‘I too am of that country; my name is Toxaris; but it is probably not known to you, for I am a man of no family.’
‘Are you that Toxaris,’ exclaimed the other, ‘of whom I heard that for love of Greece he had left wife and children in Scythia, and gone to Athens, 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 caught your enthusiasm for Greece; it was with no other object than this that I set out on my travels. The hardships I have endured in the countries through which I passed on my way hither are infinite; and I had already decided, when I met you, that before the sun set I would return to my ship; so much was I disturbed at the strange and outlandish sights that I have seen. And now, Toxaris, I adjure you by Scimetar and Zamolxis, our country’s Gods, — take me by the hand, be my guide, and make me acquainted with all that is best in Athens and in the rest of Greece; their great men, their wise laws, their customs, their assemblies, their constitution, their everyday life. You and I have both travelled far to see 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 the language of enthusiasm. However, there is no fear of that — you will not go back, Athens will not let you off so easily. She is not so much at a loss for charms wherewith to detain the stranger: she will take such a hold on you, that you will forget your own wife and children — if you have any. Now I will put you into the readiest way of seeing Athens, ay, and Greece, and the glories of Greece. There is a certain philosopher living here; he is an Athenian, but has travelled a great deal in Asia and Egypt, and held intercourse with the most eminent men. For the rest, he is none of your moneyed men: indeed, he is quite poor; be prepared for an old man, dressed as plainly as could be. Yet his virtue and wisdom are held in such esteem, that he was employed by them to draw up a constitution, and his ordinances form their rule of life. Make this man your friend, study him, and rest assured that in knowing him you know Greece; for he is an epitome of all that is excellent in the Greek character. 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 is not so easily done? He may slight your intercessions on my behalf?’
‘You know not what you say. Nothing gives him greater pleasure than to have an opportunity of showing his hospitality to strangers. Only follow me, and you shall see how courteous and benevolent he is, and how devout a worshipper of the God of Hospitality. But stay: how fortunate! here he comes 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 craves your friendship. He is a Scythian of noble family; but has left all and come here to enjoy the society of Greeks, and to view the wonders of their country. I have hit upon a simple expedient which will enable him to do both, to see all that is to be seen, and to form the most desirable acquaintances: in other words, I have brought him to Solon, who, if I know anything of his character, will not refuse to take him under his protection, and to make him a Greek among Greeks. — It is as I told you, Anacharsis: having seen Solon, you have seen all; behold Athens; behold Greece. You are a stranger no longer: all men know you, all men are your friends; this it is to possess the friendship of the venerable Solon. Conversing with him, you will forget Scythia and all that is in it. Your toils are rewarded, your desire is fulfilled. In him you have the mainspring of Greek civilization, in him the ideals of Athenian philosophers are realized. Happy man — if you know your happiness — to be the 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 with Anacharsis — how he gave him the most valuable instruction, procured him the friendship of all Athens, showed him the sights of Greece, and took every trouble to make his stay in the country a pleasant one; and how Anacharsis for his part regarded the sage with such reverence, that he was never willingly absent from his side. Suffice it to say, that the promise 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 thus strongly recommended; for here too Solon was a lawgiver: those whom he esteemed were loved and admired by all. Finally, if we may believe the statement of Theoxenus, Anacharsis was presented with the freedom of the city, and initiated into the mysteries; nor does it seem likely that he would 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 to wander about in a headless condition. What are Anacharsis and Toxaris doing here to-day in Macedonia, bringing Solon with them too, poor old gentleman, all the way from Athens? It is time for me to explain. The fact is, my situation is pretty much that of Anacharsis. I crave your indulgence, in venturing to compare myself with royalty. Anacharsis, after all, was a barbarian; and I should hope that we Syrians are as good as Scythians. And I am not comparing myself with Anacharsis the king, but Anacharsis the barbarian. When first I set foot in your city, I was filled with amazement at its size, its beauty, its population, its resources 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, in the palace of Menelaus; and well I might, as I viewed this city in all her pride;
A garden she, whose flowers are ev’ry blessing.
Thus affected, I had to bethink me what course I should adopt. For as to lecturing here, my mind had long been made up about that; what other audience could I have in view, that I should pass by this great city in silence? To make a clean breast of it, then, I set about inquiring who were your great men; for it was my design to approach them, and secure their patronage and support in facing the public. Unlike Anacharsis, who had but one informant, and a barbarian at that, I had many; 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 — nowhere will you find more: but two there are who stand pre-eminent; who in birth and in prestige are without a rival, and in learning and eloquence might be matched with the Ten Orators of Athens. They are regarded by the public with feelings of absolute devotion: their will is law; for they will nothing but the highest interests of the city. Their courtesy, their hospitality towards strangers, their unassuming benevolence, their modesty in the midst of greatness, their gentleness, their affability, — all these you will presently experience, and will have something to say on the subject yourself. But — wonder of wonders! — these two are of one house, father and son. For the father, conceive to yourself a Solon, a Pericles, an Aristides: as to the son, his manly comeliness and noble stature will attract you at the first glance; and if he do but say two words, your ears will be taken captive by the charm that sits upon his tongue. When he speaks in public, the city listens like one man, open- mouthed; ’tis Athens listening to Alcibiades; yet the Athenians presently repented of their infatuation for the son of Clinias, but here love grows to 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 to their 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 be invoked for the purpose), such was the unvarying report I heard; and I now 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, to gain these friends. That once achieved, fair weather and calm seas are before me, and my haven is near at hand.
PODAGRA; OR, GOUT — Ποδάγρα
Translated by M. D. Mcleod
MANY editors have regarded one or both of these poems as spurious, while others have taken Swift-of- Foot and Gout to
be the beginning and end of the same play. There are no solid grounds, however, for doubting that Gout is the work of Lucian. Swift-of- Foot is the work of an inferior versifier, who may well be Acacius, the friend of Libanius.
The poet of Gout shows himself superior in style, use of poetic vocabulary and particularly metrical skill. Gout is a metrical tour-de-force, whereas the writer of Swift-of- Foot does not venture away from iambics throughout a whole 171 lines. The iambics of Gout, too, are superior and 11.1-29 and 54-86 conform to the strictest rules of tragedy, though later there are liberties with the final cretic, anapaests in the second and fourth feet, and unnatural word divisions in resolved feet. All these liberties the composer of Swift-of-Foot has allowed himself, but he betrays his inferiority by his use of spondees(!) in the fourth foot, by his trisyllabic fifth feet and by irregular elisions in 1.122 and perhaps in 1.47. Swift-of-foot therefore looks like the work of an inferior imitator.
In his excellent edition of the two poems J. Zimmermann uses these further arguments in favour of the authenticity of Gout and spuriousness of Swift-of-Foot:
Gout’s position in Γ admits of no doubt, whereas Swift-of-Foot together with the Saltatores of himself in the grip of gout so as to be enabled to compose such a comedy about it. I have not, as you think, infringed the convention of those who have recently become subjects of this queen, but have blamed the hardness of the road, pottery (sc on which I’ve stubbed my foot), a visit to the theatre or to a display of wild animals as the reason for my being confined to bed — anything, in fact, but the true reason. The doctors, in whose hands I put myself completely, had allowed themselves to be deceived along with me. But when I had enjoyed the benefits of their deception for a whole month, and was resolved to know the cause of the trouble, I was prevented by them. They knew well enough, I would say, but they didn’t want to distress me. But when its inroads came repeatedly and it ravaged me and laid me waste more cruelly than the Spartans did Attica, I surrendered and gave my affliction its proper name, thinking it the height of shamelessness to deny a plight that was obvious. You who now hear the truth after three months may think that I’ve broken the rule of those in my condition. But a man who has had his share of gout cannot he expected to do violence to the truth indefinitely. You too will soon admit this — or rather you’ve already made a similar confession to the god and appealed to him to he your ally against gout. Now I am in the audience listening to refrains about horses left unused and bad servants who don’t support their masters and carry them, hut, as the year proceeds, it will erase all my excuses except one, and we shall become a chorus, though we number more than the comic chorus, and, with you as its leader, our chorus
DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
THE GOUTY MAN
CHORUS
GOUT
MESSENGER
DOCTOR
PAINS
GOUT — A TRAGEDY
THE GOUTY MAN
O hateful name, abhorred by all the gods,
O Gout, most rich in woes, Cocytus’ child,
Whom in dark hidden depths of Tartarus
Fury Megaera from her womb brought forth
And fed thee at her breast, thou cruel babe,
To whom Allecto too did offer suck,
Abominable name, which god below
Sent thee to earth above, thou scourge of men?
For, if a reckoning awaits the dead
And they must pay for sinful deeds of life,
Why punish Tantalus with sight of drink,
Torture Ixion with that whirling wheel,
Or Sisyphus with rock in Pluto’s halls?
Oh better far that all alike who sin
Should feel thy pain, their joints thy cruel woes,
Just as this shrivelled, luckless frame of mine,
From finger tips right down to tips of toe,
From fault of blood and bitter flow of bile
Is locked, its channels scaled by thy onset
And static plight makes agony more grim,
And through my vital parts this feverish bane
Doth sweep o’er flesh ablaze with whirling flame
Like Etna’s crater full of blazing fire,
Or narrow chasm of Sicilian straits
Whose angry waters cramped by rocky caves
Swirl on from side to side with eddying maze.
O death with mystery fraught for all mankind,
How idly think we comfort lies in thee
And cheat ourselves like fools with empty hopes!
CHORUS
On Dindymus, Cybebe’s mount,
Phrygians raise their frenzied cries
To tender Attis as his due.
To the note of Phrygian horn
Along the slopes of Tmolus high
Lydians shout their revelling song,
And Corybants on tambourines
Madly drum with Cretan beat
Their Bacchanalian strain so wild.
Trumpets ring with heavy note
To please the lusty War-god’s ear,
Sending out shrill battle cry.
And we thy devotees, O Gout,
Meed of groans now pay to thee
In these first days of early spring,
Now that every field is green
And richly clad with grassy sward,
While the gentle Zephyr’s breath
Brings every tree her tender leaves,
While her plaint through homes of men
The swallow, luckless wife, doth send,
And the Attic nightingale
Throughout the woods the whole night long
Mourns with tears her Itys lost.
GOUTY MAN
Ah, woe is me! O staff that helps my toils
And acteth as third foot for me, support
My trembling steps and guide my path aright,
That I may place sure feet upon the ground.
Raise up thy luckless limbs from off thy bed
And leave shelter of house with roof above.
Release thine eyes from deep dark cloud of mist,
Go out of doors and into light of sun
That thou mayst draw a breath of clearest air,
For now ten days have gone and five besides,
Since I’m immured in dark away from sun,
And feel my body waste on unmade bed.
My spirit’s fain, and eager wish I have
To hasten to the door and walk abroad,
But feeble body cannot serve my will.
Yet strive, my heart, make haste, for thou must know
That gout-struck pauper, if he wish to walk
But cannot move, is held as good as dead.
But stay!
For who are these that busily ply their staffs
And carry wreaths of elder on their head?
Which god is worshipped by this fervent band?
Say, Healing Phoebus, do they honour thee?
Not so; no Delphic laurel wreathes their heads.
Or is this hymn sung to the Bacchic god?
Not so; no ivy marks their locks as his.
O strangers, tell us who ye are that come.
Speak out, and let your lips speak true, my friends.
Say which the goddess whom ye hymn with praise.
CHORUS
And who are you that ask, and what your race?
For, as your staff and gait do indicate,
The unconquered goddess has thee for her thrall.
GOUTY MAN
Ye think me fit to join her mystic band?
CHORUS
Just as Aphrodite, Cypric queen,
Fell as dew from heaven above,
And by Nereus in the briny waves
Moulded was to beauteous shape;
Just as Tethys close to Ocean’s springs
In her bosom wide did nurse
White-armed Hera wife of mighty Zeus;
Just as from immortal head
Cronidas, Olympus’ greatest god,
B
rought to birth the fearless maid,
Pallas, rouser of the battle’s roar;
Likewise was our blessed queen
Old Ophion’s first-begotten child
Spawned from parent’s shiny arms.
When the age of Chaos dark was o’er,
When the radiant dawn arose,
And the Sun-God’s brilliant beams shone forth,
Then did mighty Gout appear.
After Clotho brought thee from her womb
And the Fate had washed her child,
Joy was seen o’er heaven’s shining face,
Thunder pealed from cloudless sky,
And rich Pluto from his ample store
Gave thee milky breasts to suck.
GOUTY MAN
And what the rites your novices must face?
CHORUS
We do not spill our eager blood with cutting sword,
No long grown hair is used to twist around the neck,
Our backs need feel no rattling scourge of cruel bone,
Nor must we tear apart and eat raw flesh of bulls;
But when the spring brings tender flowers upon the elm,
And blackbirds’ bubbling song is heard on every bough,
Then limbs of acolytes are pierced by weapon sharp,
Secret, unseen, sinking to utmost marrow’s depth;
Delphi Complete Works of Lucian Page 95