you applied_then_? Please abolish your present self, the self which is nowinstructed, or half-instructed, and better able to distinguish betweengood and bad than we outsiders, and answer in your then character of alayman, with no advantage over me as I am now. 

_Her_. I cannot tell what you are driving at. 

_Ly_. Oh, there is nothing recondite about it. There are a great manyphilosophers--let us say Plato, Aristotle, Antisthenes, and your spiritualfathers, Chrysippus, Zeno, and all the rest of them; what was it thatinduced you, leaving the rest alone, to pick out the school you did fromamong them all, and pin your philosophic faith to it? Were you favouredlike Chaerephon with a revelation from Apollo? Did he tell you the Stoicswere the best of men, and send you to their school? I dare say herecommends different philosophers to different persons, according totheir individual needs?

_Her_. Nothing of the kind, Lycinus; I never consulted him upon it. 

_Ly_. Why? was it not a _dignus vindice nodus_? or were you confident inyour own unaided discrimination?

_Her_. Why, yes; I was. 

_Ly_. Then this must be my first lesson from you--how one can decideout of hand which is the best and the true philosophy to be taken, andthe others left. 

_Her_. I will tell you: I observed that it attracted most disciples, andthence inferred that it was superior. 

_Ly_. Give me figures; how many more of them than of Epicureans, Platonists, Peripatetics? Of course you took a sort of show of hands. 

_Her_. Well, no; I didn't count; I just guessed. 

_Ly_. Now, now! you are not teaching, but hoaxing me; judge by guesswork and impression, indeed, on a thing of this importance! You arehiding the truth. 

_Her_. Well, that was not my only way; every one told me the Epicureanswere sensual and self-indulgent, the Peripatetics avaricious andcontentious, the Platonists conceited and vain; about the Stoics, on thecontrary, many said they had fortitude and an open mind; he who goes theirway, I heard, was the true king and millionaire and wise man, alone andall in one. 

_Ly_. And, of course, it was other people who so described them; youwould not have taken their own word for their excellences. 

_Her_. Certainly not; it was others who said it. 

_Ly_. Not their rivals, I suppose?

_Her_. Oh, no. 

_Ly_. Laymen, then?

_Her_. Just so. 

_Ly_. There you are again, cheating me with your irony; you take me for ablockhead, who will believe that an intelligent person like Hermotimus, atthe age of forty, would accept the word of laymen about philosophy andphilosophers, and make his own selection on the strength of what theysaid. 

_Her_. But you see, Lycinus, I did not depend on their judgement entirely, but on my own too. I saw the Stoics going about with dignity, decentlydressed and groomed, ever with a thoughtful air and a manly countenance, as far from effeminacy as from the utter repulsive negligence of theCynics, bearing themselves, in fact, like moderate men; and every oneadmits that moderation is right. 

_Ly_. Did you ever see them behaving like your master, as I described himto you just now? Lending money and clamouring for payment, losing theirtempers in philosophic debates, and making other exhibitions ofthemselves? Or perhaps these are trifles, so long as the dress isdecent, the beard long, and the hair close-cropped? We are provided forthe future, then, with an infallible rule and balance, guaranteed byHermotimus? It is by appearance and walk and haircutting that the bestmen are to be distinguished; and whosoever has not these marks, and isnot solemn and thoughtful, shall be condemned and rejected?

Nay, do not play with me like this; you want to see whether I shall catchyou at it. 

_Her_. Why do you say that?

_Ly_. Because, my dear sir, this appearance test is one for statues;_their_ decent orderly attire has it easily over the Stoics, becausePhidias or Alcamenes or Myron designed them to be graceful. However, granting as much as you like that these are the right tests, what is ablind man to do, if he wants to take up philosophy? how is he to find theman whose principles are right, when he cannot see his appearance or gait?

_Her_. I am not teaching the blind, Lycinus; I have nothing to do withthem. 

_Ly_. Ah, but, my good sir, there ought to have been some universalcriterion, in a matter of such great and general use. Still, if you willhave it so, let the blind be excluded from philosophy, as they cannotsee--though, by the way, they are just the people who most needphilosophy to console them for their misfortune; but now, the people who_can_ see--give them the utmost possible acuity of vision, and whatcan they detect of the spiritual qualities from this external shell?

What I mean is this: was it not from admiration of their _spirit_ that youjoined them, expecting to have your own spirit purified?

_Her_. Assuredly. 

_Ly_. How could you possibly discern the true philosopher from thefalse, then, by the marks you mentioned? It is not the way of suchqualities to come out like that; they are hidden and secret; they arerevealed only under long and patient observation, in talk and debate andthe conduct they inspire. You have probably heard of Momus's indictmentof Hephaestus; if not, you shall have it now. According to the myth, Athene, Posidon, and Hephaestus had a match in inventiveness. Posidonmade a bull, Athene planned a house, Hephaestus constructed a man; whenthey came before Momus, who was to judge, he examined their productions;I need not trouble you with his criticisms of the other two; but hisobjection to the man, and the fault he found with Hephaestus, was this:he should have made a window in his chest, so that, when it was opened, his thoughts and designs, his truth or falsehood, might have beenapparent. Momus must have been blear-eyed, to have such ideas about men;but you have sharper eyes than Lynceus, and pierce through the chest towhat is inside; all is patent to you, not merely any man's wishes andsentiments, but the comparative merits of any pair. 

_Her_. You trifle, Lycinus. I made a pious choice, and do not repent it;that is enough for me. 

_Ly_. And will you yet make a mystery of it to your friend, and let him belost with the vulgar herd?

_Her_. Why, you will not accept anything I say. 

_Ly_. On the contrary, my good sir, it is you who will not say anything Ican accept. Well, as you refuse me your confidence, and are so jealous ofmy becoming a philosopher and your equal, I must even do my best to findout the infallible test and learn to choose safely for myself. And you maylisten, if you like. 

_Her_. That I will, Lycinus; you will very likely hit on some good idea. 

_Ly_. Then attend, and do not mock me, if my inquiry is quiteunscientific; it is all I can do, as you, who know better, will not giveme any clearer light. 

I conceive Virtue, then, under the figure of a State whose citizens arehappy--as your professor, who is one of them, phrases it, --absolutelywise, all of them brave, just, and self-controlled, hardlydistinguishable, in fact, from Gods. All sorts of things that go on here, such as robbery, assault, unfair gain, you will never find attemptedthere, I believe; their relations are all peace and unity; and this isquite natural, seeing that none of the things which elsewhere occasionstrife and rivalry, and prompt men to plot against their neighbours, somuch as come in their way at all. Gold, pleasures, distinctions, theynever regard as objects of dispute; they have banished them long ago asundesirable elements. Their life is serene and blissful, in the enjoymentof legality, equality, liberty, and all other good things. 

_Her_. Well, Lycinus? Must not all men yearn to belong to a State likethat, and never count the toil of getting there, nor lose heart over thetime it takes? Enough that one day they will arrive, and be naturalized, and given the franchise. 

_Ly_. In good truth, Hermotimus, we should devote all our efforts tothis, and neglect everything else; we need pay little heed to any claimsof our earthly country; we should steel our hearts against the clingingsand cryings of children or parents, if we have them; it is well if we caninduce them to go with us; but, if they will not or cannot, shake themoff and march straight for the city of bliss, leaving your coat in theirhands, if they lay hold of it to keep you back, in your hurry to getthere; what matter for a coat? You will be admitted there without one. 

I remember hearing a description of it all once before from an old man, who urged me to go there with him. He would show me the way, enroll mewhen I got there, introduce me to his own circles, and promise me a sharein the universal Happiness. But I was stiff-necked, in my youthful folly(it was some fifteen years ago); else might I have been in the outskirts, nay, haply at the very gates, by now. Among the noteworthy things he toldme, I seem to remember these: all the citizens are aliens and foreigners, not a native among them; they include numbers of barbarians, slaves, cripples, dwarfs, and poor; in fact any one is admitted; for their lawdoes not associate the franchise with income, with shape, size, orbeauty, with old or brilliant ancestry; these things are not consideredat all; any one who would be a citizen needs only understanding, zeal forthe right, energy, perseverance, fortitude and resolution in facing allthe trials of the road; whoever proves his possession of these bypersisting till he reaches the city is _ipso facto_ a full citizen, regardless of his antecedents. Such distinctions as superior andinferior, noble and common, bond and free, simply do not exist there, even in name. 

_Her_. There, now; you see I am not wasting my pains on trifles; Iyearn to be counted among the citizens of that fair and happy State. 

_Ly_. Why, your yearning is mine too; there is nothing I would sooner prayfor. If the city had been near at hand and plain for all to see, beassured I would never have doubted, nor needed prompting; I would havegone thither and had my franchise long ago; but as you tell me--you andyour bard Hesiod--that it is set exceeding far off, one must find outthe way to it, and the best guide. You agree?

_Her_. Of course that is the only thing to do. 

_Ly_. Now, so far as promises and professions go, there is no lack ofguides; there are numbers of them waiting about, all representingthemselves as from there. But instead of one single road there seem to bemany different and inconsistent ones. North and South, East and West, they go; one leads through meadows and vegetation and shade, and is wellwatered and pleasant, with never a stumbling-block or inequality; anotheris rough and rocky, threatening heat and drought and toil. Yet all theseare supposed to lead to the one city, though they take such differentdirections. 

That is where my difficulty lies; whichever of them I try, there is sureto be a most respectable person stationed just at the entrance, with awelcoming hand and an exhortation to go his way; each of them says he isthe only one who knows the straight road; his rivals are all mistaken, have never been themselves, nor learnt the way from competent guides. Igo to his neighbour, and he gives the same assurances about _his_ way, abusing the other respectable persons; and so the next, and the next, andthe next. This multiplicity and dissimilarity of the roads gives mesearchings of heart, and still more the assertiveness and self-satisfaction of the guides; I really cannot tell which turning or whosedirections are most likely to bring me to the city. 

_Her_. Oh, but I can solve that puzzle for you; you cannot go wrong, if you trust those who have been already. 

_Ly_. Which do you mean? those who have been by which road, and underwhose guidance? It is the old puzzle in a new form; you have onlysubstituted men for measures. 

_Her_. How do you mean?

_Ly_. Why, the man who has taken Plato's road and travelled with him willrecommend that road; so with Epicurus and the rest; and _you_ willrecommend your own. How else, Hermotimus? it must be so. 

_Her_. Well, of course. 

_Ly_. So you have not solved my puzzle; I know just as little as beforewhich traveller to trust; I find that each of them, as well as his guide, has tried one only, which he now recommends and will have to be the onlyone leading to the city. Whether he tells the truth I have no means ofknowing; that he has attained _some_ end, and seen _some_ city, I mayperhaps allow; but whether he saw the right one, or whether, Corinth beingthe real goal, he got to Babylon and thought he had seen Corinth--that isstill undecided; for surely every one who has seen a city has not seenCorinth, unless Corinth is the only city there is. But my greatestdifficulty of all is the absolute certainty that the true road is one; forCorinth is one, and the other roads lead anywhere but to Corinth, thoughthere may be people deluded enough to suppose that the North road and theSouth road lead equally to Corinth. 

_Her_. But that is absurd, Lycinus; they go opposite ways, you see. 

_Ly_. Then, my dear good man, this choice of roads and guides is quite aserious matter; we can by no means just follow our noses; we shall bediscovering that we are well on the way to Babylon or Bactria instead ofto Corinth. Nor is it advisable to toss up, either, on the chance that wemay hit upon the right way if we start upon any one at a venture. That isno impossibility; it may have come off once and again in a cycle; but Icannot think we ought to gamble recklessly with such high stakes, norcommit our hopes to a frail craft, like the wise men who went to sea in abowl; we should have no fair complaint against Fortune, if her arrow ordart did not precisely hit the centre; the odds are ten thousand to oneagainst her; just so the archer in Homer--Teucer, I suppose it was--whenhe meant to hit the dove, only cut the string, which held it; of course itis infinitely more likely that the point of the arrow will find its billetin one of the numberless other places, than just in that particularcentral one. And as to the perils of blundering into one of the wrongroads instead of the right one, misled by a belief in the discretion ofFortune, here is an illustration:--it is no easy matter to turn back andget safe into port when you have once cast loose your moorings andcommitted yourself to the breeze; you are at the mercy of the sea, frightened, sick and sorry with your tossing about, most likely. Yourmistake was at the beginning: before leaving, you should have gone up tosome high point, and observed whether the wind was in the right quarter, and of the right strength for a crossing to Corinth, not neglecting, bythe way, to secure the very best pilot obtainable, and a seaworthy craftequal to so high a sea. 

_Her_. Much better so, Lycinus. However, I know that, if you go thewhole round, you will find no better guides or more expert pilots thanthe Stoics; if you mean ever to get to Corinth, you will follow them, inthe tracks of Chrysippus and Zeno. It is the only way to do it. 

_Ly_. Ah, many can play at the game of assertion. Plato's fellowtraveller, Epicurus's follower, and all the rest, will tell me just whatyou do, that I shall never get to Corinth except with whichever of themit is. So I must either believe them all, or disbelieve impartially. Thelatter is much the safest, until we have found out the truth. 

Put a case, now: just as I am, as uncertain as ever which of the wholenumber has the truth, I choose your school; I rely on you, who are myfriend, but who still know only the Stoic doctrine, and have nottravelled any way but that. Now some God brings Plato, Pythagoras, Aristotle, and the rest to life again; they gather round and cross-examine me, or actually sue me in court for constructive defamation;_Good Lycinus_, they say, _what possessed or who induced you toexalt Chrysippus and Zeno at our expense? we are far older established;they are mere creatures of yesterday; yet you never gave us a hearing, nor inquired into our statements at all_. Well, what am I to plead?will it avail me to say I trusted my friend Hermotimus? I feel sure theywill say, _We know not this Hermotimus, who he is, nor he us; you hadno right to condemn us all, and give judgement by default against us, onthe authority of a man who knew only one of the philosophic roads, andeven that, perhaps, imperfectly. These are not the instructions issued tojuries, Lycinus; they are not to hear one party, and, refuse the otherpermission to say what he deems advisable; they are to hear both sidesalike, with a view to the better sifting of truth from falsehood bycomparison of the arguments; if they fail in these duties, the law allowsan appeal to another court_. That is what we may expect them to say. 

Then one of them might proceed to question me like this: _Suppose, Lycinus, that an Ethiopian who had never been abroad in his life, norseen other men like us, were to state categorically in an Ethiopianassembly that there did not exist on earth any white or yellow men--nothing but blacks--, would his statement be accepted? or would someEthiopian elder remark, How do you know, my confident friend? you havenever been in foreign parts, nor had any experience of other nations. _Shall I tell him the old man's question was justified? what do youadvise, my counsel?

_Her_. Say that, certainly; I consider the old man's rebuke quitereasonable. 

_Ly_. So do I. But I am not so sure you will approve what comesnext; as for me, I have as little doubt of that as of the other. 

_Her_. What is it?

_Ly_. The next step will be the application; my questioner will say, _Now Lycinus, let us suppose an analogue, in a person acquainted onlywith the Stoic doctrine, like your friend Hermotimus; he has nevertravelled in Plato's country, or to Epicurus, or any other land; now, ifhe were to state that there was no such beauty or truth in those manycountries as there is in the Porch and its teaching, would you not bejustified in considering it bold of him to give you his opinion aboutthem all, whereas he knew only one, having never set foot outside thebounds of Ethiopia?_ What reply do you advise to that?

_Her_. The perfectly true one, of course, that it is indeed the Stoicdoctrine that we study fully, being minded to sink or swim with that, butstill we do know what the others say also; our teacher rehearses thearticles of their beliefs to us incidentally, and demolishes them with hiscomments. 

_Ly_. Do you suppose the Platonists, Pythagoreans, Epicureans, andother schools, will let that pass? or will they laugh out loud and say, _What remarkable methods your friend has, Lycinus! he accepts ouradversaries' character of us, and gathers our doctrines from thedescription of people who do not know, or deliberately misrepresent them. If he were to see an athlete getting his muscles in trim by kicking high, or hitting out at empty space as though he were getting a real blow home, would he (in the capacity of umpire) at once proclaim him victor, becausehe _could not help winning_? No; _he would reflect that these displays areeasy and safe, when there is no defence to be reckoned with, and that thereal decision must wait till he has beaten and mastered his opponent, andthe latter 'has had enough'. Well then, do not let Hermotimus suppose fromhis teachers' sparrings with our shadows (for _we_ are not there) thatthey have the victory, or that our doctrines are so easily upset; tell himthe business is too like the sand houses which children, having built themweak, have no difficulty in overturning, or, to change the figure, likepeople practising archery; they make a straw target, hang it to a post, plant it a little way off, and then let fly at it; if they hit and getthrough the straw, they burst into a shout, as if it were a great triumphto have driven through the dry stuff. That is not the way the Persianstake, or those Scythian tribes which use the bow. Generally, when _they_shoot, in the first place they are themselves mounted and in motion, andsecondly, they like the mark to be moving too; it is not to be stationary, waiting for the arrival of the arrow, but passing at full speed; they canusually kill beasts, and their marksmen hit birds. If it ever happens thatthey want to test the actual impact on a target, they set up one of stoutwood, or a shield of raw hide; piercing that, they reckon that theirshafts will go through armour too. So, Lycinus, tell Hermotimus from usthat his teachers fierce straw targets, and then say they have disposed ofarmed men; or paint up figures of us, spar at them, and, after a notsurprising success, think they have beaten us. But we shall severallyquote against them Achilles's words against Hector:

 They dare not face the nodding of my plume. _

So say all of them, one after the other. 

I suspect that Plato, with his intimate knowledge of Sicily, will add ananecdote from there. Gelo of Syracuse had disagreeable breath, but didnot find it out himself for a long time, no one venturing to mention sucha circumstance to a tyrant. At last a foreign woman who had a connexionwith him dared to tell him; whereupon he went to his wife and scolded herfor never having, with all her opportunities of knowing, warned him ofit; she put in the defence that, as she had never been familiar or atclose quarters with any other man, she had supposed all men were likethat. So Hermotinus (Plato will say) after his exclusive association withStoics, cannot be expected to know the savour of other people's mouths. Chrysippus, on the other hand, might say as much or more if I were to put_him_ out of court and betake myself to Platonism, in reliance uponsome one who had conversed with Plato alone. And in a word, as long as itis uncertain which is the true philosophic school, I choose none; choiceof one is insult to the rest. 

_Her_. For Heaven's sake, Lycinus, let us leave Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, and the rest of them alone; to argue with them is not for me. Why not just hold a private inquiry, you and I, whether philosophy iswhat I say it is? As for the Ethiopians and Gelo's wife, what a long wayyou have brought them on none of their business!

_Ly_. Away with them, then, if you find their company superfluous. And now do you proceed; my expectations are high. 

_Her_. Well, it seems to me perfectly possible, Lycinus, afterstudying the Stoic doctrines alone, to get at the truth from them, without going through a course of all the others too. Look at it thisway: if any one tells you simply, Twice two is four, need you go roundall the mathematicians to find out whether there is one who makes itfive, or seven; or would you know at once that the man was right?

_Ly_. Certainly I should. 

_Her_. Then why should you think it impossible for a man who finds, without going further, that the Stoics make true statements, to believethem and dispense with further witness? He knows that four can never befive, though ten thousand Platos or Pythagorases said it was. 

_Ly_. Not to the point. You compare accepted with disputed facts, whereas they are completely different. Tell me, did you ever meet a manwho said twice two was seven or eleven?

_Her_. Not I; any one who did not make four of it must be mad. 

_Ly_. But on the other hand--try to tell the truth, I adjure you--, did you ever meet a Stoic and an Epicurean who did _not_ differabout principles or ends?

_Her_. No. 

_Ly_. You are an honest man; now ask yourself whether you are trapping afriend with false logic. We are trying to find out with whom philosophictruth lies; and you beg the question and make a present of that same truthto the Stoics; for you say (what is quite unproved) that they are thepeople who make twice two four; the Epicureans or Platonists would saythat _they_ bring out that result, whereas you get five or seven. Does itnot amount to that, when your school reckon goodness the only end, and theEpicureans pleasure? or again when you say everything is material, andPlato recognizes an immaterial element also in all that exists? As I said, you lay hold of the thing in dispute, as though it were the admittedproperty of the Stoics, and put it into their hands, though the othersclaim it and maintain that it is theirs; why, it is the very point atissue. If it is once established that Stoics have the monopoly of makingfour out of twice two, it is time for the rest to hold their tongues; butas long as they refuse to yield that point, we must hear all alike, or beprepared for people's calling us partial judges. 

_Her_. It seems to me, Lycinus, you do not understand what I mean. 

_Ly_. Very well, put it plainer, if it is something different from that. 

_Her_. You will see in a minute. Let us suppose two people have goneinto the temple of Asclepius or Dionysus, and subsequently one of thesacred cups is missing. Both of them will have to be searched, to seewhich has it about him. 

_Ly_. Clearly. 

_Her_. Of course one of them has it. 

_Ly_. Necessarily, if it is missing. 

_Her_. Then, if you find it on the first, you will not strip the other; itis clear he has not got it. 

_Ly_. Quite. 

_Her_. And if we fail to find it on the first, the other certainly has it;it is unnecessary to search him that way either. 

_Ly_. Yes, he has it. 

_Her_. So with us; if we find the cup in the possession of the Stoics, weshall not care to go on and search the others; we have what we werelooking for; why trouble further?

_Ly_. There is no why, if you really find it, and can be certain itis the missing article, the sacred object being unmistakable. But thereare some differences in this case, friend, the temple-visitors are nottwo, so that if one has not got the booty the other has, but many; andthe identity of the missing object is also uncertain; it may be cup, orbowl, or garland; every priest gives a different description of it; theydo not agree even about the material; bronze, say these, silver, saythose--anything from gold to tin. So there is nothing for it but to stripthe visitors, if you want to find it; even if you discover a gold cup onthe first man, you must go on to the others. 

_Her_. What for?

_Ly_. Because it is not certain that the thing was a cup. And even if thatis generally admitted, they do not all agree that it was gold; and if itis well known that a gold cup is missing, and you find a gold cup on yourfirst man, even so you are not quit of searching the others; it is notclear that this is _the_ sacred cup; do you suppose there is only one goldcup in the world?

_Her_. No, indeed. 

_Ly_. So you will have to go the round, and then collect all your findstogether and decide which of them is most likely to be divine property. 

For the source of all the difficulty is this: every one who is strippedhas something or other on him, one a bowl, one a cup, one a garland, which again may be bronze, gold, or silver; but whether the one he has isthe sacred one, is not yet clear. It is absolutely impossible to knowwhich man to accuse of sacrilege; even if all the objects were similar, it would be uncertain who had robbed the God; for such things may beprivate property too. Our perplexity, of course, is simply due to thefact that the missing cup--assume it to be a cup--has no inscription; ifeither the God's or the donor's name had been on it, we should not havehad all this trouble; when we found the inscribed one, we should havestopped stripping and inconveniencing other visitors. I suppose, Hermotimus, you have often been at athletic meetings?

_Her_. You suppose right; and in many places too. 

_Ly_. Did you ever have a seat close by the judges?

_Her_. Dear me, yes; last Olympia, I was on the left of the stewards;Euandridas of Elis had got me a place in the Elean enclosure; Iparticularly wanted to have a near view of how things are done there. 

_Ly_. So you know how they arrange ties for the wrestling or thepancratium?

_Her_. Yes. 

_Ly_. Then you will describe it better than I, as you have seen itso close. 

_Her_. In old days, when Heracles presided, bay leaves--

_Ly_. No old days, thank you; tell me what you saw with your owneyes. 

_Her_. A consecrated silver urn is produced, and into it are thrownlittle lots about the size of a bean, with letters on them. Two aremarked alpha [Footnote: The Greek alphabet runs: alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, zeta, eta, theta, iota, kappa, lambda, mu, nu, xi, omicron, pi, rho, sigma, tau, upsilon, phi, chi, psi, omega. ], two beta, two more gamma, and so on, if the competitors run to more than that--twolots always to each letter. A competitor comes up, makes a prayer toZeus, dips his hand into the urn, and pulls out one lot; then anotherdoes the same; there is a policeman to each drawer, who holds his hand sothat he cannot see what letter he has drawn. When all have drawn, thechief police officer, I think it is, or one of the stewards themselves--Icannot quite remember this detail--, goes round and examines the lotswhile they stand in a circle, and puts together the two alphas for thewrestling or pancratium, and so for the two betas, and the rest. That isthe procedure when the number of competitors is even, as eight, four, ortwelve. If it is five, seven, nine, or other odd number, an odd letter ismarked on one lot, which is put in with the others, not having aduplicate. Whoever draws this is a bye, and waits till the rest havefinished their ties; no duplicate turns up for him, you see; and it is aconsiderable advantage to an athlete, to know that he will come freshagainst tired competitors. 

_Ly_. Stop there; that is just what I wanted. There are nine of them, wewill say, and they have all drawn, and the lots are in their hands. You goround--for I promote you from spectator to steward--examining the letters;and I suppose you will not know who is the bye till you have been to themall and paired them. 

_Her_. How do you mean?

_Ly_. It is impossible for you to hit straight upon the letter whichindicates the bye; at least, you may hit upon the letter, but you willnot know about the bye; it was not announced beforehand that kappa or muor iota had the appointment in its gift; when you find alpha, you lookfor the holder of the other alpha, whom finding, you pair the two. Againfinding beta, you inquire into the whereabouts of the second beta whichmatches it; and so all through, till there is no one left but the holderof the single unpaired letter. 

_Her_. But suppose you come upon it first or second, what will you dothen?

_Ly_. Never mind me; I want to know what _you_ will do, Mr. Steward. Willyou say at once, Here is the bye? or will you have to go round to all, andsee whether there is a duplicate to be found, it being impossible to knowthe bye till you have seen all the lots?

_Her_. Why, Lycinus, I shall know quite easily; nine being the number, ifI find the epsilon first or second, I know the holder of it for the bye. 

_Ly_. But how?

_Her_. How? Why, two of them must have alpha, two beta, and of thenext two pairs one has certainly drawn gammas and the other deltas, sothat four letters have been used up over eight competitors. Obviously, then, the next letter, which is epsilon, is the only one that can be odd, and the drawer of it is the bye. 

_Ly_. Shall I extol your intelligence, or would you rather I explained toyou my own poor idea, which differs?

_Her_. The latter, of course, though I cannot conceive how you canreasonably differ. 

_Ly_. You have gone on the assumption that the letters are taken inalphabetical order, until at a particular one the number of competitorsruns short; and I grant you it may be done so at Olympia. But suppose wewere to pick out five letters at random, say chi, sigma, zeta, kappa, theta, and duplicate the other four on the lots for eight competitors, but put a single zeta on the ninth, which we meant to indicate thebye--what then would you do if you came on the zeta first? How can youtell that its holder is the bye till you have been all round and found nocounterpart to it? for you could not tell by the alphabetical order, asat Olympia. 

_Her_. A difficult question. 

_Ly_. Look at the same thing another way. Suppose we put no lettersat all on the lots, but, instead of them, signs and marks such as theEgyptians use for letters, men with dogs' or lions' heads. Or no, thoseare rather too strange; let us avoid hybrids, and put down simple forms, as well as our draughtsmanship will allow--men on two lots, horses ontwo, a pair of cocks, a pair of dogs, and let a lion be the mark of theninth. Now, if you hit upon the lion at the first try, how can you tellthat this is the bye-maker, until you have gone all round and seenwhether any one else has a lion to match?

_Her_. Your question is too much for me. 

_Ly_. No wonder; there is no plausible answer. Consequently if wemean to find either the man who has the sacred cup, or the bye, or ourbest guide to the famous city of Corinth, we must absolutely go to andexamine them all, trying them carefully, stripping and comparing them;the truth will be hard enough to find, even so. If I am to take any one'sadvice upon the right philosophy to choose, I insist upon his knowingwhat they all say; every one else I disqualify; I will not trust himwhile there is one philosophy he is unacquainted with; that one maypossibly be the best of all. If some one were to produce a handsome man, and state that he was the handsomest of mankind, we should not acceptthat, unless we knew he had seen all men; very likely his man ishandsome, but whether the handsomest, he has no means of knowing withoutseeing all. Now we are looking not simply for beauty, but for thegreatest beauty, and if we miss that, we shall account ourselves nofurther than we were; we shall not be content with chancing upon somesort of beauty; we are in search of a definite thing, the supreme beauty, which must necessarily be _one_. 

_Her_. True. 

_Ly_. Well then, can you name me a man who has tried every road inphilosophy? one who, knowing the doctrine of Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Chrysippus, Epicurus, and the rest, has ended by selecting one out of allthese roads, because he has proved it genuine, and had found it byexperience to be the only one that led straight to Happiness? If wecan meet with such a man, we are at the end of our troubles. 

_Her_. Alas, that is no easy matter. 

_Ly_. What shall we do, then? I do not think we ought to despair, in themomentary absence of such a guide. Perhaps the best and safest planof all is to set to work oneself, go through every system, and carefullyexamine the various doctrines. 

_Her_. That is what seems to be indicated. I am afraid, though, there isan obstacle in what you said just now: it is not easy, when you havecommitted yourself with a spread of canvas to the wind, to get homeagain. How can a man try all the roads, when, as you said, he will beunable to escape from the first of them?

_Ly_. My notion is to copy Theseus, get dame Ariadne to give us a skein, and go into one labyrinth after another, with the certainty of getting outby winding it up. 

_Her_. Who is to be our Ariadne? Where shall we find the skein?

_Ly_. Never despair; I fancy I have found something to hold on to andescape. 

_Her_. And what is that?

_Ly_. It is not original; I borrow it from one of the wise men: 'Be soberand doubt all things, ' says he. If we do not believe everything we aretold, but behave like jurymen who suspend judgement till they have heardthe other side, we may have no difficulty in getting out of thelabyrinths. 

_Her_. A good plan; let us try it. 

_Ly_. Very well, which shall we start with? However, that will make nodifference; we may begin with whomsoever we fancy, Pythagoras, say; howlong shall we allow for learning the whole of Pythagoreanism? and donot omit the five years of silence; including those, I suppose thirtyaltogether will do; or, if you do not like that, still we cannot put itlower than twenty. 

_Her_. Put it at that. 

_Ly_. Plato will come next with as many more, and then Aristotle cannot dowith less. 

_Her_. No. 

_Ly_. As to Chrysippus, I need not ask you; you have told me already thatforty is barely enough. 

_Her_. That is so. 

_Ly_. And we have still Epicurus and the others. I am not taking highfigures, either, as you will see if you reflect upon the number ofoctogenarian Stoics, Epicureans, and Platonists who confess that theyhave not yet completely mastered their own systems. Or, if they did notconfess it, at any rate Chrysippus, Aristotle, and Plato would for them;still more Socrates, who is as good as they; he used to proclaim to allcomers that, so far from knowing all, he knew nothing whatever, exceptthe one fact of his own ignorance. Well, let us add up. Twenty years wegave Pythagoras, the same to Plato, and so to the others. What will thetotal come to, if we assume only ten schools?

_Her_. Over two hundred years. 

_Ly_. Shall we deduct a quarter of that, and say a hundred and fiftywill do? or can we halve it?

_Her_. You must decide about that; but I see that, at the best, itwill be but few who will get through the course, though they beginphilosophy and life together. 

_Ly_. In that case, what are we to do? Must we withdraw our previousadmission, that no one can choose the best out of many without tryingall? We thought selection without experiment a method of inquirysavouring more of divination than of judgement, did we not?

_Her_. Yes. 

_Ly_. Without such longevity, then, it is absolutely impossible forus to complete the series--experiment, selection, philosophy, Happiness. Yet anything short of that is a mere game of blindman's-buff; whatever weknock against and get hold of we shall be taking for the thing we want, because the truth is hidden from us. Even if a mere piece of luck bringsus straight to it, we shall have no grounded conviction of our success;there are so many similar objects, all claiming to be the real thing. 

_Her_. Ah, Lycinus, your arguments seem to me more or less logical, but--but--to be frank with you--I hate to hear you going through them andwasting your acuteness. I suspect it was in an evil hour that I came outto-day and met you; my hopes were almost in my grasp; and now here areyou plunging me into a slough of despond with your demonstrations; truthis undiscoverable, if the search needs so many years. 

_Ly_. My dear friend, it would be much fairer to blame your parents, Menecrates and whatever your mother's name may have been--or indeed to gostill further back to human nature. Why did not they make you a Tithonusfor years and durability? instead of which, they limited you like othermen to a century at the outside. As for me, I have only been helping youto deduce results. 

_Her_. No, no; it is just your way; you want to crow over me; youdetest philosophy--I cannot tell why--and poke fun at philosophers. 

_Ly_. Hermotimus, I cannot show what truth is, so well as wise people likeyou and your professor; but one thing I do know about it, and that is thatit is not pleasant to the ear; falsehood is far more esteemed; it isprettier, and therefore pleasanter; while Truth, conscious of its purity, blurts out downright remarks, and offends people. Here is a case of it:even you are offended with me for having discovered (with your assistance)how this matter really stands, and shown that our common object is hard ofattainment. Suppose you had been in love with a statue and hoped to winit, under the impression that it was human, and I had realized that it wasonly bronze or marble, and given you a friendly warning that your passionwas hopeless--you might just as well have thought I was your enemy then, because I would not leave you a prey to extravagant and impracticabledelusions. 

_Her_. Well, well; are we to give up philosophy, then, and idle ourlives away like the common herd?

_Ly_. What have I said to justify that? My point is not that we areto give up philosophy, but this: whereas we are to pursue philosophy, andwhereas there are many roads, each professing to lead to philosophy andVirtue, and whereas it is uncertain which of these is the true road, therefore the selection shall be made with care. Now we resolved that itwas impossible out of many offers to choose the best, unless a man shouldtry all in turn; and then the process of trial was found to be long. Whatdo _you_ propose?--It is the old question again. To follow and joinphilosophic forces with whomsoever you first fall in with, and let himthank Fortune for his proselyte?

_Her_. What is the good of answering your questions? You say no onecan judge for himself, unless he can devote the life of a phoenix togoing round experimenting; and on the other hand you refuse to trusteither previous experience or the multitude of favourable testimony. 

_Ly_. Where is your multitude, with knowledge and experience _of all_?Never mind the multitude; one man who answers the description will do forme. But if you mean the people who do not know, their mere numbers willnever persuade me, as long as they pronounce upon all from knowledge of, at the most, one. 

_Her_. Are you the only man who has found the truth, and are all thepeople who go in for philosophy fools?

_Ly_. You wrong me, Hermotimus, when you imply that I put myselfabove other people, or rank myself at all with those who know; you forgetwhat I said; I never claimed to know the truth better than others, onlyconfessed that I was as ignorant of it as every one else. 

_Her_. Well, but, Lycinus, it may be all very well to insist on going theround, testing the various statements, and eschewing any other method ofchoice; but it is ridiculous to spend so many years on each experiment, asthough there were no such thing as judging from samples. That device seemsto me quite simple, and economical of time. There is a story that somesculptor, Phidias, I think, seeing a single claw, calculated from it thesize of the lion, if it were modelled proportionally. So, if some one wereto let you see a man's hand, keeping the rest of his body concealed, youwould know at once that what was behind was a man, without seeing hiswhole body. Well, it is easy to find out in a few hours the essentialpoints of the various doctrines, and, for selecting the best, these willsuffice, without any of your scrupulous exacting investigation. 

_Ly_. Upon my word, how confident you are in your faculty of divining thewhole from the parts! and yet I remember being told just theopposite--that knowledge of the whole includes that of the parts, but notvice versa. Well, but tell me; when Phidias saw the claw, would he everhave known it for a lion's, if he had never seen a lion? Could you havesaid the hand was a man's, if you had never known or seen a man? Why areyou dumb? Let me make the only possible answer for you--that you could_not_; I am afraid Phidias has modelled his lion all for nothing;for it proves to be neither here nor there. What resemblance is there?What enabled you and Phidias to recognize the parts was just yourknowledge of the wholes--the lion and the man. But in philosophy--theStoic, for instance--how will the part reveal the other parts to you, orhow can you conclude that they are beautiful? You do not know the wholeto which the parts belong. 

Then you say it is easy to hear in a few hours the essentials of allphilosophy--meaning, I suppose, their principles and ends, their accountsof God and the soul, their views on the material and the immaterial, their respective identification of pleasure or goodness with thedesirable and the Happy; well, it is easy--it is quite a trifle--todeliver an opinion after such a hearing; but really to _know_ wherethe truth lies will be work, I suspect, not for a few hours, but for agood many days. If not, what can have induced them to enlarge on theserudiments to the tune of a hundred or a thousand volumes apiece? Iimagine they only wanted to establish the truth of those few points whichyou thought so easy and intelligible. If you refuse to spend your time ona conscientious selection, after personal examination of each and all, insum and in detail, it seems to me you will still want your soothsayer tochoose the best for you. It would be a fine short cut, with nomeanderings or wastings of time, if you sent for him, listened to thesummaries, and killed a victim at the end of each; by indicating in itsliver which is the philosophy for you, the God would save you a pack oftroubles. 

Or, if you like, I can suggest a still simpler way; you need not shed allthis blood in sacrifice to any God, nor employ an expensive priest; putinto an urn a set of tablets, each marked with a philosopher's name, andtell a boy (he must be quite young, and his parents both be living) to goto the urn and pick out whichever tablet his hand first touches; and livea philosopher ever after, of the school which then comes out triumphant. 

_Her_. This is buffoonery, Lycinus; I should not have expected it of you. Now tell me, did you ever buy wine? in person, I mean. 

_Ly_. Many a time. 

_Her_. Well, did you go to every wine vault in town, one after another, tasting and comparing?

_Ly_. Certainly not. 

_Her_. No; as soon as you find good sound stuff, you have only to get itsent home. 

_Ly_. To be sure. 

_Her_. And from that little taste you could have answered for the qualityof the whole?

_Ly_. Yes. 

_Her_. Now suppose you had gone to all the wine-merchants and said: I wantto buy a pint of wine; I must ask you, gentlemen, to let me drink thewhole of the cask which each of you has on tap; after that exhaustivesampling, I shall know which of you keeps the best wine, and is the manfor my money. If you had talked like that, they might have laughed atyou, and, if you persisted in worrying them, have tried how you likedwater. 

_Ly_. Yes; it would be no more than my deserts. 

_Her_. Apply this to philosophy. What need to drink the whole cask, when you can judge the quality of the whole from one little taste?

_Ly_. What an adept at evasion you are, Hermotimus! How you slipthrough one's fingers! However, it is all the better this time; youfancied yourself out, but you have flopped into the net again. 

_Her_. What do you mean?

_Ly_. You take a thing whose nature is self-evident and universallyadmitted, like wine, and argue from it to perfectly unlike things, whosenature is obscure and generally debated. In fact I cannot tell whatanalogy you find between philosophy and wine; there is just one, indeed:philosophers and wine-merchants both sell their wares, mostly resortingto adulteration, fraud, and false measures, in the process. But let uslook into your real meaning. You say all the wine in a cask is of thesame quality--which is perfectly reasonable; further, that any one whodraws and tastes quite a small quantity will know at once the quality ofthe whole--of which the same may be said; I should never have thought ofobjecting. But mark what comes now: do philosophy and its professors(your own, for instance) give you every day the same remarks on the samesubjects, or do they vary them? They vary them a great deal, friend; youwould never have stuck to your master through your twenty years'wandering--quite a philosophic Odyssey--if he had always said the samething; one hearing would have been enough. 

_Her_. So it would. 

_Ly_. How could you have known the whole of his doctrines from thefirst taste, then? They were not homogeneous, like the wine; noveltyto-day, and novelty to-morrow on the top of it. Consequently, dear friend, short of drinking the whole cask, you might soak to no purpose;Providence seems to me to have hidden the philosophic Good right at thebottom, underneath the lees. So you will have to drain it dry, or youwill never get to that nectar for which I know you have so long thirsted. According to your idea, it has such virtue that, could you once taste itand swallow the very least drop, you would straightway have perfectwisdom; so they say the Delphian prophetess is inspired by one draught ofthe sacred spring with answers for those who consult the oracle. But itseems not to be so; you have drunk more than half the cask; yet you toldme you were only beginning yet. 

Now see whether this is not a better analogy. You shall keep yourmerchant, and your cask; but the contents of the latter are not to bewine, but assorted seeds. On the top is wheat, next beans, then barley, below that lentils, then peas--and other kinds yet. You go to buy seeds, and he takes some wheat out of that layer, and puts it in your hand as asample; now, could you tell by looking at that whether the peas wereSound, the lentils tender, and the beans full?

_Her_. Impossible. 

_Ly_. No more can you tell the quality of a philosophy from the firststatements of its professor; it is not uniform, like the wine to which youcompared it, claiming that it must resemble the sample glass; it isheterogeneous, and it had better not be cursorily tested. If you buy badwine, the loss is limited to a few pence; but to rot with the common herd(in your own words) is not so light a loss. Moreover, your man who wantsto drink up the cask as a preliminary to buying a pint will injure themerchant, with his dubious sampling; but philosophy knows no such danger;you may drink your fill, but this cask grows no emptier, and its ownersuffers no loss. It is cut and come again here; we have the converse ofthe Danaids' cask; that would not hold what was put into it; it ranstraight through; but here, the more you take away, the more remains. 

And I have another similar remark to make about these specimen drops ofphilosophy. Do not fancy I am libelling it, if I say it is like hemlock, aconite, or other deadly poison. Those too, though they have death inthem, will not kill if a man scrapes off the tiniest particle with theedge of his nail and tastes it; if they are not taken in the rightquantity, the right manner, and the right vehicle, the taker will notdie; you were wrong in claiming that the least possible quantity isenough to base a generalization on. 

_Her_. Oh, have it your own way, Lycinus. Well then, we have got to live ahundred years, and go through all this trouble? There is no other road tophilosophy?

_Ly_. No, none; and we need not complain; as you very truly said, _arslonga, vita brevis_. But I do not know what has come over you; you nowmake a grievance of it, if you cannot before set of sun develop into aChrysippus, a Plato, a Pythagoras. 

_Her_. You trap me, and drive me into a corner, Lycinus; yet I neverprovoked you; it is all envy, I know, because I have made some progressin my studies, whereas you have neglected yourself, when you were oldenough to know better. 

_Ly_. Seest, then, thy true course? never mind me, but leave me as alunatic to my follies, and you go on your way and accomplish what youhave intended all this time. 

_Her_. But you are so masterful, you will not let me make a choice, till Ihave proved all. 

_Ly_. Why, I confess, you will never get me to budge from that. But whenyou call me masterful, it seems to me you blame the blameless, as the poetsays; for I am myself being dragged along by reason, until you bring upsome other reason to release me from durance. And here is reason about totalk more masterfully still, you will see; but I suppose you willexonerate it, and blame me. 

_Her_. What can it be? I am surprised to hear it still has anything inreserve. 

_Ly_. It says that seeing and going through all philosophies will notsuffice, if you want to choose the best of them; the most importantqualification is still missing. 

_Her_. Indeed? Which?

_Ly_. Why (bear with me), a critical investigating faculty, mental acumen, intellectual precision and independence equal to the occasion; withoutthis, the completest inspection will be useless. Reason insists that theowner of it must further be allowed ample time; he will collect the rivalcandidates together, and make his choice with long, lingering, repeateddeliberation; he will give no heed to the candidate's age, appearance, orrepute for wisdom, but perform his functions like the Areopagites, whojudge in the darkness of night, so that they must regard not the pleaders, but the pleadings. Then and not till then will you be able to make a soundchoice and live a philosopher. 

_Her_. Live? an after life, then. No mortal span will meet your demands;let me see: go the whole round, examine each with care, on thatexamination form a judgement, on that judgement make a choice, on thatchoice be a philosopher; so and no otherwise you say the truth may befound. 

_Ly_. I hardly dare tell you--even that is not exhaustive; I am afraid, after all, the solid basis we thought we had found was imaginary. You knowhow fishermen often let down their nets, feel a weight, and pull them upexpecting a great haul; when they have got them up with much toil, behold, a stone, or an old pot full of sand. I fear our catch is one of those. 

_Her_. I don't know what this particular net may be; your nets are allround me, anyhow. 

_Ly_. Well, try and get through; providentially, you are as good aswimmer as can be. Now, this is it: granted that we go all roundexperimenting, and get it done at last, too, I do not believe we shallhave solved the elementary question, whether _any_ of them has themuch-desired; perhaps they are all wrong together. 

_Her_. Oh, come now! not one of _them_ right either?

_Ly_. I cannot tell. Do you think it impossible they may all be deluded, and the truth be something which none of them has yet found?

_Her_. How can it possibly be?

_Ly_. This way: take a correct number, twenty; suppose, I mean, a man hastwenty beans in his closed hand, and asks ten different persons to guessthe number; they guess seven, five, thirty, ten, fifteen--various numbers, in short. It is possible, I suppose, that one may be right?

_Her_. Yes. 

_Ly_. It is not impossible, however, that they may all guess differentincorrect numbers, and not one of them suggest twenty beans. What say you?

_Her_. It is not impossible. 

_Ly_. In the same way, all philosophers are investigating the nature ofHappiness; they get different answers one Pleasure, another Goodness, and so through the list. It is probable that Happiness _is_ one of these;but it is also not improbable that it is something else altogether. Weseem to have reversed the proper procedure, and hurried on to the endbefore we had found the beginning I suppose we ought first to haveascertained that the truth has actually been discovered, and that somephilosopher or other has it, and only then to have gone on to the nextquestion, _which_ of them is to be believed. 

_Her_. So that, even if we go all through all philosophy, we shall have nocertainty of finding the truth even then; that is what you say. 

_Ly_. Please, please do not ask _me_; once more, apply to reason itself. Its answer will perhaps be that there can be no certainty yet--as long aswe cannot be sure that it is one or other of the things they say it is. 

_Her_. Then, according to you, we shall never finish our quest norbe philosophers, but have to give it up and live the life of laymen. Whatyou say amounts to that: philosophy is impossible and inaccessible to amere mortal; for you expect the aspirant first to choose the bestphilosophy; and you considered that the only guarantee of such choice'sbeing correct was to go through all philosophy before choosing thetruest. Then in reckoning the number of years required by each youspurned all limits, extended the thing to several generations, and madeout the quest of truth too long for the individual life; and now youcrown all by proving success doubtful even apart from all that; you sayit is uncertain whether the philosophers have ever found truth at all. 

_Ly_. Could you state on oath that they have?

_Her_. Not on oath, no. 

_Ly_. And yet there is much that I have intentionally spared you, thoughit merits careful examination too. 

_Her_. For instance?

_Ly_. Is it not said that, among the professed Stoics, Platonists, andEpicureans, some do know their respective doctrines, and some do not(without prejudice to their general respectability)?

_Her_. That is true. 

_Ly_. Well, don't you think it will be a troublesome business todistinguish the first, and know them from the ignorant professors?

_Her_. Very. 

_Ly_. So, if you are to recognize the best of the Stoics, you will have togo to most, if not all, of them, make trial, and appoint the best yourteacher, first going through a course of training to provide you with theappropriate critical faculty; otherwise you might mistakenly prefer thewrong one. Now reflect on the additional time this will mean; I purposelyleft it out of account, because I was afraid you might be angry; all thesame, it is the most important and necessary thing of all in questionslike this--so uncertain and dubious, I mean. For the discovery of truth, your one and only sure or well-founded hope is the possession of thispower: you _must_ be able to judge and sift truth from falsehood; you musthave the assayer's sense for sound and true or forged coin; if you couldhave come to your examination of doctrines equipped with a technical skilllike that, I should have nothing to say; but without it there is nothingto prevent their severally leading you by the nose; you will follow adangled bunch of carrots like a donkey; or, better still, you will bewater spilt on a table, trained whichever way one chooses with afinger-tip; or again, a reed growing on a river's bank, bending to everybreath, however gentle the breeze that shakes it in its passage. 

If you could find a teacher, now, who understood demonstration andcontroversial method, and would impart his knowledge to you, you would bequit of your troubles; the best and the true would straightway berevealed to you, at the bidding of this art of demonstration, whilefalsehood would stand convicted; you would make your choice withconfidence; judgement would be followed by philosophy; you would reachyour long-desired Happiness, and live in its company, which sums up allgood things. 

_Her_. Thank you, Lycinus; that is a much better hearing; there ismore than a glimpse of hope in that. We must surely look for a man ofthat sort, to give us discernment, judgement, and, above all, the powerof demonstration; then all will be easy and clear, and not too long. I amgrateful to you already for thinking of this short and excellent plan. 

_Ly_. Ah, no, I cannot fairly claim gratitude yet. I have not discoveredor revealed anything that will bring you nearer your hope; on thecontrary, we are further off than ever; it is a case of much cry andlittle wool. 

_Her_. Bird of ill omen, pessimist, explain yourself. 

_Ly_. Why, my friend, even if we find some one who claims to know this artof demonstration, and is willing to impart it, we shall surely not takehis word for it straight off; we shall look about for another man toresolve us whether the first is telling the truth. Finding number two, weshall still be uncertain whether our guarantor really knows the differencebetween a good judge and a bad, and shall need a number three to guaranteenumber two; for how can we possibly know ourselves how to select the bestjudge? You see how far this must go; the thing is unending; its naturedoes not allow us to draw the line and put a stop to it; for you willobserve that all the demonstrations that can possibly be thought of arethemselves unfounded and open to dispute; most of them struggle toestablish their certainty by appealing to facts as questionable asthemselves; and the rest produce certain truisms with which they compare, quite illegitimately, the most speculative theories, and then say theyhave demonstrated the latter: our eyes tell us there are altars to theGods; therefore there must be Gods; that is the sort of thing. 

_Her_. How unkindly you treat me, Lycinus, turning my treasure intoashes; I suppose all these years are to have been lost labour. 

_Ly_. At least your chagrin will be considerably lessened by thethought that you are not alone in your disappointment; practically allwho pursue philosophy do no more than disquiet themselves in vain. Whocould conceivably go through all the stages I have rehearsed? you admitthe impossibility yourself. As to your present mood, it is that of theman who cries and curses his luck because he cannot climb the sky, orplunge into the depths of the sea at Sicily and come up at Cyprus, orsoar on wings and fly within the day from Greece to India; what isresponsible for his discontent is his basing of hopes on a dream-visionor his own wild fancy, without ever asking whether his aspirations wererealizable or consistent with humanity. You too, my friend, have beenhaving a long and marvellous dream; and now reason has stuck a pin intoyou and startled you out of your sleep; your eyes are only half open yet, you are reluctant to shake off a sleep which has shown you such fairvisions, and so you scold. It is just the condition of the day-dreamer;he is rolling in gold, digging up treasure, sitting on his throne, orsomehow at the summit of bliss; for dame _How-I-wish_ is a lavishfacile Goddess, that will never turn a deaf ear to her votary, though hehave a mind to fly, or change statures with Colossus, or strike a gold-reef; well, in the middle of all this, in comes his servant with someevery-day question, wanting to know where he is to get bread, or what heshall say to the landlord, tired of waiting for his rent; and then heflies into a temper, as though the intrusive questioner had robbed him ofall his bliss, and is ready to bite the poor fellow's nose off. 

As you love me, do not treat me like that. I see you digging up treasure, spreading your wings, nursing extravagant ideas, indulging impossiblehopes; and I love you too well to leave you to the company of a life-longdream--a pleasant one, if you will, but yet a dream; I beseech you to getup and take to some every-day business, such as may direct the rest ofyour life's course by common sense. Your acts and your thoughts up to nowhave been no more than Centaurs, Chimeras, Gorgons, or what else isfigured by dreams and poets and painters, chartered libertines all, whoreek not of what has been or may be. Yet the common folk believe them, bewitched by tale and picture just because they are strange and monstrous. 

I fancy you hearing from some teller of tales how there is a certain ladyof perfect beauty, beyond the Graces themselves or the HeavenlyAphrodite, and then, without ever an inquiry whether his tale is true, and such a person to be found on earth, falling straight in love withher, like Medea in the story enamoured of a dream-Jason. And what mostdrew you on to love, you and the others who worship the same phantom, was, if I am not mistaken, the consistent way in which the inventor ofthe lady added to his picture, when once he had got your ear. That wasthe only thing you all looked to, with that he turned you about as hewould, having got his first hold upon you, averring that he was leadingyou the straight way to your beloved. After the first step, you see, allwas easy; none of you ever looked round when he came to the entrance, andinquired whether it was the right one, or whether he had accidentallytaken the wrong; no, you all followed in your predecessors' footsteps, like sheep after the bell-wether, whereas the right thing was to decideat the entrance whether you should go in. 

Perhaps an illustration will make my meaning clearer: when one of thoseaudacious poets affirms that there was once a three-headed and six-handedman, if you accept that quietly without questioning its possibility, hewill proceed to fill in the picture consistently--six eyes and ears, three voices talking at once, three mouths eating, and thirty fingersinstead of our poor ten all told; if he has to fight, three of his handswill have a buckler, wicker targe, or shield apiece, while of the otherthree one swings an axe, another hurls a spear, and the third wields asword. It is too late to carp at these details, when they come; they areconsistent with the beginning; it was about that that the question oughtto have been raised whether it was to be accepted and passed as true. Once grant that, and the rest comes flooding in, irresistible, hardly nowsusceptible of doubt, because it is consistent and accordant with yourinitial admissions. That is just your case; your love-yearning would notallow you to look into the facts at each entrance, and so you are draggedon by consistency; it never occurs to you that a thing may be self-consistent and yet false; if a man says twice five is seven, and you takehis word for it without checking the sum, he will naturally deduce thatfour times five is fourteen, and so on _ad libitum_. This is the waythat weird geometry proceeds: it sets before beginners certain strangeassumptions, and insists on their granting the existence of inconceivablethings, such as points having no parts, lines without breadth, and so on, builds on these rotten foundations a superstructure equally rotten, andpretends to go on to a demonstration which is true, though it starts frompremisses which are false. 

Just so you, when you have granted the principles of any school, believein the deductions from them, and take their consistency, false as it is, for a guarantee of truth. Then with some of you, hope travels through, and you die before you have seen the truth and detected your deceivers, while the rest, disillusioned too late, will not turn back for shame:what, confess at their years that they have been abused with toys allthis time? so they hold on desperately, putting the best face upon it andmaking all the converts they can, to have the consolation of good companyin their deception; they are well aware that to speak out is to sacrificethe respect and superiority and honour they are accustomed to; so theywill not do it if it may be helped, knowing the height from which theywill fall to the common level. Just a few are found with the courage tosay they were deluded, and warn other aspirants. Meeting such a one, callhim a good man, a true and an honest; nay, call him philosopher, if youwill; to my mind, the name is his or no one's; the rest either have noknowledge of the truth, though they think they have, or else haveknowledge and hide it, shamefaced cowards clinging to reputation. 

But now for goodness' sake let us drop all this, cover it up with anamnesty, and let it be as if it had not been said; let us, assume thatthe Stoic philosophy, and no other, is correct; then we can examinewhether it is practicable and possible, or its disciples wasting theirpains; it makes wonderful promises, I am told, about the Happiness instore for those who reach the summit; for none but they shall enter intofull possession of the true Good. The next point you must help me with--whether you have ever met such a Stoic, such a pattern of Stoicism, as tobe unconscious of pain, untempted by pleasure, free from wrath, superiorto envy, contemptuous of wealth, and, in one word, Happy; such should theexample and model of the Virtuous life be; for any one who falls short inthe slightest degree, even though he is better than other men at allpoints, is not complete, and in that case not yet Happy. 

_Her_. I never saw such a man. 

_Ly_. I am glad you do not palter with the truth. But what are your hopesin pursuing philosophy, then? You see that neither your own teacher, norhis, nor his again, and so on to the tenth generation, has been absolutelywise and so attained Happiness. It will not serve you to say that it isenough to get near Happiness; that is no good; a person on the doorstep isjust as much outside and in the air as another a long way off, though withthe difference that the former is tantalized by a nearer view. So it is toget into the neighbourhood of Happiness--I will grant you so much--thatyou toil like this, wearing yourself away, letting this great portion ofyour life slip from you, while you are sunk in dullness and wakefulweariness; and you are to go on with it for twenty more years at theleast, you tell me, to take your place when you are eighty--alwaysassuming some one to assure you that length of days--in the ranks of thenot yet Happy. Or perhaps you reckon on being the exception; you are tocrown your pursuit by attaining what many a good man before you, swifterfar, has pursued and never overtaken. 

Well, overtake it, if that is your plan, grasp it and have it whole, thissomething, mysterious to me, of which the possession is sufficient rewardfor such toils; this something which I wonder how long you will have theenjoyment of, old man that you will be, past all pleasure, with one footin the grave; ah, but perhaps, like a brave soul, you are getting readyfor another life, that you may spend it the better when you come to it, having learned how to live: as though one should take so long preparingand elaborating a superlative dinner that he fainted with hunger andexhaustion!

However, there is another thing I do not think you have observed: Virtueis manifested, of course, in action, in doing what is just and wise andmanly; but you--and when I say you, I mean the most advancedphilosophers--you do not seek these things and ensue them, but spend thegreater part of your life conning over miserable sentences anddemonstrations and problems; it is the man who does best at these thatyou hail a glorious victor. And I believe that is why you admire thisexperienced old professor of yours: he nonplusses his associates, knowshow to put crafty questions and inveigle you into pitfalls; so you pay noattention to the fruit--which consists in action--, but are extremelybusy with the husks, and smother each other with the leaves in yourdebates; come now, Hermotimus, what else are you about from morning tonight?

_Her_. Nothing; that is what it comes to. 

_Ly_. Is it wronging you to say that you hunt the shadow or the snake'sdead slough, and neglect the solid body or the creeping thing itself? Youare no better than a man pouring water into a mortar and braying it withan iron pestle; he thinks he is doing a necessary useful job, whereas, lethim bray till all's blue (excuse the slang), the water is as much water asever it was. 

And here let me ask you whether, putting aside his discourse, you wouldchoose to resemble your master, and be as passionate, as sordid, asquarrelsome, ay, and as addicted to pleasure (though that trait of his isnot generally known). Why no answer, Hermotimus? Shall I tell you a pleafor philosophy which I lately heard? It was from the mouth of an old, oldman, who has quite a company of young disciples. He was angrily demandinghis fees from one of these; they were long overdue, he said; the daystated in the agreement was the first of the month, and it was now thefifteenth. 

The youth's uncle was there, a rustic person without any notion of yourrefinements; and by way of stilling the storm, _Come, come, sir_, says he, _you need not make such a fuss because we have bought words of you and notyet settled the bill. As to what you have sold us, you have got it still;your stock of learning is none the less; and in what I really sent the boyto you for, you have not improved him a bit; he has carried off andseduced neighbour Echecrates's daughter, and there would have been anaction for assault, only Echecrates is a poor man; but the prank cost me acouple of hundred. And the other day he struck his mother; she had triedto stop him when he was smuggling wine out of the house, for one of hisclub-dinners, I suppose. As to temper and conceit and impudence and brassand lying, he was not half so bad twelve months ago as he is now. That iswhere I should have liked him to profit by your teaching; and we couldhave done, without his knowing the stuff he reels of at table every day:'a crocodile [Footnote: See _Puzzles_ in Notes. ] seized hold of a baby, 'says he, 'and promised to give it back if its father could answer'--theLord knows what; or how, 'day [Footnote: See _Puzzles_ in Notes. ] being, night cannot be'; and sometimes his worship twists round what we saysomehow or other, till there we are with horns [Footnote: See _Puzzles_ inNotes. ] on our heads! We just laugh at it--most of all when he stuffs uphis ears and repeats to himself what he calls temperaments and conditionsand conceptions and impressions, and a lot more like that. And he tells usGod is not in heaven, but goes about in everything, wood and stone andanimals--the meanest of them, too; and if his mother asks him why he talkssuch stuff, he laughs at her and says if once he gets the 'stuff' pat off, there will be nothing to prevent him from being the only rich man, theonly king, and counting every one else slaves and offscourings. _

When he had finished, mark the reverend philosopher's answer. _You shouldconsider_, he said, _that if he had never come to me, he would havebehaved far worse--very possibly have come to the gallows. As it is, philosophy and the respect he has for it have been a check upon him, sothat you find he keeps within bounds and is not quite unbearable; thephilosophic system and name tutor him with their presence, and thethought of disgracing them shames him. I should be quite justified intaking your money, if not for any positive improvement I have effected, yet for the abstentions due to his respect for philosophy; the verynurses will tell you as much: children should go to school, because, evenif they are not old enough to learn, they will at least be out ofmischief there. My conscience is quite easy about him; if you like toselect any of your friends who is acquainted with Stoicism and bring himhere to-morrow, you shall see how the boy can question and answer, howmuch he has learnt, how many books he has read on axioms, syllogisms, conceptions, duty, and all sorts of subjects. As for his hitting hismother or seducing girls, what have I to do with that? am I his keeper?_

A dignified defence of philosophy for an old man! Perhaps _you_ will saytoo that it is a good enough reason for pursuing it, if it will keep usfrom worse employments. Were our original expectations from philosophyat all of a different nature, by the way? did they contemplate anythingbeyond a more decent behaviour than the average? Why this obstinatesilence?

_Her_. Oh, why but that I could cry like a baby? It cuts me to theheart, it is all so true; it is too much for me, when I think of mywretched, wasted years--paying all that money for my own labour, too! Iam sober again after a debauch, I see what the object of my maudlinaffection is like, and what it has brought upon me. 

_Ly_. No need for tears, dear fellow; that is a very sensible fableof Aesop's. A man sat on the shore and counted the waves breaking;missing count, he was excessively annoyed. But the fox came up and saidto him: 'Why vex yourself, good sir, over the past ones? you should letthem go, and begin counting afresh. ' So you, since this is your mind, hadbetter reconcile yourself now to living like an ordinary man; you willgive up your extravagant haughty hopes and put yourself on a level withthe commonalty; if you are sensible, you will not be ashamed to unlearnin your old age, and change your course for a better. 

Now I beg you not to fancy that I have said all this as an anti-Stoic, moved by any special dislike of your school; my arguments hold againstall schools. I should have said just the same if you had chosen Plato orAristotle, and condemned the others unheard. But, as Stoicism was yourchoice, the argument has seemed to be aimed at that, though it had nosuch special application. 

_Her_. You are quite right. And now I will be off to metamorphosemyself. When we next meet, there will be no long, shaggy beard, noartificial composure; I shall be natural, as a gentleman should. I may goas far as a fashionable coat, by way of publishing my renunciation ofnonsense. I only wish there were an emetic that would purge out everydoctrine they have instilled into me; I assure you, if I could reverseChrysippus's plan with the hellebore, and drink forgetfulness, not of theworld but of Stoicism, I would not think twice about it. Well, Lycinus, Iowe you a debt indeed; I was being swept along in a rough turbid torrent, unresisting, drifting with the stream; when lo, you stood there andfished me out, a true _deus ex machina_. I have good enough reason, I think, to shave my head like the people who get clear off from a wreck;for I am to make votive offerings to-day for the dispersion of that thickcloud which was over my eyes. Henceforth, if I meet a philosopher on mywalks (and it will not be with my will), I shall turn aside and avoid himas I would a mad dog. 

HERODOTUS AND AETION

I devoutly wish that Herodotus's other characteristics were imitable; notall of them, of course--that is past praying for--, but any one of them:the agreeable style, the constructive skill, the native charm of hisIonic, the sententious wealth, or any of a thousand beauties which hecombined into one whole, to the despair of imitators. But there is onething--the use he made of his writings, and the speed with which heattained the respect of all Greece; from that you, or I, or any one else, might take a hint. As soon as he had sailed from his Carian home forGreece, he concentrated his thoughts on the quickest and easiest methodof winning a brilliant reputation for himself and his works. He mighthave gone the round, and read them successively at Athens, Corinth, Argos, and Sparta; but that would be a long toilsome business, hethought, with no end to it; so he would not do it in detail, collectinghis recognition by degrees, and scraping it together little by little;his idea was, if possible, to catch all Greece together. The greatOlympic Games were at hand, and Herodotus bethought him that here was thevery occasion on which his heart was set. He seized the moment when thegathering was at its fullest, and every city had sent the flower of itscitizens; then he appeared in the temple hall, bent not on sight-seeing, but on bidding for an Olympic victory of his own; he recited his_Histories_, and bewitched his hearers; nothing would do but eachbook must be named after one of the Muses, to whose number theycorresponded. 

He was straightway known to all, better far than the Olympic winners. There was no man who had not heard his name; they had listened to him atOlympia, or they were told of him by those who had been there; he hadonly to appear, and fingers were pointing at him: 'There is the greatHerodotus, who wrote the Persian War in Ionic, and celebrated ourvictories. ' That was what he made out of his _Histories_; a singlemeeting sufficed, and he had the general unanimous acclamation of allGreece; his name was proclaimed, not by a single herald; every spectatordid that for him, each in his own city. 

The royal road to fame was now discovered; it was the regular practice ofmany afterwards to deliver their discourses at the festival; Hippias therhetorician was on his own ground there; but Prodicus came from Ceos, Anaximenes from Chios, Polus from Agrigentum; and a rapid fame itbrought, to them and many others. 

However, I need not have cited ancient rhetoricians, historians, andchroniclers like these; in quite recent times the painter Aetion is saidto have brought his picture, _Nuptials of Roxana and Alexander_, toexhibit at Olympia; and Proxenides, High Steward of the Games on theoccasion, was so delighted with his genius that he gave him his daughter. 

It must have been a very wonderful picture, I think I hear some one say, to make the High Steward give his daughter to a stranger. Well, I haveseen it--it is now in Italy--, so I can tell you. A fair chamber, withthe bridal bed in it; Roxana seated--and a great beauty she is--withdowncast eyes, troubled by the presence of Alexander, who is standing. Several smiling Loves; one stands behind Roxana, pulling away the veil onher head to show her to Alexander; another obsequiously draws off hersandal, suggesting bed-time; a third has hold of Alexander's mantle, andis dragging him with all his might towards Roxana. The King is offeringher a garland, and by him as supporter and groom's-man is Hephaestion, holding a lighted torch and leaning on a very lovely boy; this isHymenaeus, I conjecture, for there are no letters to show. On the otherside of the picture, more Loves playing among Alexander's armour; two arecarrying his spear, as porters do a heavy beam; two more grasp thehandles of the shield, tugging it along with another reclining on it, playing king, I suppose; and then another has got into the breast-plate, which lies hollow part upwards; he is in ambush, and will give the royalequipage a good fright when it comes within reach. 

All this is not idle fancy, on which the painter has been lavishingneedless pains; he is hinting that Alexander has also another love, inWar; though he loves Roxana, he does not forget his armour. And, by theway, there was some extra nuptial virtue in the picture itself, outsidethe realm of fancy; for it did Aetion's wooing for him. He departed witha wedding of his own as a sort of pendant to that of Alexander;_his_ groom's-man was the King; and the price of his marriage-piecewas a marriage. 

Herodotus, then (to return to him), thought that the Olympic festivalwould serve a second purpose very well--that of revealing to the Greeks awonderful historian who had related their victories as he had done. Asfor me--and in Heaven's name do not suppose me so beside myself as tointend any comparison between my works and his; I desire his favour toomuch for that--but one experience I have in common with him. On my firstvisit to Macedonia, _my_ thoughts too were busy with my best policy. My darling wish was to be known to you all, and to exhibit my writings toas many Macedonians as might be; I decided that it would be too great anundertaking at such a time of year to go round in person visiting city bycity; but if I seized the occasion of this your meeting, appeared beforeyou all, and delivered my discourse, my aspirations, I thought, might berealized that way. 

And now here are you met together, the _elite_ of every city, thetrue soul of Macedonia; the town which lodges you is the chief of all, little enough resembling Pisa, with its crowding, its tents and hovelsand stifling heat; there is as great a difference between this audienceand that promiscuous crowd, mainly intent upon mere athletics, andthinking of Herodotus only as a stop-gap; here we have orators, historians, professors, the first in each kind--that is much in itself;my arena, it seems, need not suffer from comparison with Olympia. Andthough, if you insist on matching me with the Polydamases, Glaucuses, andMilos of literature, you must think me a very presumptuous person, it isopen to you on the other hand to put them out of your thoughtsaltogether; and if you strip and examine me independently, you may decidethat at least I need not be whipped. [Footnote: Cf. _Remarks addressedto an Illiterate Book-fancier_, 9. ] Considering the nature of thecontest, I may well be satisfied with that measure of success. 

ZEUXIS AND ANTIOCHUS

I was lately walking home after lecturing, when a number of my audience(you are now my friends, gentlemen, and there can be no objection to mytelling you this)--these persons, then, came to me and introducedthemselves, with the air of admiring hearers. They accompanied me aconsiderable way, with such laudatory exclamations that I was reduced toblushing at the discrepancy between praise and thing praised. Their chiefpoint, which they were absolutely unanimous in emphasizing, was that thesubstance of my work was so fresh, so crammed with novelty. I had bettergive you their actual phrases: 'How new! What paradoxes, to be sure! Whatinvention the man has! His ideas are quite unequalled for originality. 'They said a great deal of this sort about my fascinating lecture, as theycalled it; they could have had no motive for pretending, or addressingsuch flatteries to a stranger who had no independent claims on theirattention. 

These commendations, to be quite frank, were very far from gratifying tome; when at length they left me to myself, my reflections took thiscourse:--_So the only attraction in my work is that it is unusual, anddoes not follow the beaten track; good vocabulary, orthodox composition, insight, subtlety, Attic grace, general constructive skill--these may foraught I know be completely wanting; else indeed they would hardly haveleft them unnoticed, and approved my method only as new and startling. Fool that I was, I did indeed guess, when they jumped up to applaud, thatnovelty was part of the attraction; I knew that Homer spoke truly when hesaid there is favour for the new song; but I did not see that novelty wasto have so vast a share--the whole, indeed--of the credit; I thought itgave a sort of adventitious charm, and contributed, its part to thesuccess, but that the real object of commendation--what extracted thecheers--was those other qualities. Why, I have been absurdly self-satisfied, and come very near believing them when they called me the oneand only real Greek, and such nonsense. But behold, my gold is turned toashes; my fame, after all, is little different from that enjoyed by aconjuror. _

Now I should like to give you an illustration from painting. The greatZeuxis, after he had established his artistic supremacy, seldom or neverpainted such common popular subjects as Heroes, Gods, and battle-pieces;he was always intent on novelty; he would hit upon some extravagant andstrange design, and then use it to show his mastery of the art. One ofthese daring pieces of his represented a female Centaur, nursing a pairof infant Centaur twins. There is a copy of the picture now at Athens, taken exactly from the original. The latter is said to have been put onship--board for Italy with the rest of Sulla's art treasures, and to havebeen lost with them by the sinking of the ship, off Malea, I think itwas. The picture of the picture I have seen, and the best word-picture Ican manage of that I am now to give you; I am no connoisseur, you mustunderstand, but I have a vivid recollection of it as I saw it in anAthenian studio not long ago; and my warm admiration of it as a work ofart may perhaps inspire me with a clear description. 

On fresh green-sward appears the mother Centaur, the whole equine part ofher stretched on the ground, her hoofs extended backwards; the human partis slightly raised on the elbows; the fore feet are not extended like theothers, for she is only partially on her side; one of them is bent as inthe act of kneeling, with the hoof tucked in, while the other isbeginning to straighten and take a hold on the ground--the action of ahorse rising. Of the cubs she is holding one in her arms suckling it inthe human fashion, while the other is drawing at the mare's dug like afoal. In the upper part of the picture, as on higher ground, is a Centaurwho is clearly the husband of the nursing mother; he leans over laughing, visible only down to the middle of his horse body; he holds a lion whelpaloft in his right hand, terrifying the youngsters with it in sport. 

There are no doubt qualities in the painting which evade analysis by amere amateur, and yet involve supreme craftsmanship--such things asprecision of line, perfect mastery of the palette, clever brush-work, management of shadow, perspective, proportion, and relation of the partsto the whole; but I leave all that to the professionals whose business itis to appreciate it; what strikes _me_ especially about Zeuxis isthe manifold scope which he has found for his extraordinary skill, in asingle subject. You have in the husband a truly terrible savage creature;his locks toss about, he is almost covered with hair, human part as wellas equine; the shoulders high to monstrosity; the look, even in his merrymood, brutal, uncivilized, wild. 

In contrast with him, the animal half of the female is lovely; aThessalian filly, yet unbroken and unbacked, might come nearest; and thehuman upper half is also most beautiful, with the one exception of theears, which are pointed as in a satyr. At the point of junction whichblends the two natures, there is no sharp line of division, but the mostgradual of transitions; a touch here, a trait there, and you aresurprised to find the change complete. It was perfectly wonderful, again, to see the combination of wildness and infancy, of terrible and tender, in the young ones, looking up in baby curiosity at the lion-cub, whilethey held on to breast and dug, and cuddled close to their dam. 

Zeuxis imagined that when the picture was shown the technique of it wouldtake visitors by storm. Well, they did acclaim him; they could hardlyhelp that, with such a masterpiece before them; but their commendationswere all in the style of those given to me the other night; it was thestrangeness of the idea, the fresh unhackneyed sentiment of the picture, and so on. Zeuxis saw that they were preoccupied with the novelty of hissubject, art was at a discount, and truth of rendering quite a minormatter. 'Oh, pack it up, Miccio, ' he said to his pupil, 'and you and theothers take it home; these people are delighted with the earthy part ofthe work; the questions of its aim, its beauty, its artistic merit, areof no importance whatever; novelty of subject goes for much more thantruth of rendering. '

So said Zeuxis, not in the best of tempers. Antiochus Soter had asomewhat similar experience about his battle with the Galatians. If youwill allow me, I propose to give you an account of that event also. Thesepeople were good fighters, and on this occasion in great force; they weredrawn up in a serried phalanx, the first rank, which consisted of steel-clad warriors, being supported by men of the ordinary heavy-armed type tothe depth of four-and-twenty; twenty thousand cavalry held the flanks;and there were eighty scythed, and twice that number of ordinary warchariots ready to burst forth from the centre. These dispositions filledAntiochus with apprehension, and he thought the task was too hard forhim. His own preparations had been hurried, on no great scale, andinadequate to the occasion; he had brought quite a small force, mostly ofskirmishers and light-armed troops; more than half his men were withoutdefensive armour. He was disposed to negotiate and find some honourablecomposition. 

Theodotas of Rhodes, however, a brave and skilful officer, put him inheart again. Antiochus had sixteen elephants; Theodotas advised him toconceal these as well as he could for the present, not letting theirsuperior height betray them; when the signal for battle was given, theshock just at hand, the enemy's cavalry charging, and their phalanxopening to give free passage to the chariots, then would be the time forthe elephants. A section of four was to meet the cavalry on each flank, and the remaining eight to engage the chariot squadron. 'By this means, 'he concluded, 'the horses will be frightened, and there will be astampede into the Galatian infantry. ' His anticipations were realized, thus:

Neither the Galatians nor their horses had ever seen an elephant, andthey were so taken aback by the strange sight that, long before thebeasts came to close quarters, the mere sound of their trumpeting, thesight of their gleaming tusks relieved against dark bodies, and minatorywaving trunks, was enough; before they were within bow-shot, the enemybroke and ran in utter disorder; the infantry were spitted on eachother's spears, and trampled by the cavalry who came scurrying on tothem. The chariots, turning in like manner upon their own friends, whirled about among them by no means harmlessly; it was a Homeric sceneof 'rumbling tumbling cars'; when once the horses shied at thoseformidable elephants, off went the drivers, and 'the lordless chariotsrattled on, ' their scythes maiming and carving any of their late masterswhom they came within reach of; and, in that chaos, many were thevictims. Next came the elephants, trampling, tossing, tearing, goring;and a very complete victory they had made of it for Antiochus. 

The carnage was great, and all the Galatians were either killed orcaptured, with the exception of a quite small band which got off to themountains; Antiochus's Macedonians sang the Paean, gathered round, and garlanded him with acclamations on the glorious victory. But theKing--so the story goes--was in tears; 'My men, ' he said, 'we have morereason for shame; saved by those sixteen brutes! if their strangenesshad not produced the panic, where should we have been?' And on thetrophy he would have nothing carved except just an elephant. 

Gentlemen, _de me fabula_; are my resources like those of Antiochus--quite unfit for battle on the whole, but including some elephants, somequeer impositions, some jugglery, in fact? That is what all the praise Ihear points at. The things I really relied upon seem to be of littleaccount; the mere fact that my picture is of a female Centaur exercisesfascination; it passes for a novelty and a marvel, as indeed it is. Therest of Zeuxis's pains is thrown away, I suppose. But ah, no, not thrownaway--; _you_ are connoisseurs, and judge by the rules of art. Ionly hope the show may be worthy of the spectators. 

HARMONIDES

'Tell me, Timotheus, ' said Harmonides the flute-player one day to histeacher, 'tell me how I may win distinction in my art. What can I do tomake myself known all over Greece? Everything but this you have taughtme. I have a correct ear, thanks to you, and a smooth, even delivery, andhave acquired the light touch so essential to the rendering of rapidmeasures; rhythmical effect, the adaptation of music to dance, the truecharacter of the different moods--exalted Phrygian, joyous Lydian, majestic Dorian, voluptuous Ionic--all these I have mastered with yourassistance. But the prime object of my musical aspirations seems out ofmy reach: I mean popular esteem, distinction, and notoriety; I would haveall eyes turn in my direction, all tongues repeat my name: "There goesHarmonides, the great flute-player. " Now when _you_ first came fromyour home in Boeotia, and performed in the _Procne_, and won theprize for your rendering of the _Ajax Furens_, composed by yournamesake, there was not a man who did not know the name of Timotheus ofThebes; and in these days you have only to show yourself, and peopleflock together as birds do at the sight of an owl in daylight. It is forthis that I sought to become a flute-player; this was to be the reward ofall my toil. The skill without the glory I would not take at a gift, notthough I should prove to be a Marsyas or an Olympus in disguise. What isthe use of a light that is to be hidden under a bushel? Show me then, Timotheus, how I may avail myself of my powers and of my art. I shall bedoubly your debtor: not for my skill alone, but for the glory that skillconfers. '

'Why, really, ' says Timotheus, 'it is no such easy matter, Harmonides, tobecome a public character, or to gain the prestige and distinction towhich you aspire; and if you propose to set about it by performing inpublic, you will find it a long business, and at the best will neverachieve a universal reputation. Where will you find a theatre or circuslarge enough to admit the whole nation as your audience? But if you wouldattain your object and become known, take this hint. By all means performoccasionally in the theatres, but do not concern yourself with thepublic. Here is the royal road to fame: get together a small and selectaudience of connoisseurs, real experts, whose praise, whose blame areequally to be relied upon; display your skill to these; and if you canwin _their_ approval, you may rest content that in a single hour youhave gained a national reputation. I argue thus. If you are known to bean admirable performer by persons who are themselves universally knownand admired, what have you to do with public opinion? Public opinion mustinevitably follow the opinion of the best judges. The public after all ismainly composed of untutored minds, that know not good from badthemselves; but when they hear a man praised by the great authorities, they take it for granted that he is not undeserving of praise, and praisehim accordingly. It is the same at the games: most of the spectators knowenough to clap or hiss, but the judging is done by some five or sixpersons. '

Harmonides had no time to put this policy into practice. The story goesthat in his first public competition he worked so energetically at hisflute, that he breathed his last into it, and expired then and there, before he could be crowned. His first Dionysiac performance was also hislast. 

But Timotheus's remarks need not be confined to Harmonides, nor to hisprofession: they seem applicable to all whose ambition prompts them toexhibit their talents and to aim at the approbation of the public. Accordingly, when I, like Harmonides, was debating within myself thespeediest means of becoming known, I took Timotheus's advice: 'Who, ' Iasked myself, 'is the foremost man in all this city? Whose credit ishighest with his neighbours? Who shall be my _multum in parvo_?'Only one name could reasonably suggest itself--your own; which stands forthe perfection of every excellence, the glass of culture and the mould ofwit. To submit my works to you, to win _your_ approbation--if such athing might be!--were to reach the goal of my desire; for your suffragecarries the rest with it. Whom, indeed, could I substitute in your place, and hope to preserve a reputation for sanity? In a sense, no doubt, Ishall be hazarding all on one cast of the die: yet with more truth Imight be said to have summoned the whole population into one audience-chamber; for your single judgement must assuredly outweigh the rest, taken individually or collectively. The Spartan kings had two votes eachto the ordinary man's one: but you are a whole Privy Council and Senatein yourself. Your influence is unequalled in the Court of Literature, and, above all, yours is the casting-vote of acquittal; an encouragingthought for me, who might well be uneasy otherwise at the extent of myhardihood. Moreover, I am not wholly without a claim on your interest, asbelonging to that city which has so often enjoyed peculiar benefits atyour hand, in addition to those which it has shared with the nation atlarge; and this encourages me to hope that in the present instance, ifjudgement is going against me, and the votes of acquittal are in aminority, you will use your prerogative, and make all right with thatcasting-vote of yours. I may have had successes, I may have made a name, my lectures may have been well received:--all this amounts to nothing; itis visionary; it is a mere bubble. The truth must come to light now; I amput to a final test; there will be no room for doubt or hesitation afterthis. It rests with you, whether my literary rank shall be assured, or mypretensions--but no! with such a contest before me, I will abstain fromwords of evil omen. 

Ye Gods, give me approval _here_, and set the seal upon myreputation! I may then face the world with a light heart: he who hascarried the prize at Olympia need fear no other course. 

THE SCYTHIAN

Anacharsis was not the first Scythian who was induced by the love ofGreek culture to leave his native country and visit Athens: he had beenpreceded by Toxaris, a man of high ability and noble sentiments, and aneager student of manners and customs; but of low origin, not likeAnacharsis a member of the royal family or of the aristocracy of hiscountry, but what they call _'an eight-hoof man, '_ a term whichimplies the possession of a waggon and two oxen. Toxaris never returnedto Scythia, but died at Athens, where he presently came to be rankedamong the Heroes; and sacrifice is still paid to 'the Foreign Physician, 'as he was styled after his deification. Some account of the significanceof this name, the origin of his worship, and his connexion with the sonsof Asclepius, will not, I think, be out of place: for it will be seenfrom this that the Scythians, in conferring immortality on mortals, andsending them to keep company with Zamolxis, do not stand alone; since theAthenians permit themselves to make Gods of Scythians upon Greek soil. 

At the time of the great plague, the wife of Architeles the Areopagitehad a vision: the Scythian Toxaris stood over her and commanded her totell the Athenians that the plague would cease if they would sprinkletheir back-streets with wine. The Athenians attended to his instructions, and after several sprinklings had been performed, the plague troubledthem no more; whether it was that the perfume of the wine neutralizedcertain noxious vapours, or that the hero, being a medical hero, had someother motive for his advice. However that may be, he continues to thisday to draw a fee for his professional services, in the shape of a whitehorse, which is sacrificed on his tomb. This tomb was pointed out byDimaenete as the place from which he issued with his instructions aboutthe wine; and beneath it Toxaris was found buried, his identity beingestablished not merely by the inscription, of which only a part remainedlegible, but also by the figure engraved on the monument, which was thatof a Scythian, with a bow, ready strung, in his left hand, and in theright what appeared to be a book. You may still make out more than halfthe figure, with the bow and book complete: but the upper portion of thestone, including the face, has suffered from the ravages of time. It issituated not far from the Dipylus, on your left as you leave the Dipylusfor the Academy. The mound is of no great size, and the pillar liesprostrate: yet it never lacks a garland, and there are statements to theeffect that fever-patients have been known to be cured by the hero; whichindeed is not surprising, considering that he once healed an entire city. 

However, my reason for mentioning Toxaris was this. He was still alive, when Anacharsis landed at Piraeus and made his way up to Athens, in nosmall perturbation of spirit; a foreigner and a barbarian, everything wasstrange to him, and many things caused him uneasiness; he knew not whatto do with himself; he saw that every one was laughing at his attire; hecould find no one to speak his native tongue;--in short he was heartilysick of his travels, and made up his mind that he would just see Athens, and then retreat to his ship without loss of time, get on board, and soback to the Bosphorus; once there he had no great journey to performbefore he would be home again. In this frame of mind he had alreadyreached the Ceramicus, when his good genius appeared to him in the guiseof Toxaris. The attention of the latter was immediately arrested by thedress of his native country, nor was it likely that he would have anydifficulty in recognizing Anacharsis, who was of noble birth and of thehighest rank in Scythia. Anacharsis, on the other hand, could not beexpected to see a compatriot in Toxaris, who was dressed in the Greekfashion, without sword or belt, wore no beard, and from his fluent speechmight have been an Athenian born; so completely had time transformed him. 'You are surely Anacharsis, the son of Daucetas?' he said, addressing himin the Scythian language. Anacharsis wept tears of joy; he not only heardhis mother-tongue, but heard it from one who had known him in Scythia. 'How comes it, sir, that you know me?' he asked. 

'I too am of that country; my name is Toxaris; but it is probably notknown to you, for I am a man of no family. '

'Are you that Toxaris, ' exclaimed the other, 'of whom I heard that forlove of Greece he had left wife and children in Scythia, and gone toAthens, and was there dwelling in high honour?'

'What, is my name still remembered among you?--Yes, I am Toxaris. '

'Then, ' said Anacharsis, 'you see before you a disciple, who has caughtyour enthusiasm for Greece; it was with no other object than this that Iset out on my travels. The hardships I have endured in the countriesthrough which I passed on my way hither are infinite; and I had alreadydecided, when I met you, that before the sun set I would return to myship; so much was I disturbed at the strange and outlandish sights that Ihave seen. And now, Toxaris, I adjure you by Scimetar and Zamolxis, ourcountry's Gods, --take me by the hand, be my guide, and make me acquaintedwith all that is best in Athens and in the rest of Greece; their greatmen, their wise laws, their customs, their assemblies, theirconstitution, their everyday life. You and I have both travelled far tosee these things: you will not suffer me to depart without seeing them?'

'What! come to the very door, and then turn back? This is not thelanguage of enthusiasm. However, there is no fear of that--you will notgo back, Athens will not let you off so easily. She is not so much at aloss for charms wherewith to detain the stranger: she will take such ahold on you, that you will forget your own wife and children--if you haveany. Now I will put you into the readiest way of seeing Athens, ay, andGreece, and the glories of Greece. There is a certain philosopher livinghere; he is an Athenian, but has travelled a great deal in Asia andEgypt, and held intercourse with the most eminent men. For the rest, heis none of your moneyed men: indeed, he is quite poor; be prepared for anold man, dressed as plainly as could be. Yet his virtue and wisdom areheld in such esteem, that he was employed by them to draw up aconstitution, and his ordinances form their rule of life. Make this manyour friend, study him, and rest assured that in knowing him you knowGreece; for he is an epitome of all that is excellent in the Greekcharacter. I can do you no greater service than to introduce you to him. '

'Let us lose no time, then, Toxaris. Take me to him. But perhaps that isnot so easily done? He may slight your intercessions on my behalf?'

'You know not what you say. Nothing gives him greater pleasure than tohave an opportunity of showing his hospitality to strangers. Only followme, and you shall see how courteous and benevolent he is, and how devouta worshipper of the God of Hospitality. But stay: how fortunate! here hecomes towards us. See, he is wrapped in thought, and mutters to himself. --Solon!' he cried; 'I bring you the best of gifts--a stranger who cravesyour friendship. He is a Scythian of noble family; but has left all andcome here to enjoy the society of Greeks, and to view the wonders oftheir country. I have hit upon a simple expedient which will enable himto do both, to see all that is to be seen, and to form the most desirableacquaintances: in other words, I have brought him to Solon, who, if Iknow anything of his character, will not refuse to take him under hisprotection, and to make him a Greek among Greeks. --It is as I told you, Anacharsis: having seen Solon, you have seen all; behold Athens; beholdGreece. You are a stranger no longer: all men know you, all men are yourfriends; this it is to possess the friendship of the venerable Solon. Conversing with him, you will forget Scythia and all that is in it. Yourtoils are rewarded, your desire is fulfilled. In him you have themainspring of Greek civilization, in him the ideals of Athenianphilosophers are realized. Happy man--if you know your happiness--to bethe friend and intimate of Solon!'

It would take too long to describe the pleasure of Solon at Toxaris's'gift, ' his words on the occasion, and his subsequent intercourse withAnacharsis--how he gave him the most valuable instruction, procured himthe friendship of all Athens, showed him the sights of Greece, and tookevery trouble to make his stay in the country a pleasant one; and howAnacharsis for his part regarded the sage with such reverence, that hewas never willingly absent from his side. Suffice it to say, that thepromise of Toxaris was fulfilled: thanks to Solon's good offices, Anacharsis speedily became familiar with Greece and with Greek society, in which he was treated with the consideration due to one who came thusstrongly recommended; for here too Solon was a lawgiver: those whom heesteemed were loved and admired by all. Finally, if we may believe thestatement of Theoxenus, Anacharsis was presented with the freedom of thecity, and initiated into the mysteries; nor does it seem likely that hewould ever have returned to Scythia, had not Solon died. 

And now perhaps I had better put the moral to my tale, if it is not towander about in a headless condition. What are Anacharsis and Toxarisdoing here to-day in Macedonia, bringing Solon with them too, poor oldgentleman, all the way from Athens? It is time for me to explain. Thefact is, my situation is pretty much that of Anacharsis. I crave yourindulgence, in venturing to compare myself with royalty. Anacharsis, after all, was a barbarian; and I should hope that we Syrians are as goodas Scythians. And I am not comparing myself with Anacharsis the king, butAnacharsis the barbarian. When first I set foot in your city, I wasfilled with amazement at its size, its beauty, its population, itsresources and splendour generally. For a time I was dumb with admiration;the sight was too much for me. I felt like the island lad Telemachus, inthe palace of Menelaus; and well I might, as I viewed this city in allher pride;

 A garden she, whose flowers are ev'ry blessing. 

Thus affected, I had to bethink me what course I should adopt. For as tolecturing here, my mind had long been made up about _that_; whatother audience could I have in view, that I should pass by this greatcity in silence? To make a clean breast of it, then, I set aboutinquiring who were your great men; for it was my design to approach them, and secure their patronage and support in facing the public. UnlikeAnacharsis, who had but one informant, and a barbarian at that, I hadmany; and all told me the same tale, in almost the same words. 'Sir, 'they said, 'we have many excellent and able men in this city--nowherewill you find more: but two there are who stand pre-eminent; who in birthand in prestige are without a rival, and in learning and eloquence mightbe matched with the Ten Orators of Athens. They are regarded by thepublic with feelings of absolute devotion: their will is law; for theywill nothing but the highest interests of the city. Their courtesy, theirhospitality towards strangers, their unassuming benevolence, theirmodesty in the midst of greatness, their gentleness, their affability, --all these you will presently experience, and will have something to sayon the subject yourself. But--wonder of wonders!--these two are of onehouse, father and son. For the father, conceive to yourself a Solon, aPericles, an Aristides: as to the son, his manly comeliness and noblestature will attract you at the first glance; and if he do but say twowords, your ears will be taken captive by the charm that sits upon histongue. When he speaks in public, the city listens like one man, open-mouthed; 'tis Athens listening to Alcibiades; yet the Athenians presentlyrepented of their infatuation for the son of Clinias, but here love growsto reverence; the welfare of this city, the happiness of her citizens, are all bound up in one man. Once let the father and son admit you totheir friendship, and the city is yours; they have but to raise a finger, to put your success beyond a doubt. '--Such, by Heaven (if Heaven must beinvoked for the purpose), such was the unvarying report I heard; and Inow know from experience that it fell far short of the truth. 

 Then up, nor waste thy days In indolent delays, as the Cean poet cries; I must strain every nerve, work body and soul, togain these friends. That once achieved, fair weather and calm seas arebefore me, and my haven is near at hand. 

THE WAY TO WRITE HISTORY

MY DEAR PHILO, There is a story of a curious epidemic at Abdera, just after theaccession of King Lysimachus. It began with the whole population'sexhibiting feverish symptoms, strongly marked and unintermittent from thevery first attack. About the seventh day, the fever was relieved, in somecases by a violent flow of blood from the nose, in others by perspirationnot less violent. The mental effects, however, were most ridiculous; theywere all stage-struck, mouthing blank verse and ranting at the top oftheir voices. Their favourite recitation was the _Andromeda_ ofEuripides; one after another would go through the great speech ofPerseus; the whole place was full of pale ghosts, who were our seventh-day tragedians vociferating, O Love, who lord'st it over Gods and men, and the rest of it. This continued for some time, till the coming ofwinter put an end to their madness with a sharp frost. I find theexplanation of the form it took in this fact: Archelaus was then thegreat tragic actor, and in the middle of the summer, during some very hotweather, he had played the _Andromeda_ there; most of them took thefever in the theatre, and convalescence was followed by a relapse--intotragedy, the _Andromeda_ haunting their memories, and Perseushovering, Gorgon's head in hand, before the mind's eye. 

Well, to compare like with like, the majority of our educated class isnow suffering from an Abderite epidemic. They are not stage-struck, indeed; that would have been a minor infatuation--to be possessed withother people's verses, not bad ones either; no; but from the beginning ofthe present excitements--the barbarian war, the Armenian disaster, thesuccession of victories--you cannot find a man but is writing history;nay, every one you meet is a Thucydides, a Herodotus, a Xenophon. The oldsaying must be true, and war be the father of all things [Footnote: Seenote on _Icaromenippus_, 8. ], seeing what a litter of historians ithas now teemed forth at a birth. 

Such sights and sounds, my Philo, brought into my head that old anecdoteabout the Sinopean. A report that Philip was marching on the town hadthrown all Corinth into a bustle; one was furbishing his arms, anotherwheeling stones, a third patching the wall, a fourth strengthening abattlement, every one making himself useful somehow or other. Diogeneshaving nothing to do--of course no one thought of giving _him_ ajob--was moved by the sight to gird up his philosopher's cloak and beginrolling his tub-dwelling energetically up and down the Craneum; anacquaintance asked, and got, the explanation: 'I do not want to bethought the only idler in such a busy multitude; I am rolling my tub tobe like the rest. '

I too am reluctant to be the only dumb man at so vociferous a season; Ido not like walking across the stage, like a 'super', in gaping silence;so I decided to roll _my_ cask as best I could. I do not intend towrite a history, or attempt actual narrative; I am not courageous enoughfor that; have no apprehensions on my account; I realize the danger ofrolling the thing over the rocks, especially if it is only a poor littlejar of brittle earthenware like mine; I should very soon knock againstsome pebble and find myself picking up the pieces. Come, I will tell youmy idea for campaigning in safety, and keeping well out of range. 

 Give a wide berth to all that foam and spray, and to the anxieties whichvex the historian--that I shall be wise enough to do; but I propose togive a little advice, and lay down a few principles for the benefit ofthose who do venture. I shall have a share in their building, if not inthe dedicatory inscription; my finger-tips will at least have touchedtheir wet mortar. 

However, most of them see no need for advice here: _there might as wellbe an art of talking, seeing, or eating; history-writing is perfectlyeasy, comes natural, is a universal gift; all that is necessary is thefaculty of translating your thoughts into words_. But the truth is--youknow it without my telling, old friend--, it is _not_ a task to be lightlyundertaken, or carried through without effort; no, it needs as much careas any sort of composition whatever, if one means to create 'a possessionfor ever, ' as Thucydides calls it. Well, I know I shall not get a hearingfrom many of them, and some will be seriously offended--especially any whohave finished and produced their work; in cases where its first receptionwas favourable, it would be folly to expect the authors to recast orcorrect; has it not the stamp of finality? is it not almost a Statedocument? Yet even they may profit by my words; _we_ are not likely to beattacked again; we have disposed of all our enemies; but there might be aCelto-Gothic or an Indo-Bactrian war; then our friends' composition mightbe improved by the application of my measuring-rod--always supposing thatthey recognize its correctness; failing that, let them do their ownmensuration with the old foot-rule; the doctor will not particularly mind, though all Abdera insists on spouting the _Andromeda_. 

Advice has two provinces--one of choice, the other of avoidance; let usfirst decide what the historian is to avoid--of what faults he must purgehimself--, and then proceed to the measures he must take for puttinghimself on the straight high road. This will include the manner of hisbeginning, the order in which he should marshal his facts, the questionsof proportion, of discreet silence, of full or cursory narration, ofcomment and connexion. Of all that, however, later on; for the present wedeal with the vices to which bad writers are liable. As to those faultsof diction, construction, meaning, and general amateurishness, which arecommon to every kind of composition, to discuss them is neithercompatible with my space nor relevant to my purpose. 

But there are mistakes peculiar to history; your own observation willshow you just those which a constant attendance at authors'readings [Footnote: These were very common in Roman Imperial times, forpurposes of advertisement, of eliciting criticism, &c. 'The audience atrecitations may be compared with the modern literary reviews, dischargingthe functions of a preventive and emendatory, not merely of acorrectional tribunal. Before publication a work might thus be known tomore hearers than it would now find readers' Mayor, _Juvenal_, iii. 9. ] has impressed on me; you have only to keep your ears open at everyopportunity. It will be convenient, however, to refer by the way to a fewillustrations in recent histories. Here is a serious fault to begin with. It is the fashion to neglect the examination of facts, and give the spacegained to eulogies of generals and commanders; those of their own sidethey exalt to the skies, the other side they disparage intemperately. They forget that between history and panegyric there is a great gulffixed, barring communication; in musical phrase, the two things are acouple of octaves apart. The panegyrist has only one concern--to commendand gratify his living theme some way or other; if misrepresentation willserve his purpose, he has no objection to that. History, on the otherhand, abhors the intrusion of any least scruple of falsehood; it is likethe windpipe, which the doctors tell us will not tolerate a morsel ofstray food. 

Another thing these gentlemen seem not to know is that poetry and historyoffer different wares, and have their separate rules. Poetry enjoysunrestricted freedom; it has but one law--the poet's fancy. He isinspired and possessed by the Muses; if he chooses to horse his car withwinged steeds, or set others a-galloping over the sea, or standing corn, none challenges his right; his Zeus, with a single cord, may haul upearth and sea, and hold them dangling together--there is no fear the cordmay break, the load come tumbling down and be smashed to atoms. In acomplimentary picture of Agamemnon, there is nothing against his havingZeus's head and eyes, his brother Posidon's chest, Ares's belt--in fact, the son of Atreus and Aerope will naturally be an epitome of allDivinity; Zeus or Posidon or Ares could not singly or severally providethe requisite perfections. But, if history adopts such servile arts, itis nothing but poetry without the wings; the exalted tones are missing;and imposition of other kinds without the assistance of metre is only themore easily detected. It is surely a great, a superlative weakness, thisinability to distinguish history from poetry; what, bedizen history, likeher sister, with tale and eulogy and their attendant exaggerations? aswell take some mighty athlete with muscles of steel, rig him up withpurple drapery and meretricious ornament, rouge and powder his cheeks;faugh, what an object would one make of him with such defilements!

I would not be understood to exclude eulogy from history altogether; itis to be kept to its place and used with moderation, is not to tax thereader's patience; I shall presently show, indeed, that in all suchmatters an eye is to be had to posterity. It is true, there is a schoolwhich makes a pretty division of history into the agreeable and theuseful, and defends the introduction of panegyric on the ground that itis agreeable, and pleases the general reader. But nothing could befurther from the truth. In the first place the division is quite a falseone; history has only one concern and aim, and that is the useful; whichagain has one single source, and that is truth. The agreeable is no doubtan addition, if it is present; so is beauty to an athlete; but aNicostratus, who is a fine fellow and proves himself a better man thaneither of his opponents, gets his recognition as a Heracles, however uglyhis face may be; and if one opponent is the handsome Alcaeus himself--handsome enough to make Nicostratus in love with him, says the story--, that does not affect the issue. History too, if it can deal incidentallyin the agreeable, will attract a multitude of lovers; but so long as itdoes its proper business efficiently--and that is the establishment oftruth--, it may be indifferent to beauty. 

It is further to be remarked, that in history sheer extravagance has noteven the merit of being agreeable; and the extravagance of eulogy isdoubly repulsive, as extravagance, and as eulogy; at least it is onlywelcome to the vulgar majority, not to that critical, that perhapshypercritical audience, whom no slip can escape, who are all eyes likeArgus, but keener than he, who test every word as a moneychanger mighthis coins, rejecting the false on the spot, but accepting the good andheavy and true; it is they that we should have in mind as we writehistory, and never heed the others, though they applaud till they cracktheir voices. If you neglect the critics, and indulge in the cloyingsweetness of tales and eulogies and such baits, you will soon find yourhistory a 'Heracles in Lydia. ' No doubt you have seen some picture ofhim: he is Omphale's slave, dressed up in an absurd costume, his lion-skin and club transferred to her, as though she were the true Heracles, while he, in saffron robe and purple jacket, is combing wool and wincingunder Omphale's slipper. A degrading spectacle it is--the dress loose andflapping open, and all that was man in him turned to woman. 

The vulgar may very likely extend their favour to this; but the select(whose judgement you disregard) will get a good deal of entertainment outof your heterogeneous, disjointed, fragmentary stuff. There is nothingwhich has not a beauty of its own; but take it out of its proper sphere, and the misuse turns its beauty to ugliness. Eulogy, I need hardly say, may possibly please one person, the eulogized, but will disgust every oneelse; this is particularly so with the monstrous exaggerations which arein fashion; the authors are so intent on the patron-hunt that they cannotrelinquish it without a full exhibition of servility; they have no ideaof finesse, never mask their flattery, but blurt out their unconvincingbald tale anyhow. 

The consequence is, they miss even their immediate end; the objects oftheir praise are more inclined (and quite right too) to dislike anddiscard them for toadies--if they are men of spirit, at any rate. Aristobulus inserted in his history an account of a single combat betweenAlexander and Porus, and selected this passage to read aloud to theformer; he reckoned that his best chance of pleasing was to invent heroicdeeds for the king, and heighten his achievements. Well, they were onboard ship in the Hydaspes; Alexander took hold of the book, and tossedit overboard; 'the author should have been treated the same way, byrights, ' he added, 'for presuming to fight duels for me like that, andshoot down elephants single-handed. ' A very natural indignation inAlexander, of a piece with his treatment of the intrusive architect; thisperson offered to convert the whole of Mount Athos into a colossal statueof the king--who however decided that he was a toady, and actually gavehim less employment in ordinary than before. 

The fact is, there is nothing agreeable in these things, except to anyone who is fool enough to enjoy commendations which the slightest inquirywill prove to be unfounded; of course there _are_ ugly persons--women moreespecially--who ask artists to paint them as beautiful as they can; theythink they will be really better-looking if the painter heightens the rosea little and distributes a good deal of the lily. There you have theorigin of the present crowd of historians, intent only upon the passingday, the selfish interest, the profit which they reckon to make out oftheir work; execration is their desert--in the present for theirundisguised clumsy flattery, in the future for the stigma which theirexaggerations bring upon history in general. If any one takes someadmixture of the agreeable to be an absolute necessity, let him becontent with the independent beauties of style; these are agreeablewithout being false; but they are usually neglected now, for the betterfoisting upon us of irrelevant substitutes. 

Passing from that point, I wish to put on record some fresh recollectionsof Ionian histories--supported, now I think of it, by Greek analogiesalso of recent date--both concerned with the war already alluded to. Youmay trust my report, the Graces be my witness; I would take oath to itstruth, if it were polite to swear on paper. One writer started withinvoking the Muses to lend a hand. What a tasteful exordium! How suitedto the historic spirit! How appropriate to the style! When he had got alittle way on, he compared our ruler to Achilles, and the Parthian kingto Thersites; he forgot that Achilles would have done better if he hadhad Hector instead of Thersites to beat, if there had been a man of mightfleeing in front, But at his heels a mightier far than he. 

He next proceeded to say something handsome about himself, as a fitchronicler of such brilliant deeds. As he got near his point ofdeparture, he threw in a word for his native town of Miletus, adding thathe was thus improving on Homer, who never so much as mentioned hisbirthplace. And he concluded his preface with a plain express promise toadvance our cause and personally wage war against the barbarians, to thebest of his ability. The actual history, and recital of the causes ofhostilities, began with these words:--'The detestable Vologesus (whomHeaven confound!) commenced war on the following pretext. '

Enough of him. Another is a keen emulator of Thucydides, and by way ofclose approximation to his model starts with his own name--most gracefulof beginnings, redolent of Attic thyme! Look at it: 'CrepereiusCalpurnianus of Pompeiopolis wrote the history of the war between Parthiaand Rome, how they warred one upon the other, beginning with thecommencement of the war. ' After that exordium, what need to describe therest--what harangues he delivers in Armenia, resuscitating our old friendthe Corcyrean envoy--what a plague he inflicts on Nisibis (which wouldnot espouse the Roman cause), lifting the whole thing bodily fromThucydides--except the Pelasgicum and the Long Walls, where the victimsof the earlier plague found shelter; there the difference ends; like theother, 'it began in Ethiopia, whence it descended to Egypt, ' and to mostof the Parthian empire, where it very discreetly remained. I left himengaged in burying the poor Athenians in Nisibis, and knew quite well howhe would continue after my exit. Indeed it is a pretty common belief atpresent that you are writing like Thucydides, if you just use his actualwords, _mutatis mutandis_. [Footnote: Omitting, with Dindorf, the wordswhich appear in the Teubner text, after emendation, as: mikra rakia, oposkai autos au phaiaes, on di autaen. ] Ah, and I almost forgot to mentionone thing: this same writer gives many names of weapons and militaryengines in Latin--_phossa_ for trench, _pons_ for bridge, and so forth. Just think of the dignity of history, and the Thucydidean style--the Atticembroidered with these Latin words, like a toga relieved and picked outwith the purple stripe--so harmonious!

Another puts down a bald list of events, as prosy and commonplace as aprivate's or a carpenter's or a sutler's diary. However, there is moresense in this poor man's performance; he flies his true colours from thefirst; he has cleared the ground for some educated person who knows howto deal with history. The only fault I have to find with him is that heinscribes his volumes with a solemnity rather disproportioned to the rankof their contents--'Parthian History, by Callimorphus, Surgeon of the 6thPikemen, volume so-and-so. ' Ah, yes, and there is a lamentable preface, which closes with the remark that, since Asclepius is the son of Apollo, and Apollo director of the Muses and patron of all culture, it is veryproper for a doctor to write history. Also, he starts in Ionic, but verysoon, for no apparent reason, abandons it for every-day Greek, stillkeeping the Ionic _es_ and _ks_ and _ous_, but otherwise writing likeordinary people--rather too ordinary, indeed. 

Perhaps I should balance him with a philosophic historian; thisgentleman's name I will conceal, and merely indicate his attitude, asrevealed in a recent publication at Corinth. Much had been expected ofhim, but not enough; starting straight off with the first sentence of thepreface, he subjects his readers to a dialectic catechism, his thesisbeing the highly philosophic one, that no one but a philosopher shouldwrite history. Very shortly there follows a second logical process, itself followed by a third; in fact the whole preface is one mass ofdialectic figures. There is flattery, indeed, _ad nauseam_, eulogyvulgar to the point of farce; but never without the logical trimmings;always that dialectical catechism. I confess it strikes me as a vulgarityalso, hardly worthy of a philosopher with so long and white a beard, whenhe gives it in his preface as our ruler's special good fortune thatphilosophers should consent to record his actions; he had better haveleft us to reach that conclusion for ourselves--if at all. 

Again, it would be a sinful neglect to omit the man who begins likethis:--'I devise to tell of Romans and Persians'; then a little later, 'For 'twas Heaven's decree that the Persians should suffer evils'; andagain, 'One Osroes there was, whom Hellenes name Oxyroes'--and much morein that style. He corresponds, you see, to one of my previous examples;only he is a second Herodotus, and the other a second Thucydides. 

There is another distinguished artist in words--again rather moreThucydidean than Thucydides--, who gives, according to his own idea, theclearest, most convincing descriptions of every town, mountain, plain, orriver. I wish my bitterest foe no worse fate than the reading of them. Frigid? Caspian snows, Celtic ice, are warm in comparison. A whole bookhardly suffices him for the Emperor's shield--the Gorgon on its boss, with eyes of blue and white and black, rainbow girdle, and snakes twinedand knotted. Why, Vologesus's breeches or his bridle, God bless me, theytake up several thousand lines apiece; the same for the look of Osroes'shair as he swims the Tigris--or what the cave was like that shelteredhim, ivy and myrtle and bay clustered all together to shut out every rayof light. You observe how indispensable it all is to the history; withoutthe scene, how could we have comprehended the action?

It is helplessness about the real essentials, or ignorance of what shouldbe given, that makes them take refuge in word-painting--landscapes, caves, and the like; and when they do come upon a series of importantmatters, they are just like a slave whose master has left him his moneyand made him a rich man; he does not know how to put on his clothes ortake his food properly; partridges or sweetbreads or hare are served; buthe rushes in, and fills himself up with pea soup or salt fish, till he isfit to burst. Well, the man I spoke of gives the most unconvincing woundsand singular deaths: some one has his big toe injured, and dies on thespot; the general Priscus calls out, and seven-and-twenty of the enemyfall dead at the sound. As to the numbers killed, he actually falsifiesdispatches; at Europus he slaughters 70, 236 of the enemy, while theRomans lose two, and have seven wounded! How any man of sense can toleratesuch stuff, I do not know. 

Here is another point quite worth mention. This writer has such a passionfor unadulterated Attic, and for refining speech to the last degree ofpurity, that he metamorphoses the Latin names and translates them intoGreek; Saturninus figures as Cronius, Fronto must be Phrontis, TitianusTitanius, with queerer transmogrifications yet. Further, on the subjectof Severian's death, he accuses all other writers of a blunder in puttinghim to the sword; he is really to have starved himself to death, as themost painless method; the fact, however, is that it was all over in threedays, whereas seven days is the regular time for starvation; are weperhaps to conceive an Osroes waiting about for Severian to complete theprocess, and putting off his assault till after the seventh day?

Then, Philo, how shall we class the historians who indulge in poeticalphraseology? 'The catapult rocked responsive, ' they say; 'Loud thunderedthe breach'; or, somewhere else in this delectable history, 'Thus Edessawas girdled with clash of arms, and all was din and turmoil, ' or, 'Thegeneral pondered in his heart how to attack the wall. ' Only he fills upthe interstices with such wretched common lower-class phrases as 'Themilitary prefect wrote His Majesty, ' 'The troops were procuring theneedful, ' 'They got a wash [Footnote: It was suggested in the Introductionthat Lucian's criticism is for practical purposes out of date; butPrescott writes: 'He was surrounded by a party of friends, who had_dropped in_, it seems, after mass, to inquire after the state of hishealth, some of whom had remained to partake of his repast. '] and put inan appearance, ' and so on. It is like an actor with one foot raised on ahigh buskin, and the other in a slipper. 

You will find others writing brilliant high-sounding prefaces ofoutrageous length, raising great expectations of the wonders to follow--and then comes a poor little appendix of a--history; it is like nothingin the world but a child--say the Eros you must have seen in a pictureplaying in an enormous mask of Heracles or a Titan; _parturiunt montes_, cries the audience, very naturally. That is not the way to do things; thewhole should be homogeneous and uniform, and the body in proportion to thehead--not a helmet of gold, a ridiculous breastplate patched up out ofrags or rotten leather, shield of wicker, and pig-skin greaves. You willfind plenty of historians prepared to set the Rhodian Colossus's head onthe body of a dwarf; others on the contrary show us headless bodies, andplunge into the facts without exordium. These plead the example ofXenophon, who starts with 'Darius and Parysatis had two children'; if theyonly knew it, there is such a thing as a _virtual_ exordium, not realizedas such by everybody; but of that hereafter. 

However, any mistake in mere expression or arrangement is excusable; butwhen you come to fancy geography, differing from the other not by milesor leagues, but by whole days' journeys, where is the classical model forthat? One writer has taken so little trouble with his facts--never met aSyrian, I suppose, nor listened to the stray information you may pick upat the barber's--, that he thus locates Europus:--'Europus lies inMesopotamia, two days' journey from the Euphrates, and is a colony fromEdessa. ' Not content with that, this enterprising person has in the samebook taken up my native Samosata and shifted it, citadel, walls, and all, into Mesopotamia, giving it the two rivers for boundaries, and makingthem shave past it, all but touching the walls on either side. I suspectyou would laugh at me, Philo, if I were to set about convincing you thatI am neither Parthian nor Mesopotamian, as this whimsical colony-plantermakes me. 

By the way, he has also a very attractive tale of Severian, learnt, heassures us on oath, from one of the actual fugitives. According to this, he would not die by the sword, the rope, or poison, but contrived a deathwhich should be tragic and impressive. He was the owner of some largegoblets of the most precious glass; having made up his mind to die, hebroke the largest of these, and used a splinter of it for the purpose, cutting his throat with the glass. A dagger or a lancet, good enoughinstruments for a manly and heroic death, he could not come at, forsooth!

Then, as Thucydides composed a funeral oration over the first victims ofthat old war, our author feels it incumbent on him to do the same forSeverian; they all challenge Thucydides, you see, little as he can beheld responsible for the Armenian troubles. So he buries Severian, andthen solemnly ushers up to the grave, as Pericles's rival, one AfraniusSilo, a centurion; the flood of rhetoric which follows is so copious andremarkable that it drew tears from me--ye Graces!--tears of laughter;most of all where the eloquent Afranius, drawing to a close, makesmention, with weeping and distressful moans, of all those costly dinnersand toasts. But he is a very Ajax in his conclusion. He draws his sword, gallantly as an Afranius should, and in sight of all cuts his throat overthe grave--and God knows it was high time for an execution, if oratorycan be felony. The historian states that all the spectators admired andlauded Afranius; as for me, I was inclined to condemn him on generalgrounds--he had all but given a catalogue of sauces and dishes, and shedtears over the memory of departed cakes--, but his capital offence wasthat he had not cut the historian-tragedian's throat before he left thislife himself. 

I assure you, my friend, I could largely increase my list of suchoffenders; but one or two more will suffice, before proceeding to thesecond part of my undertaking, the suggestions for improvement. There aresome, then, who leave alone, or deal very cursorily with, all that isgreat and memorable; amateurs and not artists, they have no selectivefaculty, and loiter over copious laboured descriptions of the veriesttrifles; it is as if a visitor to Olympia, instead of examining, commending or describing to his stay-at-home friends the generalgreatness and beauty of the Zeus, were to be struck with the exactsymmetry and polish of its footstool, or the proportions of its shoe, andgive all his attention to these minor points. 

For instance, I have known a man get through the battle of Europus inless than seven whole lines, and then spend twenty mortal hours on a dulland perfectly irrelevant tale about a Moorish trooper. The trooper's namewas Mausacas; he wandered up the hills in search of water, and came uponsome Syrian yokels getting their lunch; at first they were afraid of him, but when they found he was on the right side, they invited him to sharethe meal; for one of them had travelled in the Moorish country, having abrother serving in the army. Then come long stories and descriptions ofhow he hunted there, and saw a great herd of elephants at pasture, andwas nearly eaten up by a lion, and what huge fish he had bought atCaesarea. So this quaint historian leaves the terrible carnage to go onat Europus, and lets the pursuit, the forced armistice, the settling ofoutposts, shift for themselves, while he lingers far into the eveningwatching Malchion the Syrian cheapen big mackarel at Caesarea; if nighthad not come all too soon, I dare say he would have dined with him whenthe fish was cooked. If all this had not been accurately set down in thehistory, what sad ignorance we should have been left in! The loss to theRomans would have been irreparable, if Mausacas the Moor had got nothingto quench his thirst, and come back fasting to camp. Yet I am wilfullyomitting innumerable details of yet greater importance--the arrival of aflute-girl from the next village, the exchange of gifts (Mausacas's was aspear, Malchion's a brooch), and other incidents most essential to thebattle of Europus. It is no exaggeration to say that such writers nevergive the rose a glance, but devote all their curiosity to the thorns onits stem. 

Another entertaining person, who has never set foot outside Corinth, nortravelled as far as its harbour--not to mention seeing Syria or Armenia--, starts with words which impressed themselves on my memory:--'Seeingis believing: I therefore write what I have seen, not what I have beentold. ' His personal observation has been so close that he describes theParthian 'Dragons' (they use this ensign as a numerical formula--athousand men to the Dragon, I believe): they are huge live dragons, hesays, breeding in Persian territory beyond Iberia; these are firstfastened to great poles and hoisted up aloft, striking terror at adistance while the advance is going on; then, when the battle begins, they are released and set on the enemy; numbers of our men, it seems, were actually swallowed by them, and others strangled or crushed in theircoils; of all this he was an eye-witness, taking his observations, however, from a safe perch up a tree. Thank goodness he did not come toclose quarters with the brutes! we should have lost a very remarkablehistorian, and one who did doughty deeds in this war with his own righthand; for he had many adventures, and was wounded at Sura (in the courseof a stroll from the Craneum to Lerna, apparently). All this he used toread to a Corinthian audience, which was perfectly aware that he hadnever so much as seen a battle-picture. Why, he did not know one weaponor engine from another; the names of manoeuvres and formations had nomeaning for him; flank or front, line or column, it was all one. 

Then there is a splendid fellow, who has boiled down into the compass offive hundred lines (or less, to be accurate) the whole business frombeginning to end--campaigns in Armenia, in Syria, in Mesopotamia, on theTigris, and in Media; and having done it, he calls it a history. Histitle very narrowly misses being longer than his book: 'An account of thelate campaigns of the Romans in Armenia, Mesopotamia, and Media, byAntiochianus, victor at the festival of Apollo'; he had probably won somejunior flat race. 

I have known one writer compile a history of the future, including thecapture of Vologesus, the execution of Osroes (he is to be thrown to thelions), and, crowning all, our long-deferred triumph. In this propheticvein, he sweeps hastily on to the end of his work; yet he finds time forthe foundation in Mesopotamia of a city, greatest of the great, andfairest of the fair; he is still debating, however, whether the mostappropriate name will be Victoria, Concord, or Peacetown; that is yetunsettled; we must leave the fair city unnamed for the present; but it isalready thickly populated--with empty dreams and literary drivellings. Hehas also pledged himself to an account of coming events in India, and acircumnavigation of the Atlantic; nay, the pledge is half redeemed; thepreface to the _India_ is complete; the third legion, the Celticcontingent, and a small Moorish division, have crossed the Indus in fullforce under Cassius; our most original historian will soon be posting usup in their doings--their method of 'receiving elephants, ' for instance--in letters dated Muziris or Oxydracae. 

These people's uneducated antics are infinite; they have no eyes for thenoteworthy, nor, if they had eyes, any adequate faculty of expression;invention and fiction provide their matter, and belief in the first wordthat comes their style; they pride themselves on the number of books theyrun to, and yet more on their titles; for these again are quite absurd:_--So-and-so's so many books of Parthian victories; The Parthis_, book I;_The Parthis_, book II--quite a rival to the _Atthis_, eh? Another does it(I have read the book) still more neatly--'_The Parthonicy of Demetrius ofSagalassus_. ' I do not wish to ridicule or make a jest of these prettyhistories; I write for a practical purpose: any one who avoids these andsimilar errors is already well on the road to historical success; nay, heis almost there, if the logical axiom is correct, that, withincompatibles, denial of the one amounts to affirmation of the other. 

_Well_, I may be told, _you have now a clear field; the thorns andbrambles have all been extirpated, the debris of others' buildings hasbeen carted of, the rough places have been made smooth; come, do a littleconstruction yourself, and show that you are not only good at destroying, but capable of yourself planning a model, in which criticism itself shallfind nothing to criticize. _

Well then, my perfect historian must start with two indispensablequalifications; the one is political insight, the other the faculty ofexpression; the first is a gift of nature, which can never be learnt; thesecond should have been acquired by long practice, unremitting toil, andloving study of the classics. There is nothing technical here, and noroom for any advice of mine; this essay does not profess to bestowinsight and acumen on those who are not endowed with them by nature;valuable, or invaluable rather, would it have been, if it could recastand modify like that, transmute lead into gold, tin into silver, magnifya Conon or Leotrophides into Titormus or Milo. 

But what is the function of professional advice? not the creation ofqualities which should be already there, but the indication of theirproper use. No trainer, of course, --let him be Iccus, Herodicus, Theon, or who he may--will suggest that he can take a Perdiccas [Footnote:Omitting, with Dindorf, a note on Perdiccas which runs thus: 'ifPerdiccas it was, and not rather Seleucus's son Antiochus, who was wastedto a shadow by his passion for his step-mother. '] and make an Olympicvictor of him, fit to face Theagenes of Thasos or Polydamas of Scotussa;what he _will_ tell you is that, given a constitution that willstand training, his system will considerably improve it. So with us--weare not to have every failure cast in our teeth, if we claim to haveinvented a system for so great and difficult a subject. We do not offerto take the first comer and make a historian of him--only to point out toany one who has natural insight and acquired literary skill certainstraight roads (they may or may not be so in reality) which will bringhim with less waste of time and effort to his goal. 

I do not suppose you will object that the man with insight has no need ofsystem and instruction upon the things he is ignorant of; in that case hemight have played the harp or flute untaught, and in fact have beenomniscient. But, as things are at present, he cannot perform in theseways untaught, though with some assistance he will learn very easily, andsoon be able to get along by himself. 

You now know what sort of a pupil I (like the trainer) insist upon. Hemust not be weak either at understanding or at making himself understood, but a man of penetration, a capable administrator--potentially, that is, --with a soldierly spirit (which does not however exclude the civilspirit), and some military experience; at the least he must have been incamp, seen troops drilled or manoeuvred, know a little about weapons andmilitary engines, the differences between line and column, cavalry andinfantry tactics (with the reasons for them), frontal and flank attacks;in a word, none of your armchair strategists relying wholly on hearsay. 

But first and foremost, let him be a man of independent spirit, withnothing to fear or hope from anybody; else he will be a corrupt judgeopen to undue influences. If Philip's eye is knocked out at Olynthus byAster the Amphipolite archer, it is not his business to exclaim, but justto show him as he is; he is not to think whether Alexander will beannoyed by a circumstantial account of the cruel murder of Clitus attable. If a Cleon has the ear of the assembly, and a monopoly of thetribune, he will not shrink on that account from describing him as apestilent madman; all Athens will not stop him from dwelling on theSicilian disaster, the capture of Demosthenes, the death of Nicias, thethirst, the foul water, and the shooting down of the drinkers. He willconsider very rightly that no man of sense will blame him for recountingthe effects of misfortune or folly in their entirety; he is not theauthor, but only the reporter of them. If a fleet is destroyed, it is nothe who sinks it; if there is a rout, he is not in pursuit--unless perhapshe ought to have prayed for better things, and omitted to do so. Ofcourse, if silence or contradiction would have put matters right, Thucydides might with a stroke of the pen have knocked down thecounterwall on Epipolae, sent Hermocrates's trireme to the bottom, letdaylight through the accursed Gylippus before he had done blocking theroads with wall and trench, and, finally, have cast the Syracusans intotheir own quarries and sent the Athenians cruising round Sicily and Italywith Alcibiades's first high hopes still on board. Alas, not Fate itselfmay undo the work of Fate. 

The historian's one task is to tell the thing as it happened. This hecannot do, if he is Artaxerxes's physician [Footnote: See Ctesias inNotes] trembling before him, or hoping to get a purple cloak, a goldenchain, a horse of the Nisaean breed, in payment for his laudations. Afair historian, a Xenophon, a Thucydides, will not accept that position. He may nurse some private dislikes, but he will attach far moreimportance to the public good, and set the truth high above his hate; hemay have his favourites, but he will not spare their errors. For history, I say again, has this and this only for its own; if a man will start uponit, he must sacrifice to no God but Truth; he must neglect all else; hissole rule and unerring guide is this--to think not of those who arelistening to him now, but of the yet unborn who shall seek his converse. 

Any one who is intent only upon the immediate effect may reasonably beclassed among the flatterers; and History has long ago realized thatflattery is as little congenial to her as the arts of personal adornmentto an athlete's training. An anecdote of Alexander is to the point. 'Ah, Onesicritus, ' said he, 'how I should like to come to life again for alittle while, and see how your stuff strikes people by that time; atpresent they have good enough reason to praise and welcome it; that istheir way of angling for a share of my favour. ' On the same principlesome people actually accept Homer's history of Achilles, full ofexaggerations as it is; the one great guarantee which they recognize ofhis truth is the fact that his subject was not living; that leaves him nomotive for lying. 

There stands my model, then: fearless, incorruptible, independent, abeliever in frankness and veracity; one that will call a spade a spade, make no concession to likes and dislikes, nor spare any man for pity orrespect or propriety; an impartial judge, kind to all, but too kind tonone; a literary cosmopolite with neither suzerain nor king, neverheeding what this or that man may think, but setting down the thing thatbefell. 

Thucydides is our noble legislator; he marked the admiration that metHerodotus and gave the Muses' names to his nine books; and thereupon hedrew the line which parts a good historian from a bad: our work is to bea possession for ever, not a bid for present reputation; we are not toseize upon the sensational, but bequeath the truth to them that comeafter; he applies the test of use, and defines the end which a wisehistorian will set before himself: it is that, should history ever repeatitself, the records of the past may give present guidance. 

Such are to be my historian's principles. As for diction and style, he isnot to set about his work armed to the teeth from the rhetorician'sarsenal of impetuosity and incisiveness, rolling periods, close-packedarguments, and the rest; for him a serener mood. His matter should behomogeneous and compact, his vocabulary fit to be understanded of thepeople, for the clearest possible setting forth of his subject. 

For to those marks which we set up for the historic spirit--frankness andtruth--corresponds one at which the historic style should first of allaim, namely, a lucidity which leaves nothing obscure, impartiallyavoiding abstruse out-of-the-way expressions, and the illiberal jargon ofthe market; we wish the vulgar to comprehend, the cultivated to commendus. Ornament should be unobtrusive, and never smack of elaboration, if itis not to remind us of over-seasoned dishes. 

The historian's spirit should not be without a touch of the poetical; itneeds, like poetry, to employ impressive and exalted tones, especiallywhen it finds itself in the midst of battle array and conflicts by landor sea; it is then that the poetic gale must blow to speed the vessel on, and help her ride the waves in majesty. But the diction is to be contentwith _terra firma_, rising a little to assimilate itself to the beauty andgrandeur of the subject, but never startling the hearer, nor forgetting adue restraint; there is great risk at such times of its running wild andfalling into poetic frenzy; and then it is that writers should holdthemselves in with bit and bridle; with them as with horses anuncontrollable temper means disaster. At these times it is best for thespirit to go a-horseback, and the expression to run beside on foot, holding on to the saddle so as not to be outstripped. 

As to the marshalling of your words, a moderate compromise is desirablebetween the harshness which results from separating what belongstogether, and the jingling concatenations--one may almost call them--which are so common; one extreme is a definite vice, and the otherrepellent. 

Facts are not to be collected at haphazard, but with careful, laborious, repeated investigation; when possible, a man should have been present andseen for himself; failing that, he should prefer the disinterestedaccount, selecting the informants least likely to diminish or magnifyfrom partiality. And here comes the occasion for exercising the judgementin weighing probabilities. 

The material once complete, or nearly so, an abstract should be made ofit, and a rough draught of the whole work put down, not yet distributedinto its parts; the detailed arrangement should then be introduced, afterwhich adornment may be added, the diction receive its colour, thephrasing and rhythm be perfected. 

The historian's position should now be precisely that of Zeus in Homer, surveying now the Mysians', now the Thracian horsemen's land. Even so_he_ will survey now his own party (telling us what we looked liketo him from his post of vantage), now the Persians, and yet again both atonce, if they come to blows. And when they are face to face, his eyes arenot to be on one division, nor yet on one man, mounted or afoot--unlessit be a Brasidas leading the forlorn hope, or a Demosthenes repelling it;his attention should be for the generals first of all; their exhortationsshould be recorded, the dispositions they make, and the motives and plansthat prompted them. When the engagement has begun, he should give us abird's-eye view of it, show the scales oscillating, and accompanypursuers and pursued alike. 

All this, however, with moderation; a subject is not to be ridden todeath; no neglect of proportion, no childish engrossment, but easytransitions. He should call a halt here, while he crosses over to anotherset of operations which demands attention; that settled up, he can returnto the first set, now ripe for him; he must pass swiftly to each in turn, keeping his different lines of advance as nearly as possible level, flyfrom Armenia to Media, thence swoop straight upon Iberia, and then takewing for Italy, everywhere present at the nick of time. 

He has to make of his brain a mirror, unclouded, bright, and true ofsurface; then he will reflect events as they presented themselves to him, neither distorted, discoloured, nor variable. Historians are not writingfancy school essays; what they have to say is before them, and will getitself said somehow, being solid fact; their task is to arrange and putit into words; they have not to consider what to say, but how to say it. The historian, we may say, should be like Phidias, Praxiteles, Alcamenes, or any great sculptor. They similarly did not create the gold, silver, ivory, or other material they used; it was ready to their hands, providedby Athens, Elis, or Argos; they only made the model, sawed, polished, cemented, proportioned the ivory, and plated it with gold; that was whattheir art consisted in--the right arrangement of their material. Thehistorian's business is similar--to superinduce upon events the charm oforder, and set them forth in the most lucid fashion he can manage. Whensubsequently a hearer feels as though he were looking at what is beingtold him, and expresses his approval, then our historical Phidias's workhas reached perfection, and received its appropriate reward. 

When all is ready, a writer will sometimes start without formal preface, if there is no pressing occasion to clear away preliminaries by thatmeans, though even then his explanation of what he is to say constitutesa virtual preface. 

When a formal preface is used, one of the three objects to which a publicspeaker devotes his exordium may be neglected; the historian, that is, has not to bespeak goodwill--only attention and an open mind. The way tosecure the reader's attention is to show that the affairs to be narratedare great in themselves, throw light on Destiny, or come home to hisbusiness and bosom; and as to the open mind, the lucidity in the body ofthe work, which is to secure that, will be facilitated by a preliminaryview of the causes in operation and a precise summary of events. 

Prefaces of this character have been employed by the best historians--byHerodotus, 'to the end that what befell may not grow dim by lapse oftime, seeing that it was great and wondrous, and showed forth withalGreeks vanquishing and barbarians vanquished'; and by Thucydides, 'believing that that war would be great and memorable beyond any previousone; for indeed great calamities took place during its course. '

After the preface, long or short in proportion to the subject, shouldcome an easy natural transition to the narrative; for the body of thehistory which remains is nothing from beginning to end but a longnarrative; it must therefore be graced with the narrative virtues--smooth, level, and consistent progress, neither soaring nor crawling, andthe charm of lucidity--which is attained, as I remarked above, partly bythe diction, and partly by the treatment of connected events. For, thoughall parts must be independently perfected, when the first is complete thesecond will be brought into essential connexion with it, and attachedlike one link of a chain to another; there must be no possibility ofseparating them; no mere bundle of parallel threads; the first is notsimply to be next to the second, but part of it, their extremitiesintermingling. 

Brevity is always desirable, and especially where matter is abundant; andthe problem is less a grammatical than a substantial one; the solution, Imean, is to deal summarily with all immaterial details, and give adequatetreatment to the principal events; much, indeed, is better omittedaltogether. Suppose yourself giving a dinner, and extremely wellprovided; there is pastry, game, kickshaws without end, wild boar, hare, sweetbreads; well, you will not produce among these a pike, or a bowl ofpeasoup, just because they are there in the kitchen; you will dispensewith such common things. 

Restraint in descriptions of mountains, walls, rivers, and the like, isvery important; you must not give the impression that you are making atasteless display of word-painting, and expatiating independently whilethe history takes care of itself. Just a light touch--no more than meetsthe need of clearness--, and you should pass on, evading the snare, anddenying yourself all such indulgences. You have the mighty Homer'sexample in such a case; poet as he is, he yet hurries past Tantalus andIxion, Tityus and the rest of them. If Parthenius, Euphorion, orCallimachus had been in his place, how many lines do you suppose it wouldhave taken to get the water to Tantalus's lip; how many more to set Ixionspinning? Better still, mark how Thucydides--a very sparing dealer indescription--leaves the subject at once, as soon as he has given an idea(very necessary and useful, too) of an engine or a siege-operation, ofthe conformation of Epipolae, or the Syracusan harbour. It may occur toyou that his account of the plague is long; but you must allow for thesubject; then you will appreciate his brevity; _he_ is hastening on;it is only that the weight of matter holds him back in spite of himself. 

When it comes in your way to introduce a speech, the first requirement isthat it should suit the character both of the speaker and of the occasion;the second is (once more) lucidity; but in these cases you have thecounsel's right of showing your eloquence. 

Not so with praise or censure; these should be sparing, cautious, avoiding hypercriticism and producing proofs, always brief, and neverintrusive; historical characters are not prisoners on trial. Withoutthese precautions you will share the ill name of Theopompus, who delightsin flinging accusations broadcast, makes a business of the thing in fact, and of himself rather a public prosecutor than a historian. 

It may occasionally happen that some extraordinary story has to beintroduced; it should be simply narrated, without guarantee of its truth, thrown down for any one to make what he can of it; the writer takes norisks and shows no preference. 

But the general principle I would have remembered--it will ever be on mylips--is this: do not write merely with an eye to the present, that thosenow living may commend and honour you; aim at eternity, compose forposterity, and from it ask your reward; and that reward?--that it be saidof you, 'This was a man indeed, free and free-spoken; flattery andservility were not in him; he was truth all through. ' It is a name whicha man of judgement might well prefer to all the fleeting hopes of thepresent. 

Do you know the story of the great Cnidian architect? He was the builderof that incomparable work, whether for size or beauty, the Pharus tower. Its light was to warn ships far out at sea, and save them from running onthe Paraetonia, a spot so fatal to all who get among its reefs thatescape is said to be hopeless. When the building was done, he inscribedon the actual masonry his own name, but covered this up with plaster, onwhich he then added the name of the reigning king. He knew that, ashappened later, letters and plaster would fall off together, and revealthe words:

SOSTRATUS SON OF DEXIPHANES OF CNIDUS ON BEHALF OF ALL MARINERS TO THESAVIOUR GODS

_He_ looked not, it appears, to that time, nor to the space of hisown little life, but to this time, and to all time, as long as his towershall stand and his art abide. 

So too should the historian write, consorting with Truth and not withflattery, looking to the future hope, not to the gratification of theflattered. 

There is your measuring-line for just history. If any one be found to useit, well; I have not written in vain: if none, yet have I rolled my tubon the Craneum. 

THE TRUE HISTORY

INTRODUCTION

Athletes and physical trainers do not limit their attention to thequestions of perfect condition and exercise; they say there is a time forrelaxation also--which indeed they represent as the most importantelement in training. I hold it equally true for literary men that aftersevere study they should unbend the intellect, if it is to come perfectlyefficient to its next task. 

The rest they want will best be found in a course of literature whichdoes not offer entertainment pure and simple, depending on mere wit orfelicity, but is also capable of stirring an educated curiosity--in a waywhich I hope will be exemplified in the following pages. They areintended to have an attraction independent of any originality of subject, any happiness of general design, any verisimilitude in the piling up offictions. This attraction is in the veiled reference underlying all thedetails of my narrative; they parody the cock-and-bull stories of ancientpoets, historians, and philosophers; I have only refrained from adding akey because I could rely upon you to recognize as you read. 

Ctesias, son of Ctesiochus of Cnidus, in his work on India and itscharacteristics, gives details for which he had neither the evidence ofhis eyes nor of hearsay. Iambulus's _Oceanica_ is full of marvels;the whole thing is a manifest fiction, but at the same time pleasantreading. Many other writers have adopted the same plan, professing torelate their own travels, and describing monstrous beasts, savages, andstrange ways of life. The fount and inspiration of their humour is theHomeric Odysseus, entertaining Alcinous's court with his prisoned winds, his men one-eyed or wild or cannibal, his beasts with many heads, and hismetamorphosed comrades; the Phaeacians were simple folk, and he fooledthem to the top of their bent. 

When I come across a writer of this sort, I do not much mind his lying;the practice is much too well established for that, even with professedphilosophers; I am only surprised at his expecting to escape detection. Now I am myself vain enough to cherish the hope of bequeathing somethingto posterity; I see no reason for resigning my right to that inventivefreedom which others enjoy; and, as I have no truth to put on record, having lived a very humdrum life, I fall back on falsehood--but falsehoodof a more consistent variety; for I now make the only true statement youare to expect--that I am a liar. This confession is, I consider, a fulldefence against all imputations. My subject is, then, what I have neitherseen, experienced, nor been told, what neither exists nor couldconceivably do so. I humbly solicit my readers' incredulity. 

BOOK I

Starting on a certain date from the Pillars of Heracles, I sailed with afair wind into the Atlantic. The motives of my voyage were a certainintellectual restlessness, a passion for novelty, a curiosity about thelimits of the ocean and the peoples who might dwell beyond it. This beingmy design, I provisioned and watered my ship on a generous scale. My crewamounted to fifty, all men whose interests, as well as their years, corresponded with my own. I had further provided a good supply of arms, secured the best navigator to be had for money, and had the ship--asloop--specially strengthened for a long and arduous voyage. 

For a day and a night we were carried quietly along by the breeze, withland still in sight. But with the next day's dawn the wind rose to agale, with a heavy sea and a dark sky; we found ourselves unable to takein sail. We surrendered ourselves to the elements, let her run, and werestorm-driven for more than eleven weeks. On the eightieth day the suncame out quite suddenly, and we found ourselves close to a lofty woodedisland, round which the waves were murmuring gently, the sea havingalmost fallen by this time. We brought her to land, disembarked, andafter our long tossing lay a considerable time idle on shore; we at lastmade a start, however, and leaving thirty of our number to guard the shipI took the other twenty on a tour of inspection. 

We had advanced half a mile inland through woods, when we came upon abrazen pillar, inscribed in Greek characters--which however were worn anddim--'Heracles and Dionysus reached this point. ' Not far off were twofootprints on rock; one might have been an acre in area, the other beingsmaller; and I conjecture that the latter was Dionysus's, and the otherHeracles's; we did obeisance, and proceeded. Before we had gone far, wefound ourselves on a river which ran wine; it was very like Chian; thestream full and copious, even navigable in parts. This evidence ofDionysus's sojourn was enough to convince us that the inscription on thepillar was authentic. Resolving to find the source, I followed the riverup, and discovered, instead of a fountain, a number of huge vines coveredwith grapes; from the root of each there issued a trickle of perfectlyclear wine, the joining of which made the river. It was well stocked withgreat fish, resembling wine both in colour and taste; catching and eatingsome, we at once found ourselves intoxicated; and indeed when opened thefish were full of wine-lees; presently it occurred to us to mix them withordinary water fish, thus diluting the strength of our spirituous food. 

We now crossed the river by a ford, and came to some vines of a mostextraordinary kind. Out of the ground came a thick well-grown stem; butthe upper part was a woman, complete from the loins upward. They werelike our painters' representations of Daphne in the act of turning into atree just as Apollo overtakes her. From the finger-tips sprang vinetwigs, all loaded with grapes; the hair of their heads was tendrils, leaves, and grape-clusters. They greeted us and welcomed our approach, talking Lydian, Indian, and Greek, most of them the last. They went sofar as to kiss us on the mouth; and whoever was kissed staggered like adrunken man. But they would not permit us to pluck their fruit, meetingthe attempt with cries of pain. Some of them made further amorousadvances; and two of my comrades who yielded to these solicitations foundit impossible to extricate themselves again from their embraces; the manbecame one plant with the vine, striking root beside it; his fingersturned to vine twigs, the tendrils were all round him, and embryo grape-clusters were already visible on him. 

We left them there and hurried back to the ship, where we told our tale, including our friends' experiment in viticulture. Then after taking somecasks ashore and filling them with wine and water we bivouacked near thebeach, and next morning set sail before a gentle breeze. But aboutmidday, when we were out of sight of the island, a waterspout suddenlycame upon us, which swept the ship round and up to a height of some threehundred and fifty miles above the earth. She did not fall back into thesea, but was suspended aloft, and at the same time carried along by awind which struck and filled the sails. 

For a whole week we pursued our airy course, and on the eighth daydescried land; it was an island with air for sea, glistening, spherical, and bathed in light. We reached it, cast anchor, and landed; inspectionsoon showed that it was inhabited and cultivated. In the daytime nothingcould be discerned outside of it; but night revealed many neighbouringislands, some larger and some smaller than ours; there was also anotherland below us containing cities, rivers, seas, forests, and mountains;and this we concluded to be our Earth. 

We were intending to continue our voyage, when we were discovered anddetained by the Horse-vultures, as they are called. These are men mountedon huge vultures, which they ride like horses; the great birds haveordinarily three heads. It will give you some idea of their size if Istate that each of their quill-feathers is longer and thicker than themast of a large merchantman. This corps is charged with the duty ofpatrolling the land, and bringing any strangers it may find to the king;this was what was now done with us. The king surveyed us, and, forminghis conclusions from our dress, 'Strangers, ' said he, 'you are Greeks, are you not?' we assented. 'And how did you traverse this vast space ofair?' In answer we gave a full account of ourselves, to which he at oncereplied with his own history. It seemed he too was a mortal, namedEndymion, who had been conveyed up from our Earth in his sleep, and afterhis arrival had become king of the country; this was, he told us, what weknew on our Earth as the moon. He bade us be of good cheer and entertainno apprehensions; all our needs should be supplied. 

'And if I am victorious, ' he added, 'in the campaign which I am nowcommencing against the inhabitants of the Sun, I promise you an extremelypleasant life at my court. ' We asked about the enemy, and the quarrel. 'Phaethon, ' he replied, 'king of the Sun (which is inhabited, like theMoon), has long been at war with us. The occasion was this: I wished atone time to collect the poorest of my subjects and send them as a colonyto Lucifer, which is uninhabited. Phaethon took umbrage at this, met theemigrants half way with a troop of Horse-ants, and forbade them toproceed. On that occasion, being in inferior force, we were worsted andhad to retreat; but I now intend to take the offensive and send mycolony. I shall be glad if you will participate; I will provide yourequipment and mount you on vultures from the royal coops; the expeditionstarts to-morrow. ' I expressed our readiness to do his pleasure. 

That day we were entertained by the king; in the morning we took ourplace in the ranks as soon as we were up, our scouts having announced theapproach of the enemy. Our army numbered 100, 000 (exclusive of camp-followers, engineers, infantry, and allies), the Horse-vultures amountingto 80, 000, and the remaining 20, 000 being mounted on Salad-wings. Theselatter are also enormous birds, fledged with various herbs, and withquill-feathers resembling lettuce leaves. Next these were the Millet-throwers and the Garlic-men. Endymion had also a contingent from theNorth of 30, 000 Flea-archers and 50, 000 Wind-coursers. The former havetheir name from the great fleas, each of the bulk of a dozen elephants, which they ride. The Wind-coursers are infantry, moving through the airwithout wings; they effect this by so girding their shirts, which reachto the ankle, that they hold the wind like a sail and propel theirwearers ship-fashion. These troops are usually employed as skirmishers. 70, 000 Ostrich-slingers and 50, 000 Horse-cranes were said to be on theirway from the stars over Cappadocia. But as they failed to arrive I didnot actually see them; and a description from hearsay I am not preparedto give, as the marvels related of them put some strain on belief. 

Such was Endymion's force. They were all armed alike; their helmets weremade of beans, which grow there of great size and hardness; thebreastplates were of overlapping lupine-husks sewn together, these husksbeing as tough as horn; as to shields and swords, they were of the Greektype. 

When the time came, the array was as follows: on the right were theHorse-vultures, and the King with the _elite_ of his forces, including ourselves. The Salad-wings held the left, and in the centrewere the various allies. The infantry were in round numbers 60, 000, 000;they were enabled to fall in thus: there are in the Moon great numbers ofgigantic spiders, considerably larger than an average Aegean island;these were instructed to stretch webs across from the Moon to Lucifer; assoon as the work was done, the King drew up his infantry on thisartificial plain, entrusting the command to Nightbat, son of Fairweather, with two lieutenants. 

On the enemy's side, Phaethon occupied the left with his Horse-ants; theyare great winged animals resembling our ants except in size; but thelargest of them would measure a couple of acres. The fighting was donenot only by their riders; they used their horns also; their numbers werestated at 50, 000. On their right was about an equal force of Sky-gnats--archers mounted on great gnats; and next them the Sky-pirouetters, light-armed infantry only, but of some military value; they slung monstrousradishes at long range, a wound from which was almost immediately fatal, turning to gangrene at once; they were supposed to anoint their missileswith mallow juice. Next came the Stalk-fungi, 10, 000 heavy-armed troopsfor close quarters; the explanation of their name is that their shieldsare mushrooms, and their spears asparagus stalks. Their neighbours werethe Dog-acorns, Phaethon's contingent from Sirius. These were 5, 000 innumber, dog-faced men fighting on winged acorns. It was reported thatPhaethon too was disappointed of the slingers whom he had summoned fromthe Milky Way, and of the Cloud-centaurs. These latter, however, arrived, most unfortunately for us, after the battle was decided; the slingersfailed altogether, and are said to have felt the resentment of Phaethon, who wasted their territory with fire. Such was the force brought by theenemy. 

As soon as the standards were raised and the asses on both sides (theirtrumpeters) had brayed, the engagement commenced. The Sunite left at oncebroke without awaiting the onset of the Horse-vultures, and we pursued, slaying them. On the other hand, their right had the better of our left, the Sky-gnats pressing on right up to our infantry. When these joined in, however, they turned and fled, chiefly owing to the moral effect of oursuccess on the other flank. The rout became decisive, great numbers weretaken and slain, and blood flowed in great quantities on to the clouds, staining them as red as we see them at sunset; much of it also droppedearthwards, and suggested to me that it was possibly some ancient eventof the same kind which persuaded Homer that Zeus had rained blood at thedeath of Sarpedon. 

Relinquishing the pursuit, we set up two trophies, one for the infantryengagement on the spiders' webs, and one on the clouds for the air-battle. It was while we were thus engaged that our scouts announced theapproach of the Cloud-centaurs, whom Phaethon had expected in time forthe battle. They were indeed close upon us, and a strange sight, beingcompounded of winged horses and men; the human part, from the middleupwards, was as tall as the Colossus of Rhodes, and the equine the sizeof a large merchantman. Their number I cannot bring myself to write down, for fear of exciting incredulity. They were commanded by Sagittarius. Finding their friends defeated, they sent a messenger after Phaethon tobring him back, and, themselves in perfect order, charged the disarrayedMoonites, who had left their ranks and were scattered in pursuit orpillage; they routed the whole of them, chased the King home, and killedthe greater part of his birds; they tore up the trophies, and overran thewoven plain; I myself was taken, with two of my comrades. Phaethon nowarrived, and trophies were erected on the enemy's part. We were taken offto the Sun the same day, our hands tied behind with a piece of thecobweb. 

They decided not to lay siege to the city; but after their return theyconstructed a wall across the intervening space, cutting off the Sun'srays from the Moon. This wall was double, and built of clouds; theconsequence was total eclipse of the Moon, which experienced a continuousnight. This severity forced Endymion to negotiate. He entreated that thewall might be taken down, and his kingdom released from this life ofdarkness; he offered to pay tribute, conclude an alliance, abstain fromhostilities in future, and give hostages for these engagements. TheSunites held two assemblies on the question, in the first of which theyrefused all concessions; on the second day, however, they relented, andpeace was concluded on the following terms. 

Articles of peace between the Sunites and their allies of the one part, and the Moonites and their allies of the other part. 

1. The Sunites shall demolish the party-wall, shall make no furtherincursion into the Moon, and shall hold their captives to ransom at afixed rate. 

2. The Moonites shall restore to the other stars their autonomy, shallnot bear arms against the Sunites, and shall conclude with them a mutualdefensive alliance. 

3. The King of the Moonites shall pay to the King of the Sunites, annually, a tribute of ten thousand jars of dew, and give tenthousand hostages of his subjects. 

4. The high contracting parties shall found the colony of Lucifer incommon, and shall permit persons of any other nationality to join thesame. 

5. These articles shall be engraved on a pillar of electrum, which shallbe set up on the border in mid-air. 

Sworn to on behalf of the Sun by Firebrace, Heaton, and Flashman; and onbehalf of the Moon by Nightwell, Monday, and Shimmer. 

Peace concluded, the removal of the wall and restoration of captives atonce followed. As we reached the Moon, we were met and welcomed by ourcomrades and King Endymion, all weeping for joy. The King wished us toremain and take part in founding the colony, and, women not existing inthe Moon, offered me his son in marriage. I refused, asking that we mightbe sent down to the sea again; and finding that he could not prevail, heentertained us for a week, and then sent us on our way. 

I am now to put on record the novelties and singularities which attractedmy notice during our stay in the Moon. 

When a man becomes old, he does not die, but dissolves in smoke into theair. There is one universal diet; they light a fire, and in the embersroast frogs, great numbers of which are always flying in the air; theythen sit round as at table, snuffing up the fumes which rise and servethem for food; their drink is air compressed in a cup till it gives off amoisture resembling dew. Beauty with them consists in a bald head andhairless body; a good crop of hair is an abomination. On the comets, as Iwas told by some of their inhabitants who were there on a visit, this isreversed. They have beards, however, just above the knee; no toe-nails, and but one toe on each foot. They are all tailed, the tail being a largecabbage of an evergreen kind, which does not break if they fall upon it. 

Their mucus is a pungent honey; and after hard work or exercise theysweat milk all over, which a drop or two of the honey curdles intocheese. The oil which they make from onions is very rich, and as fragrantas balsam. They have an abundance of water-producing vines, the stones ofwhich resemble hailstones; and my own belief is that it is the shaking ofthese vines by hurricanes, and the consequent bursting of the grapes, that results in our hailstorms. They use the belly as a pouch in which tokeep necessaries, being able to open and shut it. It contains nointestines or liver, only a soft hairy lining; their young, indeed, creepinto it for protection from cold. 

The clothing of the wealthy is soft glass, and of the poor, woven brass;the land is very rich in brass, which they work like wool after steepingit in water. It is with some hesitation that I describe their eyes, thething being incredible enough to bring doubt upon my veracity. But thefact is that these organs are removable; any one can take out his eyesand do without till he wants them; then he has merely to put them in; Ihave known many cases of people losing their own and borrowing at need;and some--the rich, naturally--keep a large stock. Their ears are plane-leaves, except with the breed raised from acorns; theirs being of wood. 

Another marvel I saw in the palace. There is a large mirror suspendedover a well of no great depth; any one going down the well can hear everyword spoken on our Earth; and if he looks at the mirror, he sees everycity and nation as plainly as though he were standing close above each. The time I was there, I surveyed my own people and the whole of my nativecountry; whether they saw me also, I cannot say for certain. Any one whodoubts the truth of this statement has only to go there himself, to beassured of my veracity. 

When the time came, we took our leave of King and court, got on board, and weighed anchor. Endymion's parting gifts to me were two glass shirts, five of brass, and a suit of lupine armour, all of which, however, Iafterwards left in the whale's belly; he also sent, as our escort for thefirst fifty miles, a thousand of his Horse-vultures. 

We passed on our way many countries, and actually landed on Lucifer, nowin process of settlement, to water. We then entered the Zodiac and passedthe Sun on the left, coasting close by it. My crew were very desirous oflanding, but the wind would not allow of this. We had a good view of thecountry, however, and found it covered with vegetation, rich, well-watered, and full of all good things. The Cloud-centaurs, now inPhaethon's pay, espied us and pounced upon the ship, but left us alonewhen they learned that we were parties to the treaty. 

By this time our escort had gone home. We now took a downward course, andtwenty-four hours' sailing brought us to Lampton. This lies between theatmospheres of the Pleiads and the Hyads, though in point of altitude itis considerably lower than the Zodiac. When we landed, we found no humanbeings, but numberless lamps bustling about or spending their time in themarket-place and harbour; some were small, and might represent the lowerclasses, while a few, the great and powerful, were exceedingly bright andconspicuous. They all had their own homes or lodgings, and theirindividual names, like us; we heard them speak, and they did us no harm, offering us entertainment, on the contrary; but we were under someapprehension, and none of us accepted either food or bed. There is aGovernment House in the middle of the city, where the Governor sits allnight long calling the roll-call; any one not answering to his name iscapitally punished as a deserter; that is to say, he is extinguished. Wewere present and witnessed the proceedings, and heard lamps defendingtheir conduct and advancing reasons for their lateness. I thererecognized our own house lamp, accosted him, and asked for news of myfriends, in which he satisfied me. We stayed there that night, set sailnext morning, and found ourselves sailing, now, nearly as low as theclouds. Here we were surprised to find Cloud-cuckoo-land; we wereprevented from landing by the direction of the wind, but learned that theKing's name was Crookbeak, son of Fitz-Ousel. I bethought me ofAristophanes, the learned and veracious poet whose statements had metwith unmerited incredulity. Three days more, and we had a distinct viewof the Ocean, though there was no land visible except the islandssuspended in air; and these had now assumed a brilliant fiery hue. Aboutnoon on the fourth day the wind slackened and fell, and we were depositedupon the sea. 

The joy and delight with which the touch of water affected us isindescribable; transported at our good fortune, we flung ourselvesoverboard and swam, the weather being calm and the sea smooth. Alas, howoften is a change for the better no more than the beginning of disaster!We had but two days' delightful sail, and by the rising sun of the thirdwe beheld a crowd of whales and marine monsters, and among them one farlarger than the rest--some two hundred miles in length. It came on open-mouthed, agitating the sea far in front, bathed in foam, and exhibitingteeth whose length much surpassed the height of our great phallic images, all pointed like sharp stakes and white as elephants' tusks. We gave eachother a last greeting, took a last embrace, and so awaited our doom. Themonster was upon us; it sucked us in; it swallowed ship and crew entire. We escaped being ground by its teeth, the ship gliding in through theinterstices. 

Inside, all was darkness at first, in which we could distinguish nothing;but when it next opened its mouth, an enormous cavern was revealed, ofgreat extent and height; a city of ten thousand inhabitants might havehad room in it. Strewn about were small fish, the _disjecta membra_of many kinds of animal, ships' masts and anchors, human bones, andmerchandise; in the centre was land with hillocks upon it, the alluvialdeposit, I supposed, from what the whale swallowed. This was wooded withtrees of all kinds, and vegetables were growing with all the appearanceof cultivation. The coast might have measured thirty miles round. Sea-birds, such as gulls and halcyons, nested on the trees. 

We spent some time weeping, but at last got our men up and had the shipmade fast, while we rubbed wood to get a fire and prepared a meal out ofthe plentiful materials around us; there were fragments of various fish, and the water we had taken in at Lucifer was unexhausted. Upon getting upnext day, we caught glimpses, as often as the whale opened his mouth, ofland, of mountains, it might be of the sky alone, or often of islands; werealized that he was dashing at a great rate to every part of the sea. Wegrew accustomed to our condition in time, and I then took seven of mycomrades and entered the wood in search of information. I had scarcelygone half a mile when I came upon a shrine, which its inscription showedto have been raised to Posidon; a little further were a number of graveswith pillars upon them, and close by a spring of clear water; we alsoheard a dog bark, saw some distant smoke, and conjectured that theremust be a habitation. 

We accordingly pressed on, and found ourselves in presence of an old manand a younger one, who were working hard at a plot of ground and wateringit by a channel from the spring. We stood still, divided between fear anddelight. They were standing speechless, no doubt with much the samefeelings. At length the old man spoke:--'What are you, strangers; are youspirits of the sea, or unfortunate mortals like ourselves? As for us, weare men, bred on land; but now we have suffered a sea change, and swimabout in this containing monster, scarce knowing how to describe ourstate; reason tells us we are dead, but instinct that we live. ' Thisloosed my tongue in turn. 'We too, father, ' I said, 'are men, justarrived; it is but a day or two since we were swallowed with our ship. And now we have come forth to explore the forest; for we saw that it wasvast and dense. Methinks some heavenly guide has brought us to the sightof you, to the knowledge that we are not prisoned all alone in thismonster. I pray you, let us know your tale, who you are and how youentered. ' Then he said that, before he asked or answered questions, hemust give us such entertainment as he could; so saying, he brought us tohis house--a sufficient dwelling furnished with beds and what else hemight need--, and set before us green-stuff and nuts and fish, with winefor drink. When we had eaten our fill, he asked for our story. I told himall as it had passed, the storm, the island, the airy voyage, the war, and so to our descent into the whale. 

It was very strange, he said, and then gave us his history in return. 'Iam a Cyprian, gentlemen. I left my native land on a trading voyage withmy son here and a number of servants. We had a fine ship, with a mixedcargo for Italy; you may have seen the wreckage in the whale's mouth. Wehad a fair voyage to Sicily, but on leaving it were caught in a gale, andcarried in three days out to the Atlantic, where we fell in with thewhale and were swallowed, ship and crew; of the latter we two alonesurvived. We buried our men, built a temple to Posidon, and now live thislife, cultivating our garden, and feeding on fish and nuts. It is a greatwood, as you see, and in it are vines in plenty, from which we getdelicious wine; our spring you may have noticed; its water is of thepurest and coldest. We use leaves for bedding, keep a good fire, snarethe birds that fly in, and catch living fish by going out on themonster's gills; it is there also that we take our bath when we aredisposed. There is moreover at no great distance a salt lake two or threemiles round, producing all sorts of fish; in this we swim and sail, in alittle boat of my building. It is now seven and twenty years since wewere swallowed. 

'Our lot might have been endurable enough, but we have bad andtroublesome neighbours, unfriendly savages all. ' 'What, ' said I, 'arethere other inhabitants?' 'A great many, ' he replied, 'inhospitable andabhorrent to the sight. The western part of the wood (so to name thecaudal region) is occupied by the Stockfish tribe; they have eels' eyesand lobster faces, are bold warriors, and eat their meat raw. Of thesides of the cavern, the right belongs to the Tritonomendetes, who fromthe waist upwards are human, and weazels below; their notions of justiceare slightly less rudimentary than the others'. The left is in possessionof the Crabhands and the Tunnyheads, two tribes in close alliance. Thecentral part is inhabited by the Crays and the Flounderfoots, the latterwarlike and extremely swift. As to this district near the mouth, theEast, as it were, it is in great part desert, owing to the frequentinundations. I hold it of the Flounderfoots, paying an annual tribute offive hundred oysters. 

'Such is the land; and now it is for you to consider how we may make headagainst all these tribes, and what shall be our manner of life. ' 'Whatmay their numbers be, all told?' I asked. 'More than a thousand. ' 'Andhow armed?' 'They have no arms but fishbones. ' 'Why then, ' I said, 'letus fight them by all means; we are armed, and they are not; and, if wewin, we shall live secure. ' We agreed on this course, and returned to theship to make our preparations. The pretext for war was to be non-paymentof the tribute, which was on the point of falling due. Messengers, infact, shortly came to demand it, but the old man sent them about theirbusiness with an insolent answer. The Flounderfoots and Crays wereenraged, and commenced operations with a tumultuous inroad uponScintharus--this was our old man's name. 

Expecting this, we were awaiting the attack in full armour. We had putfive and twenty men in ambush, with directions to fall on the enemy'srear as soon as they had passed; they executed their orders, and came onfrom behind cutting them down, while the rest of us--five and twentyalso, including Scintharus and his son--met them face to face with aspirited and resolute attack. It was risky work, but in the end we routedand chased them to their dens. They left one hundred and seventy dead, while we lost only our navigating officer, stabbed in the back with amullet rib, and one other. 

We held the battlefield for the rest of that day and the night following, and erected a trophy consisting of a dolphin's backbone upright. Next daythe news brought the other tribes out, with the Stockfish under a generalcalled Slimer on the right, the Tunnyheads on the left, and the Crabhandsin the centre; the Tritonomendetes stayed at home, preferring neutrality. We did not wait to be attacked, but charged them near Posidon's templewith loud shouts, which echoed as in a subterranean cave. Their want ofarmour gave us the victory; we pursued them to the wood, and werehenceforth masters. 

Soon after, they sent heralds to treat for recovery of their dead, andfor peace. But we decided to make no terms with them, and marching outnext day exterminated the whole, with the exception of theTritonomendetes. These too, when they saw what was going on, made a rushfor the gills, and cast themselves into the sea. We went over thecountry, now clear of enemies, and occupied it from that time insecurity. Our usual employments were exercise, hunting, vine-dressing, and fruit-gathering; we were in the position of men in a vast prison fromwhich escape is out of the question, but within which they have luxuryand freedom of movement. This manner of life lasted for a year and eightmonths. 

It was on the fifth of the next month, about the second gape (the whale, I should say, gaped regularly once an hour, and we reckoned time thatway)--about the second gape, then, a sudden shouting and tumult becameaudible; it sounded like boatswains giving the time and oars beating. Much excited, we crept right out into our monster's mouth, stood insidethe teeth, and beheld the most extraordinary spectacle I ever lookedupon--giants of a hundred yards in height rowing great islands as we dotriremes. I am aware that what I am to relate must sound improbable; butI cannot help it. Very long islands they were, but of no great height;the circumference of each would be about eleven miles; and its complementof giants was some hundred and twenty. Of these some sat along each sideof the island, rowing with big cypresses, from which the branches andleaves were not stripped; in the stern, so to speak, was a considerablehillock, on which stood the helmsman with his hand on a brazen steering-oar of half a mile in length; and on the deck forward were forty inarmour, the combatants; they resembled men except in their hair, whichwas flaming fire, so that they could dispense with helmets. The work ofsails was done by the abundant forest on all the islands, which so caughtand held the wind that it drove them where the steersman wished; therewas a boatswain timing the stroke, and the islands jumped to it likegreat galleys. 

We had seen only two or three at first; but there appeared afterwards asmany as six hundred, which formed in two lines and commenced an action. Many crashed into each other stem to stem, many were rammed and sunk, others grappled, fought an obstinate duel, and could hardly get clearafter it. Great courage was shown by the troops on deck, who boarded anddealt destruction, giving no quarter. Instead of grappling-irons, theyused huge captive squids, which they swung out on to the hostile island;these grappled the wood and so held the island fast. Their missiles, effective enough, were oysters the size of waggons, and sponges whichmight cover an acre. 

Aeolocentaur and Thalassopot were the names of the rival chiefs; and thequestion between them was one of plunder; Thalassopot was supposed tohave driven off several herds of dolphins, the other's property; we couldhear them vociferating the charge and calling out their Kings' names. Aeolocentaur's fleet finally won, sinking one hundred and fifty of theenemy's islands and capturing three with their crews; the remainderbacked away, turned and fled. The victors pursued some way, but, as itwas now evening, returned to the disabled ones, secured most of theenemy's, and recovered their own, of which as many as eighty had beensunk. As a trophy of victory they slung one of the enemy's islands to astake which they planted in our whale's head. They lay moored round himthat night, attaching cables to him or anchoring hard by; they had vastglass anchors, very strong. Next morning they sacrificed on the whale'sback, buried their dead there, and sailed off rejoicing, with somethingcorresponding to our paean. So ended the battle of the islands. 

BOOK II

I now began to find life in the whale unendurable; I was tired to deathof it, and concentrated my thoughts on plans of escape. Our first ideawas to excavate a passage through the beast's right side, and go outthrough it. We actually began boring, but gave it up when we hadpenetrated half a mile without getting through. We then determined to setfire to the forest, our object being the death of the whale, which wouldremove all difficulties. We started burning from the tail end; but for awhole week he made no sign; on the eighth and ninth days it was apparentthat he was unwell; his jaws opened only languidly, and each time closedagain very soon. On the tenth and eleventh days mortification had set in, evidenced by a horrible stench; on the twelfth, it occurred to us, justin time, that we must take the next occasion of the mouth's being open toinsert props between the upper and lower molars, and so prevent hisclosing it; else we should be imprisoned and perish in the dead body. Wesuccessfully used great beams for the purpose, and then got the shipready with all the water and provisions we could manage. Scintharus wasto navigate her. Next day the whale was dead. 

We hauled the vessel up, brought her through one of the gaps, slung herto the teeth, and so let her gently down to the water. We then ascendedthe back, where we sacrificed to Posidon by the side of the trophy, and, as there was no wind, encamped there for three days. On the fourth day wewere able to start. We found and came into contact with many corpses, therelics of the sea-fight, and our wonder was heightened when we measuredthem. For some days we enjoyed a moderate breeze, after which a violentnorth wind rose, bringing hard frost; the whole sea was frozen--notmerely crusted over, but solidified to four hundred fathoms' depth; wegot out and walked about. The continuance of the wind making lifeintolerable, we adopted the plan, suggested by Scintharus, of hewing anextensive cavern in the ice, in which we stayed a month, lighting firesand feeding on fish; we had only to dig these out. In the end, however, provisions ran short, and we came out; the ship was frozen in, but we gother free; we then hoisted sail, and were carried along as well as if wehad been afloat, gliding smoothly and easily over the ice. After fivedays more the temperature rose, a thaw set in, and all was water again. 

A stretch of five and thirty miles brought us to a small desert isle, where we got water--of which we were now in want--, and shot two wildbulls before we departed. These animals had their horns not on the top ofthe head, but, as Momus recommended, below the eyes. Not long after this, we entered a sea of milk, in which we observed an island, white incolour, and full of vines. The island was one great cheese, quite firm, as we afterwards ascertained by eating it, and three miles round. Thevines were covered with fruit, but the drink we squeezed from it was milkinstead of wine. In the centre of the island was a temple to Galatea theNereid, as the inscription informed us. During our stay there, the grounditself served us for bread and meat, and the vine-milk for drink. Welearned that the queen of these regions was Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus, on whom Posidon had conferred this dignity at her decease. 

After spending five days there we started again with a gentle breeze anda rippling sea. A few days later, when we had emerged from the milk intoblue salt water, we saw numbers of men walking on the sea; they were likeourselves in shape and stature, with the one exception of the feet, whichwere of cork; whence, no doubt, their name of Corksoles. It struck us ascurious that they did not sink in, but travelled quite comfortably clearof the water. Some of them came up and hailed us in Greek, saying thatthey were making their way to their native land of Cork. They ranalongside for some distance, and then turned off and went their own way, wishing us a pleasant voyage. A little further we saw several islands;close to us on the left was Cork, our friends' destination, consisting ofa city founded on a vast round cork; at a greater distance, and a littleto the right, were five others of considerable size and high out of thewater, with great flames rising from them. 

There was also a broad low one, as much as sixty miles in length, straight in our course. As we drew near it, a marvellous air was waftedto us, exquisitely fragrant, like the scent which Herodotus describes ascoming from Arabia Felix. Its sweetness seemed compounded of rose, narcissus, hyacinth, lilies and violets, myrtle and bay and floweringvine. Ravished with the perfume, and hoping for reward of our long toils, we drew slowly near. Then were unfolded to us haven after haven, spaciousand sheltered, and crystal rivers flowing placidly to the sea. There weremeadows and groves and sweet birds, some singing on the shore, some onthe branches; the whole bathed in limpid balmy air. Sweet zephyrs juststirred the woods with their breath, and brought whispering melody, delicious, incessant, from the swaying branches; it was like Pan-pipesheard in a desert place. And with it all there mingled a volume of humansound, a sound not of tumult, but rather of revels where some flute, andsome praise the fluting, and some clap their hands commending flute orharp. 

Drawn by the spell of it we came to land, moored the ship, and left her, in charge of Scintharus and two others. Taking our way through flowerymeadows we came upon the guardians of the peace, who bound us with rose-garlands--their strongest fetters--and brought us to the governor. As wewent they told us this was the island called of the Blest, and itsgovernor the Cretan Rhadamanthus. When we reached the court, we foundthere were three cases to be taken before our turn would come. 

The first was that of Ajax, son of Telamon, and the question was whetherhe was to be admitted to the company of Heroes; it was objected that hehad been mad and taken his own life. After long pleadings Rhadamanthusgave his decision: he was to be put under the charge of Hippocrates thephysician of Cos for the hellebore treatment, and, when he had recoveredhis wits, to be made free of the table. 

The second was a matrimonial case, the parties Theseus and Menelaus, andthe issue possession of Helen. Rhadamanthus gave it in favour ofMenelaus, on the ground of the great toils and dangers the match had costhim--added to the fact that Theseus was provided with other wives in theAmazon queen and the daughters of Minos. 

The third was a dispute for precedence between Alexander son of Philipand Hannibal the Carthaginian; it was won by the former, who had a seatassigned him next to Cyrus the elder. 

It was now our turn. The judge asked by what right we set foot on thisholy ground while yet alive. In answer we related our story. He then hadus removed while he held a long consultation with his numerous assessors, among whom was the Athenian Aristides the Just. He finally reached aconclusion and gave judgement: on the charges of curiosity and travellingwe were remanded till the date of our deaths; for the present we were tostay in the island, with admission to the Heroic society, for a fixedterm, after which we must depart. The limit he appointed for our stay wasseven months. 

Our rose-chains now fell off of their own accord, we were released andtaken into the city, and to the Table of the Blest. The whole of thiscity is built of gold, and the enclosing wall of emerald. It has sevengates, each made of a single cinnamon plank. The foundations of thehouses, and all ground inside the wall, are ivory; temples are built ofberyl, and each contains an altar of one amethyst block, on which theyoffer hecatombs. Round the city flows a river of the finest perfume, ahundred royal cubits in breadth, and fifty deep, so that there is goodswimming. The baths, supplied with warm dew instead of ordinary water, are in great crystal domes heated with cinnamon wood. 

Their raiment is fine cobweb, purple in colour. They have no bodies, butare intangible and unsubstantial--mere form without matter; but, thoughincorporeal, they stand and move, think and speak; in short, each is anaked soul, but carries about the semblance of body; one who did nottouch them would never know that what he looked at was not substantial;they are shadows, but upright, and coloured. A man there does not growold, but stays at whatever age he brought with him. There is no night, nor yet bright day; the morning twilight, just before sunrise, gives thebest idea of the light that prevails. They have also but one season, perpetual spring, and the wind is always in the west. 

The country abounds in every kind of flower, in shrubs and garden herbs. There are twelve vintages in the year, the grapes ripening every month;and they told us that pomegranates, apples, and other fruits weregathered thirteen times, the trees producing twice in their month Minous. Instead of grain, the corn develops loaves, shaped like mushrooms, at thetop of the stalks. Round the city are 365 springs of water, the same ofhoney, and 500, less in volume however, of perfume. There are also sevenrivers of milk and eight of wine. 

The banqueting-place is arranged outside the city in the Elysian Plain. It is a fair lawn closed in with thick-grown trees of every kind, in theshadow of which the guests recline, on cushions of flowers. The waitingand handing is done by the winds, except only the filling of the wine-cup. That is a service not required; for all round stand great trees ofpellucid crystal, whose fruit is drinking-cups of every shape and size. Aguest arriving plucks a cup or two and sets them at his place, where theyat once fill with wine. So for their drink; and instead of garlands, thenightingales and other singing birds pick flowers with their beaks fromthe meadows round, and fly over snowing the petals down and singing thewhile. Nor is perfume forgotten; thick clouds draw it up from the springsand river, and hanging overhead are gently squeezed by the winds tillthey spray it down in fine dew. 

During the meal there is music and song. In the latter kind, Homer'sverse is the favourite; he is himself a member of the festal company, reclining next above Odysseus. The choirs are of boys and girls, conducted and led by Eunomus the Locrian, Arion of Lesbos, Anacreon andStesichorus; this last had made his peace with Helen, and I saw himthere. When these have finished, a second choir succeeds, of swans andswallows and nightingales; and when their turn is done, all the treesbegin to pipe, conducted by the winds. 

I have still to add the most important element in their good cheer: thereare two springs hard by, called the Fountain of Laughter, and theFountain of Delight. They all take a draught of both these before thebanquet begins, after which the time goes merrily and sweetly. 

I should now like to name the famous persons I saw. To begin with, allthe demi-gods, and the besiegers of Troy, with the exception of Ajax theLocrian; he, they said, was undergoing punishment in the place of thewicked. Of barbarians there were the two Cyruses, Anacharsis theScythian, Zamolxis the Thracian, and the Latin Numa; and then Lycurgusthe Spartan, Phocion and Tellus of Athens, and the Wise Men, but withoutPeriander. And I saw Socrates son of Sophroniscus in converse with Nestorand Palamedes; clustered round him were Hyacinth the Spartan, Narcissusof Thespiae, Hylas, and many another comely boy. With Hyacinth Isuspected that he was in love; at least he was for ever poking questionsat him. I heard that Rhadamanthus was dissatisfied with Socrates, and hadseveral times threatened him with expulsion, if he insisted on talkingnonsense, and would not drop his irony and enjoy himself. Plato was theonly one I missed, but I was told that he was living in his own Utopia, working the constitution and laws which he had drawn up. 

For popularity, Aristippus and Epicurus bore the palm, in virtue of theirkindliness, sociability, and good-fellowship. Aesop the Phrygian wasthere, and held the office of jester. Diogenes of Sinope was muchchanged; he had married Lais the courtesan, and often in his cups wouldoblige the company with a dance, or other mad pranks. The Stoics were notrepresented at all; they were supposed to be still climbing the steephill of Virtue; and as to Chrysippus himself, we were told that he wasnot to set foot on the island till he had taken a fourth course ofhellebore. The Academics contemplated coming, but were taking time forconsideration; they could not yet regard it as a certainty that any suchisland existed. There was probably the added difficulty that they werenot comfortable about the judgement of Rhadamanthus, having themselvesdisputed the possibility of judgement. It was stated that many of themhad started to follow persons travelling to the island, but, their energyfailing, had abandoned the journey half-way and gone back. 

I have mentioned the most noteworthy of the company, and add that themost highly respected among them are, first Achilles, and second Theseus. 

Before many days had passed, I accosted the poet Homer, when we were bothdisengaged, and asked him, among other things, where he came from; it wasstill a burning question with us, I explained. He said he was aware thatsome brought him from Chios, others from Smyrna, and others again fromColophon; the fact was, he was a Babylonian, generally known not asHomer, but as Tigranes; but when later in life he was given as a_homer_ or hostage to the Greeks, that name clung to him. Another ofmy questions was about the so-called spurious lines; had he written them, or not? He said they were all genuine; so I now knew what to think of thecritics Zenodotus and Aristarchus, and all their lucubrations. Having gota categorical answer on that point, I tried him next on his reason forstarting the Iliad at the wrath of Achilles; he said he had no exquisitereason; it had just come into his head that way. Another thing I wantedto know was whether he had composed the Odyssey before the Iliad, asgenerally believed. He said this was not so. As to his reportedblindness, I did not need to ask; he had his sight, so there was an endof that. It became a habit of mine, whenever I saw him at leisure, to goup and ask him things, and he answered quite readily--especially afterhis acquittal; a libel suit had been brought against him by Thersites, onthe ground of the ridicule to which he is subjected in the poem; Homerhad briefed Odysseus, and been acquitted. 

It was during our sojourn that Pythagoras arrived; he had undergone seventransmigrations, lived the lives of that number of animals, and completedhis psychic travels. It was the entire right half of him that was gold. He was at once given the franchise, but the question was still pendingwhether he was to be known as Pythagoras or Euphorbus. Empedocles alsocame, scorched all over and baked right through; but not all hisentreaties could gain him admittance. 

The progress of time brought round the Games of the Dead. The umpireswere Achilles, holding that office for the fifth, and Theseus for theseventh time. A full report would take too long; but I will summarize theevents. The wrestling went to Carus the Heraclid, who won the garlandfrom Odysseus. The boxing resulted in a tie; the pair being the EgyptianAreus, whose grave is in Corinth, and Epeus. For mixed boxing andwrestling they have no prize. Who won the flat race, I have forgotten. Inpoetry, Homer really did much the best, but the award was for Hesiod. Allprizes were plaited wreaths of peacock feathers. 

Just after the Games were over, news came that the Damned had brokentheir fetters, overpowered their guard, and were on the point of invadingthe island, the ringleaders being Phalaris of Agrigentum, Busiris theEgyptian, Diomedes the Thracian, Sciron, and Pityocamptes. Rhadamanthusat once drew up the Heroes on the beach, giving the command to Theseus, Achilles, and Ajax Telamonius, now in his right senses. The battle wasfought, and won by the Heroes, thanks especially to Achilles. Socrates, who was in the right wing, distinguished himself still more than in hislifetime at Delium, standing firm and showing no sign of trepidation asthe enemy came on; he was afterwards given as a reward of valour a largeand beautiful park in the outskirts, to which he invited his friends forconversation, naming it the Post-mortem Academy. 

The defeated party were seized, re-fettered, and sent back for severertorments. Homer added to his poems a description of this battle, and atmy departure handed me the MS. To bring back to the living world; but itwas unfortunately lost with our other property. It began with the line:

 Tell now, my Muse, how fought the mighty Dead. 

According to their custom after successful war, they boiled beans, heldthe feast of victory, and kept high holiday. From this Pythagoras aloneheld aloof, fasting and sitting far off, in sign of his abhorrence ofbean-eating. 

We were in the middle of our seventh month, when an incident happened. Scintharus's son, Cinyras, a fine figure of a man, had fallen in lovewith Helen some time before, and it was obvious that she was very muchtaken with the young fellow; there used to be nods and becks and takingsof wine between them at table, and they would go off by themselves forstrolls in the wood. At last love and despair inspired Cinyras with theidea of an elopement. Helen consented, and they were to fly to one of theneighbouring islands, Cork or Cheese Island. They had taken three of theboldest of my crew into their confidence; Cinyras said not a word to hisfather, knowing that he would put a stop to it. The plan was carried out;under cover of night, and in my absence--I had fallen asleep at table--, they got Helen away unobserved and rowed off as hard as they could. 

About midnight Menelaus woke up, and finding his wife's place emptyraised an alarm, and got his brother to go with him to King Rhadamanthus. Just before dawn the look-outs announced that they could make out theboat, far out at sea. So Rhadamanthus sent fifty of the Heroes on board aboat hollowed out of an asphodel trunk, with orders to give chase. Pulling their best, they overtook the fugitives at noon, as they wereentering the milky sea near the Isle of Cheese; so nearly was the escapeeffected. The boat was towed back with a chain of roses. Helen shedtears, and so felt her situation as to draw a veil over her face. As toCinyras and his associates, Rhadamanthus interrogated them to findwhether they had more accomplices, and, being assured to the contrary, had them whipped with mallow twigs, bound, and dismissed to the place ofthe wicked. 

It was further determined that we should be expelled prematurely from theisland; we were allowed only one day's grace. This drew from me loudlaments and tears for the bliss that I was now to exchange for renewedwanderings. They consoled me for their sentence, however, by telling methat it would not be many years before I should return to them, andassigning me my chair and my place at table--a distinguished one--inanticipation. I then went to Rhadamanthus, and was urgent with him toreveal the future to me, and give me directions for our voyage. He toldme that I should come to my native land after many wanderings and perils, but as to the time of my return he would give me no certainty. Hepointed, however, to the neighbouring islands, of which five werevisible, besides one more distant, and informed me that the wickedinhabited these, the near ones, that is, 'from which you see the greatflames rising; the sixth yonder is the City of Dreams; and beyond thatagain, but not visible at this distance, is Calypso's isle. When you havepassed these, you will come to the great continent which is opposite yourown; there you will have many adventures, traverse divers tribes, sojournamong inhospitable men, and at last reach your own continent. ' That wasall he would say. 

But he pulled up a mallow root and handed it to me, bidding me invoke itat times of greatest danger. When I arrived in this world, he charged meto abstain from stirring fire with a knife, from lupines, and from thesociety of boys over eighteen; these things if I kept in mind, I mightlook for return to the island. That day I made ready for our voyage, andwhen the banquet hour came, I shared it. On the morrow I went to the poetHomer and besought him to write me a couplet for inscription; when he haddone it, I carved it on a beryl pillar which I had set up close to theharbour; it ran thus:

 This island, ere he took his homeward way, The blissful Gods gave Lucian to survey. 

I stayed out that day too, and next morning started, the Heroes attendingto see me off. Odysseus took the opportunity to come unobserved byPenelope and give me a letter for Calypso in the isle Ogygia. Rhadamanthus sent on board with me the ferryman Nauplius, who, in case wewere driven on to the islands, might secure us from seizure byguaranteeing that our destination was different. As soon as our progressbrought us out of the scented air, it was succeeded by a horrible smellas of bitumen, brimstone, and pitch all burning together; mingled withthis were the disgusting and intolerable fumes of roasting human flesh;the air was dark and thick, distilling a pitchy dew upon us; we couldalso hear the crack of whips and the yelling of many voices. 

We only touched at one island, on which we also landed. It was completelysurrounded by precipitous cliffs, arid, stony, rugged, treeless, unwatered. We contrived to clamber up the rocks, and advanced along atrack beset with thorns and snags--a hideous scene. When we reached theprison and the place of punishment, what first drew our wonder was thecharacter of the whole. The very ground stood thick with a crop of knife-blades and pointed stakes; and it was ringed round with rivers, one ofslime, a second of blood, and the innermost of flame. This last was verybroad and quite impassable; the flame flowed like water, swelled like thesea, and teemed with fish, some resembling firebrands, and others, thesmall ones, live coals; these were called lamplets. 

One narrow way led across all three; its gate was kept by Timon ofAthens. Nauplius secured us admission, however, and then we saw thechastisement of many kings, and many common men; some were known to us;indeed there hung Cinyras, swinging in eddies of smoke. Our guidesdescribed the life and guilt of each culprit; the severest torments werereserved for those who in life had been liars and written false history;the class was numerous, and included Ctesias of Cnidus, and Herodotus. The fact was an encouragement to me, knowing that I had never told a lie. 

I soon found the sight more than I could bear, and returning to the shipbade farewell to Nauplius and resumed the voyage. Very soon we seemedquite close to the Isle of Dreams, though there was a certain dimness andvagueness about its outline; but it had something dreamlike in its verynature; for as we approached it receded, and seemed to get further andfurther off. At last we reached it and sailed into Slumber, the port, close to the ivory gates where stands the temple of the Cock. It wasevening when we landed, and upon proceeding to the city we saw manystrange dreams. But I intend first to describe the city, as it has notbeen done before; Homer indeed mentions it, but gives no detaileddescription. 

The whole place is embowered in wood, of which the trees are poppy andmandragora, all thronged with bats; this is the only winged thing thatexists there. A river, called the Somnambule, flows close by, and thereare two springs at the gates, one called Wakenot, and the otherNightlong. The rampart is lofty and of many colours, in the rainbowstyle. The gates are not two, as Homer says, but four, of which two lookon to the plain Stupor; one of them is of iron, the other of pottery, andwe were told that these are used by the grim, the murderous, and thecruel. The other pair face the sea and port, and are of horn--it was bythis that we had entered--and of ivory. On the right as you enter thecity stands the temple of Night, which deity divides with the Cock theirchief allegiance; the temple of the latter is close to the port. On theleft is the palace of Sleep. He is the governor, with two lieutenants, Nightmare, son of Whimsy, and Flittergold, son of Fantasy. A well in themiddle of the market-place goes by the name of Heavyhead; beside whichare the temples of Deceit and Truth. In the market also is the shrine inwhich oracles are given, the priest and prophet, by special appointmentfrom Sleep, being Antiphon the dream-interpreter. 

The dreams themselves differed widely in character and appearance. Somewere well-grown, smooth-skinned, shapely, handsome fellows, others rough, short, and ugly; some apparently made of gold, others of common cheapstuff. Among them some were found with wings, and other strangevariations; others again were like the mummers in a pageant, tricked outas kings or Gods or what not. Many of them we felt that we had seen inour world, and sure enough these came up and claimed us as oldacquaintance; they took us under their charge, found us lodgings, entertained us with lavish kindness, and, not content with themagnificence of this present reception, promised us royalties andprovinces. Some of them also took us to see our friends, doing the returntrip all in the day. 

For thirty days and nights we abode there--a very feast of sleep. Then ona sudden came a mighty clap of thunder: we woke; jumped up; provisioned;put off. In three days we were at the Isle of Ogygia, where we landed. Before delivering the letter, I opened and read it; here are thecontents: _ODYSSEUS TO CALYPSO, GREETING. Know that in the faraway dayswhen I built my raft and sailed away from you, I suffered shipwreck; Iwas hard put to it, but Leucothea brought me safe to the land of thePhaeacians; they gave me passage home, and there I found a great companysuing for my wife's hand and living riotously upon our goods. All them Islew, and in after years was slain by Telegonus, the son that Circe bareme. And now I am in the Island of the Blest, ruing the day when I leftthe life I had with you, and the everlasting life you proffered. I watchfor opportunity, and meditate escape and return_. Some words wereadded, commending us to her hospitality. 

A little way from the sea I found the cave just as it is in Homer, andherself therein at her spinning. She took and read the letter, wept for aspace, and then offered us entertainment; royally she feasted us, puttingquestions the while about Odysseus and Penelope; what were her looks? andwas she as discreet as Odysseus had been used to vaunt her? To which wemade such answers as we thought she would like. 

Leaving her, we went on board, and spent the night at anchor just offshore; in the morning we started with a stiff breeze, which grew to agale lasting two days; on the third day we fell in with the Pumpkin-pirates. These are savages of the neighbouring islands who prey uponpassing ships. They use large boats made of pumpkins ninety feet long. The pumpkin is dried and hollowed out by removal of the pulp, and theboat is completed by the addition of cane masts and pumpkin-leaf sails. Two boatfuls of them engaged us, and we had many casualties from theirpumpkin-seed missiles. The fight was long and well matched; but aboutnoon we saw a squadron of Nut-tars coming up in rear of the enemy. Itturned out that the two parties were at war; for as soon as ourassailants observed the others, they left us alone and turned to engagethem. 

Meanwhile we hoisted sail and made the best of our way off, leaving themto fight it out. It was clear that the Nut-tars must win, as they hadboth superior numbers--there were five sail of them--and strongervessels. These were made of nutshells, halved and emptied, measuringninety feet from stem to stern. As soon as they were hull down, weattended to our wounded; and from that time we made a practice of keepingon our armour, to be in instant readiness for an attack--no vainprecaution either. 

Before sunset, for instance, there assailed us from a bare island sometwenty men mounted on large dolphins--pirates again. Their dolphinscarried them quite well, curvetting and neighing. When they got near, they divided, and subjected us to a cross fire of dry cuttlefish andcrabs' eyes. But our arrows and javelins were too much for them, andthey fled back to the island, few of them unwounded. 

At midnight, in calm weather, we found ourselves colliding with anenormous halcyon's nest; it was full seven miles round. The halcyon wasbrooding, not much smaller herself than the nest. She got up, and verynearly capsized us with the fanning of her wings; however, she went offwith a melancholy cry. When it was getting light, we got on to the nest, and found on examination that it was composed like a vast raft of largetrees. There were five hundred eggs, larger in girth than a tun of Chian. We could make out the chicks inside and hear them croaking; we hewed openone egg with hatchets, and dug out an unfledged chick bulkier than twentyvultures. 

Sailing on, we had left the nest some five and twenty miles behind, whena miracle happened. The wooden goose of our stern-post suddenly clappedits wings and started cackling; Scintharus, who was bald, recovered hishair; most striking of all, the ship's mast came to life, putting forthbranches sideways, and fruit at the top; this fruit was figs, and a bunchof black grapes, not yet ripe. These sights naturally disturbed us, andwe fell to praying the Gods to avert any disaster they might portend. 

We had proceeded something less than fifty miles when we saw a greatforest, thick with pines and cypresses. This we took for the mainland;but it was in fact deep sea, set with trees; they had no roots, but yetremained in their places, floating upright, as it were. When we came nearand realized the state of the case, we could not tell what to do; it wasimpossible to sail between the trees, which were so close as to touch oneanother, and we did not like the thought of turning back. I climbed thetallest tree to get a good view, and found that the wood was five or sixmiles across, and was succeeded by open water. So we determined to hoistthe ship on to the top of the foliage, which was very dense, and get heracross to the other sea, if possible. It proved to be so. We attached astrong cable, got up on the tree-tops, and hauled her after us with somedifficulty; then we laid her on the branches, hoisted sail, and floatingthus were propelled by the wind. A line of Antimachus came into my head:

 And as they voyaged thus the woodland through--

Well, we made our way over and reached the water, into which we let herdown in the same way. We then sailed through clear transparent sea, tillwe found ourselves on the edge of a great gorge which divided water fromwater, like the land fissures which are often produced by earthquakes. Wegot the sails down and brought her to just in time to escape making theplunge. We could bend over and see an awful mysterious gulf perhaps ahundred miles deep, the water standing wall against wall. A glance roundshowed us not far off to the right a water bridge which spanned thechasm, and gave a moving surface crossing from one sea to the other. Wegot out the sweeps, pulled her to the bridge, and with great exertionseffected that astonishing passage. 

There followed a sail through smooth water, and then a small island, easyof approach, and inhabited; its occupants were the Ox-heads, savage menwith horns, after the fashion of our poets' Minotaur. We landed and wentin search of water and provisions, of which we were now in want. Thewater we found easily, but nothing else; we heard, however, not far off, a numerous lowing; supposing it to indicate a herd of cows, we went alittle way towards it, and came upon these men. They gave chase as soonas they saw us, and seized three of my comrades, the rest of us gettingoff to sea. We then armed--for we would not leave our friends unavenged--and in full force fell on the Ox-heads as they were dividing ourslaughtered men's flesh. Our combined shout put them to flight, and inthe pursuit we killed about fifty, took two alive, and returned with ourcaptives. We had found nothing to eat; the general opinion was forslaughtering the prisoners; but I refused to accede to this, and keptthem in bonds till an embassy came from the Ox-heads to ransom them; sowe understood the motions they made, and their tearful supplicatorylowings. The ransom consisted of a quantity of cheese, dried fish, onions, and four deer; these were three-footed, the two forefeet beingjoined into one. In exchange for all this we restored the prisoners, andafter one day's further stay departed. 

By this time we were beginning to observe fish, birds on the wing, andother signs of land not far off; and we shortly saw men, practising amode of navigation new to us; for they were boat and crew in one. Themethod was this: they float on their backs, erect a sail, and then, holding the sheets with their hands, catch the wind. These were succeededby others who sat on corks, to which were harnessed pairs of dolphins, driven with reins. They neither attacked nor avoided us, but drove alongin all confidence and peace, admiring the shape of our craft andexamining it all round. 

That evening we touched at an island of no great size. It was occupied bywhat we took for women, talking Greek. They came and greeted us withkisses, were attired like courtesans, all young and fair, and with longrobes sweeping the ground. Cabbalusa was the name of the island, andHydramardia the city's. These women paired off with us and led the way totheir separate homes. I myself tarried a little, under the influence ofsome presentiment, and looking more closely observed quantities of humanbones and skulls lying about. I did not care to raise an alarm, gather mymen, and resort to arms; instead, I drew out my mallow, and prayedearnestly to it for escape from our perilous position. Shortly after, asmy hostess was serving me, I saw that in place of human feet she hadass's hoofs; whereupon I drew my sword, seized, bound, and closelyquestioned her. Reluctantly enough she had to confess; they were sea-women called Ass-shanks, and their food was travellers. 'When we havemade them drunk, ' she said, 'and gone to rest with them, we overpowerthem in their sleep. ' After this confession I left her there bound, wentup on to the roof, and shouted for my comrades. When they appeared, Irepeated it all to them, showed them the bones, and brought them in tosee my prisoner; she at once vanished, turning to water; however, Ithrust my sword into this experimentally, upon which the water becameblood. 

Then we marched hurriedly down to our ship and sailed away. With thefirst glimmering of dawn we made out a mainland, which we took for thecontinent that faces our own. We reverently saluted it, made prayer, andheld counsel upon our best course. Some were for merely landing andturning back at once, others for leaving the ship, and going into theinterior to make trial of the inhabitants. But while we weredeliberating, a great storm arose, which dashed us, a complete wreck, onthe shore. We managed to swim to land, each snatching up his arms andanything else he could. 

Such are the adventures that befell me up to our arrival at that othercontinent: our sea-voyage; our cruise among the islands and in the air;then our experiences in and after the whale; with the Heroes; with thedreams; and finally with the Ox-heads and the Ass-shanks. Our fortunes onthe continent will be the subject of the following books. 

THE TYRANNICIDE

_A man forces his way into the stronghold of a tyrant, with theintention of killing him. Not finding the tyrant himself, he kills hisson, and leaves the sword sticking in his body. The tyrant, coming, andfinding his son dead, slays himself with the same sword. --The assailantnow claims that the killing of the son entitles him to the reward oftyrannicide. _

Two tyrants--a father advanced in years, a son in the prime of life, waiting only to step into his nefarious heritage--have fallen by my handon a single day: I come before this court, claiming but one reward for mytwofold service. My case is unique. With one blow I have rid you of twomonsters: with my sword I slew the son; grief for the son slew thefather. The misdeeds of the tyrant are sufficiently punished: he haslived to see his son perish untimely; and--wondrous sequel!--the tyrant'sown hand has freed us from tyranny. I slew the son, and used his death toslay another: in his life he shared the iniquities of his father; in hisdeath, so far as in him lay, he was a parricide. Mine is the hand thatfreed you, mine the sword that accomplished all: as to the order andmanner of procedure, there, indeed, I have deviated from the commonpractice of tyrannicides: I slew the son, who had strength to resist me, and left my sword to deal with the aged father. In acting thus, I hadthought to increase your obligation to me; a twofold deliverance--I hadsupposed--would entitle me to a twofold reward; for I have freed you notfrom tyranny alone, but from the fear of tyranny, and by removing theheir of iniquity have made your salvation sure. And now it seems that myservices are to go for nothing; I, the preserver of the constitution, amto forgo the recompense prescribed by its laws. It is surely from nopatriotic motive, as he asserts, that my adversary disputes my claim;rather it is from grief at the loss of the tyrants, and a desire toavenge their death. 

Bear with me, gentlemen, for a little, while I dwell in some detail uponthose evils of tyranny with which you are only too familiar; I shall thusenable you to realize the extent of my services, and to enjoy thecontemplation of sufferings from which you have escaped. Ours was not thecommon experience: we had not _one_ tyranny, _one_ servitude toendure, we were not subjected to the caprice of a single master. Othercities have had their tyrant: it was reserved for us to have two tyrantsat once, to groan beneath a double oppression. That of the old man waslight by comparison, his anger mildness, his resentment long-suffering;age had blunted his passions, checked their headlong impetus, and curbedthe lust of pleasure. His crimes, so it is said, were involuntary;resulting from no tyrannical disposition in himself, but from theinstigations of his son. For in him paternal affection had too clearlybecome a mania; his son was all in all to him; he did his bidding, committed every crime at his pleasure, dealt out punishment at hiscommand, was subservient to him in all things; the minister of a tyrant'scaprice, and that tyrant his son. The young man left him in possession ofthe name and semblance of rule; so much he conceded to his years: but inall essentials _he_ was the real tyrant. By him the power of thetyrant was upheld; by him and by him alone the fruits of tyranny weregathered. He it was who maintained the garrison, intimidated the victimsof oppression, and butchered those who meditated resistance; who laidviolent hands on boys and maidens, and trampled on the sanctity ofmarriage. Murder, banishment, confiscation, torture, brutality; allbespeak the wantonness of youth. The father followed his son's lead, andhad no word of blame for the crimes in which he participated. Oursituation became unbearable: for when the promptings of passion drawsupport from the authority of rule, then iniquity knows no furtherbounds. 

We knew moreover (and here was the bitterest thought of all) that ourservitude must endure--ay, endure for ever; that our city was doomed topass in unending succession from master to master, to be the heritage ofthe oppressor. To others it is no small consolation that they may countthe days, and say in their hearts: 'The end will be soon; he will die, and we shall be free. ' We had no such hope: there stood the heir oftyranny before our eyes. There were others--men of spirit--who cherishedlike designs with myself; yet all lacked resolution to strike the blow;freedom was despaired of; to contend against a succession of tyrantsseemed a hopeless task. 

Yet I was not deterred. I had reckoned the difficulties of myundertaking, and shrank not back, but faced the danger. Alone, I issuedforth to cope with tyranny in all its might. Alone, did I say? nay, notalone; I had my sword for company, my ally and partner in tyrannicide. Isaw what the end was like to be: and, seeing it, resolved to purchaseyour freedom with my blood. I grappled with the outer watch, withdifficulty routed the guards, slew all I met, broke down all resistance, --and so to the fountain-head, the well-spring of tyranny, the source ofall our calamities; within his stronghold I found him, and there slew himwith many wounds, fighting valiantly for his life. 

From that moment, my end was gained: tyranny was destroyed; we were freemen. There remained the aged father, alone, unarmed, desolate; his guardsscattered, his strong protector slain; no adversary this for a brave man. And now I debated within myself: 'My work is done, my aim achieved, allis as I would have it. And how shall this remnant of tyranny be punished?He is unworthy of the hand that shed that other blood: the glory of anoble enterprise shall not be so denied. No, let some other executionerbe found. It were too much happiness for him to die, and never know theworst; let him see all, for his punishment, and let the sword be ready tohis hand; to that sword I leave the rest. ' In this design I withdrew; andthe sword--as I had foreseen--did its office, slew the tyrant, and putthe finishing touch to my work. And now I come to you, bringing democracywith me, and call upon all men to take heart, and hear the glad tidingsof liberty. Enjoy the work of my hands! You see the citadel cleared ofthe oppressors; you are under no man's orders; the law holds its course;honours are awarded, judgements given, pleadings heard. And all springsfrom one bold stroke, from the slaying of that son whom his father mightnot survive. I claim from you the recompense that is my due; and that inno paltry, grasping spirit; it was not for a wage's sake that I sought toserve my country; but I would have my deed confirmed by your award; Iwould not be disparaged by slanderous tongues, as one who attempted andfailed, and was deemed unworthy of honour. 

My adversary tells me that I am unreasonable in asking for reward anddistinction. I did not slay the tyrant; I have not fulfilled therequirements of the statute; there is a flaw in my claim. --And what moredoes he want of me? Say: did I flinch? did I not ascend into the citadel?did I not slay? are we not free men? have we a master? do we hear atyrant's threats? did any of the evil-doers escape me?--No; all is peace;the laws are in force; freedom is assured; democracy is established; ourwives, our daughters are unmolested, our sons are safe; the city keepsfestival in the general joy. And who is the cause of it all? who haswrought the change? Has any man a prior claim? Then I withdraw; be histhe honour and the reward. But if not--if mine was the deed, mine therisk, mine the courage to ascend and smite and punish, dealing vengeanceon the father through the son--then why depreciate my services? why seekto deprive me of a people's gratitude?

'But you did not kill the _tyrant_; the law assigns the reward tohim who kills the tyrant. ' And pray what is the difference betweenkilling him and causing his death? I see none. The law-giver had but oneend in view, --freedom, equality, deliverance from oppression. This wasthe signal service that he deemed worthy of recompense; and this serviceyou cannot deny that I have rendered. In slaying one whom the tyrantcould not survive, I myself wrought the tyrant's death. His was the hand:the deed was mine. Let us not chop logic as to the manner andcircumstances of his death, but rather ask: has he ceased to exist, andam I the cause? Your scruples might go further, and object to some futuredeliverer of his country, that he struck not with the sword, but with astick or a stone or the like. Had I blockaded the tyrant, and broughtabout his death by starvation, you would still, I suppose, have objectedthat it was not the work of my own hand? Again there would have been aflaw in my claim? The increased bitterness of such a death would havecounted for nothing with you? Confine your attention to this onequestion: does any of our oppressors survive? is there any ground foranxiety, any vestige of our past misery? If not, if all is peace, thennone but an envious detractor would attempt to deprive me of the rewardof my labours by inquiring into the means employed. 

Moreover, it is laid down in our laws (unless after all these years ofservitude my memory plays me false) that blood-guiltiness is of twokinds. A man may slay another with his own hand, or, without slaying him, he may put death unavoidably in his way; in the latter case the penaltyis the same as in the former; and rightly, it being the intention of thelaw that the cause should rank with the act itself; the manner in whichdeath is brought about is not the question. You would not acquit a manwho in this sense had slain another; you would punish him as a murderer:how then can you refuse to reward as a benefactor the man who, by parityof reasoning, has shown himself to be the liberator of his country?

Nor again can it be objected that all I did was to strike the blow, andthat the resulting benefits were accidental, and formed no part of mydesign. What had I to fear, when once the stronger of our oppressors wasslain? And why did I leave my sword in the wound, if not because Iforesaw the very thing that would happen? Are you prepared to deny thatthe death so occasioned was that of a tyrant both in name and in fact, or that his death was an event for which the state would gladly pay anabundant reward? I think not. If then the tyrant is slain, how can youwithhold the reward from him who occasioned his death? Whatscrupulousness is this--to concern yourself with the manner of his end, while you are enjoying the freedom that results from it? Democracy isrestored: what more can you demand from him who restored it? You refer usto the terms of the law: well, the law looks only at the end; of themeans it says nothing; it has no concern with them. Has not the reward oftyrannicide been paid before now to him who merely expelled a tyrant? Andrightly so: for he too has made free men of slaves. But I have done more:banishment may be followed by restitution: but here the family of tyrantsis utterly annihilated and destroyed; the evil thing is exterminated, root and branch. 

I implore you, gentlemen, to review my conduct from beginning to end, andsee whether there has been any such omission on my part as to make my actappear less than tyrannicide in the eye of the law. The high patrioticresolve which prompts a man to face danger for the common good, and topurchase the salvation of his country at the price of his own life; thisis the first requirement. Have I been wanting here? Have I lackedcourage? Have I shrunk back at the prospect of the dangers through whichI must pass? My enemy cannot say it of me. Now at this stage let uspause. Consider only the intention, the design, apart from its success;and suppose that I come before you to claim the reward of patriotismmerely on the ground of my resolve. I have failed, and another, followingin my footsteps, has slain the tyrant. Say, is it unreasonable in such acase to allow my claim? 'Gentlemen, ' I might say, 'the will, theintention, was mine; I made the attempt, I did what I could; my resolveentitles me of itself to your reward. ' What would my enemy say to that?

But in fact my case stands far otherwise. I mounted into the stronghold, I faced danger, I had innumerable difficulties to contend with, before Islew the son. Think not that it was a light or easy matter, to make myway past the watch, and single-handed to overcome one body of guardsafter another and put them to flight: herein is perhaps the greatestdifficulty with which the tyrannicide has to contend. It is no such greatmatter to bring the tyrant to bay, and dispatch him. Once overcome theguards that surround him, and success is ensured; little remains to bedone. I could not make my way to the tyrants till I had mastered everyone of their satellites and bodyguards: each of those preliminaryvictories had to be won. Once more I pause, and consider my situation. Ihave got the better of the guards; I am master of the garrison; I presentyou the tyrant stripped, unarmed, defenceless. May I claim some creditfor this, or do you still require his blood? Well, if blood you musthave, that too is not wanting; my hands are not unstained; the gloriousdeed is accomplished; the youthful tyrant, the terror of all men, hisfather's sole security and protection, the equivalent of many bodyguards, is slain in the prime of his strength. Have I not earned my reward? Am Ito have no credit for all that is done? What if I had killed one of hisguards, some underling, some favourite domestic? Would it not have beenthought a great thing, to go up and dispatch the tyrant's friend withinhis own walls, in the midst of his armed attendants? But who _was_my victim? The tyrant's son, himself a more grievous tyrant than hisfather, more cruel in his punishments, more violent in his excesses; apitiless master; one, above all, whose succession to the supreme powerpromised a long continuance of our miseries. Shall I concede that this isthe sum of my achievements? Shall we put it, that the tyrant has escaped, and lives? Still I claim my recompense. What say you, gentlemen? do youwithhold it? The son, perhaps, caused you no uneasiness; he was nodespot, no grievous oppressor?

And now for the final stroke. All that my adversary demands of me, I haveperformed; and that in the most effectual manner. I slew the tyrant whenI slew his son; slew him not with a single blow--he could have asked noeasier expiation of his guilt than that--but with prolonged torment. Ishowed him his beloved lying in the dust, in pitiable case, weltering inblood. And what if he were a villain? he was still his son, still the oldman's likeness in the pride of youth. These are the wounds that fathersfeel; this the tyrannicide's sword of justice; this the death, thevengeance, that befits cruelty and oppression. The tyrant who dies in amoment, and knows not his loss, and sees not such sights as these, diesunpunished. I knew--we all knew--his affection for his son; knew that notfor one day would he survive his loss. Other fathers may be devoted totheir sons: his devotion was something more than theirs. How should it beotherwise? In him, and in him alone, the father saw the zealous guardianof his lawless rule, the champion of his old age, the sole prop oftyranny. If grief did not kill him on the spot, despair, I knew, must doso; there could be no further joy in life for him when his protector wasslain. Nature, grief, despair, foreboding, terror, --these were my allies;with these I hemmed him in, and drove him to his last desperate resolve. Know that your oppressor died childless, heartbroken, weeping, groaningin spirit; the time of his mourning was short, but it was a fathermourning for his son; he died by his own hand, bitterest, most awful ofdeaths; that death comes lightly, by comparison, which is dealt byanother. 

Where is my sword?

Does any one else know anything of this sword? Does any one claim it? Whotook it up into the citadel? The tyrant used this sword. Who had itbefore him? Who put it in his way?--Sword, fellow labourer, partner of myenterprise, --we have faced danger and shed blood to no purpose. We areslighted. Men say that we have not earned our reward. 

Suppose that I had advanced a claim solely on my sword's behalf: supposethat I had said to you: 'Gentlemen, the tyrant had resolved to slayhimself, but was without a weapon at the moment, when this sword of minesupplied his need, and thereby played its part in our deliverance. 'Should you not have considered that the owner of a weapon so public-spirited was entitled to honour and reward? Should you not haverecompensed him, and inscribed his name among those of your benefactors;consecrated his sword, and worshipped it as a God?

Now consider how the tyrant may be supposed to have acted and spoken ashis end approached. --His son lies mortally wounded at my hand; the woundsare many, and are exposed to view, that so the father's heart may be tornasunder at the very first sight of him. He cries out piteously to hisfather, not for help--he knows the old man's feebleness--, but forsympathy in his sufferings. I meanwhile am making my way home: I havewritten in the last line of my tragedy, and now I leave the stage clearfor the actor; there is the body, the sword, all that is necessary tocomplete the scene. The father enters. He beholds his son, his only son, gasping, blood-stained, weltering in gore; he sees the wounds--mortalwound upon wound--and exclaims: 'Son, we are slain, we are destroyed, weare stricken in the midst of our power. Where is the assassin? For whatfate does he reserve me, who am dead already in thy death, O my son?Because I am old he fears me not, he withholds his vengeance, and wouldprolong my torment. ' Then he looks for a sword; he has always goneunarmed himself, trusting all to his son. The sword is not wanting; ithas been waiting for him all this time; I left it ready for the deed thatwas to follow. He draws it from the wound and speaks: 'Sword, that but amoment past hast slain me, complete thy work: comfort the strickenfather, aid his aged hand; dispatch, slay, make an end of the tyrant andhis grief. Would that I had met thee first, that my blood had been shedbefore his! I could but have died a tyrant's death, and should have leftan avenger behind me. And now I die childless: I have not so much as amurderer at my need. ' Even as he speaks, with trembling hand he plungesthe sword into his breast: he is in haste to die; but that feeble handlacks strength to do its dread office. 

Is he punished? Are these wounds? Is this death? A tyrant's death? Isthere reward for this?

The closing scene you have all witnessed: the son--no mean antagonist--prostrate in death; the father fallen upon him; blood mingling withblood, the drink-offering of Victory and Freedom; and in the midst mysword, that wrought all; judge by its presence there, whether the weaponwas unworthy of its master, whether it did him faithful service. Had allbeen done by my hand, it had been little; the strangeness of the deed isits glory. The tyranny was overthrown by me, and no other; but manyactors had their part to play in the drama. The first part was mine; thesecond was the son's; the third the tyrant's; and my sword was neverabsent from the stage. 

THE DISINHERITED

_A disinherited son adopts the medical profession. His father goingmad, and being given up by the other physicians, he treats himsuccessfully, and is then reinstated in his rights. Subsequently hisstep-mother also goes mad; he is bidden to cure her, and, declaring hisinability to do so, is once more disinherited. _

There is neither novelty nor strangeness, gentlemen of the jury, in myfather's present proceedings. It is not the first time his passions havetaken this direction; it has become an instinctive habit with him to paya visit to this familiar court. Still, my unfortunate position has thismuch of novelty about it: the charge I have to meet is not personal, butprofessional; I am to be punished for the inability of Medicine to do myfather's bidding. A curious demand, surely, that healing should be doneto order, and depend not on the limits of one's art, but on the wishes ofone's father. For my part, I should be only too glad to find drugs in thepharmacopoeia which could relieve not only disordered wits, butdisordered tempers; then I might be serviceable to my father. As it is, he is completely cured of madness, but is worse-tempered than ever. Thebitterest part of it is, he is sane enough in all other relations, andmad only where his healer is concerned. You see what my medical feeamounts to; I am again disinherited, cut off from my family once more, asthough the sole purpose of my brief reinstatement had been theaccentuation of my disgrace by repetition. 

When a thing is within the limits of possibility, I require no bidding; Icame before I was summoned, to see what I could do in this case. But whenthere is absolutely no hope, I will not meddle. With this particularpatient, such caution is especially incumbent upon me; how my fatherwould treat me, if I tried and failed, I can judge by his disinheritingme when I refused to try. Gentlemen, I am sorry for my stepmother'sillness--for she was an excellent woman; I am sorry for my father'sdistress thereat; I am most sorry of all that I should seem rebellious, and be unable to give the required service; but the disease is incurable, and my art is not omnipotent. I do not see the justice of disinheritingone who, when he cannot do a thing, refuses to undertake it. 

The present case throws a clear light upon the reasons for my firstdisinheriting. The allegations of those days I consider to have beendisposed of by my subsequent life; and the present charges I shall do mybest to clear away with a short account of my proceedings. Wilful anddisobedient son that I am, a disgrace to my father, unworthy of myfamily, I thought proper to say very little indeed in answer to his longand vehement denunciations. Banished from my home, I reflected that Ishould find my most convincing plea, my best acquittal, in the life Ithen led, in practically illustrating the difference between my father'spicture and the reality, in devotion to the worthiest pursuits andassociation with the most reputable company. But I had also apresentiment of what actually happened; it occurred to me even then thata perfectly sane father does not rage causelessly at his son, nor trumpup false accusations against him. Persons were not wanting who detectedincipient madness; it was the warning and precursor of a stroke whichwould fall before long--this unreasoning dislike, this harsh conduct, this fluent abuse, this malignant prosecution, all this violence, passion, and general ill temper. Yes, gentlemen, I saw that the timemight come when Medicine would serve me well. 

I went abroad, attended lectures by the most famous foreign physicians, and by hard work and perseverance mastered my craft. Upon my return, Ifound that my father's madness had developed, and that he had been givenup by the local doctors, who are not distinguished for insight, and aremuch to seek in accurate diagnosis. I did no more than a son's duty whenI forgot and forgave the disinheritance, and visited him without waitingto be called in; I had in fact nothing to complain of that was properlyhis act; his errors were not his, but, as I have implied, those of hisillness. I came unsummoned, then. But I did not treat him at once; thatis not our custom, nor what our art enjoins upon us. What we are taughtto do is first of all to ascertain whether the disease is curable orincurable--has it passed beyond our control? After that, if it issusceptible of treatment, we treat it, and do our very best to relievethe sufferer. But if we realize that the complaint has got the entiremastery, we have nothing to do with it at all. That is the tradition thathas come down to us from the fathers of our art, who direct us not toattempt hopeless cases. Well, I found that there was yet hope for myfather; the complaint had not gone too far; I watched him for a longtime; formed my conclusions with scrupulous care; then, I commencedoperations and exhibited my drugs without hesitation--though many of hisfriends were suspicious of my prescription, impugned the treatment, andtook notes to be used against me. 

My step-mother was present, distressed and doubtful--the result not ofany dislike to me, but of pure anxiety, based on her full knowledge ofhis sad condition; no one but her, who had lived with and nursed him, knew the worst. However, I never faltered; the symptoms would not lie tome, nor my art fail me; when the right moment came, I applied thetreatment, in spite of the timidity of some of my friends, who wereafraid of the scandal that might result from a failure; it would be saidthat the medicine was my vengeful retort to the disinheritance. To make along story short, it was at once apparent that he had taken no harm; hewas in his senses again, and aware of all that went on. The company wereamazed; my step-mother thanked me, and every one could see that she wasdelighted both at my triumph and at her husband's recovery. He himself--to give credit where it is due--did not take time to consider, nor to askadvice, but, as soon as he heard the story, undid what he had done, mademe his son again, hailed me as his preserver and benefactor, confessedthat I had now given my proofs, and withdrew his previous charges. Allthis was delightful to the better, who were many, among his friends, butdistasteful to the persons who enjoy a quarrel more than areconciliation. I observed at the time that all were not equally pleased;there were changes of colour, uneasy glances, signs of mortification, inone quarter at least, which told of envy and hatred. With us, who hadrecovered each other, all was naturally affection and rejoicing. 

Quite a short time after, my step-mother's disorder commenced--a veryterrible and unaccountable one, gentlemen of the jury. I observed it fromits very beginning; it was no slight superficial case, this; it was along-established but hitherto latent mental disease, which now burst outand forced its way into notice. There are many signs by which we knowthat madness is incurable--among them a strange one which I noticed inthis case. Ordinary society has a soothing, alleviating effect; thepatient forgets to be mad; but if he sees a doctor, or even hears onementioned, he at once displays acute irritation--an infallible sign thathe is far gone, incurable in fact. I was distressed to notice thissymptom; my step-mother was a worthy person who deserved a better fate, and I was all compassion for her. 

But my father in his simplicity, knowing neither when nor how the troublebegan, and quite unable to gauge its gravity, bade me cure her by thedrugs that had cured him. His idea was that madness was to be nothingelse but mad; the disease was the same, its effects the same, and it mustadmit of the same treatment. When I told him, as was perfectly true, thathis wife was incurable, and confessed that the case was beyond me, hethought it an outrage, said I was refusing because I chose to, andtreating the poor woman shamefully--in short, visited upon me thelimitations of my art. Such ebullitions are common enough in distress; weall lose our tempers then with the people who tell us the truth. I mustnevertheless defend myself and my profession, as well as I can, againsthis strictures. 

I will begin with some remarks upon the law under which I am to bedisinherited; my father will please to observe that it is not quite somuch now as before a matter for his absolute discretion. You will find, sir, that the author of the law has not conferred the right of disherisonupon any father against any son upon any pretext. It is true he has armedfathers with this weapon; but he has also protected sons against itsillegitimate use. That is the meaning of his insisting that the procedureshall not be irresponsible and uncontrolled, but come under the legalcognizance of inspectors whose decision will be uninfluenced by passionor misrepresentation. He knew how often irritation is unreasonable, andwhat can be effected by a lying tale, a trusted slave, or a spitefulwoman. He would not have the deed done without form of law; sons were notto be condemned unheard and out of hand; they are to have the ear of thecourt for so long by the clock, and there is to be adequate inquiry intothe facts. 

My father's competence, then, being confined to preferring hiscomplaints, and the decision whether they are reasonable or not restingwith you, I shall be within my rights in requesting you to deferconsideration of the grievance on which he bases the present suit, untilyou have determined whether a second disinheritance is admissible in theabstract. He has cast me off, has exercised his legal rights, enforcedhis parental powers to the full, and then restored me to my position ashis son. Now it is iniquitous, I maintain, that fathers should have theseunlimited penal powers, that disgrace should be multiplied, apprehensionmade perpetual, the law now chastize, now relent, now resume itsseverity, and justice be the shuttlecock of our fathers' caprices. It isquite proper for the law to humour, encourage, give effect to, _one_punitive impulse on the part of him who has begotten us; but if, aftershooting his bolt, insisting on his right, indulging his wrath, hediscovers our merits and takes us back, then he should be held to hisdecision, and not allowed to oscillate, waver, do and undo any more. Originally, he had no means of knowing whether his offspring would turnout well or ill; that is why parents who have decided to bring upchildren before they knew their nature are permitted to reject such asare found unworthy of their family. 

But when a man has taken his son back, not upon compulsion, but of hisown motion and after inquiry, how can further chopping and changing bejustified? What further occasion for the law? Its author might fairly sayto you, sir: _If your son was vicious and deserved to be disinherited, what were you about to recall him? Why have him home again? Why suspendthe law's operation? You were a free agent; you need not have done it. The laws are not your play-ground; you are not to put the courts inmotion every time your mood varies; the laws are not to be suspended to-day and enforced to-morrow, with juries to look on at the proceedings, orrather to be the ministers of your whims, executioners or peace-makersaccording to your taste and fancy. The boy cost you one begetting, andone rearing; in return for which you may disinherit him, once, alwaysprovided you have reason to show for it. Disinheriting as a regularhabit, a promiscuous pastime, is not included in the_ patria potestas. 

Gentlemen of the jury, I entreat you in Heaven's name not to permit him, after voluntarily reinstating me, reversing the previous decision, andrenouncing his anger, to revive the old sentence and have recourse to thesame paternal rights; the period of their validity is past and gone; hisown act suffices to annul and exhaust their power. You know the generalrule of the courts, that a party dissatisfied with the verdict of aballot--provided jury is allowed an appeal to another court; but that isnot so when the parties have agreed upon arbitrators, and, after suchselection, put the matter in their hands. They had the choice, there, ofnot recognizing the court _ab initio_; if they nevertheless did so, they may fairly be expected to abide by its award. Similarly you, sir, had the choice of never taking back your son, if you thought himunworthy; having decided that he was worthy, and taken him back, youcannot be permitted to disinherit him anew; the evidence of his notdeserving it is your own admission of his worth. It is only right thatthe reinstatement and reconciliation should be definitive, after suchabundant investigation; there have been two trials, observe: the first, that in which you rejected me; the second, that in your own conscience, which reversed the decision of the other; the fact of reversal only addsforce to the later result. Abide, then, by your second thoughts, anduphold your own verdict. You are to be my father; such was yourdetermination, approved and ratified. 

Suppose I were not your begotten, but only your adopted son, I hold thatyou could not then have disinherited me; for what it is originally opento us not to do, we have no right, having done, to undo. But where thereis both the natural tie, and that of deliberate choice, how can a secondrejection, a repeated deprivation of the one relationship, be justified?Or again, suppose I had been a slave, and you had seen reason to put mein irons, and afterwards, convinced of my innocence, made me a free man;could you, upon an angry impulse, have enslaved me again? Assuredly not;the law makes these acts binding and irrevocable. Upon this contention, that the voluntary annulment of a disinheritance precludes a repetitionof the act, I could enlarge further, but will not labour the point. 

You have next to consider the character of the man now to bedisinherited. I lay no stress upon the fact that I was then nothing, andam now a physician; my art will not help me here. As little do I insistthat I was then young, and am now middle-aged, with my years as aguarantee against misconduct; perhaps there is not much in that either. But, gentlemen, at the time of my previous expulsion, if I had never donemy father any harm (as I should maintain), neither had I done him anygood; whereas now I have recently been his preserver and benefactor;could there be worse ingratitude than so, and so soon, to requite me forsaving him from that terrible fate? My care of him goes for nothing; itis lightly forgotten, and I am driven forth desolate--I, whose wrongsmight have excused my rejoicing at his troubles, but who, so far frombearing malice, saved him and restored him to his senses. 

For, gentlemen, it is no ordinary slight kindness that he is choosingthis way of repaying. You all know (though he may not realize) what hewas capable of doing, what he had to endure, what his state was, in fact, during those bad days. The doctors had given him up, his relations hadcleared away and dared not come near him; but I undertook his case andrestored him to the power of--accusing me and going to law. Let me helpyour imagination, sir. You were very nearly in the state in which yourwife now is, when I gave you back your understanding. It is surely notright that my reward for that should be this--that your understandingshould be used against me alone. That it is no trifling kindness I havedone you is apparent from the very nature of your accusation. The groundof your hatred is that she whom I do not cure is in extremities, isterribly afflicted; then, seeing that I relieved you of just such anaffliction, there is surely better reason for you to love and be gratefulto me for your own release from such horrors. But you are unconscionableenough to make the first employment of your restored faculties anindictment of me; you smite your healer, the ancient hate revives, and wehave you reciting the same old law again. My art's handsome fee, theworthy payment for my drugs, is--your present manifestation of vigour!

But you, gentlemen of the jury, will you allow him to punish hisbenefactor, drive away his preserver, pay for his wits with hatred, andfor his recovery with chastisement? I hope better things of your justice. However flagrantly I had now been misconducting myself, I had a largebalance of gratitude to draw upon. With that consideration in his memory, he need not have been extreme to mark what is now done amiss; it mighthave inspired him with ready indulgence, the more if the antecedentservice was great enough to throw anything that might follow into theshade. That fairly states my relation to him; I preserved him; he oweshis life absolutely to me; his existence, his sanity, his understanding, are my gifts, given, moreover, when all others despaired and confessedthat the case was beyond their skill. 

The service that I did was the more meritorious, it seems to me, in thatI was not at the time my father's son, nor under any obligation toundertake the case; I was independent of him, a mere stranger; thenatural bond had been snapped. Yet I was not indifferent; I came as avolunteer, uninvited, at my own instance. I brought help, I persevered, Ieffected the cure, I restored him, thereby securing myself at once afather and an acquittal; I conquered anger with kindness, disarmed lawwith affection, purchased readmission to my family with importantservice, proved my filial loyalty at that critical moment, was adopted(or adopted myself, rather) on the recommendation of my art, while myconduct in trying circumstances proved me a son by blood also. For I hadanxiety and fatigue enough in being always on the spot, ministering to mypatient, watching for my opportunities, now humouring the disease when itgathered strength, now availing myself of a remission to combat it. Ofall a physician's tasks the most hazardous is the care of patients likethis, with the personal attendance it involves; for in their moments ofexasperation they are apt to direct their fury upon any one they can comeat. Yet I never shrank or hesitated; I was always there; I had a life-and-death struggle with the malady, and the final victory was with me andmy drugs. 

Now I can fancy a person who hears all this objecting hastily, 'What afuss about giving a man a dose of medicine!' But the fact is, there aremany preliminaries to be gone through; the ground has to be prepared; thebody must first be made susceptible to treatment; the patient's wholecondition has to be studied; he must be purged, reduced, dieted, properlyexercised, enabled to sleep, coaxed into tranquillity. Now other invalidswill submit to all this; but mania robs its victims of self-control; theyare restive and jib; their physicians are in danger, and treatment at adisadvantage. Constantly, when we are on the very point of success andfull of hope, some slight hitch occurs, and a relapse takes place whichundoes all in a moment, neutralizing our care and tripping up our art. 

Now, after my going through all this, after my wrestle with thisformidable disease and my triumph over so elusive an ailment, is it stillyour intention to support him in disinheriting me? Shall he interpret thelaws as he will against his benefactor? Will you look on while he makeswar upon nature? I obey nature, gentlemen of the jury, in saving myfather from death, and myself from the loss of him, unjust as he hadbeen. He on the contrary defers to law (he calls it law) in ruining andcutting off from his kin the son who has obliged him. He is a cruelfather, I a loving son. I own the authority of nature: he spurns andflings it from him. How misplaced is this paternal hate! How worsemisplaced this filial love! For I must reproach myself--my father willhave it so. And the reproach? That where I should hate (for I am hated), I love, and where I should love little, I love much. Yet surely naturerequires of parents that they love their children more than of childrenthat they love their parents. But he deliberately disregards both thelaw, which secures children their family rights during good behaviour, and nature, which inspires parents with fervent love for their offspring. Having greater incentives to affection, you might suppose that he wouldconfer the fruits of it upon me in larger measure, or at the leastreciprocate and emulate my love. Alas, far from it! he returns hate forlove, persecution for devotion, wrong for service, disinheritance forrespect; the laws which guard, he converts into means of assailing, therights of children. Ah, my father, how do you force law into your servicein this battle against nature!

The facts, believe me, are not as you would have them. You are a badexponent, sir, of good laws. In this matter of affection there is no warbetween law and nature; they hunt in couples, they work together for theremedying of wrongs. When you evil entreat your benefactor, you arewronging nature; now I ask, do you wrong the laws as well as nature? Youdo; it is their intention to be fair and just and give sons their rights;but you will not allow it; you hound them on again and again upon onechild as though he were many; you keep them ever busy punishing, whentheir own desire is peace and goodwill between father and son. I needhardly add that, as against the innocent, they may be said to have noexistence. But let me tell you, ingratitude also is an offence known tothe law; an action will lie against a person who fails to recompense hisbenefactor. If he adds to such failure an attempt to punish, he hassurely reached the uttermost limits of wrong in this sort. And now Ithink I have sufficiently established two points: first, my father hasnot the right, after once exerting his parental privilege and availinghimself of the law, to disinherit me again; and secondly, it is ongeneral grounds inadmissible to cast off and expel from his family onewho has rendered service so invaluable. 

Let us next proceed to the actual reasons given for the disinheritance;let us inquire into the nature of the charge. We must first go back for amoment to the intention of the legislator. We will grant you for the sakeof argument, sir, that it is open to you to disinherit as often as youplease; we will further concede you this right against your benefactor;but I presume that disinheritance is not to be the beginning and theending in itself; you will not resort to it, that is, without sufficientcause. The legislator's meaning is not that the father can disinherit, whatever his grievance may be, that nothing is required beyond the wishand a complaint; in that case, what is the court's function? No, gentlemen, it is your business to inquire whether the parental angerrests upon good and sufficient grounds. That is the question which I amnow to put before you; and I will take up the story from the moment whensanity was restored. 

The first-fruits of this was the withdrawal of the disinheritance; I waspreserver, benefactor, everything. So far my conduct is not open toexception, I take it. Well, and later on what fault has my father tofind? What attention or filial duty did I omit? Did I stay out o' nights, sir? Do you charge me with untimely drinkings and revellings? Was Iextravagant? Did I get into some disreputable brawl? Did any suchcomplaint reach you? None whatever. Yet these are just the offences forwhich the law contemplates disherison. Ah, but my step-mother fell ill. Indeed, and do you make that a charge against me? Do you prefer a suitfor ill health? I understand you to say no. 

What _is_ the grievance, then?-_That you refuse to treat her at mybidding, and for such disobedience to your father deserve to bedisinherited_. --Gentlemen, I will explain presently how the nature ofthis demand results in a seeming disobedience, but a real inability. Meanwhile, I simply remark that neither the authority which the lawconfers on him, nor the obedience to which I am bound, is indiscriminate. Among orders, some have no sanction, while the disregard of othersjustifies anger and punishment. My father may be ill, and I neglect him;he may charge me with the management of his house, and I take no notice;he may tell me to look after his country estate, and I evade the task. Inall these and similar cases, the parental censure will be well deserved. But other things again are for the sons to decide, as questions ofprofessional skill or policy--especially if the father's interests arenot touched. If a painter's father says to him, 'Paint this, my boy, anddo not paint that'; or a musician's, 'Strike this note, and not theother'; or a bronze-founder's, 'Cast so-and-so'; would it be tolerablethat the son should be disinherited for not taking such advice? Of coursenot. 

But the medical profession should be left still more to their owndiscretion than other artists, in proportion to the greater nobility oftheir aims and usefulness of their work; this art should have a specialright of choosing its objects; this sacred occupation, taught straightfrom Heaven, and pursued by the wisest of men, should be secured againstall compulsion, enslaved to no law, intimidated and penalized by nocourt, exposed to no votes or paternal threats or uninstructed passions. If I had told my father directly and expressly, 'I will not do it, Irefuse the case, though I could treat it, I hold my art at no man'sservice but my own and yours, as far as others are concerned I am alayman'--if I had taken that position, where is the masterful despot whowould have applied force and compelled me to practise against my will?The appropriate inducements are request and entreaty, not laws andbrowbeating and tribunals; the physician is to be persuaded, notcommanded; he is to choose, not be terrorized; he is not to be haled tohis patient, but to come with his consent and at his pleasure. Governments are wont to give physicians the public recognition ofhonours, precedence, immunities and privileges; and shall the art whichhas State immunities not be exempt from the _patria fotestas_?

All this I was entitled to say simply as a professional man, even on theassumption that you had had me taught, and devoted much care and expenseto my training, that this particular case had been within my competence, and I had yet declined it. But in fact you have to consider also howutterly unreasonable it is that you should not let me use at my owndiscretion my own acquisition. It was not as your son nor under yourauthority that I acquired this art; and yet it was for your advantagethat I acquired it--you were the first to profit by it--, though you hadcontributed nothing to my training. Will you mention the fees you paid?How much did the stock of my surgery cost you? Not one penny. I was apauper, I knew not where to turn for necessaries, and I owed myinstruction to my teachers' charity. The provision my father made for myeducation was sorrow, desolation, distress, estrangement from my friendsand banishment from my family. And do you then claim to have the use ofmy skill, the absolute control of what was acquired independently? Youshould be content with the previous service rendered to yourself, notunder obligation, but of free will; for even on that occasion nothingcould have been demanded of me on the score of gratitude. 

My kindness of the past is not to be my duty of the future; a voluntaryfavour is not to be turned into an obligation to take unwelcome orders;the principle is not to be established that he who once cures a man isbound to cure any number of others at his bidding ever after. That wouldbe to appoint the patients we cure our absolute masters; _we_ shouldbe paying _them_, and the fee would be slavish submission to theircommands. Could anything be more absurd? Because you were ill, and I wasat such pains to restore you, does that make you the owner of my art?

All this I could have said, if the tasks he imposed upon me had beenwithin my powers, and I had declined to accept all of them, or, oncompulsion, any of them. But I now wish you to look further into theirnature. 'You cured me of madness (says he); my wife is now mad and in thecondition I was in (that of course is his idea); she has been given up asI was by the other doctors, but you have shown that nothing is too hardfor you; very well, then, cure her too, and make an end of her illness. 'Now, put like that, it sounds very reasonable, especially in the ears ofa layman innocent of medical knowledge. But if you will listen to what Ihave to say for my art, you will find that there _are_ things toohard for us, that all ailments are not alike, that the same treatment andthe same drugs will not always answer; and then you will understand whata difference there is between refusing and being unable. Pray bear withme while I generalize a little, without condemning my disquisition aspedantic, irrelevant, or ill-timed. 

To begin with, human bodies differ in nature and temperament; compoundedas they admittedly are of the same elements, they are yet compounded indifferent proportions. I am not referring at present to sexualdifferences; the _male_ body is not the same or alike in differentindividuals; it differs in temperament and constitution; and from this itresults that in different men diseases also differ both in character andin intensity; one man's body has recuperative power and is susceptible totreatment; another's is utterly crazy, open to every infection, andwithout vigour to resist disease. To suppose, then, that all fever, allconsumption, lung-disease, or mania, being generically the same, willaffect every subject in the same way, is what no sensible, thoughtful, orwell-informed person would do; the same disease is easily curable in oneman, and not in another. Why, sow the same wheat in various soils, andthe results will vary. Let the soil be level, deep, well watered, wellsunned, well aired, well ploughed, and the crop will be rich, fat, plentiful. Elevated stony ground will make a difference, no sun anotherdifference, foothills another, and so on. Just so with disease; its soilmakes it thrive and spread, or starves it. Now all this quite escapes myfather; he makes no inquiries of this sort, but assumes that all mania inevery body is the same, and to be treated accordingly. 

Besides such differences between males, it is obvious that the femalebody differs widely from the male both in the diseases it is subject toand in its capacity or non-capacity of recovery. The bracing effect oftoil, exercise, and open air gives firmness and tone to the male; thefemale is soft and unstrung from its sheltered existence, and pale withanaemia, deficient caloric and excess of moisture. It is consequently, ascompared with the male, open to infection, exposed to disease, unequal tovigorous treatment, and, in particular, liable to mania. With theiremotional, mobile, excitable tendencies on the one hand, and theirdefective bodily strength on the other, women fall an easy prey to thisaffliction. 

It is quite unfair, then, to expect the physician to cure both sexesindifferently; we must recognize how far apart they are, their wholelives, pursuits, and habits, having been distinct from infancy. Do nottalk of a mad person, then, but specify the sex; do not confounddistinctions and force all cases under the supposed identical title ofmadness; keep separate what nature separates, and then examine therespective possibilities. I began this exposition with stating that thefirst thing we doctors look to is the nature and temperament of ourpatient's body: which of the humours predominates in it; is it full-blooded or the reverse; at, or past, its prime; big or little; fat orlean? When a man has satisfied himself upon these and other such points, his opinion, favourable or adverse, upon the prospects of recovery may beimplicitly relied upon. 

It must be remembered too that madness itself has a thousand forms, numberless causes, and even some distinct names. Delusion, infatuation, frenzy, lunacy--these are not the same; they all express differentdegrees of the affection. Again, the causes are not only different in menand women, but, in men, they are different for the old and for the young;for instance, in young men some redundant humour is the usual cause;whereas with the old a shrewdly timed slander, or very likely a fancieddomestic slight, will get hold of them, first cloud their understanding, and finally drive them distracted. As for women, all sorts of thingseffect a lodgement and make easy prey of them, especially bitter dislike, envy of a prosperous rival, pain or anger. These feelings smoulder on, gaining strength with time, till at last they burst out in madness. 

Such, sir, has been your wife's case, perhaps with the addition of somerecent trouble; for she used to have no strong dislikes, yet she is nowin the grasp of the malady--and that beyond hope of medical relief. Forif any physician undertakes and cures the case, you have my permission tohate me for the wrong I have done you. Yet I must go so far as to saythat, even had the case not been so desperate--had there been a glimmerof hope--even then I should not have lightly intervened, nor been veryready to administer drugs; I should have been afraid of what mighthappen, and of the sort of stories that might get about. You know theuniversal belief that every step-mother, whatever her general merits, hates her step-sons; it is supposed to be a feminine mania from whichnone of them is exempt. If the disease had taken a wrong turn, and themedicine failed of its effect, there would very likely have beensuspicions of intentional malpractice. 

Your wife's condition, sir--and I describe it to you after closeobservation--, is this: she will never mend, though she take ten thousanddoses of medicine. It is therefore undesirable to make the experiment, unless your object is merely to compel me to fail and cover me withdisgrace. Pray do not enable my professional brethren to triumph over me;their jealousy is enough. If you disinherit me again, I shall be leftdesolate, but I shall pray for no evil upon your head. But suppose--though God forbid!--suppose your malady should return; relapses arecommon enough in such cases, under irritation; what is my course then tobe? Doubt not, I shall restore you once more; I shall not desert the postwhich nature assigns to children; I for my part shall not forget mydescent. And then if you recover, must I look for another restitution?You understand me? your present proceedings are calculated to awake yourdisease and stir it to renewed malignancy. It is but the other day thatyou emerged from your sad condition, and you are vehement and loud--worstof all, you are full of anger, indulging your hatred and appealing oncemore to the law. Alas, father, even such was the prelude to your firstmadness. 

PHALARIS, I

We are sent to you, Priests of Delphi, by Phalaris our master, withinstructions to present this bull to the God, and to speak the necessarywords on behalf of the offering and its donor. Such being our errand, itremains for us to deliver his message, which is as follows:

'It is my desire above all things, men of Delphi, to appear to the Greeksas I really am, and not in that character in which Envy and Malice, availing themselves of the ignorance of their hearers, have representedme: and if to the Greeks in general, then most of all to you, who areholy men, associates of the God, sharers (I had almost said) of hishearth and home. If I can clear myself before you, if I can convince youthat I am not the cruel tyrant I am supposed to be, then I may considermyself cleared in the eyes of all the world. For the truth of mystatements, I appeal to the testimony of the God himself. Methinks_he_ is not likely to be deceived by lying words. It may be an easymatter to mislead men: but to escape the penetration of a God--and thatGod Apollo--is impossible. 

'I was a man of no mean family; in birth, in breeding, in education, theequal of any man in Agrigentum. In my political conduct I was everpublic-spirited, in my private life mild and unassuming; no unseemly act, no deed of violence, oppression, or headstrong insolence was ever laid tomy charge in those early days. But our city at that time was divided intofactions: I saw myself exposed to the plots of my political opponents, who sought to destroy me by every means: if I would live in security, ifI would preserve the city from destruction, there was but one course opento me--to seize upon the government, and thereby baffle my opponents, putan end to their machinations, and bring my countrymen to their senses. There were not a few who approved my design: patriots and men of cooljudgement, they understood my sentiments, and saw that I had noalternative. With their help, I succeeded without difficulty in myenterprise. 

'From that moment, the disturbances ceased. My opponents, became mysubjects, I their ruler; and the city was freed from dissension. Fromexecutions and banishments and confiscations I abstained, even in thecase of those who had plotted against my life. Such strong measures areindeed never more necessary than at the commencement of a new rule: but Iwas sanguine; I proposed to treat them as my equals, and to win theirallegiance by clemency, mildness, and humanity. My first act was toreconcile myself with my enemies, most of whom I invited to my table andtook into my confidence. 

'I found the city in a ruinous condition, owing to the neglect of themagistrates, who had commonly been guilty of embezzlement, if not ofwholesale plunder. I repaired the evil by means of aqueducts, beautifiedthe city with noble buildings, and surrounded it with walls. The publicrevenues were easily increased by proper attention on the part of thefiscal authorities. I provided for the education of the young and themaintenance of the old; and for the general public I had games andspectacles, banquets and doles. As for rape and seduction, tyrannicalviolence or intimidation, I abhorred the very name of such things. 

'I now began to think of laying down my power; and how to do so withsafety was my only concern. The cares of government and public businesshad begun to weigh upon me; I found my position as burdensome as it wasinvidious. But it was still a question, how to render the cityindependent of such assistance for the future. And whilst I--honest man!--was busied with such thoughts, my enemies were even then combiningagainst me, and debating the ways and means of rebellion; conspiracieswere forming, arms and money were being collected, neighbour states wereinvited to assist, embassies were on their way to Sparta and Athens. Thetorments that were in store for me, had I fallen into their hands, Iafterwards learnt from their public confession under torture, from whichit appeared that they had vowed to tear me limb from limb with their ownhands. For my escape from such a fate, I have to thank the Gods, whounmasked the conspiracy; and, in particular, the God of Delphi, who sentdreams to warn me, and dispatched messengers with detailed information. 

'And now, men of Delphi, I would ask your advice. Imagine yourselves to-day in the perilous situation in which I then stood; and tell me what wasmy proper course. I had almost fallen unawares into the hands of myenemies, and was casting about for means of safety. Leave Delphi for awhile, and transport yourselves in spirit to Agrigentum: behold thepreparations of my enemies: listen to their threats; and say, what isyour counsel? Shall I sit quietly on the brink of destruction, exercisingclemency and long-suffering as heretofore? bare my throat to the sword?see my nearest and dearest slaughtered before my eyes? What would this bebut sheer imbecility? Shall I not rather bear myself like a man ofspirit, give the rein to my rational indignation, avenge my injuries uponthe conspirators, and use my present power with a view to my futuresecurity? This, I know, would have been your advice. 

'Now observe my procedure. I sent for the guilty persons, heard theirdefence, produced my evidence, established every point beyond a doubt;and when they themselves admitted the truth of the accusation, I punishedthem; for I took it ill, not that they had plotted against my life, butthat on their account I was compelled to abandon my original policy. Fromthat day to this, I have consulted my own safety by punishing conspiracyas often as it has shown itself. 

'And men call me cruel! They do not stop to ask who was the aggressor;they condemn what they think the cruelty of my vengeance, but passlightly over the provocation, and the nature of the crime. It is as if aman were to see a temple-robber hurled from the rock at Delphi, and, without reflecting how the transgressor had stolen into your temple bynight, torn down the votive-offerings, and laid hands upon the gravenimage of the God, were to exclaim against the inhumanity of persons who, calling themselves Greeks and holy men, could yet find it in them toinflict this awful punishment upon their fellow Greek, and that withinsight of the holy place;--for the rock, as I am told, is not far from thecity. Surely you would laugh to scorn such an accusation as this; andyour _cruel_ treatment of the impious would be universally applauded. 

'But so it is: the public does not inquire into the character of a ruler, into the justice or injustice of his conduct; the mere name of tyrannyensures men's hatred; the tyrant might be an Aeacus, a Minos, aRhadamanthus, --they would be none the less eager for his destruction;their thoughts ever run on those tyrants who have been bad rulers, andthe good, because they bear the same name, are held in the likedetestation. I have heard that many of your tyrants in Greece have beenwise men, who, labouring under that opprobrious title, have yet givenproofs of benevolence and humanity, and whose pithy maxims are even nowstored up in your temple among the treasures of the God. 

'Observe, moreover, the prominence given to punishment by allconstitutional legislators; they know that when the fear of punishment iswanting, nothing else is of avail. And this is doubly so with us who aretyrants; whose power is based upon compulsion; who live in the midst ofenmity and treachery. The bugbear terrors of the law would never serveour turn. Rebellion is a many-headed Hydra: we cut off one guilty head, two others grow in its place. Yet we must harden our hearts, smite themoff as they grow, and--like lolaus--sear the wounds; thus only shall wehold our own. The man who has once become involved in such a strife asthis must play the part that he has undertaken; to show mercy would befatal. Do you suppose that any man was ever so brutal, so inhuman, as torejoice in torture and groans and bloodshed for their own sake, whenthere was no occasion for punishment? Many is the time that I have weptwhile others suffered beneath the lash, and groaned in spirit over thehard fate that subjected me to a torment more fierce and more abidingthan theirs. For to the man who is benevolent by nature, and harsh onlyby compulsion, it is more painful to inflict punishment than it would beto undergo it. 

'Now I will speak my mind frankly. If I had to choose between punishinginnocent men, and facing death myself, believe me, I should have nohesitation in accepting the latter alternative. But if I am asked, whether I had rather die an undeserved death than give their deserts tothose who plotted against my life, I answer no; and once more, Delphians, I appeal to you: which is better--to die when I deserve not death, or tospare my enemies who deserve not mercy? [Footnote: Apparently the speakerintended to repeat the last pair of alternatives in different words:instead of which, he gives us one of those alternatives twice over. Lucian's tautologic genius fails him for once. ] No man surely can be sucha fool that he would not rather live than preserve his enemies by hisdeath. Yet in spite of this how many have I spared who were palpablyconvicted of conspiring against me; such were Acanthus, Timocrates, andhis brother Leogoras, all of whom I saved out of regard for our formerintercourse. 

'If you would learn more of me, apply to any of the strangers who havevisited Agrigentum; and see what account they give of the treatment theyreceived, and of my hospitality to all who land on my coasts. Mymessengers are waiting for them in every port, to inquire after theirnames and cities, that they may not go away without receiving due honourat my hands. Some--the wisest of the Greeks--have come expressly to visitme, so far are they from avoiding intercourse with me. It was but latelythat I received a visit from the sage Pythagoras. The account that he hadheard of me was belied by his experience; and on taking his departure heexpressed admiration of my justice, and deplored the circumstances whichmade severity a duty. Now is it likely that one who is so benevolent tostrangers should deal unjustly with his fellow citizens? is it not to besupposed that the provocation has been unusually great?

'So much then in defence of my own conduct; I have spoken the words oftruth and justice, and would persuade myself that I have merited yourapprobation rather than your resentment. And now I must explain to youthe origin of my present offering, and the manner in which it came intomy hands. For it was by no instructions of mine that the statuary madethis bull: far be it from me to aspire to the possession of such works ofart! A countryman of my own, one Perilaus, an admirable artist, but a manof evil disposition, had so far mistaken my character as to think that hecould win my regard by the invention of a new form of torture; the loveof torture, he thought, was my ruling passion. He it was who made thebull and brought it to me. I no sooner set eyes on this beautiful andexquisite piece of workmanship, which lacked only movement and sound tocomplete the illusion, than I exclaimed: "Here is an offering fit for theGod of Delphi: to him I must send it. " "And what will you say, " rejoinedPerilaus, who stood by, "when you see the ingenious mechanism within it, and learn the purpose it is designed to serve?" He opened the back of theanimal, and continued: "When you are minded to punish any one, shut himup in this receptacle, apply these pipes to the nostrils of the bull, andorder a fire to be kindled beneath. The occupant will shriek and roar inunremitting agony; and his cries will come to you through the pipes asthe tenderest, most pathetic, most melodious of bellowings. Your victimwill be punished, and you will enjoy the music. "

'His words revolted me. I loathed the thought of such ingenious cruelty, and resolved to punish the artificer in kind. "If this is anything morethan an empty boast, Perilaus, " I said to him, "if your art can reallyproduce this effect, get inside yourself, and pretend to roar; and wewill see whether the pipes will make such music as you describe. " Heconsented; and when he was inside I closed the aperture, and ordered afire to be kindled. "Receive, " I cried, "the due reward of your wondrousart: let the music-master be the first to play. " Thus did his ingenuitymeet with its deserts. But lest the offering should be polluted by hisdeath, I caused him to be removed while he was yet alive, and his body tobe flung dishonoured from the cliffs. The bull, after due purification, Isent as an offering to your God, with an inscription upon it, settingforth all the circumstances; the names of the donor and of the artist, the evil design of the latter, and the righteous sentence which condemnedhim to illustrate by his own agonized shrieks the efficacy of his musicaldevice. 

'And now, men of Delphi, you will be doing me no more than justice, ifyou join my ambassadors in making sacrifice on my behalf, and set up thebull in a conspicuous part of the temple; that all men may know what ismy attitude towards evil-doers, and in what manner I chastise theirinordinate craving after wickedness. Herein is a sufficient indication ofmy character: Perilaus punished, the bull consecrated, not reserved forthe bellowings of other victims. The first and last melody that issuedfrom those pipes was wrung from their artificer; that one experimentmade, the harsh, inhuman notes are silenced for ever. So much for thepresent offering, which will be followed by many others, so soon as theGod vouchsafes me a respite from my work of chastisement. '

Such was the message of Phalaris; and his statement is in strictaccordance with the facts. You may safely accept our testimony, as we areacquainted with the circumstances, and can have no object in deceivingyou on the present occasion. Must entreaty be added? Then on behalf ofone whose character has been misrepresented, and whose severities wereforced upon him against his will, we implore you, --we who areAgrigentines, Greeks like yourselves and of Dorian origin--to accept hisoffer of friendship, and not to thwart his benevolent intentions towardsyour community and the individuals of which it is composed. Take the bullinto your keeping; consecrate it; and offer up your prayers on behalf ofAgrigentum and of Phalaris. Suffer us not to have come hither in vain:repulse not our master with scorn: nor deprive the God of an offeringwhose intrinsic beauty is only equalled by its righteous associations. 

PHALARIS, II

Men of Delphi: I stand in no public relation to the city of Agrigentum, in no private relation to its ruler; I am bound to him neither bygratitude for past favours, nor by the prospect of future friendship: butI have heard the just and temperate plea advanced by his emissaries, andI rise to advocate the claims of religion, the interests of ourcommunity, the duties of the priesthood; I charge you, thwart not thepious intention of a mighty prince, nor deprive the God of an offeringwhich in the intention of the donor is already his, and which is destinedto serve as an eternal threefold record, --of the sculptor's art, ofinventive cruelty, and of righteous retribution. To me it seems that onlyto have raised this question, only to have halted between acceptance andrejection, is in itself an offence against Heaven; nay, a glaringimpiety. For what is this but a sacrilege more heinous than that of thetemple-robber, who does but plunder those sacred things to which youwould even deny consecration? I implore you, --your fellow priest, yourpartner in good report (if so it may be), or in evil (should that nowbefall us), implores you: close not the temple-doors upon the devoutworshipper; suffer us not to be known to the world as men who examinejealously into the offerings that are brought, and subject the donor tothe narrow scrutiny of a court, and to the hazard of a vote. For whowould not be deterred at the thought that the God accepts no offeringwithout the previous sanction of his priests?

Already Apollo has declared his true opinion. Had he hated Phalaris, orscorned his gift, it had been easy for him to sink the gift and the shipthat bore it in mid-ocean; instead, we learn that he vouchsafed them acalm passage and a safe arrival at Cirrha. Clearly the monarch's piety isacceptable in his sight. It behoves you to confirm his decision, and toadd this bull to the glories of the temple. Strange indeed, if the senderof so magnificent a gift is to meet with rejection at the temple-door, and his piety to be rewarded with the judgement that his offering isunclean. 

My opponent tells a harrowing tale of butchery and violence, of plunderand abduction; it is much that he does not call himself an eyewitnessthereof; we might suppose that he was but newly arrived from Agrigentum, did we not know that his travels have never carried him on board ship. Inmatters of this kind, it is not advisable to place much reliance even onthe assertions of the supposed victims; there is no knowing how far theyare speaking the truth;--as to bringing allegations ourselves, when weknow nothing of the facts, that is out of the question. Granting eventhat something of the kind _did_ happen, it happened in Sicily: weare at Delphi; we are not called upon to interfere. Do we propose toabandon the temple for the law-court? Are we, whose office it is tosacrifice, and minister to the God, and receive his offerings, --are we tosit here debating whether certain cities on the other side of the Ioniansea are well or ill governed? Let other men's affairs be as they may, itis our business, as I take it, to know our own: our past history, ourpresent situation, our best interests. We need not wait for Homer toinform us that we inhabit a land of crags, and are tillers of a rockysoil; our eyes tell us that; if we depended on our soil, we must gohungry all our days. Apollo; his temple; his oracle; his worshippers; hissacrifices;--these are the fields of the Delphians, these their revenues, their wealth, their maintenance. I can speak the truth here. It is as thepoets say: we sow not, we plough not, yet all things grow for our use;for a God is our husbandman, and gives us not the good things of Greeceonly; all that Phrygia, all that Lydia, all that Persia, Assyria, Phoenicia, Italy, and the far North can yield, --all comes to Delphi. Welive in prosperity and plenty; in the esteem of mankind we are second tonone but the God himself. So it was in the beginning: so it is now: andso may it ever be!

But who has ever heard before of our putting an offering to the vote, orhindering men from paying sacrifice? No one; and herein, as I maintain, is the secret of our temple's greatness, and of the abundant wealth ofits offerings. Then let us have no innovations now, no new-fangledinstitutions, no inquiries into the origin and nature and nationality andpedigree of a gift; let us take what is brought to us, and set it in thestore-chamber without more ado. In this way we shall best serve both theGod and his worshippers. I think it would be well if, before youdeliberate further on the question before you, you would consider howgreat and how various are the issues involved. There is the God, histemple, his sacrifices and offerings, the ancient customs and ordinances, the reputation of the oracle; again, our city as a whole, our commoninterests, and those of every individual Delphian among us; lastly--and Iknow not what consideration could seem of more vital importance to awell-judging mind--, our own credit or discredit with the world at large. 

I say, then, we have to deal not with Phalaris, not with a single tyrant, not with this bull, not with so much weight of bronze, --but with everyking and prince who frequents our temple at this day; with gold andsilver and all the precious offerings that should pour in upon the God;that God whose interests claim our first attention. Say, why should wechange the old-established usage in regard to offerings? What fault havewe to find with the ancient custom, that we should propose innovations?Never yet, from the day when Delphi was first inhabited, and Apolloprophesied, and the tripod gave utterance, and the priestess wasinspired, never yet have the bringers of gifts been subjected toscrutiny. And shall they now? Consider how the ancient custom, whichgranted free access to all men, has filled the temple with treasures; howall men have brought their offerings, and how some have impoverishedthemselves to enrich the God. My mind misgives me that, when you haveassumed the censorship of offerings, you will lack employment: men mayrefuse to submit themselves to your court; they may think it is enough tospend their money, without having to undergo the risk of a rejection fortheir pains. Would life be worth living, to the man who should be judgedunworthy to offer sacrifice?

ALEXANDER THE ORACLE-MONGER

You, my dear Celsus, possibly suppose yourself to be laying upon me quitea trifling task: _Write me down in a book and send me the life andadventures, the tricks and frauds, of the impostor Alexander ofAbonutichus_. In fact, however, it would take as long to do this infull detail as to reduce to writing the achievements of Alexander ofMacedon; the one is among villains what the other is among heroes. Nevertheless, if you will promise to read with indulgence, and fill upthe gaps in my tale from your imagination, I will essay the task. I maynot cleanse that Augean stable completely, but I will do my best, andfetch you out a few loads as samples of the unspeakable filth that threethousand oxen could produce in many years. 

I confess to being a little ashamed both on your account and my own. There are you asking that the memory of an arch-scoundrel should beperpetuated in writing; here am I going seriously into an investigationof this sort--the doings of a person whose deserts entitled him not to beread about by the cultivated, but to be torn to pieces in theamphitheatre by apes or foxes, with a vast audience looking on. Well, well, if any one does cast reflections of that sort upon us, we shall atleast have a precedent to plead. Arrian himself, disciple of Epictetus, distinguished Roman, and product of lifelong culture as he was, had justour experience, and shall make our defence. He condescended, that is, toput on record the life of the robber Tilliborus. The robber we propose toimmortalize was of a far more pestilent kind, following his professionnot in the forests and mountains, but in cities; _he_ was not content tooverrun a Mysia or an Ida; _his_ booty came not from a few scantilypopulated districts of Asia; one may say that the scene of hisdepredations was the whole Roman Empire. 

I will begin with a picture of the man himself, as lifelike (though I amnot great at description) as I can make it with nothing better thanwords. In person--not to forget that part of him--he was a fine handsomeman with a real touch of divinity about him, white-skinned, moderatelybearded; he wore besides his own hair artificial additions which matchedit so cunningly that they were not generally detected. His eyes werepiercing, and suggested inspiration, his voice at once sweet andsonorous. In fact there was no fault to be found with him in theserespects. 

So much for externals. As for his mind and spirit--well, if all the kindGods who avert disaster will grant a prayer, it shall be that they bringme not within reach of such a one as he; sooner will I face my bitterestenemies, my country's foes. In understanding, resource, acuteness, he wasfar above other men; curiosity, receptiveness, memory, scientificability--all these were his in overflowing measure. But he used them forthe worst purposes. Endowed with all these instruments of good, he verysoon reached a proud pre-eminence among all who have been famous forevil; the Cercopes, Eurybatus, Phrynondas, Aristodemus, Sostratus--allthrown into the shade. In a letter to his father-in-law Rutilianus, whichputs his own pretensions in a truly modest light, he compares himself toPythagoras. Well, I should not like to offend the wise, the divinePythagoras; but if he had been Alexander's contemporary, I am quite surehe would have been a mere child to him. Now by all that is admirable, donot take that for an insult to Pythagoras, nor suppose I would draw aparallel between their achievements. What I mean is: if any one wouldmake a collection of all the vilest and most damaging slanders evervented against Pythagoras--things whose truth I would not accept for amoment--, the sum of them would not come within measurable distance ofAlexander's cleverness. You are to set your imagination to work andconceive a temperament curiously compounded of falsehood, trickery, perjury, cunning; it is versatile, audacious, adventurous, yet dogged inexecution; it is plausible enough to inspire confidence; it can assumethe mask of virtue, and seem to eschew what it most desires. I suppose noone ever left him after a first interview without the impression thatthis was the best and kindest of men, ay, and the simplest and mostunsophisticated. Add to all this a certain greatness in his objects; henever made a small plan; his ideas were always large. 

While in the bloom of his youthful beauty, which we may assume to havebeen great both from its later remains and from the report of those whosaw it, he traded quite shamelessly upon it. Among his other patrons wasone of the charlatans who deal in magic and mystic incantations; theywill smooth your course of love, confound your enemies, find youtreasure, or secure you an inheritance. This person was struck with thelad's natural qualifications for apprenticeship to his trade, and findinghim as much attracted by rascality as attractive in appearance, gave hima regular training as accomplice, satellite, and attendant. His ownostensible profession was medicine, and his knowledge included, like thatof Thoon the Egyptian's wife, Many a virtuous herb, and many a bane;

to all which inheritance our friend succeeded. This teacher and lover ofhis was a native of Tyana, an associate of the great Apollonius, andacquainted with all his heroics. And now you know the atmosphere in whichAlexander lived. 

By the time his beard had come, the Tyanean was dead, and he foundhimself in straits; for the personal attractions which might once havebeen a resource were diminished. He now formed great designs, which heimparted to a Byzantine chronicler of the strolling competitive order, aman of still worse character than himself, called, I believe, Cocconas. The pair went about living on occult pretensions, shearing 'fat-heads, 'as they describe ordinary people in the native Magian lingo. Among thesethey got hold of a rich Macedonian woman; her youth was past, but not herdesire for admiration; they got sufficient supplies out of her, andaccompanied her from Bithynia to Macedonia. She came from Pella, whichhad been a flourishing place under the Macedonian kingdom, but has now apoor and much reduced population. 

There is here a breed of large serpents, so tame and gentle that womenmake pets of them, children take them to bed, they will let you tread onthem, have no objection to being squeezed, and will draw milk from thebreast like infants. To these facts is probably to be referred the commonstory about Olympias when she was with child of Alexander; it wasdoubtless one of these that was her bed-fellow. Well, the two saw thesecreatures, and bought the finest they could get for a few pence. 

And from this point, as Thucydides might say, the war takes itsbeginning. These ambitious scoundrels were quite devoid of scruples, andthey had now joined forces; it could not escape their penetration thathuman life is under the absolute dominion of two mighty principles, fearand hope, and that any one who can make these serve his ends may be sureof a rapid fortune. They realized that, whether a man is most swayed bythe one or by the other, what he must most depend upon and desire is aknowledge of futurity. So were to be explained the ancient wealth andfame of Delphi, Delos, Clarus, Branchidae; it was at the bidding of thetwo tyrants aforesaid that men thronged the temples, longed for fore-knowledge, and to attain it sacrificed their hecatombs or dedicated theirgolden ingots. All this they turned over and debated, and it issued inthe resolve to establish an oracle. If it were successful, they lookedfor immediate wealth and prosperity; the result surpassed their mostsanguine expectations. 

The next things to be settled were, first the theatre of operations, andsecondly the plan of campaign. Cocconas favoured Chalcedon, as amercantile centre convenient both for Thrace and Bithynia, and accessibleenough for the province of Asia, Galatia, and tribes still further east. Alexander, on the other hand, preferred his native place, urging verytruly that an enterprise like theirs required congenial soil to give it astart, in the shape of 'fat-heads' and simpletons; that was a fairdescription, he said, of the Paphlagonians beyond Abonutichus; they weremostly superstitious and well-to-do; one had only to go there with someone to play the flute, the tambourine, or the cymbals, set the proverbialmantic sieve [Footnote: I have no information on Coscinomancy or sieve-divination. 'This kind of divination was generally practised to discoverthieves . .. They tied a thread to the sieve, by which it was upheld, thenprayed to the Gods to direct and assist them. After which they repeatedthe names of the person suspected, and he at whose name the sieve whirledround or moved was thought to have committed the fact' _Francklin'sLucian. _] a-spinning, and there they would all be gaping as if he werea God from heaven. 

This difference of opinion did not last long, and Alexander prevailed. Discovering, however, that a use might after all be made of Chalcedon, they went there first, and in the temple of Apollo, the oldest in theplace, they buried some brazen tablets, on which was the statement thatvery shortly Asclepius, with his father Apollo, would pay a visit toPontus, and take up his abode at Abonutichus. The discovery of thetablets took place as arranged, and the news flew through Bithynia andPontus, first of all, naturally, to Abonutichus. The people of that placeat once resolved to raise a temple, and lost no time in digging thefoundations. Cocconas was now left at Chalcedon, engaged in composingcertain ambiguous crabbed oracles. He shortly afterwards died, I believe, of a viper's bite. 

Alexander meanwhile went on in advance; he had now grown his hair andwore it in long curls; his doublet was white and purple striped, hiscloak pure white; he carried a scimetar in imitation of Perseus, fromwhom he now claimed descent through his mother. The wretchedPaphlagonians, who knew perfectly well that his parentage was obscure andmean on both sides, nevertheless gave credence to the oracle, which ran:

 Lo, sprung from Perseus, and to Phoebus dear, High Alexander, Podalirius' son!

Podalirius, it seems, was of so highly amorous a complexion that thedistance between Tricca and Paphlagonia was no bar to his union withAlexander's mother. A Sibylline prophecy had also been found:

 Hard by Sinope on the Euxine shore Th' Italic age a fortress prophet sees. To the first monad let thrice ten be added, Five monads yet, and then a triple score: Such the quaternion of th' alexic name. 

[Footnote: In 1. 2 of the oracle, the Italic age is the Roman Empire; thefortress prophet is one who belongs to a place ending in--tichus (fort). 11>> 3-5 mean: Take 1, 30, 5, 60 (the Greek symbols for which are theletters of the alphabet A, L, E, X), and you will have four letters ofthe name of your coming protector (alexic). ]

This heroic entry into his long-left home placed Alexander conspicuouslybefore the public; he affected madness, and frequently foamed at themouth--a manifestation easily produced by chewing the herb soap-wort, used by dyers; but it brought him reverence and awe. The two had long agomanufactured and fitted up a serpent's head of linen; they had given it amore or less human expression, and painted it very like the real article;by a contrivance of horsehair, the mouth could be opened and shut, and aforked black serpent tongue protruded, working on the same system. Theserpent from Pella was also kept ready in the house, to be produced atthe right moment and take its part in the drama--the leading part, indeed. 

In the fullness of time, his plan took shape. He went one night to thetemple foundations, still in process of digging, and with standing waterin them which had collected from the rainfall or otherwise; here hedeposited a goose egg, into which, after blowing it, he had inserted somenew-born reptile. He made a resting-place deep down in the mud for this, and departed. Early next morning he rushed into the market-place, nakedexcept for a gold-spangled loin-cloth; with nothing but this and hisscimetar, and shaking his long loose hair, like the fanatics who collectmoney in the name of Cybele, he climbed on to a lofty altar and delivereda harangue, felicitating the city upon the advent of the God now to blessthem with his presence. In a few minutes nearly the whole population wason the spot, women, old men, and children included; all was awe, prayer, and adoration. He uttered some unintelligible sounds, which might havebeen Hebrew or Phoenician, but completed his victory over his audience, who could make nothing of what he said, beyond the constant repetition ofthe names Apollo and Asclepius. 

He then set off at a run for the future temple. Arrived at the excavationand the already completed sacred fount, he got down into the water, chanted in a loud voice hymns to Asclepius and Apollo, and invited theGod to come, a welcome guest, to the city. He next demanded a bowl, andwhen this was handed to him, had no difficulty in putting it down at theright place and scooping up, besides water and mud, the egg in which theGod had been enclosed; the edges of the aperture had been joined with waxand white lead. He took the egg in his hand and announced that here heheld Asclepius. The people, who had been sufficiently astonished by thediscovery of the egg in the water, were now all eyes for what was tocome. He broke it, and received in his hollowed palm the hardly developedreptile; the crowd could see it stirring and winding about his fingers;they raised a shout, hailed the God, blessed the city, and every mouthwas full of prayers--for treasure and wealth and health and all the othergood things that he might give. Our hero now departed homewards, stillrunning, with the new-born Asclepius in his hands--the twice-born, too, whereas ordinary men can be born but once, and born moreover not ofCoronis [Footnote: Coronis was the mother of Asclepius; 'corone' is Greekfor a crow. ] nor even of her namesake the crow, but of a goose! After himstreamed the whole people, in all the madness of fanatic hopes. 

He now kept the house for some days, in hopes that the Paphlagonianswould soon be drawn in crowds by the news. He was not disappointed; thecity was filled to overflowing with persons who had neither brains norindividuality, who bore no resemblance to men that live by bread, and hadonly their outward shape to distinguish them from sheep. In a small roomhe took his seat, very imposingly attired, upon a couch. He took into hisbosom our Asclepius of Pella (a very fine and large one, as I observed), wound its body round his neck, and let its tail hang down; there wasenough of this not only to fill his lap, but to trail on the ground also;the patient creature's head he kept hidden in his armpit, showing thelinen head on one side of his beard exactly as if it belonged to thevisible body. 

Picture to yourself a little chamber into which no very brilliant lightwas admitted, with a crowd of people from all quarters, excited, carefully worked up, all a-flutter with expectation. As they came in, they might naturally find a miracle in the development of that littlecrawling thing of a few days ago into this great, tame, human-lookingserpent. Then they had to get on at once towards the exit, being pressedforward by the new arrivals before they could have a good look. An exithad been specially made just opposite the entrance, for all the worldlike the Macedonian device at Babylon when Alexander was ill; he was_in extremis_, you remember, and the crowd round the palace wereeager to take their last look and give their last greeting. Ourscoundrel's exhibition, though, is said to have been given not once, butmany times, especially for the benefit of any wealthy new-comers. 

And at this point, my dear Celsus, we may, if we will be candid, makesome allowance for these Paphlagonians and Pontics; the poor uneducated'fat-heads' might well be taken in when they handled the serpent--aprivilege conceded to all who choose--and saw in that dim light its headwith the mouth that opened and shut. It was an occasion for a Democritus, nay, for an Epicurus or a Metrodorus, perhaps, a man whose intelligencewas steeled against such assaults by scepticism and insight, one who, ifhe could not detect the precise imposture, would at any rate have beenperfectly certain that, though this escaped him, the whole thing was alie and an impossibility. 

By degrees Bithynia, Galatia, Thrace, came flocking in, every one who hadbeen present doubtless reporting that he had beheld the birth of the God, and had touched him after his marvellous development in size and inexpression. Next came pictures and models, bronze or silver images, andthe God acquired a name. By divine command, metrically expressed, he wasto be known as Glycon. For Alexander had delivered the line:

 Glycon my name, man's light, son's son to Zeus. 

And now at last the object to which all this had led up, the giving oforacular answers to all applicants, could be attained. The cue was takenfrom Amphilochus in Cilicia. After the death and disappearance at Thebesof his father Amphiaraus, Amphilochus, driven from his home, made his wayto Cilicia, and there did not at all badly by prophesying to theCilicians at the rate of threepence an oracle. After this precedent, Alexander proclaimed that on a stated day the God would give answers toall comers. Each person was to write down his wish and the object of hiscuriosity, fasten the packet with thread, and seal it with wax, clay, orother such substance. He would receive these, and enter the holy place(by this time the temple was complete, and the scene all ready), whitherthe givers should be summoned in order by a herald and an acolyte; hewould learn the God's mind upon each, and return the packets with theirseals intact and the answers attached, the God being ready to give adefinite answer to any question that might be put. 

The trick here was one which would be seen through easily enough by aperson of your intelligence (or, if I may say so without violatingmodesty, of my own), but which to the ordinary imbecile would have thepersuasiveness of what is marvellous and incredible. He contrived variousmethods of undoing the seals, read the questions, answered them as seemedgood, and then folded, sealed, and returned them, to the greatastonishment of the recipients. And then it was, 'How could he possiblyknow what I gave him carefully secured under a seal that defiesimitation, unless he were a true God, with a God's omniscience?'

Perhaps you will ask what these contrivances were; well, then--theinformation may be useful another time. One of them was this. He wouldheat a needle, melt with it the under part of the wax, lift the seal off, and after reading warm the wax once more with the needle--both that belowthe thread and that which formed the actual seal--and re-unite the twowithout difficulty. Another method employed the substance calledcollyrium; this is a preparation of Bruttian pitch, bitumen, poundedglass, wax, and mastich. He kneaded the whole into collyrium, heated it, placed it on the seal, previously moistened with his tongue, and so tooka mould. This soon hardened; he simply opened, read, replaced the wax, and reproduced an excellent imitation of the original seal as from anengraved stone. One more I will give you. Adding some gypsum to the glueused in book-binding he produced a sort of wax, which was applied stillwet to the seal, and on being taken off solidified at once and provided amatrix harder than horn, or even iron. There are plenty of other devicesfor the purpose, to rehearse which would seem like airing one'sknowledge. Moreover, in your excellent pamphlets against the magians(most useful and instructive reading they are) you have yourselfcollected enough of them--many more than those I have mentioned. 

So oracles and divine utterances were the order of the day, and muchshrewdness he displayed, eking out mechanical ingenuity with obscurity, his answers to some being crabbed and ambiguous, and to others absolutelyunintelligible. He did however distribute warning and encouragementaccording to his lights, and recommend treatments and diets; for he had, as I originally stated, a wide and serviceable acquaintance with drugs;he was particularly given to prescribing 'cytmides, ' which were a salveprepared from goat's fat, the name being of his own invention. For therealization of ambitions, advancement, or successions, he took care neverto assign early dates; the formula was, 'All this shall come to pass whenit is my will, and when my prophet Alexander shall make prayer andentreaty on your behalf. '

There was a fixed charge of a shilling the oracle. And, my friend, do notsuppose that this would not come to much; he made something like L3, 000_per annum_; people were insatiable--would take from ten to fifteenoracles at a time. What he got he did not keep to himself, nor put it byfor the future; what with accomplices, attendants, inquiry agents, oraclewriters and keepers, amanuenses, seal-forgers, and interpreters, he hadnow a host of claimants to satisfy. 

He had begun sending emissaries abroad to make the shrine known inforeign lands; his prophecies, discovery of runaways, conviction ofthieves and robbers, revelations of hidden treasure, cures of the sick, restoration of the dead to life--all these were to be advertised. Thisbrought them running and crowding from all points of the compass; victimsbled, gifts were presented, and the prophet and disciple came off betterthan the God; for had not the oracle spoken?--

 Give what ye give to my attendant priest; My care is not for gifts, but for my priest. 

A time came when a number of sensible people began to shake off theirintoxication and combine against him, chief among them the numerousEpicureans; in the cities, the imposture with all its theatricalaccessories began to be seen through. It was now that he resorted to ameasure of intimidation; he proclaimed that Pontus was overrun withatheists and Christians, who presumed to spread the most scandalousreports concerning him; he exhorted Pontus, as it valued the God'sfavour, to stone these men. Touching Epicurus, he gave the followingresponse. An inquirer had asked how Epicurus fared in Hades, and wastold:

 Of slime is his bed, And his fetters of lead. 

The prosperity of the oracle is perhaps not so wonderful, when one learnswhat sensible, intelligent questions were in fashion with its votaries. Well, it was war to the knife between him and Epicurus, and no wonder. What fitter enemy for a charlatan who patronized miracles and hatedtruth, than the thinker who had grasped the nature of things and was insolitary possession of that truth? As for the Platonists, Stoics, Pythagoreans, they were his good friends; he had no quarrel with them. But the unmitigated Epicurus, as he used to call him, could not but behateful to him, treating all such pretensions as absurd and puerile. Alexander consequently loathed Amastris beyond all the cities of Pontus, knowing what a number of Lepidus's friends and others like-minded itcontained. He would not give oracles to Amastrians; when he once did, toa senator's brother, he made himself ridiculous, neither hitting upon apresentable oracle for himself, nor finding a deputy equal to theoccasion. The man had complained of colic, and what he meant to prescribewas pig's foot dressed with mallow. The shape it took was:

 In basin hallowed Be pigments mallowed. 

I have mentioned that the serpent was often exhibited by request; he wasnot completely visible, but the tail and body were exposed, while thehead was concealed under the prophet's dress. By way of impressing thepeople still more, he announced that he would induce the God to speak, and give his responses without an intermediary. His simple device to thisend was a tube of cranes' windpipes, which he passed, with due regard toits matching, through the artificial head, and, having an assistantspeaking into the end outside, whose voice issued through the linenAsclepius, thus answered questions. These oracles were called_autophones_, and were not vouchsafed casually to any one, but reservedfor officials, the rich, and the lavish. 

It was an autophone which was given to Severian regarding the invasion ofArmenia. He encouraged him with these lines:

 Armenia, Parthia, cowed by thy fierce spear, To Rome, and Tiber's shining waves, thou com'st, Thy brow with leaves and radiant gold encircled. 

Then when the foolish Gaul took his advice and invaded, to the totaldestruction of himself and his army by Othryades, the adviser expungedthat oracle from his archives and substituted the following:

 Vex not th' Armenian land; it shall not thrive; One in soft raiment clad shall from his bow Launch death, and cut thee off from life and light. 

For it was one of his happy thoughts to issue prophecies after the eventas antidotes to those premature utterances which had not gone right. Frequently he promised recovery to a sick man before his death, and afterit was at no loss for second thoughts:

 No longer seek to arrest thy fell disease; Thy fate is manifest, inevitable. 

Knowing the fame of Clarus, Didymus, and Mallus for sooth-saying muchlike his own, he struck up an alliance with them, sending on many of hisclients to those places. So

 Hie thee to Clarus now, and hear my sire. 

And again, Draw near to Branchidae and counsel take. 

Or

 Seek Mallus; be Amphilochus thy counsellor. 

So things went within the borders of Ionia, Cilicia, Paphlagonia, andGalatia. When the fame of the oracle travelled to Italy and entered Rome, the only question was, who should be first; those who did not come inperson sent messages, the powerful and respected being the keenest ofall. First and foremost among these was Rutilianus; he was in mostrespects an excellent person, and had filled many high offices in Rome;but he suffered from religious mania, holding the most extraordinarybeliefs on that matter; show him a bit of stone smeared with unguents orcrowned with flowers, and he would incontinently fall down and worship, and linger about it praying and asking for blessings. The reports aboutour oracle nearly induced him to throw up the appointment he then held, and fly to Abonutichus; he actually did send messenger upon messenger. His envoys were ignorant servants, easily taken in. They came back havingreally seen certain things, relating others which they probably thoughtthey had seen and heard, and yet others which they deliberately inventedto curry favour with their master. So they inflamed the poor old man anddrove him into confirmed madness. 

He had a wide circle of influential friends, to whom he communicated thenews brought by his successive messengers, not without additional touchesof his own. All Rome was full of his tales; there was quite a commotion, the gentlemen of the Court being much fluttered, and at once takingmeasures to learn something of their own fate. The prophet gave all whocame a hearty welcome, gained their goodwill by hospitality and costlygifts, and sent them off ready not merely to report his answers, but tosing the praises of the God and invent miraculous tales of the shrine andits guardian. 

This triple rogue now hit upon an idea which would have been too cleverfor the ordinary robber. Opening and reading the packets which reachedhim, whenever he came upon an equivocal, compromising question, heomitted to return the packet; the sender was to be under his thumb, boundto his service by the terrifying recollection of the question he hadwritten down. You know the sort of things that wealthy and powerfulpersonages would be likely to ask. This blackmail brought him in a goodincome. 

I should like to quote you one or two of the answers given to Rutilianus. He had a son by a former wife, just old enough for advanced teaching. Thefather asked who should be his tutor, and was told, Pythagoras, and the mighty battle-bard. 

When the child died a few days after, the prophet was abashed, and quiteunable to account for this summary confutation. However, dear goodRutilianus very soon restored the oracle's credit by discovering thatthis was the very thing the God had foreshown; he had not directed him tochoose a living teacher; Pythagoras and Homer were long dead, anddoubtless the boy was now enjoying their instructions in Hades. Smallblame to Alexander if he had a taste for dealings with such specimens ofhumanity as this. 

Another of Rutilianus's questions was, Whose soul he had succeeded to, and the answer:

 First thou wast Peleus' son, and next Menander; Then thine own self; next, a sunbeam shalt be; And nine score annual rounds thy life shall measure. 

At seventy, he died of melancholy, not waiting for the God to pay infull. 

That was an autophone too. Another time Rutilianus consulted the oracleon the choice of a wife. The answer was express:

 Wed Alexander's daughter and Selene's. 

He had long ago spread the report that the daughter he had had was bySelene: she had once seen him asleep, and fallen in love, as is her waywith handsome sleepers. The sensible Rutilianus lost no time, but sentfor the maiden at once, celebrated the nuptials, a sexagenarianbridegroom, and lived with her, propitiating his divine mother-in-lawwith whole hecatombs, and reckoning himself now one of the heavenlycompany. 

His finger once in the Italian pie, Alexander devoted himself to gettingfurther. Sacred envoys were sent all over the Roman Empire, warning thevarious cities to be on their guard against pestilence andconflagrations, with the prophet's offers of security against them. Oneoracle in particular, an autophone again, he distributed broadcast at atime of pestilence. It was a single line:

 Phoebus long-tressed the plague-cloud shall dispel. 

This was everywhere to be seen written up on doors as a prophylactic. Itseffect was generally disappointing; for it somehow happened that theprotected houses were just the ones to be desolated. Not that I wouldsuggest for a moment that the line was their destruction; but, accidentally no doubt, it did so fall out. Possibly common people put toomuch confidence in the verse, and lived carelessly without troubling tohelp the oracle against its foe; were there not the words fighting theirbattle, and long-tressed Phoebus discharging his arrows at the pestilence?

In Rome itself he established an intelligence bureau well manned with hisaccomplices. They sent him people's characters, forecasts of theirquestions, and hints of their ambitions, so that he had his answers readybefore the messengers reached him. 

It was with his eye on this Italian propaganda, too, that he took afurther step. This was the institution of mysteries, with hierophants andtorch-bearers complete. The ceremonies occupied three successive days. Onthe first, proclamation was made on the Athenian model to this effect:'If there be any atheist or Christian or Epicurean here spying upon ourrites, let him depart in haste; and let all such as have faith in the Godbe initiated and all blessing attend them. ' He led the litany with, 'Christians, avaunt!' and the crowd responded, 'Epicureans, avaunt!' Thenwas presented the child-bed of Leto and birth of Apollo, the bridal ofCoronis, Asclepius born. The second day, the epiphany and nativity of theGod Glycon. 

On the third came the wedding of Podalirius and Alexander's mother; thiswas called Torch-day, and torches were used. The finale was the loves ofSelene and Alexander, and the birth of Rutilianus's wife. The torch-bearer and hierophant was Endymion-Alexander. He was discovered lyingasleep; to him from heaven, represented by the ceiling, enter as Seleneone Rutilia, a great beauty, and wife of one of the Imperial procurators. She and Alexander were lovers off the stage too, and the wretched husbandhad to look on at their public kissing and embracing; if there had notbeen a good supply of torches, things might possibly have gone evenfurther. Shortly after, he reappeared amidst a profound hush, attired ashierophant; in a loud voice he called, 'Hail, Glycon!', whereto theEumolpidae and Ceryces of Paphlagonia, with their clod-hopping shoes andtheir garlic breath, made sonorous response, 'Hail, Alexander!'

The torch ceremony with its ritual skippings often enabled him to bestowa glimpse of his thigh, which was thus discovered to be of gold; it waspresumably enveloped in cloth of gold, which glittered in the lamp-light. This gave rise to a debate between two wiseacres, whether the goldenthigh meant that he had inherited Pythagoras's soul, or merely that theirtwo souls were alike; the question was referred to Alexander himself, andKing Glycon relieved their perplexity with an oracle:

 Waxes and wanes Pythagoras' soul: the seer's Is from the mind of Zeus an emanation. His Father sent him, virtuous men to aid, And with his bolt one day shall call him home. 

I will now give you a conversation between Glycon and one Sacerdos ofTius; the intelligence of the latter you may gauge from his questions. Iread it inscribed in golden letters in Sacerdos's house at Tius. 'Tellme, lord Glycon, ' said he, 'who you are. ' 'The new Asclepius. ' 'Another, different from the former one? Is that the meaning?' 'That it is notlawful for you to learn. ' 'And how many years will you sojourn andprophesy among us?' 'A thousand and three. ' 'And after that, whither willyou go?' 'To Bactria; for the barbarians too must be blessed with mypresence. ' 'The other oracles, at Didymus and Clarus and Delphi, havethey still the spirit of your grandsire Apollo, or are the answers thatnow come from them forgeries?' 'That, too, desire not to know; it is notlawful. ' 'What shall I be after this life?' 'A camel; then a horse; thena wise man, no less a prophet than Alexander. ' Such was the conversation. There was added to it an oracle in verse, inspired by the fact thatSacerdos was an associate of Lepidus:

 Shun Lepidus; an evil fate awaits him. 

As I have said, Alexander was much afraid of Epicurus, and the solventaction of his logic on imposture. 

On one occasion, indeed, an Epicurean got himself into great trouble bydaring to expose him before a great gathering. He came up and addressedhim in a loud voice. 'Alexander, it was you who induced So-and-so thePaphlagonian to bring his slaves before the governor of Galatia, chargedwith the murder of his son who was being educated in Alexandria. Well, the young man is alive, and has come back, to find that the slaves hadbeen cast to the beasts by your machinations. ' What had happened wasthis. The lad had sailed up the Nile, gone on to a Red Sea port, found avessel starting for India, and been persuaded to make the voyage. Hebeing long overdue, the unfortunate slaves supposed that he had eitherperished in the Nile or fallen a victim to some of the pirates whoinfested it at that time; so they came home to report his disappearance. Then followed the oracle, the sentence, and finally the young man'sreturn with the story of his absence. 

All this the Epicurean recounted. Alexander was much annoyed by theexposure, and could not stomach so well deserved an affront; he directedthe company to stone the man, on pain of being involved in his impietyand called Epicureans. However, when they set to work, a distinguishedPontic called Demostratus, who was staying there, rescued him byinterposing his own body; the man had the narrowest possible escape frombeing stoned to death--as he richly deserved to be; what business had heto be the only sane man in a crowd of madmen, and needlessly make himselfthe butt of Paphlagonian infatuation?

This was a special case; but it was the practice for the names ofapplicants to be read out the day before answers were given; the heraldasked whether each was to receive his oracle; and sometimes the replycame from within, To perdition! One so repulsed could get shelter, fireor water, from no man; he must be driven from land to land as ablasphemer, an atheist, and--lowest depth of all--an Epicurean. 

In this connexion Alexander once made himself supremely ridiculous. Coming across Epicurus's _Accepted Maxims_, the most admirable ofhis books, as you know, with its terse presentment of his wiseconclusions, he brought it into the middle of the market-place, thereburned it on a fig-wood fire for the sins of its author, and cast itsashes into the sea. He issued an oracle on the occasion:

 The dotard's maxims to the flames be given. 

The fellow had no conception of the blessings conferred by that book uponits readers, of the peace, tranquillity, and independence of mind itproduces, of the protection it gives against terrors, phantoms, andmarvels, vain hopes and inordinate desires, of the judgement and candourthat it fosters, or of its true purging of the spirit, not with torchesand squills and such rubbish, but with right reason, truth, andfrankness. 

Perhaps the greatest example of our rogue's audacity is what I now cometo. Having easy access to Palace and Court by Rutilianus's influence, hesent an oracle just at the crisis of the German war, when M. Aurelius wason the point of engaging the Marcomanni and Quadi. The oracle requiredthat two lions should be flung alive into the Danube, with quantities ofsacred herbs and magnificent sacrifices. I had better give the words:

 To rolling Ister, swoln with Heaven's rain, Of Cybelean thralls, those mountain beasts, Fling ye a pair; therewith all flowers and herbs Of savour sweet that Indian air doth breed. Hence victory, and fame, and lovely peace. 

These directions were precisely followed; the lions swam across to theenemy's bank, where they were clubbed to death by the barbarians, whotook them for dogs or a new kind of wolves; and our forces immediatelyafter met with a severe defeat, losing some twenty thousand men in oneengagement. This was followed by the Aquileian incident, in the course ofwhich that city was nearly lost. In view of these results, Alexanderwarmed up that stale Delphian defence of the Croesus oracle: the God hadforetold a victory, forsooth, but had not stated whether Romans orbarbarians should have it. 

The constant increase in the number of visitors, the inadequacy ofaccommodation in the city, and the difficulty of finding provisions forconsultants, led to his introducing what he called _night oracles_. He received the packets, slept upon them, in his own phrase, and gaveanswers which the God was supposed to send him in dreams. These weregenerally not lucid, but ambiguous and confused, especially when he cameto packets sealed with exceptional care. He did not risk tampering withthese, but wrote down any words that came into his head, the resultsobtained corresponding well enough to his conception of the oracular. There were regular interpreters in attendance, who made considerable sumsout of the recipients by expounding and unriddling these oracles. Thisoffice contributed to his revenue, the interpreters paying him L250 each. 

Sometimes he stirred the wonder of the silly by answers to persons whohad neither brought nor sent questions, and in fact did not exist. Hereis a specimen:

 Who is't, thou askst, that with Calligenia All secretly defiles thy nuptial bed? The slave Protogenes, whom most thou trustest. Him thou enjoyedst: he thy wife enjoys-- The fit return for that thine outrage done. And know that baleful drugs for thee are brewed, Lest thou or see or hear their evil deeds. Close by the wall, at thy bed's head, make search. Thy maid Calypso to their plot is privy. 

The names and circumstantial details might stagger a Democritus, till amoment's thought showed him the despicable trick. 

He often gave answers in Syriac or Celtic to barbarians who questionedhim in their own tongue, though he had difficulty in finding compatriotsof theirs in the city. In these cases there was a long interval betweenapplication and response, during which the packet might be securelyopened at leisure, and somebody found capable of translating thequestion. The following is an answer given to a Scythian:

 Morphi ebargulis for night Chnenchicrank shall leave the light. 

Another oracle to some one who neither came nor existed was in prose. 'Return the way thou earnest, ' it ran; 'for he that sent thee hath thisday been slain by his neighbour Diocles, with aid of the robbers Magnus, Celer, and Bubalus, who are taken and in chains. '

I must give you one or two of the answers that fell to my share. I askedwhether Alexander was bald, and having sealed it publicly with greatcare, got a night oracle in reply:

 Sabardalachu malach Attis was not he. 

Another time I did up the same question--What was Homer's birthplace?--intwo packets given in under different names. My servant misled him bysaying, when asked what he came for, a cure for lung trouble; so theanswer to one packet was:

 Cytmide and foam of steed the liniment give. 

As for the other packet, he got the information that the sender wasinquiring whether the land or the sea route to Italy was preferable. Sohe answered, without much reference to Homer:

 Fare not by sea; land-travel meets thy need. 

I laid a good many traps of this kind for him; here is another. I askedonly one question, but wrote outside the packet in the usual form, So-and-so's eight Queries, giving a fictitious name and sending the eightshillings. Satisfied with the payment of the money and the inscription onthe packet, he gave me eight answers to my one question. This was, Whenwill Alexander's imposture be detected? The answers concerned nothing inheaven or earth, but were all silly and meaningless together. Heafterwards found out about this, and also that I had tried to dissuadeRutilianus both from the marriage and from putting any confidence in theoracle; so he naturally conceived a violent dislike for me. WhenRutilianus once put a question to him about me, the answer was:

 Night-haunts and foul debauch are all his joy. 

It is true his dislike was quite justified. On a certain occasion I waspassing through Abonutichus, with a spearman and a pikeman whom my friendthe governor of Cappadocia had lent me as an escort on my way to the sea. Ascertaining that I was the Lucian he knew of, he sent me a very politeand hospitable invitation. I found him with a numerous company; by goodluck I had brought my escort. He gave me his hand to kiss according tohis usual custom. I took hold of it as if to kiss, but instead bestowedon it a sound bite that must have come near disabling it. The company, who were already offended at my calling him Alexander instead of Prophet, were inclined to throttle and beat me for sacrilege. But he endured thepain like a man, checked their violence, and assured them that he wouldeasily tame me, and illustrate Glycon's greatness in converting hisbitterest foes to friends. He then dismissed them all, and argued thematter with me: he was perfectly aware of my advice to Rutilianus; whyhad I treated him so, when I might have been preferred by him to greatinfluence in that quarter? By this time I had realized my dangerousposition, and was only too glad to welcome these advances; I presentlywent my way in all friendship with him. The rapid change wrought in megreatly impressed the observers. 

When I intended to sail, he sent me many parting gifts, and offered tofind us (Xenophon and me, that is; I had sent my father and family on toAmastris) a ship and crew--which offer I accepted in all confidence. Whenthe passage was half over, I observed the master in tears arguing withhis men, which made me very uneasy. It turned out that Alexander's orderswere to seize and fling us overboard; in that case his war with me wouldhave been lightly won. But the crew were prevailed upon by the master'stears to do us no harm. 'I am sixty years old, as you can see, ' he saidto me; 'I have lived an honest blameless life so far, and I should notlike at my time of life, with a wife and children too, to stain my handswith blood. ' And with that preface he informed us what we were there for, and what Alexander had told him to do. 

He landed us at Aegiali, of Homeric fame, and thence sailed home. SomeBosphoran envoys happened to be passing, on their way to Bithynia withthe annual tribute from their king Eupator. They listened kindly to myaccount of our dangerous situation, I was taken on board, and reachedAmastris safely after my narrow escape. From that time it was war betweenAlexander and me, and I left no stone unturned to get my revenge. Evenbefore his plot I had hated him, revolted by his abominable practices, and I now busied myself with the attempt to expose him; I found plenty ofallies, especially in the circle of Timocrates the Heracleot philosopher. But Avitus, the then governor of Bithynia and Pontus, restrained me, Imay almost say with prayers and entreaties. He could not possibly spoilhis relations with Rutilianus, he said, by punishing the man, even if hecould get clear evidence against him. Thus arrested in my course, I didnot persist in what must have been, considering the disposition of thejudge, a fruitless prosecution. 

Among instances of Alexander's presumption, a high place must be given tohis petition to the Emperor: the name of Abonutichus was to be changed toIonopolis; and a new coin was to be struck, with a representation on theobverse of Glycon, and, on the reverse, Alexander bearing the garlandsproper to his paternal grandfather Asclepius, and the famous scimetar ofhis maternal ancestor Perseus. 

He had stated in an oracle that he was destined to live to a hundred andfifty, and then die by a thunderbolt; he had in fact, before he reachedseventy, an end very sad for a son of Podalirius, his leg mortifying fromfoot to groin and being eaten of worms; it then proved that he was bald, as he was forced by pain to let the doctors make cooling applications tohis head, which they could not do without removing his wig. 

So ended Alexander's heroics; such was the catastrophe of his tragedy;one would like to find a special providence in it, though doubtlesschance must have the credit. The funeral celebration was to be worthy ofhis life, taking the form of a contest--for possession of the oracle. Themost prominent of the impostors his accomplices referred it toRutilianus's arbitration which of them should be selected to succeed tothe prophetic office and wear the hierophantic oracular garland. Amongthese was numbered the grey-haired physician Paetus, dishonouring equallyhis grey hairs and his profession. But Steward-of-the-Games Rutilianussent them about their business ungarlanded, and continued the defunct inpossession of his holy office. 

My object, dear friend, in making this small selection from a great massof material has been twofold. First, I was willing to oblige a friend andcomrade who is for me the pattern of wisdom, sincerity, good humour, justice, tranquillity, and geniality. But secondly I was still moreconcerned (a preference which you will be very far from resenting)to strike a blow for Epicurus, that great man whose holiness and divinityof nature were not shams, who alone had and imparted true insight into thegood, and who brought deliverance to all that consorted with him. Yet Ithink casual readers too may find my essay not unserviceable, since it isnot only destructive, but, for men of sense, constructive also. 

OF PANTOMIME[Footnote: 'Pantomime' has been chosen as the most natural translation of_orchaesis_, which in this dialogue has reference for the most part to theballet-dancer (_pantomimus_) of imperial times. On the other hand, Lycinus, in order to establish the antiquity and the universality of anart that for all practical purposes dates only from the Augustan era, and(despite the Greek artists) is Roman in origin, avails himself of thewider meaning of _orchaesis_ to give us the historic and prehistoricassociations of _dance_ in Greece and elsewhere; and in such passages itseemed advisable to sacrifice consistency, and to translate _orchaesis_dance. ]

_Lycinus. Crato_

_Ly_. Here are heavy charges, Crato; I suppose you have been gettingup this subject for some time. You are not content with attacking thewhole pantomimic art, practical and theoretic; we too, the pleasedspectators thereof, come in for our share: we have been lavishing ouradmiration, it seems, on effeminate triflers. And now let me show you howcompletely you have been mistaken; you will find that the art you havebeen maligning is the greatest boon of our existence. There is someexcuse for your strictures: how should you know any better, confirmedascetic that you are, believing that virtue consists in beinguncomfortable?

_Cr_. Now, my dear sir, can any one who calls himself a man, and aneducated man, and in some sort a student of philosophy, --can such a oneleave those higher pursuits, leave communing with the sages of old, tosit still and listen to the sound of a flute, and watch the antics of aneffeminate creature got up in soft raiment to sing lascivious songs andmimic the passions of prehistoric strumpets, of Rhodopes and Phaedras andParthenopes, to the accompaniment of twanging string and shrilling pipeand clattering heel? It is too absurd: these are not amusements for agentleman; not amusements for Lycinus. When I first heard of yourspending your time in this way, I was divided betwixt shame andindignation, to think that you could so far forget Plato and Chrysippusand Aristotle, as to sit thus having your ears tickled with a feather. Ifyou want amusements, are there not a thousand things _worth_ seeingand hearing? Can you not hear classical music performed at the greatfestivals? Are there not lofty tragedy and brilliant comedy, --things thathave been deemed worthy of state recognition? My friend, you have a longreckoning to settle with men of learning, if you would not be repudiatedaltogether, and expelled from the congregation of the wise. I think yourbest course will be a point-blank denial: declare flatly that you neverdid anything of the kind. Anyhow, you must watch your conduct for thefuture: we do not want to find that our Lycinus has changed his sex, andbecome a Bacchante or a Lydian damsel. That would be as much to ourdiscredit as to yours: for ours should be Odysseus's part, --to tear youfrom the lotus, and bring you back to your accustomed pursuits; to saveyou from the clutches of these stage Sirens before it is too late. TheSirens, after all, did but plot against men's ears; it needed but alittle wax, and a man might sail past them uninjured: but yours is acaptivity of ear and eye, of body and soul. 

_Ly_. Goodness gracious! All the Cynic in you is loose, and snarlsat me. At the same time, I think your Lotus-and-Siren simile is ratheroff the point: you see, the people who ate the Lotus and listened to theSirens paid for the gratification of ear and palate with their lives:whereas I not only have a great deal more enjoyment than they had, but amall the better for it. I have experienced no oblivion of my domesticaffairs, nor blindness to my own interests; in fact--if I may venture tosay so--you will find my penetration and practical wisdom considerablyincreased by my theatrical experiences. Homer has it exactly: thespectator

 Returns a gladder and a wiser man. 

_Cr_. Dear, dear! Yours is a sad case, Lycinus. You are not even ashamed;you seem quite pleased with yourself. That is the worst of it: there seemsno hope of your recovery, while you can actually commend the mire in whichyou wallow. 

_Ly_. Now, Crato, --you talk of pantomimes and theatres, --have you seenthese performances yourself, that you are so hard on them? or do youdecide that they are 'foul mire' without personal experience? If you haveseen them, you are just as bad as I am; and if not, are you justified incensuring them? does it not savour of over-confidence, to condemn whatyou know nothing about?

_Cr_. Truly that would be the climax: that I should show my long beard andwhite hairs amid that throng of women and lunatics; and clap and yell inunseemly rapture over the vile contortions of an abandoned buffoon. 

_Ly_. I can make allowance for you. But wait till I have prevailed on youto give it a fair trial, to accept the judgement of your own eyes: afterthat you will never be happy till you have secured the best seat in thetheatre, where you may hear every syllable, mark every gesture. 

_Cr_. While this beard is yet unplucked, these limbs unshaven, God forbidthat I should ever find happiness in such things. As it is, my poorfriend, I see that _you_ are wholly possessed. 

_Ly_. Now suppose you were to abstain from further abuse, and hear what Ihave to say of the merits of Pantomime; of the manner in which it combinesprofit with amusement; instructing, informing, perfecting the intelligenceof the beholder; training his eyes to lovely sights, filling his ears withnoble sounds, revealing a beauty in which body and soul alike have theirshare. For that music and dancing are employed to produce these results isno disparagement of the art; it is rather a recommendation. 

_Cr_. I have not much time for listening to a madman's discourse in praiseof his own madness. However--if you must deluge me with nonsense--I amprepared to do you that friendly office. My ears are at your service: theyneed no wax to render them deaf to foolishness. Henceforth I will besilent: speak on;--no one is listening. 

_Ly. _ Thank you, Crato; just what I wanted. As to 'foolishness, ' thatremains to be seen. Now, to begin with, you seem to be quite ignorant ofthe antiquity of the pantomimic art. It is not a new thing; it does notdate from to-day or yesterday; not, that is to say, from our grandfathers'times, nor from _their_ grandfathers' times. The best antiquarians, let metell you, trace dancing back to the creation of the universe; it is coevalwith that Eros who was the beginning of all things. In the dance of theheavenly bodies, in the complex involutions whereby the planets arebrought into harmonious intercourse with the fixed stars, you have anexample of that art in its infancy, which, by gradual development, bycontinual improvements and additions, seems at length to have reached itsclimax in the subtle harmonious versatility of modern Pantomime. 

The first step, we learn, was taken by Rhea, who was so pleased with theart that she introduced it among the Corybantes in Phrygia and theCuretes in Crete. She was richly rewarded: for by their dancing theysaved her child Zeus, who owes it to them (nor can he with decency denyit) that he escaped the paternal teeth. The dancing was performed in fullarmour; sword clashed against shield, and inspired heels beat martialtime upon the ground. The art was presently taken up by the leading menin Crete, who by dint of practice became admirable dancers; and thisapplies not only to private persons, but to men of the first eminence, and of royal blood. Thus Homer, when he calls Meriones a dancer, is notdisparaging him, but paying him a compliment: his dancing fame, it seems, had spread not only throughout the Greek world, but even into the camp ofhis enemies, the Trojans, who would observe, no doubt, on the field ofbattle that agility and grace of movement which he had acquired as adancer. The passage runs as follows:

 Meriones, great dancer though thou be, My spear had stopped thy dancings, --

it did not, however, do so; his practice in that art enabling him, apparently, to evade without difficulty any spears that might be hurledat him. 

I could mention a number of other heroes who went through a similarcourse of training, and made a serious study of dancing: but I willconfine myself to the case of Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, and amost eminent dancer. He it was who invented that beautiful dance calledafter him the Pyrrhic; a circumstance which may be supposed to haveafforded more gratification to his father than his comeliness, or hisprowess in other respects. Thus Troy, impregnable till then, falls avictim to the dancer's skill, and is levelled with the dust. 

The Lacedaemonians, who are reputed the bravest of the Greeks, ever sincethey learnt from Castor and Pollux the Caryatic (a form of dance which istaught in the Lacedaemonian town of Caryae), will do nothing without theaccompaniment of the Muses: on the field of battle their feet keep timeto the flute's measured notes, and those notes are the signal for theironset. Music and rhythm ever led them on to victory. To this day you maysee their young men dividing their attention between dance and drill;when wrestling and boxing are over, their exercise concludes with thedance. A flute-player sits in their midst, beating time with his foot, while they file past and perform their various movements in rhythmicsequence, the military evolutions being followed by dances, such asDionysus and Aphrodite love. Hence the song they sing is an invitation toAphrodite and the Loves to join in their dance and revel; while the other(I should have said that they have two songs) contains instructions tothe dancers: 'Forward, lads: foot it lightly: reel it bravely' (i. E. Dance actively). It is the same with the chain dance, which is performedby men and girls together, dancing alternately, so as to suggest thealternating beads of a necklace. A youth leads off the dance: his activesteps are such as will hereafter be of use to him on the field of battle:a maiden follows, with the modest movements that befit her sex; manlyvigour, maidenly reserve, --these are the beads of the necklace. Similarly, their Gymnopaedia is but another form of dance. 

You have read your Homer; so that I need say nothing of the Shield ofAchilles, with its choral dance, modelled on that which Daedalus designedfor Ariadne; nor of the two dancers ('tumblers, ' he calls them) thererepresented as leading the dance; nor again of the 'whirling dance ofyouth, ' so beautifully wrought thereon by Hephaestus. As to thePhaeacians, living as they did in the lap of luxury, nothing is morenatural than that _they_ should have rejoiced in the dance. Odysseus, wefind, is particularly struck with this: he gazes with admiration on the'twinkling of their feet. ' In Thessaly, again, dancing was such aprominent feature, that their rulers and generals were called 'Dancers-in-chief, ' as may be seen from the inscriptions on the statues of their greatmen: 'Elected Prime Dancer, ' we read; and again: 'This statue was erectedat the public expense to commemorate Ilation's well-danced victory. '

I need hardly observe that among the ancient mysteries not one is to befound that does not include dancing. Orpheus and Musaeus, the bestdancers of their time, were the founders of these rites; and theirordinances show the value they attached to rhythm and dance as elementsin religion. To illustrate this point would be to make the ceremonialknown to the uninitiated: but so much is matter of common knowledge, thatpersons who divulge the mysteries are popularly spoken of as 'dancingthem out. ' In Delos, not even sacrifice could be offered without danceand musical accompaniment. Choirs of boys gathered and performed theirdance to the sound of flute and lyre, and the best of them were chosen toact characters; the songs written for these occasions were known aschorales; and the ancient lyric poetry abounded in such compositions. 

But I need not confine myself to the Greeks. The Indians, when they riseto offer their morning salutation to the Sun, do not consider it enoughto kiss their hands after the Greek fashion; turning to the East, theysilently greet the God with movements that are designed to represent hisown course through the heavens; and with this substitute for our prayersand sacrifices and choral celebrations they seek his favour at thebeginning of every day and at its close. The Ethiopians go further, anddance even while they fight; the shaft an Ethiopian draws from thatarrow-crown that serves him in place of a quiver will never be dischargedbefore he has intimidated his enemy with the threatening gestures of thewar-dance. 

Having dealt with India and Ethiopia, let us now consider the neighbouringcountry of Egypt. If I am not mistaken, the Egyptian Proteus of ancientlegend is no other than a dancer, whose mimetic skill enables him to adapthimself to every character: in the activity of his movements, he is liquidas water, rapid as fire; he is the raging lion, the savage panther, thetrembling bough; he is what he will. The legend takes these data, andgives them a supernatural turn, --for mimicry substituting metamorphosis. Our modern pantomimes have the same gift, and Proteus himself sometimesappears as the subject of their rapid transformations. And it may beconjectured that in that versatile lady Empusa we have but another artistof the same kind, mythologically treated. 

Our attention is next claimed by the Roman dance of the Salii, apriesthood drawn from the noblest families; the dance is performed inhonour of Mars, the most warlike of the Gods, and is of a particularlysolemn and sacred character. According to a Bithynian legend, whichagrees well with this Italian institution, Priapus, a war-like divinity(probably one of the Titans, or of the Idaean Dactyls, whose professionit was to teach the use of arms), was entrusted by Hera with the care ofher son Ares, who even in childhood was remarkable for his courage andferocity. Priapus would not put weapons into his hands till he had turnedhim out a perfect dancer; and he was rewarded by Hera with a tenth partof all Ares's spoils. As to the rites of Dionysus, you know, without mytelling you, that they consisted in dancing from beginning to end. Of thethree main types of dance, the cordax, the sicinnis, and the emmelia, each was the invention and bore the name of one of the Satyrs, hisfollowers. Assisted by this art, and accompanied by these revellers, heconquered Tyrrhenians, Indians, Lydians, dancing those warlike tribesinto submission. 

Then beware, my enlightened friend, of the guilt of sacrilege. Will youattack the holy mystic art in which so many Gods delight; by which theirworshippers do them honour; which affords so much pleasure, so muchuseful instruction? To return once more to the poets: when I think ofyour affection for Homer and Hesiod, I am amazed to find you disputingthe preeminence they assign to the dance. Homer, in enumerating all thatis sweetest and best, mentions sleep, love, song, and dance; but of thesedance alone is 'faultless. ' He testifies, moreover, to the 'sweetness' ofsong: now our art includes 'sweet song' as well as the 'faultless dance'which you take upon you to censure. Again, in another passage we read:

 To one the God hath given warlike deeds: But to another dance and lovely song. 

And lovely indeed is the song that accompanies the dance; it is the Gods'best gift. Homer seems to divide all things under the two heads of warand peace; and among the things of peace he singles out these two as thebest counterpart to the things of war. Hesiod, not speaking from hearsay, but coming fresh from the sight of the Muses' morning dance, has thishigh tribute to them in the beginning of his poem:

 Their dainty feet round the dark waters dance, about the altar of Zeus. --My dear sir, your onslaught upon the dance islittle short of blasphemy. 

Socrates--that wisest of men, if we may accept the judgement of thePythian oracle--not only approved of dancing, but made a careful study ofit; and, in his zeal for grace and elegance, for harmonious movement andcarriage of the body, thought it no shame, reverend sage that he was, torank this among the most important branches of learning. And well mighthe have an enthusiasm for dancing, who scrupled not to study the humblestarts; who frequented the schools of the flute-girls, and could stoop tolearn wisdom from the mouth of an Aspasia. Yet in his days the art was inits infancy, its beauties undeveloped. Had Socrates seen the artists whohave made modern Pantomime what it is, he would assuredly have given ithis exclusive attention, and assigned it the first place in the educationof youth. 

I think you forget, when you advocate the claims of tragedy and comedy, that each of them has its own peculiar form of dance; tragedy itsemmelia, comedy its cordax, supplemented occasionally by the sicinnis. You began by asserting the superiority of tragedy, of comedy, and of theperiodic performances on flute and lyre, which you pronounce to berespectable, because they are included in public competitions. Let ustake each of these and compare its merits with those of dancing. Theflute and the lyre, to be sure, we might leave out of the discussion, asthese have their part to play in the dance. 

In forming our estimate of tragedy, let us first consider its externals--the hideous, appalling spectacle that the actor presents. His high bootsraise him up out of all proportion; his head is hidden under an enormousmask; his huge mouth gapes upon the audience as if he would swallow them;to say nothing of the chest-pads and stomach-pads with which he contrivesto give himself an artificial corpulence, lest his deficiency in thisrespect should emphasize his disproportionate height. And in the middleof it all is the actor, shouting away, now high, now low, --_chanting_ hisiambics as often as not; could anything be more revolting than this sing-song recitation of tragic woes? The actor is a mouthpiece: that is hissole responsibility;--the poet has seen to the rest, ages since. From anAndromache or a Hecuba, one can endure recitative: but when Heracleshimself comes upon the stage, and so far forgets himself, and the respectdue to the lion-skin and club that he carries, as to deliver a solo, noreasonable person can deny that such a performance is in execrable taste. Then again, your objection to dancing--that men act women's parts--isequally applicable to tragedy and comedy, in which indeed there are morewomen than men. 

By comedy, the absurdity of the masks--of a Davus, for instance, or aTibius, or a cook--is actually claimed as one of its attractions. On theother hand, I need not tell you how decent, how seemly, is the dancer'sattire; any one who is not blind can see that for himself. His very maskis elegant, and well adapted to his part; there is no gaping here; thelips are closed, for the dancer has plenty of other voices at hisservice. In old days, dancer and singer were one: but the violentexercise caused shortness of breath; the song suffered for it, and it wasfound advisable to have the singing done independently. 

As to the subjects treated, they are the same for both, Pantomimediffering from tragedy only in the infinite variety of its plots, and inthe superior ingenuity and learning displayed in them. Dancing may not beincluded in our public competitions; but the reason is that the stewardsregard it as a matter too high and solemn to be subjected to criticism. Iforbear to add that in one Italian city--the greatest of the Chalcidianname--a special lustre has been added to the public games by theintroduction of a dancing competition. 

And now, before I proceed further, I wish to offer an explanation ofthemany omissions I have made, which might otherwise be attributed toignorance. I am well aware that the subject has already been dealt withby a number of writers, who have chiefly occupied themselves with adescription of the various forms of dance, and a catalogue of theirnames, their characters, and their inventors; and this they regard as aproof of erudition. Such work I leave to the ambition of dullards andpedants, as foreign to my own purpose. I would have you observe, and bearin mind, that I do not propose to make a complete history of the art ofdancing; nor is it my object to enumerate the names of dances, except sofar as I have already done, in handling a few of the principal types: onthe contrary, I am chiefly concerned with pointing out the profit andpleasure to be derived from modern Pantomime, which did not begin to takeits present admirable form in ancient days, but only in the time ofAugustus, or thereabouts. In those earlier times we have but thebeginnings of the art; the tree is taking root; the flower and the fruithave reached their perfection only in our own day, and it is with thesethat I have to do. The tongs-dance, the crane-dance, and others I passover because they are alien to my subject; similarly, if I have saidnothing of the Phrygian dance, --that riotous convivial fling, which wasperformed by energetic yokels to the piping of a flute-girl, and whichstill prevails in country districts, --I have omitted it not fromignorance, but because it has no connexion with the Pantomime of to-day. I have the authority of Plato, in his _Laws_, for approving someforms of dance and rejecting others; he there examines the dance from thetwo points of view of pleasure and utility, banishes those forms that areunseemly, and selects others for his recommendation. 

Of dancing then, in the strict sense of the word, I have said enough. Toenlarge further upon its history would be pedantic. And now I come to thepantomime. What must be his qualifications? what his previous training?what his studies? what his subsidiary accomplishments? You will find thathis is no easy profession, nor lightly to be undertaken; requiring as itdoes the highest standard of culture in all its branches, and involving aknowledge not of music only, but of rhythm and metre, and above all ofyour beloved philosophy, both natural and moral, the subtleties ofdialectic alone being rejected as serving no useful purpose. Rhetoric, too, in so far as that art is concerned with the exposition of humancharacter and human passions, claims a share of its attention. Nor can itdispense with the painter's and the sculptor's arts; in its closeobservance of the harmonious proportions that these teach, it is theequal of an Apelles or a Phidias. But above all Mnemosyne, and herdaughter Polyhymnia, must be propitiated by an art that would rememberall things. Like Calchas in Homer, the pantomime must know all 'that is, that was, that shall be'; nothing must escape his ever ready memory. Faithfully to represent his subject, adequately to express his ownconceptions, to make plain all that might be obscure;--these are thefirst essentials for the pantomime, to whom no higher compliment could bepaid than Thucydides's tribute to Pericles, who, he says, 'could not onlyconceive a wise policy, but render it intelligible to his hearers'; theintelligibility, in the present case, depending on clearness ofgesticulation. 

For his materials, he must draw continually, as I have said, upon hisunfailing memory of ancient story; and memory must be backed by taste andjudgement. He must know the history of the world, from the time when itfirst emerged from Chaos down to the days of Egyptian Cleopatra. Theselimitations we will concede to the pantomime's wide field of knowledge;but within them he must be familiar with every detail:--the mutilation ofUranus, the origin of Aphrodite, the battle of Titans, the birth of Zeus, Rhea's deception, her substitution of a stone for her child, the bindingof Cronus, the partition of the world between the three brothers. Again, the revolt of the Giants, Prometheus's theft of fire, his creation ofmankind, and the punishment that followed; the might of Eros and ofAnteros, the wanderings of the island Delos, the travail of Leto, thePython's destruction, the evil design of Tityus, the flight of eagles, whereby the earth's centre was discovered. He must know of Deucalion, inwhose days the whole world suffered shipwreck, of that single chestwherein were preserved the remnants of the human race, of the newgeneration born of stones; of the rending of Iacchus, the guile of Hera, the fiery death of Semele, the double birth of Dionysus; of Athene andHephaestus and Erichthonius, of the strife for the possession of Athens, of Halirrhothius and that first trial on the Areopagus, and all thelegendary lore of Attica. Above all, the wanderings of Demeter, thefinding of Persephone, the hospitality of Celeus; Triptolemus's plough, Icarius's vineyard, and the sad end of Erigone; the tale of Boreas andOrithyia, of Theseus, and of Aegeus; of Medea in Greece, and of herflight thereafter into Persia, and of Erechtheus's daughters andPandion's, and all that they did and suffered in Thrace. Acamas, andPhyllis, and that first rape of Helen, and the expedition of Castor andPollux against Athens, and the fate of Hippolytus, and the return of theHeraclids, --all these may fairly be included in the Athenian mythology, from the vast bulk of which I select only these few examples. 

Then in Megara we have Nisus, his daughter Scylla, and his purple lock;the invasion of Minos, and his ingratitude towards his benefactress. Thenwe come to Cithaeron, and the story of the Thebans, and of the race ofLabdacus; the settlement of Cadmus on the spot where the cow rested, thedragon's teeth from which the Thebans sprang up, the transformation ofCadmus into a serpent, the building of the walls of Thebes to the soundof Amphion's lyre, the subsequent madness of the builder, the boast ofNiobe his wife, her silent grief; Pentheus, Actaeon, Oedipus, Heracles;his labours and slaughter of his children. 

Corinth, again, abounds in legends: of Glauce and of Creon; in earlierdays, of Bellerophon and Stheneboea, and of the strife between Posidonand the Sun; and, later, of the frenzy of Athamas, of Nephele's childrenand their flight through the air on the ram's back, and of thedeification of Ino and Melicertes. Next comes the story of Pelops's line, of all that befell in Mycenae, and before Mycenae was; of Inachus and Ioand Argus her guardian; of Atreus and Thyestes and Aerope, of the goldenram and the marriage of Pelopeia, the murder of Agamemnon and thepunishment of Clytemnestra; and before their days, the expedition of theSeven against Thebes, the reception of the fugitives Tydeus and Polynicesby their father-in-law Adrastus; the oracle that foretold their fate, theunburied slain, the death of Antigone, and that of Menoeceus. 

Nor is any story more essential to the pantomime's purpose than that ofHypsipyle and Archemorus in Nemea; and, in older days, the imprisonmentof Danae, the begetting of Perseus, his enterprise against the Gorgons;and connected therewith is the Ethiopian narrative of Cassiopea, andCepheus, and Andromeda, all of whom the belief of later generations hasplaced among the stars. To these must be added the ancient legend ofAegyptus and Danaus, and of that guilty wedding-night. 

Lacedaemon, too, supplies him with many similar subjects: Hyacinth, andhis rival lovers, Zephyr and Apollo, and the quoit that slew him, theflower that sprang up from his blood, and the inscription of woe thereon;the raising of Tyndareus from the dead, and the consequent wrath ofZeusagainst Asclepius; again, the reception of Paris by Menelaus, and therape of Helen, the sequel to his award of the golden apple. For theSpartan mythology must be held to include that of Troy, in all itsabundance and variety. Of all who fell at Troy, not one but supplies asubject for the stage; and all--from the rape of Helen to the return ofthe Greeks--must ever be borne in mind: the wanderings of Aeneas, thelove of Dido; and side by side with this the story of Orestes, and hisdaring deeds in Scythia. And there are earlier episodes which will not beout of place; they are all connected with the tale of Troy: such are theseclusion of Achilles in Scyrus, the madness of Odysseus, the solitude ofPhiloctetes, with the whole story of Odysseus's wanderings, of Circe andTelegonus, of Aeolus, controller of the winds, down to the vengeancewreaked upon the suitors of Penelope; and, earlier, Odysseus's plotagainst Palamedes, the resentment of Nauplius, the frenzy of the oneAjax, the destruction of the other on the rocks. 

Elis, too, affords many subjects for the intending pantomime: Oenomaus, Myrtilus, Cronus, Zeus, and that first Olympian contest. Arcadia, no lessrich in legendary lore, gives him the flight of Daphne, thetransformation of Callisto into a bear, the drunken riot of the Centaurs, the birth of Pan, the love of Alpheus, and his submarine wanderings. 

Extending our view, we find that Crete, too, may be laid undercontribution: Europa's bull, Pasiphae's, the Labyrinth, Ariadne, Phaedra, Androgeos; Daedalus and Icarus; Glaucus, and the prophecy of Polyides;and Talos, the island's brazen sentinel. 

It is the same with Aetolia: there you will find Althaea, Meleager, Atalanta, and the fatal brand; the strife of Achelous with Heracles, thebirth of the Sirens, the origin of the Echinades, those islands on whichAlcmaeon dwelt after his frenzy was past; and, following these, the storyof Nessus, and of Deianira's jealousy, which brought Heracles to the pyreupon Oeta. Thrace, too, has much that is indispensable to the pantomime:of the head of murdered Orpheus, that sang while it floated down thestream upon his lyre; of Haemus and of Rhodope; and of the chastisementof Lycurgus. 

Thessalian story, richer still, tells of Pelias and Jason; of Alcestis;and of the Argo with her talking keel and her crew of fifty youths; ofwhat befell them in Lemnos; of Aeetes, Medea's dream, the rending ofAbsyrtus, the eventful flight from Colchis; and, in later days, ofProtesilaus and Laodamia. 

Cross once more to Asia, and Samos awaits you, with the fall ofPolycrates, and his daughter's flight into Persia; and the ancient storyof Tantalus's folly, and of the feast that he gave the Gods; of butcheredPelops, and his ivory shoulder. 

In Italy, we have the Eridanus, Phaethon, and his poplar-sisters, whowept tears of amber for his loss. 

The pantomime must be familiar, too, with the story of the Hesperides, and the dragon that guarded the golden fruit; with burdened Atlas, andGeryon, and the driving of the oxen from Erythea; and every tale ofmetamorphosis, of women turned into trees or birds or beasts, or (likeCaeneus and Tiresias) into men. From Phoenicia he must learn of Myrrhaand Adonis, who divides Assyria betwixt grief and joy; and in more moderntimes of all that Antipater [Footnote: Not Antipater, but Antiochus, ismeant. ] and Seleucus suffered for the love of Stratonice. 

The Egyptian mythology is another matter: it cannot be omitted, but onaccount of its mysterious character it calls for a more symbolicalexposition;--the legend of Epaphus, for instance, and that of Osiris, andthe conversion of the Gods into animals; and, in particular, their loveadventures, including those of Zeus himself, with his varioustransformations. 

Hades still remains to be added, with all its tragic tale of guilt andthe punishment of guilt, and the loyal friendship that brought Theseusthither with Pirithous. In a word, all that Homer and Hesiod and our bestpoets, especially the tragedians, have sung, --all must be known to thepantomime. From the vast, nay infinite, mass of mythology, I have madethis trifling selection of the more prominent legends; leaving the restfor poets to celebrate, for pantomimes to exhibit, and for yourimagination to supply from the hints already given; and all this theartist must have stored up in his memory, ready to be produced whenoccasion demands. 

Since it is his profession to imitate, and to show forth his subject bymeans of gesticulation, he, like the orators, must acquire lucidity;every scene must be intelligible without the aid of an interpreter; toborrow the expression of the Pythian oracle, Dumb though he be, and speechless, he is heard

by the spectator. According to the story, this was precisely theexperience of the Cynic Demetrius. He had inveighed against Pantomime injust your own terms. The pantomime, he said, was a mere appendage toflute and pipe and beating feet; he added nothing to the action; hisgesticulations were aimless nonsense; there was no meaning in them;people were hoodwinked by the silken robes and handsome mask, by thefluting and piping and the fine voices, which served to set off what initself was nothing. The leading pantomime of the day--this was in Nero'sreign--was apparently a man of no mean intelligence; unsurpassed, infact, in wideness of range and in grace of execution. Nothing, I think, could be more reasonable than the request he made of Demetrius, whichwas, to reserve his decision till he had witnessed his performance, whichhe undertook to go through without the assistance of flute or song. Hewas as good as his word. The time-beaters, the flutes, even the chorus, were ordered to preserve a strict silence; and the pantomime, left to hisown resources, represented the loves of Ares and Aphrodite, the tell-taleSun, the craft of Hephaestus, his capture of the two lovers in the net, the surrounding Gods, each in his turn, the blushes of Aphrodite, theembarrassment of Ares, his entreaties, --in fact the whole story. Demetrius was ravished at the spectacle; nor could there be higher praisethan that with which he rewarded the performer. 'Man, ' he shrieked at thetop of his voice, 'this is not seeing, but hearing and seeing, both:'tisas if your hands were tongues!'

And before we leave Nero's times, I must tell you of the high tributepaid to the art by a foreigner of the royal family of Pontus, who wasvisiting the Emperor on business, and had been among the spectators ofthis same pantomime. So convincing were the artist's gestures, as torender the subject intelligible even to one who (being half a Greek)could not follow the vocal accompaniment. When he was about to return tohis country, Nero, in taking leave of him, bade him choose what presenthe would have, assuring him that his request should not be refused. 'Giveme, ' said the Pontian, 'your great pantomime; no gift could delight memore. ' 'And of what use can he be to you in Pontus?' asked the Emperor. 'I have foreign neighbours, who do not speak our language; and it is noteasy to procure interpreters. Your pantomime could discharge that officeperfectly, as often as required, by means of his gesticulations. ' Soprofoundly had he been impressed with the extraordinary clearness ofpantomimic representation. 

The pantomime is above all things an actor: that is his first aim, in thepursuit of which (as I have observed) he resembles the orator, andespecially the composer of 'declamations, ' whose success, as thepantomime knows, depends like his own upon verisimilitude, upon theadaptation of language to character: prince or tyrannicide, pauper orfarmer, each must be shown with the peculiarities that belong to him. Imust give you the comment of another foreigner on this subject. Seeingfive masks laid ready--that being the number of parts in the piece--andonly one pantomime, he asked who were going to play the other parts. Hewas informed that the whole piece would be performed by a single actor. 'Your humble servant, sir, ' cries our foreigner to the artist; 'I observethat you have but one body: it had escaped me, that you possessed severalsouls. '

The term 'pantomime, ' which was introduced by the Italian Greeks, is anapt one, and scarcely exaggerates the artist's versatility. 'Oh boy, 'cries the poet, in a beautiful passage, As that sea-beast, whose hue With each new rock doth suffer change, So let thy mind free range Through ev'ry land, shaping herself anew. 

Most necessary advice, this, for the pantomime, whose task it is toidentify himself with his subject, and make himself part and parcel ofthe scene that he enacts. It is his profession to show forth humancharacter and passion in all their variety; to depict love and anger, frenzy and grief, each in its due measure. Wondrous art!--on the sameday, he is mad Athamas and shrinking Ino; he is Atreus, and again he isThyestes, and next Aegisthus or Aerope; all one man's work. 

Other entertainments of eye or ear are but manifestations of a singleart: 'tis flute or lyre or song; 'tis moving tragedy or laughable comedy. The pantomime is all-embracing in the variety of his equipment: flute andpipe, beating foot and clashing cymbal, melodious recitative, choralharmony. Other arts call out only one half of a man's powers--the bodilyor the mental: the pantomime combines the two. His performance is as muchan intellectual as a physical exercise: there is meaning in hismovements; every gesture has its significance; and therein lies his chiefexcellence. The enlightened Lesbonax of Mytilene called pantomimes'manual philosophers, ' and used to frequent the theatre, in theconviction that he came out of it a better man than he went in. AndTimocrates, his teacher, after accidentally witnessing a pantomimicperformance, exclaimed: 'How much have I lost by my scrupulous devotionto philosophy!' I know not what truth there may be in Plato's analysis ofthe soul into the three elements of spirit, appetite, and reason: buteach of the three is admirably illustrated by the pantomime; he shows usthe angry man, he shows us the lover, and he shows us every passion underthe control of reason; this last--like touch among the senses--is all-pervading. Again, in his care for beauty and grace of movement, have wenot an illustration of the Aristotelian principle, which makes beauty athird part of Good? Nay, I once heard some one hazard a remark, to theeffect that the philosophy of Pantomime went still further, and that inthe _silence_ of the characters a Pythagorean doctrine was shadowedforth. 

All professions hold out some object, either of utility or of pleasure:Pantomime is the only one that secures both these objects; now theutility that is combined with pleasure is doubled in value. Who wouldchoose to look on at a couple of young fellows spilling their blood in aboxing-match, or wrestling in the dust, when he may see the same subjectrepresented by the pantomime, with the additional advantages of safetyand elegance, and with far greater pleasure to the spectator? Thevigorous movements of the pantomime--turn and twist, bend and spring--afford at once a gratifying spectacle to the beholder and a wholesometraining to the performer; I maintain that no gymnastic exercise is itsequal for beauty and for the uniform development of the physical powers, --of agility, suppleness, and elasticity, as of solid strength. 

Consider then the universality of this art: it sharpens the wits, itexercises the body, it delights the spectator, it instructs him in thehistory of bygone days, while eye and ear are held beneath the spell offlute and cymbal and of graceful dance. Would you revel in sweet song?Nowhere can you procure that enjoyment in greater variety and perfection. Would you listen to the clear melody of flute and pipe? Again thepantomime supplies you. I say nothing of the excellent moral influence ofpublic opinion, as exercised in the theatre, where you will find theevil-doer greeted with execration, and his victim with sympathetic tears. The pantomime's most admirable quality I have yet to mention, --hiscombination of strength and suppleness of limb; it is as if brawnyHeracles and soft Aphrodite were presented to us in one and the sameperson. 

I now propose to sketch out the mental and physical qualificationsnecessary for a first-rate pantomime. Most of the former, indeed, I havealready mentioned: he must have memory, sensibility, shrewdness, rapidityof conception, tact, and judgement; further, he must be a critic ofpoetry and song, capable of discerning good music and rejecting bad. Forhis body, I think I may take the Canon of Polyclitus as my model. He mustbe perfectly proportioned: neither immoderately tall nor dwarfishlyshort; not too fleshy (a most unpromising quality in one of hisprofession) nor cadaverously thin. Let me quote you certain comments ofthe people of Antioch, who have a happy knack in expressing their viewson such subjects. They are a most intelligent people, and devoted toPantomime; each individual is all eyes and ears for the performance; nota word, not a gesture escapes them. Well, when a small man came on in thecharacter of Hector, they cried out with one voice: 'Here is Astyanax;and where is Hector?' On another occasion, an exceedingly tall man wastaking the part of Capaneus scaling the walls of Thebes; 'Step over'suggested the audience; 'you need no ladder. ' The well-meant activity ofa fat and heavy dancer was met with earnest entreaties to 'spare theplatform'; while a thin performer was recommended to 'take care of hishealth. ' I mention these criticisms, not on account of their humorouscharacter, but as an illustration of the profound interest that wholecities have sometimes taken in Pantomime, and of their ability to discernits merits and demerits. 

Another essential for the pantomime is ease of movement. His frame mustbe at once supple and well-knit, to meet the opposite requirements ofagility and firmness. That he is no stranger to the science of theboxing--and the wrestling-ring, that he has his share of the athleticaccomplishments of Hermes and Pollux and Heracles, you may convinceyourself by observing his renderings of those subjects. The eyes, according to Herodotus, are more credible witnesses than the ears; thoughthe pantomime, by the way, appeals to both kinds of evidence. 

Such is the potency of his art, that the amorous spectator is cured ofhis infirmity by perceiving the evil effects of passion, and he whoenters the theatre under a load of sorrow departs from it with a serenecountenance, as though he had drunk of that draught of forgetfulness

 That lulls all pain and wrath. 

How natural is his treatment of his subjects, how intelligible to everyone of his audience, may be judged from the emotion of the house wheneveranything is represented that calls for sorrow or compassion. The Bacchicform of Pantomime, which is particularly popular in Ionia and Pontus, inspite of its being confined to satyric subjects has taken such possessionof those peoples, that, when the Pantomime season comes round in eachcity, they leave all else and sit for whole days watching Titans andCorybantes, Satyrs and neat-herds. Men of the highest rank and positionare not ashamed to take part in these performances: indeed, they pridethemselves more on their pantomimic skill than on birth and ancestry andpublic services. 

Now that we know what are the qualities that a good pantomime ought topossess, let us next consider the faults to which he is liable. Deficiencies of person I have already handled; and the following I thinkis a fair statement of their mental imperfections. Pantomimes cannot allbe artists; there are plenty of ignorant performers, who bungle theirwork terribly. Some cannot adapt themselves to their music; they areliterally 'out of tune'; rhythm says one thing, their feet another. Others are free from this fault, but jumble up their chronology. Iremember the case of a man who was giving the birth of Zeus, and Cronuseating his own children: seduced by the similarity of subject, he ran offinto the tale of Atreus and Thyestes. In another case, Semele was justbeing struck by the lightning, when she was transformed into Creusa, whowas not even born at that time. Still, it seems to me that we have noright to visit the sins of the artist upon the art: let us recognize himfor the blunderer that he is, and do justice to the accuracy and skill ofcompetent performers. 

The fact is, the pantomime must be completely armed at every point. Hiswork must be one harmonious whole, perfect in balance and proportion, self-consistent, proof against the most minute criticism; there must beno flaws, everything must be of the best; brilliant conception, profoundlearning, above all human sympathy. When every one of the spectatorsidentifies himself with the scene enacted, when each sees in thepantomime as in a mirror the reflection of his own conduct and feelings, then, and not till then, is his success complete. But let him reach thatpoint, and the enthusiasm of the spectators becomes uncontrollable, everyman pouring out his whole soul in admiration of the portraiture thatreveals him to himself. Such a spectacle is no less than a fulfilment ofthe oracular injunction KNOW THYSELF; men depart from it with increasedknowledge; they have learnt something that is to be sought after, something that should be eschewed. 

But in Pantomime, as in rhetoric, there can be (to use a popular phrase)too much of a good thing; a man may exceed the proper bounds ofimitation; what should be great may become monstrous, softness may beexaggerated into effeminacy, and the courage of a man into the ferocityof a beast. I remember seeing this exemplified in the case of an actor ofrepute. In most respects a capable, nay, an admirable performer, somestrange fatality ran him a-ground upon this reef of over-enthusiasm. Hewas acting the madness of Ajax, just after he has been worsted byOdysseus; and so lost control of himself, that one might have beenexcused for thinking his madness was something more than feigned. He torethe clothes from the back of one of the iron-shod time-beaters, snatcheda flute from the player's hands, and brought it down in such trenchantsort upon the head of Odysseus, who was standing by enjoying his triumph, that, had not his cap held good, and borne the weight of the blow, poorOdysseus must have fallen a victim to histrionic frenzy. The whole houseran mad for company, leaping, yelling, tearing their clothes. For theilliterate riffraff, who knew not good from bad, and had no idea ofdecency, regarded it as a supreme piece of acting; and the moreintelligent part of the audience, realizing how things stood, concealedtheir disgust, and instead of reproaching the actor's folly by silence, smothered it under their plaudits; they saw only too clearly that it wasnot Ajax but the pantomime who was mad. Nor was our spirited friendcontent till he had distinguished himself yet further: descending fromthe stage, he seated himself in the senatorial benches between twoconsulars, who trembled lest he should take one of them for a ram andapply the lash. The spectators were divided between wonder and amusement;and some there were who suspected that his ultra-realism had culminatedin reality. However, it seems that when he came to his senses again hebitterly repented of this exploit, and was quite ill from grief, regarding his conduct as that of a veritable madman, as is clear from hisown words. For when his partisans begged him to repeat the performance, he recommended another actor for the part of Ajax, saying that 'it wasenough for him to have been mad once. ' His mortification was increased bythe success of his rival, who, though a similar part had been written forhim, played it with admirable judgement and discretion, and wascomplimented on his observance of decorum, and of the proper bounds ofhis art. 

I hope, my dear Crato, that this cursory description of the Pantomime maymitigate your wrath against its devoted admirer. If you can bringyourself to bear me company to the theatre, you will be captivated; youwill run Pantomime-mad. I shall have no occasion to exclaim, with Circe, Strange, that my drugs have wrought no change in thee!

The change will come; but will not involve an ass's head, nor a pig'sheart, but only an improved understanding. In your delight at the potion, you will drain it off, and leave not a drop for any one else. Homer says, of the golden wand of Hermes, that with it he

 charms the eyes of men, When so he will, and rouses them that sleep. 

So it is with Pantomime. It charms the eyes-to wakefulness; and quickensthe mental faculties at every turn. 

_Cr_. Enough, Lycinus: behold your convert! My eyes and ears areopened. When next you go to the theatre, remember to take a seat for menext your own. I too would issue from those doors a wiser man. 

LEXIPHANES

_Lycinus. Lexiphanes. Sopolis_

_Ly_. What, our exquisite with his essay?

_Lex_. Ah, Lycinus, 'tis but a fledgeling of mine; 'tis allincondite. 

_Ly_. O ho, conduits--that is your subject, is it?

_Lex_. You mistake me; I said nothing of conduits; you are behind thetimes; incondite--'tis the word we use now when a thing lacks thefinishing touches. But you are the deaf adder that stoppeth her ears. 

_Ly_. I beg your pardon, my dear fellow; but conduit, incondite, youknow. Well now, what is the idea of your piece?

_Lex_. A symposium, a modest challenge to the son of Ariston. 

_Ly_. There are a good many sons of Aristons; but, from the symposium, Ipresume you mean Plato. 

_Lex_. You take me; what I said could fit no other. 

_Ly_. Well, come, read me a little of it; do not send me away thirsty; Isee there is nectar in store. 

_Lex_. Ironist, avaunt! And now open your ears to my charming; adder me noadders. 

_Ly_. Go ahead; I am no Adam, nor Eve either. 

_Lex_. Have an eye to my conduct of the discourse, whether it be fair incommencement, fair in speech, fair in diction, fair in nomenclature. 

_Ly_. Oh, we know what to expect from Lexiphanes. But come, begin. 

_Lex_. _'Then to dinner, ' quoth Callicles, 'then to our post-prandialdeambulation in the Lyceum; but now 'tis time for our parasolar unction, ere we bask and bathe and take our nuncheon; go we our way. Now, boy, strigil and mat, towels and soap; transport me them bathwards, andsee to the bath-penny; you will find it a-ground by the chest. And thou, Lexiphanes, comest thou, or tarriest here?' 'Its a thousand years, 'quoth I, 'till I bathe; for I am in no comfort, with sore posteriors frommy mule-saddle. Trod the mule-man as on eggs, yet kept his beast a-moving. And when I got to the farm, still no peace for the wicked. I found thehinds shrilling the harvest-song, and there were persons burying myfather, I think it was. I just gave them a hand with the grave and things, and then I left them; it was so cold, and I had prickly heat; one does, you know, in a hard frost. So I went round the plough-lands; and there Ifound garlic growing, delved radishes, culled chervil and all herbs, bought parched barley, and (for not yet had the meadows reached theredolency that tempts the ten toes)-so to mule-back again; whence thistenderness behind. And now I walk with pain, and the sweat runs down; mybones languish, and yearn for the longest of water-swims; 'tis ever my joyto wash me after toil. 

I will speed back to my boy; 'tis like he waits for me at the pease-puddingry, or the curiosity shop; yet stay; his instructions were to meetme at the frippery. Ah, hither comes he in the nick of time: ay, and haspurchased a beesting-pudding and girdle-cakes and leeks, sausages andsteak, dewlap and tripe and collops. --Good, Atticion, you have made mostof my journey no thoroughfare. ' 'Why, sir, I have been looking round thecorner for you till I squint. Where dined you yesterday? withOnomacritus?' 'God bless me, no. I was off to the country; hey presto!and there we were. You know how I dote on the country. I suppose you allthought I was making the glasses ring. Now go in, and spice all thesethings, and scour the kneading-trough, ready to shred the lettuces. Ishall be of for a dry rub. '

'We are with you, ' cried Philinus, 'Onomarchus, Hellanicus, and I; thedial's mid point is in shadow; beware, or we shall bathe in theCarimants' water, huddled and pushed by the vulgar herd. ' Then saidHellanicus: 'Ah, and my eyes are disordered; my pupils are turbid, I winkand blink, the tears come unbidden, my eyes crave the ophthalmic leech'shealing drug, mortar-brayed and infused, that they may blush and blear nomore, nor moistly peer. '

In such wise conversing, all our company departed. Arrived at thegymnasium, we stripped; the finger-wrench, the garotte, the standing-grip, each had its votaries; one oiled and suppled his joints; anotherpunched the bladder; a third heaved and swung the dumb-bells. Then, whenwe had rubbed ourselves, and ridden pick-a-back, and had our sport of thegymnasium, we took our plunge, Philinus and I, in the warm basin, anddeparted. But the rest dipped frigid heads, soused in, and swamsubaqueous, a wonder to behold. Then back we came, and one here, onethere, did this and that. Shod, with toothed comb I combed me. For I hadhad a short crop, not to convict-measure, but saucer-wise, deflationhaving set in on crown and chin-tip. One chewed lupines, another clearedhis fasting throat, a third took fish soup on radish-wafer sippets; thisate olives, that supped down barley. 

When it was dinner-time, we took it reclining, both chairs and couchesstanding ready. A joint-stock meal it was, and the contributions many andvarious. Pigs' pettitoes, ribs of beef, paunch and pregnant womb of sow, fried liver lobe, garlic paste, sauce piquante, mayonnaise, and so on;pastry, ramequins, and honey-cakes. In the aquatic line, much of thecartilaginous, of the testaceous much; many a salt slice, basket-hawked, eels of Copae, fowls of the barn-door, a cock past crowing-days, and fishto keep him company; add to these a sheep roast whole, and ox's rump oftoothless eld. The loaves were firsts, no common stuff, and therewithalremainders from the new moon; vegetables both radical and excrescent. Forthe wine, 'twas of no standing, but came from the skin; its sweetness wasgone, but its roughness remained. 

On the dolphin-foot table stood divers store of cups; the eye-shutter, the ladle, slender-handled, genuine Mentor; crane-neck and gurglingbombyl; and many an earth-born child of Thericlean furnace, the wide-mouthed, the kindly-lipped; Phocaean, Cnidian work, but all light as air, and thin as eggshell; bowls and pannikins and posied cups; oh, 'twas awell-stocked sideboard. 

But the kettle boiled over, and sent the ashes flying about our heads. Itwas bumpers and no heeltaps, and we were full to the throat. Then to thenard; and enter to us guitar and light fantastic toe. Thereafter, oneshinned up the ladder, on post-prandial japery intent, another beat thedevil's tattoo, a third writhed cachinnatory. 

At this moment broke in upon us from the bath, all uninvited, Megalonymusthe attorney, Chaereas the goldsmith, striped back and all, and thebruiser Eudemus. I asked them what they were about to come so late. QuothChaereas; 'I was working a locket and ear-rings and bangles for mydaughter; that is why I come after the fair. ' 'I was otherwise engaged, 'said Megalonymus; 'know you not that it was a lawless day and a dumb? So, as it was linguistice, there was truce to my calendarial clockings andplea-mensurations. But hearing the governor was giving a warm reception, I took my shiniest clothes, fresh from the tailor, and my unmatchedshoes, and showed myself out. 

'The first I met were a torch-bearer, a hierophant, and others of theinitiated, haling Dinias before the judge, and protesting that he hadcalled them by their names, though he well knew that, from the time oftheir sanctification, they were nameless, and no more to be named but byhallowed names; so then he appealed to me. ' 'Dinias?' I put in; 'Who isDinias?' 'Oh, he's a dance-for-your-supper carry-your-luggage rattle-your-patter gaming-house sort of man; eschews the barber, and takes careof his poor chest and toes. ' 'Well, ' said I, 'paid he the penalty in somewise, or showed a clean pair of heels?' 'Our delicate goer is now fastbound. The governor, regardless of his retiring disposition, slipped himon a pair of bracelets and a necklace, and brought him acquainted withstocks and boot. The poor worm quaked for fear, and could not containhimself, and offered money, if so he might save his soul alive. '

'As for me, ' said Eudemus, 'I was sent for in the gloaming by Damasias, the athlete many-victoried of yore, now pithless from age; you know himin bronze in the market. He was busy with roast and boiled. He was thisday to exdomesticate his daughter, and was decking her out for herhusband, when a baleful incident occurred, which cleft the feast intwain. For Dion his son, on grievance unknown, if it were not rather thehostility of Heaven, hanged himself; and be sure he was a dead man, had Inot been there, and dislocated and loosed him from his implication. Longtime I squatted a-knee, pricking and rocking, and sounding him, to seewhether his throat was still whole. What profited most was compressure ofthe extremities with both my hands. '

'What, Dion the effeminate, the libertine, the debauchee, the mastich-chewer, the too susceptible to amorous sights?' 'Yes; the lecher andwhore-master. Well, Damasias fell down and worshipped the Goddess (theyhave an Artemis by Scopas in the middle of the court), he and his oldwhite-headed wife, and implored her compassion. The Goddess straightwaynodded assent, and he was well; and now he is their Theodorus, or indeedtheir manifest Artemidorus. So they made offerings to her, among themdarts and bows and arrows; for these are acceptable in her sight; bow-woman she, far-dartress, telepolemic'

'Let us drink, then' said Megalonymus; 'here have I brought you a flagonof antiquated wine, with cream cheese and windfall olives--I keep themunder seal, and the seals are worm-eaten--and others brine-steeped, andthese fictile cups, thin-edged, firm-based, that we might drinktherefrom, and a pasty of tripe rolled like a top-knot. --Now, you sir, pour me in some more water; if my head begins to ache, I shall be sendingfor your master to talk to you. --You know, gentlemen, what megrims I get, and what a numskull mine is. After drinking, we will chirp a little as isour wont; 'tis not amiss to prate in one's cups'

'So be it, ' quoth I; 'we are the very pink and perfection of the trueAttic' 'Done with you!' says Callicles, 'frequent quizzings are awhetstone of conversation' 'For my part, ' cries Eudemus, '--it growschill--I like my liquor stronger, and more of it; I am deathly cold; if Icould get some warmth into me, I had rather listen to these light-fingered gentry of flute and lyre. ' 'What is this you say, Eudemus?' saysI; 'You would exact mutation from us? are we so hard-mouthed, sountongued? For my tongue, 'tis garriturient. I was just getting underway, and making ready to hail you with a fine old Attic shower. 'Tis asif a three-master were sailing before the breeze, with stay-sails wind-bellied, scudding along wave-skimming, and you should throw out two-tongued anchorage and iron stoppers and ship-fetters, and block herfoaming course, in envy of her fair-windedness. ' 'Why then, if you will, splash and dash and crash through the waves; and I upsoaring, anddrinking the while, will watch like Homer's Zeus from some bald-crownedhill or from Heaven-top, while you and your ship are swept along with thewind behind you. '_

_Ly_. Thanks, Lexiphanes; enough of drink and reading. I assure youI am full beyond my capacity as it is; if I do not succeed in quicklyunloading my stomach of what you have put into it, there is not a doubt Ishall go raving mad under the intoxication of your exuberant verbosity. At first I was inclined to be amused; but there is such a lot of it, andall just alike; I pity you now, poor misguided one, trapped in yourendless maze, sick unto death, a prey to melancholia. 

Where in the world can you have raked up all this rubbish from? How longhas it taken you? Or what sort of a hive could ever keep together such aswarm of lop-sided monstrosities? Of some you are the proud creator, therest you have dug up from dark lurking-places, till 'tis

 Curse on you, piling woe on mortal woe!

How have you gathered all the minor sewers into one cloaca maxima, anddischarged the whole upon my innocent head! Have you never a friend orrelation or well-wisher? Did you never meet a plain-dealer to give you adose of candour? That would have cured you. You are dropsical, man; youare like to burst with it; and you take it for muscular healthystoutness; you are congratulated only by the fools who do not see what isthe matter; the instructed cannot help being sorry for you. 

But here in good time comes Sopolis; we will put you in the good doctor'shands, tell him all about it, and see if anything can be done for you. Heis a clever man; he has taken many a helpless semi-lunatic like you inhand and dosed him into sanity. --Good day, Sopolis. Lexiphanes here is afriend of mine, you know. Now I want you to undertake his case; heis afflicted with a delirious affection of the vocal organs, and I feara complete breakdown. Pray take measures to cure him. 

_Lex_. Heal him, not me, Sopolis; he is manifestly moon-struck; personsduly pia-matered he accounts beside their five wits; he might come fromSamos and call Mnesarchus father; for he enjoins silence and linguinanity. But by the unabashed Athene, by Heracles the beast-killer, no jot ortittle of notice shall he have from me. 'Tis my foreboding that I fall notin with him again. For his censures, I void my rheum upon them. 

_Sop_. What is the matter with him, Lycinus?

_Ly_. Why, _this_ is the matter; don't you hear? He leaves us hiscontemporaries, and goes a thousand years off to talk to us, which hedoes by aid of these tongue-gymnastics and extraordinary compounds--prides himself upon it, too, as if it were a great thing to disguiseyourself, and mutilate the conversational currency. 

_Sop_. Well, to be sure, this is a serious case; we must do all wecan for him. Providentially, here is an emetic I had just mixed for abilious patient; here, Lexiphanes, drink it off; the other man can wait;let us purge you of this vocal derangement, and get you a clean bill ofhealth. Come along, down with it; you will feel much easier. 

_Lex_. I know not what you would be at, you and Lycinus, with yourdrenches; I fear me you are more like to end than mend my speech. 

_Ly_. Drink, quick; it will make a man of you in thought and word. 

_Lex_. Well, if I must. Lord, what is this? How it rumbles! I must haveswallowed a ventriloquist. 

_Sop_. Now, let it come. Look, look! Here comes _in sooth, anon_ follows, close upon them _quoth he, withal, sirrah, I trow, _ and a generalsprinkling of _sundry_. But try again; tickle your throat; that will help. _Hard, by_ has not come up yet, nor _a-weary_, nor _rehearse_, nor_quandary_. Oh, there are lots of them lurking yet, a whole stomachful. Itwould be well to get rid of some of them by purging; there should be animpressive explosion when _orotundity_ makes its windy exit. However, heis pretty well cleaned out, except for what may be left in the lowerbowels. Lycinus, I shall now leave him in your charge; teach him betterways, and tell him what are the right words to use. 

_Ly_. I will, Sopolis; and thank you for clearing the way. Now, Lexiphanes, listen to me. If you want sincere commendations upon yourstyle, and success with popular audiences, give a wide berth to that sortof stuff. Make a beginning with the great poets, read them with some oneto help you, then go on to the orators, and when you have assimilatedtheir vocabulary, proceed in due time to Thucydides and Plato, notforgetting a thorough course also of pleasant Comedy and grave Tragedy. When you have culled the best that all these can show, you may reckonthat you have a style. You have not realized it, but at present you arelike the toymen's dolls, all gaudy colouring outside, and inside, fragileclay. 

If you will take this advice, put up for a little while with being calleduneducated, and not be ashamed to mend your ways, you may face anaudience without a tremor; you will not then be a laughing-stock anymore; the cultivated will no longer exercise their irony upon you andnickname you the Hellene and the Attic just because you are lessintelligible than many barbarians. But above all things, do bear in mindnot to ape the worst tricks of the last generation's professors; you arealways nibbling at their wares; put your foot upon them once for all, andtake the ancients for your model. And no dallying with unsubstantialflowers of speech; accustom yourself, like the athletes, to solid food. And let your devotions be paid to the Graces and to Lucidity, whom youhave so neglected. 

Further, put a stopper on bombast and grandiloquence and mannerism; beneither supercilious nor overbearing; cease to carp at other people'sperformances and to count their loss your gain. And then, perhaps thegreatest of all your errors is this: instead of arranging your matterfirst, and then elaborating the diction, you find some out-of-the-wayword, or are captivated by one of your own invention, and try to build upyour meaning round it; if you cannot get it in somehow or other, thoughit may have nothing to do with the matter, you are inconsolable; do youremember the _mobled queen_ you let off the other day? It was quiteoff the point, and you did not know what it meant yourself; however, itsoddness tickled the ears of the ignorant many; as for the cultivated, they were equally amused at you and at your admirers. 

Again, could anything be more ludicrous than for one who claims to be apurist, drawing from the undefiled fountain of antiquity, to mix in(though indeed that reverses the proportion) expressions that would beimpossible to the merest schoolboy? I felt as if I should like the earthto swallow me up, when I heard you talk of a man's _chemise_, and use_valet_ of a woman; who does not know that a man wears a shirt, and that avalet is male? But you abound in far more flagrant blunders than these: Ihave _chidden_, not _chode_ you; we do not _write_ a friend, we _write to_him; we say _'onest_, not _honest_; these usages of yours cannot claimeven alien rights among us. Moreover, we do not like even poetry to readlike the dictionary. But the sort of poetry to which your prosecorresponds would be Dosiadas's _Altar_, Lycophron's _Alexandra_, or anymore pestilent pedantry that may happen to exist. If you take the pains tounlearn all this, you will have done the best you can for yourself. If youlet yourself be seduced by your sweet baits again, I have at least put inmy word of warning, and you will have only yourself to blame when you findyourself on the downward path.