Delphi Complete Works of Lucian

by Lucian Samosata

  And would that that were all! But they have other ways of bringing discredit upon us, besides the baseness of their origin. When beauty comes within the reach of these grave and reverend gentlemen, they are guilty of excesses that I will not pollute my lips with mentioning. They have been known, like Trojan Paris, to seduce the wives of their own hosts, and to quote the authority of Plato for leaving these fair converts at the disposal of all their acquaintance; they little knew the true meaning of that inspired philosopher’s community of women. I will not tire you with a description of their drunken orgies; observe, however, that these are the men who preach against drunkenness and adultery and avarice and lewdness. Could any contrast be greater than that presented by their words and their deeds? They speak their detestation of flattery: a Gnathonides and a Struthias are less fulsome than they. They bid men tell the truth: yet their own tongues cannot move but to utter lies. To hear them, you would say they were at war with pleasure, and Epicurus their bitterest foe: yet nothing do they do but for pleasure’s sake. Querulous, irritable, passionate as cradled babes, they are a derision to the beholder; the veriest trifle serves to move their ire, to bring the purple to their cheeks, ungoverned fury to their eyes, foam — call it rather venom — to their lips. Preserve me from their turbid rantings! Gold I ask not, nor silver; be one penny all my wealth, to purchase beans withal. And for my drink, a river, a spring, shall furnish me. But presently it turns out that what they want is not pence, nor shillings, but whole fortunes. He must be a thriving merchant, whose cargoes will bring him in such profits as these men suck out of philosophy. They are sufficiently provided at last, and then off goes the hated uniform: lands and houses are bought, and soft raiment, and comely pages. Inquire of them now for Crates’s wallet, Antisthenes’s cloak, Diogenes’s tub: they know nothing of the matter. When men see these things, they spit in the face of philosophy; they think that all philosophers are the same, and blame me their teacher. It is long since I have won over any to my side. I toil like Penelope at the loom, and one moment undoes all that I have done. Ignorance and Wickedness watch my unavailing labours, and smile.

  Zeus. Really, Philosophy has been shamefully treated. We must take some measures with these rascals. Let us think what is to be done. The single stroke of the thunderbolt is too quick a death.

  Apol. Father, I have a suggestion to make. By their neglect of the Muses, these vile quacks have incurred my own resentment as well as Philosophy’s. They are not worthy to die by your hand. Instead, I would advise your sending Hermes to them, with full authority to punish them at his discretion. With his forensic experience, he will be at no loss to distinguish between the true philosopher and the false. The former will receive merited praise: on the latter he will inflict such chastisement as the circumstances demand.

  Zeus. A sensible proposal. Heracles, you can go too; take Philosophy with you, and lose no time. Think: this will make your thirteenth Labour, and a creditable one too, the extermination of these reptiles.

  Hera. Rather than meddle with them, I would give the Augean stables a second clean-out. However, let us be starting, Philosophy.

  Phi. If I must, I must.

  Her. Yes, come along, and we will polish off a few to-day. — Which way, Philosophy? You know where they are to be found. Somewhere in Greece, of course?

  Phi. Oh no; the few that there are in Greece are genuine philosophers. Attic poverty is not at all to the liking of the impostors; we must look for them in places where gold and silver mines abound.

  Her. Straight to Thrace, then?

  Hera. Yes, Thrace, and I will show you the way. I know every inch of Thrace; I have been there so often. Look here, this is our route.

  Her. Yes?

  Hera. You see those two magnificent mountains (the big one is Haemus, and the other Rhodope), and the fertile plain that spreads between them, running to the very foot of either? Those three grand, rugged crests that stand out so proudly yonder form as it were a triple citadel to the city that lies beneath; you can see it now, look.

  Her. Superb! A queen among cities; her splendours reach us even here. And what is the great river that flows so close beneath the walls?

  Hera. The Hebrus, and the city was built by Philip. Well, we have left the clouds behind us now; let us try our fortune on terra firma.

  Her. Very good; and what comes next? How do we hunt our vermin down?

  Hera. Ah, that is where you come in, Mr. Crier: oblige us by crying them without loss of time.

  Her. There is only one objection to that: I do not know what they are called. What names am I to say, Philosophy? and how shall I describe them?

  Phi. I am not sure of their names, as I have never come into contact with them. To judge from their grasping propensities, however, you can hardly go wrong with Cteso, Ctesippus, Ctesicles, Euctemon, Polyctetus.

  Her. To be sure. But who are these men? They seem to be looking for something too. Why, they are coming up to speak to us.

  Innkeeper and Masters. Excuse us, madam, and gentlemen, but have you come across a company of three rascals conducting a woman — a very masculine-looking female, with hair cut short in the Spartan fashion?

  Phi. Ha! the very people we are looking for!

  Masters. Indeed, madam? But these are three runaway slaves. The woman was kidnapped by them, and we want to get her back.

  Her. Our business with them I will tell you afterwards. For the present, let us make a joint proclamation.

  Disappeared. A Paphlagonian slave, formerly of Sinope. Any person giving information as to his whereabouts will be rewarded; the amount of the reward to be fixed by the informant. Description. Name: begins with CTE. Complexion: sallow. Hair: close-cropped, with long beard.

  Dress: a coarse cloak with wallet. Temper: bad. Education: none. Voice: harsh. Manner: offensive.

  First Master. Why, what is all this about? His name used to be Cantharus when he was with me. He had long hair, and no beard, and was apprenticed to my trade; I am a fuller, and he was in my shop, dressing cloth.

  Phi. Yes, it is the same; but he has dressed to some purpose this time, and has become a philosopher.

  First Master. Cantharus a philosopher! I like that. And where do I come in?

  Second and Third Masters. Oh well, we shall get them all now. This lady knows all about them, it seems.

  Phi. Heracles, who is this comely person with a lyre?

  Hera. It is Orpheus. I was on the Argo with him. He was the best of boatswains; it was quite a pleasure to row to his singing. Welcome, my musical friend: you have not forgotten Heracles, I hope?

  Or. And welcome to all of you, Philosophy, Heracles, Hermes. I should like my reward, please: I can lay my finger on your man.

  Her. Then show us the way. It is useless, of course, to offer gold to the gifted son of Calliope?

  Or. Oh, quite. — I will show you the house, but not the man. His tongue might avenge him; scurrility is his strong point.

  Her. Lead on.

  Or. It is this house close by. And now I shall leave you; I have no wish to set eyes on him.

  Her. Hush! Was that a woman’s voice, reciting Homer?

  Phi. It was. Let us listen.

  Innkeeper’s Wife. More than the gates of Hell I hate that man Who, loving gold, cloaketh his love with lies.

  Her. At that rate, madam, you will have to quarrel with Cantharus:

  He with his kindly host hath dealt amiss.

  Innkeeper. That’s me. I took him in, and he ran away with my wife.

  Innk. Wife. Wine-witted knave, deer-hearted and dog-eyed, Thersites, babbler loose, that nought availest In council, nought in arms; most valiant daw, That with thine aimless chatter chidest kings, —

  First Master. My rascal to a T.

  Innk. Wife. The dog in thee — for thou art dog and goat And lion — doth a blasting fury breathe.

  Innkeeper. Wife, wife! the dogs have been too many for you; ay, and for your virtue, so men say.

  Her. Hope for the best
; some little Cerberus or Geryon shall call you father, and Heracles have employment again. — Ah, no need to knock: here they come.

  First Master. Ha, Cantharus, have I got you? What, nothing to say for yourself? Let us see what you have in that wallet; beans, no doubt, or a crust of bread.

  Her. Bread, indeed! Gold, a purseful of it!

  Hera. That need not surprise you. In Greece, you see, he was a Cynic, but here he is all for golden Chrysippus. Next you will see him dangling, Cleanthes-like, by his beard, and serve the dirty fellow right.

  Second Master. Ha, you rascal there, am I mistaken, or are you my lost Lecythio? Lecythio it is. What a figure! Lecythio a philosopher! I’ll believe anything after this.

  Her. Does none of you know anything about this other?

  Third Master. Oh yes, he is mine; but he may go hang for me.

  Her. And why is that?

  Third Master. Ah, he’s a sadly leaky vessel, is Rosolio, as we used to call him.

  Her. Gracious Heracles! did you hear that? Rosolio with wallet and stick! — Friend, here is your wife again.

  Innkeeper. Thank you for nothing. I’ll have no woman brought to bed of an old book in my house.

  Her. How am I to understand that?

  Innkeeper. Why, the Three-headed Dog is a book, master?

  Her. Ay, and so was the Man with the Three Hats, for that matter.

  Masters. We leave the rest to you, sir.

  Her. This is my judgement. Let the woman return beneath her husband’s roof, or many-headed monsters will come of it. These two truant sparks I hand over to their owners: let them follow their trades as heretofore; Lecythio wash clothes, and Rosolio patch them; — not, however, before his back has felt the mallow-stalk. And for Cantharus, first let the men of pitch take him, and plaster him without mercy; and be their pitch the vilest procurable. Then let him be led forth to stand upon the snowy slopes of Haemus, naked and fettered.

  Can. Mercy! have mercy on me! Ah me! I am undone!

  First Master. So tragic? Come, follow me to the plasterers; and off with that lion’s-skin, lest you be taken for other than an ass.

  TOXARIS — Τόξαρις ἢ Φιλία

  Translated by H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler

  TOXARIS: A DIALOGUE OF FRIENDSHIP

  Mnesippus. Toxaris

  Mne. Now, Toxaris: do you mean to tell me that you people actually sacrifice to Orestes and Pylades? do you take them for Gods?

  Tox. Sacrifice to them? of course we do. It does not follow that we think they are Gods: they were good men.

  Mne. And in Scythia ‘good men’ receive sacrifice just the same as Gods?

  Tox. Not only that, but we honour them with feasts and public gatherings.

  Mne. But what do you expect from them? They are shades now, so their goodwill can be no object.

  Tox. Why, as to that, I think it may be just as well to have a good understanding even with shades. But that is not all: in honouring the dead we consider that we are also doing the best we can for the living. Our idea is that by preserving the memory of the noblest of mankind, we induce many people to follow their example.

  Mne. Ah, there you are right. But what could you find to admire in Orestes and Pylades, that you should exalt them to godhead? They were strangers to you: strangers, did I say? they were enemies! Why, when they were shipwrecked on your coast, and your ancestors laid hands on them, and took them off to be sacrificed to Artemis, they assaulted the gaolers, overpowered the garrison, slew the king, carried off the priestess, laid impious hands on the Goddess herself, and so took ship, snapping their fingers at Scythia and her laws. If you honour men for this kind of thing, there will be plenty of people to follow their example, and you will have your hands full. You may judge for yourselves, from ancient precedent, whether it will suit you to have so many Oresteses and Pyladeses putting into your ports. It seems to me that it will soon end in your having no religion left at all: God after God will be expatriated in the same manner, and then I suppose you will supply their place by deifying their kidnappers, thus rewarding sacrilege with sacrifice. If this is not your motive in honouring Orestes and Pylades, I shall be glad to know what other service they have rendered you, that you should change your minds about them, and admit them to divine honours. Your ancestors did their best to offer them up to Artemis: you offer up victims to them. It seems an absurd inconsistency.

  Tox. Now, in the first place, the incident you refer to is very much to their credit. Think of those two entering on that vast undertaking by themselves: sailing away from their country to the distant Euxine [Footnote: See Euxine in Notes.] — that sea unknown in those days to the Greeks, or known only to the Argonauts — unmoved by the stories they heard of it, undeterred by the inhospitable name it then bore, which I suppose referred to the savage nations that dwelt upon its shores; think of their courageous bearing after they were captured; how escape alone would not serve them, but they must avenge their wrong upon the king, and carry Artemis away over the seas. Are not these admirable deeds, and shall not the doers be counted as Gods by all who esteem prowess? However, this is not our motive in giving them divine honours.

  Mne. Proceed. What else of godlike and sublime was in their conduct? Because from the seafaring point of view, there are any number of merchants whose divinity I will maintain against theirs: the Phoenicians, in particular, have sailed to every port in Greek and foreign waters, let alone the Euxine, the Maeotian Lake and the Bosphorus; year after year they explore every coast, only returning home at the approach of winter. Hucksters though they be for the most part, and fishmongers, you must deify them all, to be consistent.