No More Learning

'

'This is sheer folly,' said Ion; 'you are determined not to believe
any one. I shall be glad, now, to hear your views on the subject of
those who cure demoniacal possession; the effect of _their_
exorcisms is clear enough, and they have spirits to deal with. I
need not enlarge on the subject: look at that Syrian adept from
Palestine: every one knows how time after time he has found a man
thrown down on the ground in a lunatic fit, foaming at the mouth
and rolling his eyes; and how he has got him on to his feet again
and sent him away in his right mind; and a handsome fee he takes
for freeing men from such horrors. He stands over them as they lie,
and asks the spirit whence it is. The patient says not a word, but
the spirit in him makes answer, in Greek or in some foreign tongue
as the case may be, stating where it comes from, and how it entered
into him. Then with adjurations, and if need be with threats, the
Syrian constrains it to come out of the man. I myself once saw one
coming out: it was of a dark, smoky complexion. ' 'Ah, that is
nothing for you,' I replied; 'your eyes can discern those
_ideas_ which are set forth in the works of Plato, the founder
of your school: now they make a very faint impression on the dull
optics of us ordinary men. '

'Do you suppose,' asked Eucrates, 'that he is the only man who has
seen such things? Plenty of people besides Ion have met with
spirits, by night and by day. As for me, if I have seen one
apparition, I have seen a thousand. I used not to like them at
first, but I am accustomed to them now, and think nothing of it;
especially since the Arab gave me my ring of gallows-iron, and
taught me the incantation with all those names in it. But perhaps
you will doubt my word too? ' 'Doubt the word of Eucrates, the
learned son of Dino? Never! least of all when he unbosoms himself
in the liberty of his own house. ' 'Well, what I am going to tell
you about the statue was witnessed night after night by all my
household, from the eldest to the youngest, and any one of them
could tell you the story as well as myself. ' 'What statue is this? '
'Have you never noticed as you came in that beautiful one in the
court, by Demetrius the portrait-sculptor? ' 'Is that the one with
the quoit,--leaning forward for the throw, with his face turned
back towards the hand that holds the quoit, and one knee bent,
ready to rise as he lets it go? ' 'Ah, that is a fine piece of work,
too,--a Myron; but I don't mean that, nor the beautiful Polyclitus
next it, the Youth tying on the Fillet. No, forget all you pass on
your right as you come in; the Tyrannicides [Footnote: Harmodius
and Aristogiton. ] of Critius and Nesiotes are on that side too:--
but did you never notice one just by the fountain? --bald, pot-
bellied, half-naked; beard partly caught by the wind; protruding
veins? that is the one I mean; it looks as if it must be a
portrait, and is thought to be Pelichus, the Corinthian general. '
'Ah, to be sure, I have seen it,' I replied; 'it is to the right of
the Cronus; the head is crowned with fillets and withered garlands,
and the breast gilded. ' 'Yes, I had that done, when he cured me of
the tertian ague; I had been at Death's door with it. ' 'Bravo,
Pelichus! ' I exclaimed; 'so he was a doctor too? ' 'Not was, but is.
Beware of trifling with him, or he may pay you a visit before long.
Well do I know what virtue is in that statue with which you make so
merry. Can you doubt that he who cures the ague may also inflict it
at will? ' 'I implore his favour,' I cried; 'may he be as merciful
as he is mighty! And what are his other doings, to which all your
household are witnesses? ' 'At nightfall,' said Eucrates, 'he
descends from his pedestal, and walks all round the house; one or
other of us is continually meeting with him; sometimes he is
singing. He has never done any harm to any one: all we have to do
when we see him is to step aside, and he passes on his way without
molesting us. He is fond of taking a bath; you may hear him
splashing about in the water all night long. ' 'Perhaps,' I
suggested, 'it is not Pelichus at all, but Talos the Cretan, the
son of Minos? He was of bronze, and used to walk all round the
island. Or if only he were made of wood instead of bronze, he might
quite well be one of Daedalus's ingenious mechanisms--you say he
plays truant from his pedestal just like them--and not the work of
Demetrius at all. ' 'Take care, Tychiades; you will be sorry for
this some day. I have not forgotten what happened to the thief who
stole his monthly pennies. ' 'The sacrilegious villain! ' cried Ion;
'I hope he got a lesson. How was he punished? Do tell me: never
mind Tychiades; he can be as incredulous as he likes. ' 'At the feet
of the statue a number of pence were laid, and other coins were
attached to his thigh by means of wax; some of these were silver,
and there were also silver plates, all being the thank-offerings of
those whom he had cured of fever. Now we had a scamp of a Libyan
groom, who took it into his head to filch all this coin under cover
of night. He waited till the statue had descended from his
pedestal, and then put his plan into effect. Pelichus detected the
robbery as soon as he got back; and this is how he found the
offender out and punished him. He caused the wretch to wander about
in the court all night long, unable to find his way out, just as if
he had been in a maze; till at daybreak he was caught with the
stolen property in his possession. His guilt was clear, and he
received a sound flogging there and then; and before long he died a
villain's death. It seems from his own confession that he was
scourged every night; and each succeeding morning the weals were to
be seen on his body. --_Now_, Tychiades, let me hear you laugh
at Pelichus: I am a dotard, am I not? a relic from the time of
Minos? '

'My dear Eucrates,' said I, 'if bronze is bronze, and if that
statue was cast by Demetrius of Alopece, who dealt not in Gods but
in men, then I cannot anticipate any danger from a statue of
Pelichus; even the menaces of the original would not have alarmed
me particularly. '

Here Antigonus, the doctor, put in a word. 'I myself,' he informed
his host, 'have a Hippocrates in bronze, some eighteen inches high.
Now the moment my candle is out, he goes clattering about all over
the house, slamming the door, turning all my boxes upside down, and
mixing up all my drugs; especially when his annual sacrifice is
overdue. ' 'What are we coming to? ' I cried; 'Hippocrates must have
sacrifices, must he? he must be feasted with all pomp and
circumstance, and punctually to the day, or his leechship is angry?
Why, he ought to be only too pleased to be complimented with a cup
of mead or a garland, like other dead men. '

'Now here,' Eucrates went on, 'is a thing that I saw happen five
years ago, in the presence of witnesses. It was during the vintage.
I had left the labourers busy in the vineyard at midday, and was
walking off into the wood, occupied with my own thoughts. I had
already got under the shade of the trees, when I heard dogs
barking, and supposed that my boy Mnason was amusing himself in the
chase as usual, and had penetrated into the copse with his friends.
However, that was not it: presently there was an earthquake; I
heard a voice like a thunderclap, and saw a terrible woman
approaching, not much less than three hundred feet high. She
carried a torch in her left hand, and a sword in her right; the
sword might be thirty feet long. Her lower extremities were those
of a dragon; but the upper half was like Medusa--as to the eyes, I
mean; they were quite awful in their expression. Instead of hair,
she had clusters of snakes writhing about her neck, and curling
over her shoulders. See here: it makes my flesh creep, only to
speak of it! ' And he showed us all his arm, with the hair standing
on end.

Ion and Dinomachus and Cleodemus and the rest of them drank down
every word. The narrator led them by their venerable noses, and
this least convincing of colossal bogies, this hundred-yarder, was
the object of their mute adorations. And these (I was reflecting
all the time)--these are the admired teachers from whom our youth
are to learn wisdom! Two circumstances distinguish them from
babies: they have white hair, and they have beards: but when it
comes to swallowing a lie, they are babes and more than babes.

Dinomachus, for instance, wanted to know 'how big were the
Goddess's dogs? ' 'They were taller than Indian elephants,' he was
assured, 'and as black, with coarse, matted coats. At the sight of
her, I stood stock still, and turned the seal of my Arab's ring
inwards; whereupon Hecate smote upon the ground with her dragon's
foot, and caused a vast chasm to open, wide as the mouth of Hell.
Into this she presently leaped, and was lost to sight. I began to
pluck up courage, and looked over the edge; but first I took hold
of a tree that grew near, for fear I should be giddy, and fall in.
And then I saw the whole of Hades: there was Pyriphlegethon, the
Lake of Acheron, Cerberus, the Shades. I even recognized some of
them: I made out my father quite distinctly; he was still wearing
the same clothes in which we buried him. ' 'And what were the
spirits doing? ' asked Ion. 'Doing? Oh, they were just lying about
on the asphodel, among their friends and kinsmen, all arranged
according to their clans and tribes. ' 'There now! ' exclaimed Ion;
'after that I should like to hear the Epicureans say another word
against the divine Plato and his account of the spiritual world. I
suppose you did not happen to see Socrates or Plato among the
Shades? ' 'Yes, I did; I saw Socrates; not very plainly, though; I
only went by the bald head and corpulent figure. Plato I did
_not_ make out; I will speak the plain truth; we are all friends
here. I had just had a good look at everything, when the chasm
began to close up; some of the servants who came to look for me
(Pyrrhias here was among them) arrived while the gap was still
visible. --Pyrrhias, is that the fact? ' 'Indeed it is,' says
Pyrrhias; 'what is more, I heard a dog barking in the hole, and if
I am not mistaken I caught a glimmer of torchlight. ' I could not
help a smile; it was handsome in Pyrrhias, this of the bark and the
torchlight.

'Your experience,' observed Cleodemus, 'is by no means without
precedent. In fact I saw something of the same kind myself, not
long ago. I had been ill, and Antigonus here was attending me. The
fever had been on me for seven days, and was now aggravated by the
excessive heat. All my attendants were outside, having closed the
door and left me to myself; those were your orders, you know,
Antigonus; I was to get some sleep if I could. Well, I woke up to
find a handsome young man standing at my side, in a white cloak. He
raised me up from the bed, and conducted me through a sort of chasm
into Hades; I knew where I was at once, because I saw Tantalus and
Tityus and Sisyphus. Not to go into details, I came to the
Judgement-hall, and there were Aeacus and Charon and the Fates and
the Furies. One person of a majestic appearance--Pluto, I suppose
it was--sat reading out the names of those who were due to die,
their term of life having lapsed. The young man took me and set me
before him, but Pluto flew into a rage: "Away with him," he said to
my conductor; "his thread is not yet out; go and fetch Demylus the
smith; _he_ has had his spindleful and more. " I ran off home,
nothing loath. My fever had now disappeared, and I told everybody
that Demylus was as good as dead. He lived close by, and was said
to have some illness, and it was not long before we heard the
voices of mourners in his house. '

'This need not surprise us,' remarked Antigonus; 'I know of a man
who rose from the dead twenty days after he had been buried; I
attended him both before his death and after his resurrection. ' 'I
should have thought,' said I, 'that the body must have putrefied in
all that time, or if not that, that he must have collapsed for want
of nourishment. Was your patient a second Epimenides? '

At this point in the conversation, Eucrates's sons came in from the
gymnasium, one of them quite a young man, the other a boy of
fifteen or so. After saluting the company, they took their seats on
the couch at their father's side, and a chair was brought for me.
The appearance of the boys seemed to remind Eucrates of something:
laying a hand upon each of them, he addressed me as follows.
'Tychiades, if what I am now about to tell you is anything but the
truth, then may I never have joy of these lads. It is well known to
every one how fond I was of my sainted wife, their mother; and I
showed it in my treatment of her, not only in her lifetime, but
even after her death; for I ordered all the jewels and clothes that
she had valued to be burnt upon her pyre. Now on the seventh day
after her death, I was sitting here on this very couch, as it might
be now, trying to find comfort for my affliction in Plato's book
about the soul. I was quietly reading this, when Demaenete herself
appeared, and sat down at my side exactly as Eucratides is doing
now. ' Here he pointed to the younger boy, who had turned quite pale
during this narrative, and now shuddered in childish terror. 'The
moment I saw her,' he continued, 'I threw my arms about her neck
and wept aloud. She bade me cease; and complained that though I had
consulted her wishes in everything else, I had neglected to burn
one of her golden sandals, which she said had fallen under a chest.
We had been unable to find this sandal, and had only burnt the
fellow to it. While we were still conversing, a hateful little
Maltese terrier that lay under the couch started barking, and my
wife immediately vanished. The sandal, however, was found beneath
the chest, and was eventually burnt. --Do you still doubt,
Tychiades, in the face of one convincing piece of evidence after
another? ' 'God forbid! ' I cried; 'the doubter who should presume,
thus to brazen it out in the face of Truth would deserve to have a
golden sandal applied to him after the nursery fashion. '

Arignotus the Pythagorean now came in--the 'divine' Arignotus, as
he is called; the philosopher of the long hair and the solemn
countenance, you know, of whose wisdom we hear so much. I breathed
again when I saw him. 'Ah! ' thought I, 'the very man we want! here
is the axe to hew their lies asunder. The sage will soon pull them
up when he hears their cock-and-bull stories. Fortune has brought a
_deus ex machina_ upon the scene. ' He sat down (Cleodemus
rising to make room for him) and inquired after Eucrates's health.
Eucrates replied that he was better. 'And what,' Arignotus next
asked, 'is the subject of your learned conversation? I overheard
your voices as I came in, and doubt not that your time will prove
to have been profitably employed. ' Eucrates pointed to me. 'We were
only trying,' he said, 'to convince this man of adamant that there
are such things as supernatural beings and ghosts, and that the
spirits of the dead walk the earth and manifest themselves to
whomsoever they will. ' Moved by the august presence of Arignotus, I
blushed, and hung my head. 'Ah, but, Eucrates,' said he, 'perhaps
all that Tychiades means is, that a spirit only walks if its owner
met with a violent end, if he was strangled, for instance, or
beheaded or crucified, and not if he died a natural death. If that
is what he means, there is great justice in his contention. ' 'No,
no,' says Dinomachus, 'he maintains that there is absolutely no
such thing as an apparition. ' 'What is this I hear? ' asked
Arignotus, scowling upon me; 'you deny the existence of the
supernatural, when there is scarcely a man who has not seen some
evidence of it? ' 'Therein lies my exculpation,' I replied: 'I do
not believe in the supernatural, because, unlike the rest of
mankind, I do not see it: if I saw, I should doubtless believe,
just as you all do. ' 'Well,' said he, 'next time you are in
Corinth, ask for the house of Eubatides, near the Craneum; and when
you have found it, go up to Tibius the door-keeper, and tell him
you would like to see the spot on which Arignotus the Pythagorean
unearthed the demon, whose expulsion rendered the house habitable
again. ' 'What was that about, Arignotus? ' asked Eucrates.

'The house,' replied the other, 'was haunted, and had been
uninhabited for years: each intending occupant had been at once
driven out of it in abject terror by a most grim and formidable
apparition. Finally it had fallen into a ruinous state, the roof
was giving way, and in short no one would have thought of entering
it. Well, when I heard about this, I got my books together (I have
a considerable number of Egyptian works on these subjects) and went
off to the house about bed-time, undeterred by the remonstrances of
my host, who considered that I was walking into the jaws of Death,
and would almost have detained me by force when he learnt my
destination. I took a lamp and entered alone, and putting down my
light in the principal room, I sat on the floor quietly reading.
The spirit now made his appearance, thinking that he had to do with
an ordinary person, and that he would frighten me as he had
frightened so many others. He was pitch-black, with a tangled mass
of hair. He drew near, and assailed me from all quarters, trying
every means to get the better of me, and changing in a moment from
dog to bull, from bull to lion. Armed with my most appalling
adjuration, uttered in the Egyptian tongue, I drove him spell-bound
into the corner of a dark room, marked the spot at which he
disappeared, and passed the rest of the night in peace. In the
morning, to the amazement of all beholders (for every one had given
me up for lost, and expected to find me lying dead like former
occupants), I issued from the house, and carried to Eubatides the
welcome news that it was now cleared of its grim visitant, and fit
to serve as a human habitation. He and a number of others, whom
curiosity had prompted to join us, followed me to the spot at which
I had seen the demon vanish. I instructed them to take spades and
pick-axes and dig: they did so; and at about a fathom's depth we
discovered a mouldering corpse, of which nothing but the bones
remained entire. We took the skeleton up, and placed it in a grave;
and from that day to this the house has never been troubled with
apparitions. '

After such a story as this-coming as it did from Arignotus, who was
generally looked up to as a man of inspired wisdom--my incredulous
attitude towards the supernatural was loudly condemned on all
hands. However, I was not frightened by his long hair, nor by his
reputation. 'Dear, dear! ' I exclaimed, 'so Arignotus, the sole
mainstay of Truth, is as bad as the rest of them, as full of windy
imaginings! Our treasure proves to be but ashes. ' 'Now look here,
Tychiades,' said Arignotus, 'you will not believe me, nor
Dinomachus, nor Cleodemus here, nor yet Eucrates: we shall be glad
to know who is your great authority on the other side, who is to
outweigh us all? ' 'No less a person,' I replied, 'than the sage of
Abdera, the wondrous Democritus himself. _His_ disbelief in
apparitions is sufficiently clear. When he had shut himself up in
that tomb outside the city gates, there to spend his days and
nights in literary labours, certain young fellows, who had a mind
to play their pranks on the philosopher and give him a fright, got
themselves up in black palls and skull-masks, formed a ring round
him, and treated him to a brisk dance. Was Democritus alarmed at
the ghosts? Not he: "Come, enough of that nonsense," was all he had
to say to them; and that without so much as looking up, or taking
pen from paper. Evidently _he_ had quite made up his mind
about disembodied spirits. ' 'Which simply proves,' retorted
Eucrates, 'that Democritus was no wiser than yourself. Now I am
going to tell you of another thing that happened to me personally;
I did not get the story second-hand. Even you, Tychiades, will
scarcely hold out against so convincing a narrative.

'When I was a young man, I passed some time in Egypt, my father
having sent me to that country for my education. I took it into my
head to sail up the Nile to Coptus, and thence pay a visit to the
statue of Memnon, and hear the curious sound that proceeds from it
at sunrise. In this respect, I was more fortunate than most people,
who hear nothing but an indistinct voice: Memnon actually opened
his lips, and delivered me an oracle in seven hexameters; it is
foreign to my present purpose, or I would quote you the very lines.
Well now, one of my fellow passengers on the way up was a scribe of
Memphis, an extraordinarily able man, versed in all the lore of the
Egyptians. He was said to have passed twenty-three years of his
life underground in the tombs, studying occult sciences under the
instruction of Isis herself. ' 'You must mean the divine Pancrates,
my teacher,' exclaimed Arignotus; 'tall, clean-shaven, snub-nosed,
protruding lips, rather thin in the legs; dresses entirely in
linen, has a thoughtful expression, and speaks Greek with a slight
accent? ' 'Yes, it was Pancrates himself. I knew nothing about him
at first, but whenever we anchored I used to see him doing the most
marvellous things,--for instance, he would actually ride on the
crocodiles' backs, and swim about among the brutes, and they would
fawn upon him and wag their tails; and then I realized that he was
no common man. I made some advances, and by imperceptible degrees
came to be on quite a friendly footing with him, and was admitted
to a share in his mysterious arts. The end of it was, that he
prevailed on me to leave all my servants behind at Memphis, and
accompany him alone; assuring me that we should not want for
attendance. This plan we accordingly followed from that time
onwards. Whenever we came to an inn, he used to take up the bar of
the door, or a broom, or perhaps a pestle, dress it up in clothes,
and utter a certain incantation; whereupon the thing would begin to
walk about, so that every one took it for a man. It would go off
and draw water, buy and cook provisions, and make itself generally
useful. When we had no further occasion for its services, there was
another incantation, after which the broom was a broom once more,
or the pestle a pestle. I could never get him to teach me this
incantation, though it was not for want of trying; open as he was
about everything else, he guarded this one secret jealously. At
last one day I hid in a dark corner, and overheard the magic
syllables; they were three in number. The Egyptian gave the pestle
its instructions, and then went off to the market. Well, next day
he was again busy in the market: so I took the pestle, dressed it,
pronounced the three syllables exactly as he had done, and ordered
it to become a water-carrier. It brought me the pitcher full; and
then I said: _Stop: be water-carrier no longer, but pestle as
heretofore. _ But the thing would take no notice of me: it went
on drawing water the whole time, until at last the house was full
of it.
This was awkward: if Pancrates came back, he would be angry,
I thought (and so indeed it turned out). I took an axe, and cut the
pestle in two. The result was that both halves took pitchers and
fetched water; I had two water-carriers instead of one. This was
still going on, when Pancrates appeared. He saw how things stood,
and turned the water-carriers back into wood; and then he withdrew
himself from me, and went away, whither I knew not. '

'And you can actually make a man out of a pestle to this day? '
asked Dinomachus. 'Yes, I can do _that,_ but that is only
half the process: I cannot turn it back again into its original
form; if once it became a water-carrier, its activity would swamp
the house. '

'Oh, stop! ' I cried: 'if the thought that you are old men is not
enough to deter you from talking this trash, at least remember who
is present: if you do not want to fill these boys' heads with
ghosts and hobgoblins, postpone your grotesque horrors for a more
suitable occasion. Have some mercy on the lads: do not accustom
them to listen to a tangle of superstitious stuff that will cling
to them for the rest of their lives, and make them start at their
own shadows. '

'Ah, talking of superstition, now,' says Eucrates, 'that reminds
me: what do you make of oracles, for instance, and omens? of
inspired utterances, of voices from the shrine, of the priestess's
prophetic lines? You will deny all that too, of course? If I were
to tell you of a certain magic ring in my possession, the seal of
which is a portrait of the Pythian Apollo, and actually
_speaks_ to me, I suppose you would decline to believe it, you
would think I was bragging? But I must tell you all of what I heard
in the temple of Amphilochus at Mallus, when that hero appeared to
me in person and gave me counsel, and of what I saw with my own
eyes on that occasion; and again of all I saw at Pergamum and heard
at Patara. It was on my way home from Egypt that the oracle of
Mallus was mentioned to me as a particularly intelligible and
veracious one: I was told that any question, duly written down on a
tablet and handed to the priest, would receive a plain, definite
answer. I thought it would be a good thing to take the oracle on my
way home, and consult the God as to my future. '

I saw what was coming: this was but the prologue to a whole tragedy
of the oracular. It was clear enough that I was not wanted, and as
I did not feel called upon to pose as the sole champion of the
cause of Truth among so many, I took my leave there and then, while
Eucrates was still upon the high seas between Egypt and Mallus. 'I
must go and find Leontichus,' I explained; 'I have to see him about
something. Meanwhile, you gentlemen, to whom human affairs are not
sufficient occupation, may solicit the insertion of divine fingers
into your mythologic pie. ' And with that I went out. Relieved of my
presence, I doubt not that they fell to with a will on their
banquet of mendacity.

That is what I got by going to Eucrates's; and, upon my word,
Philocles, my overloaded stomach needs an emetic as much as if I
had been drinking new wine. I would pay something for the drug that
should work oblivion in me: I fear the effects of haunting
reminiscence; monsters, demons, Hecates, seem to pass before my
eyes.

_Phi_. I am not much better off. They tell us it is not only
the mad dog that inflicts hydrophobia: his human victim's bite is
as deadly as his own, and communicates the evil as surely. You, it
seems, have been bitten with many bites by the liar Eucrates, and
have passed it on to me; no otherwise can I explain the demoniacal
poison that runs in my veins.

_Tyc_. What matter, friend? Truth and good sense: these are
the drugs for our ailment; let us employ them, and that empty
thing, a lie, need have no terrors for us. F.




DIONYSUS, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE


When Dionysus invaded India--for I may tell you a Bacchic legend,
may I not? --it is recorded that the natives so underrated him that
his approach only amused them at first; or rather, his rashness
filled them with compassion; he would so soon be trampled to death
by their elephants, if he took the field against them. Their scouts
had doubtless given them amazing details about his army: the rank
and file were frantic mad women crowned with ivy, clad in fawn-
skins, with little pikes that had no steel about them, but were
ivy-wreathed like themselves, and toy bucklers that tinkled at a
touch; they took the tambourines for shields, you see; and then
there were a few bumpkins among them, stark naked, who danced
wildly, and had tails, and horns like a new-born kid's.

Their general, who rode on a car drawn by panthers, was quite
beardless, with not even a vestige of fluff on his face, had horns,
was crowned with grape-clusters, his hair tied with a fillet, his
cloak purple, and his shoes of gold. Of his lieutenants, one was
short, thick-set, paunchy, and flat-nosed, with great upright ears;
he trembled perpetually, leant upon a narthex-wand, rode mostly
upon an ass, wore saffron to his superior's purple, and was a very
suitable general of division for him. The other was a half-human
hybrid, with hairy legs, horns, and flowing beard, passionate and
quick-tempered; with a reed-pipe in his left hand, and waving a
crooked staff in his right, he skipped round and round the host, a
terror to the women, who let their dishevelled tresses fly abroad
as he came, with cries of Evoe--the name of their lord, guessed the
scouts. Their flocks had suffered, they added, the young had been
seized alive and torn piecemeal by the women; they ate raw flesh,
it seemed.

All this was food for laughter, as well it might be, to the Indians
and their king: Take the field? array their hosts against him? no,
indeed; at worst they might match their women with his, if he still
came on; for themselves such a victory would be a disgrace; a set
of mad women, a general in a snood, a little old drunkard, a half-
soldier, and a few naked dancers; why should they murder such a
droll crew? However, when they heard how the God was wasting their
land with fire, giving cities and citizens to the flames, burning
their forests, and making one great conflagration of all India--for
fire is the Bacchic instrument, Dionysus's very birthright--, then
they lost no more time, but armed; they girthed, bitted, and
castled their elephants, and out they marched; not that they had
ceased to scorn; but now they were angry too, and in a hurry to
crush this beardless warrior with all his host.

When the two armies came to sight of one another, the Indians drew
up their elephants in front and advanced their phalanx; on the
other side, Dionysus held the centre, Silenus led his right, and
Pan his left wing; his colonels and captains were the satyrs, and
the word for the day _evoe. _ Straightway tambourines clattered,
cymbals sounded to battle, a satyr blew the war-note on his horn,
Silenus's ass sent forth a martial bray, and the maenads leapt
shrill-voiced on the foe, girt with serpents and baring now the
steel of their thyrsus-heads. In a moment Indians and elephants
turned and fled disordered, before even a missile could carry
across; and the end was that they were smitten and led captive by
the objects of their laughter; they had learnt the lesson that it
is not safe to take the first report, and scorn an enemy of whom
nothing is known.

But you wonder what all this is about--suspect me, possibly, of
being only too fresh from the company of Bacchus. Perhaps the
explanation, involving a comparison of myself with Gods, will only
more convince you of my exalted or my drunken mood; it is, that
ordinary people are affected by literary novelties (my own
productions, for instance) much as the Indians were by that
experience. They have an idea that literary satyr-dances,
absurdities, pure farce, are to be expected from me, and, however
they reach their conception of me, they incline to one of two
attitudes. Some of them avoid my readings altogether, seeing no
reason for climbing down from their elephants and paying attention
to revelling women and skipping satyrs; others come with their
preconceived idea, and when they find that the thyrsus-head has a
steel point under it, they are too much startled by the surprise to
venture approval. I confidently promise them, however, that if they
will attend the rite repeatedly now as in days of yore, if my old
boon-companions will call to mind the revels that once we shared,
not be too shy of satyrs and Silenuses, and drink deep of the bowl
I bring, the frenzy shall take hold upon them too, till their
_evoes_ vie with mine.

Well, they are free to listen or not; let them take their choice.
Meanwhile, we are still in India, and I should like to give you
another fact from that country, again a link between Dionysus and
our business. In the territory of the Machlaeans, who occupy the
left bank of the Indus right down to the sea, there is a grove, of
no great size, but enclosed both round about and overhead, light
being almost excluded by the profusion of ivy and vine. In it are
three springs of fair pellucid water, called, one of them the
satyrs' well, the second Pan's, and the other that of Silenus. The
Indians enter this grove once a year at the festival of Dionysus,
and taste the wells, not promiscuously, however, but according to
age; the satyrs' well is for the young, Pan's for the middle-aged,
and Silenus's for those at my time of life.

What effect their draught produces on the children, what doings the
men are spurred to, Pan-ridden, must not detain us; but the
behaviour of the old under their water intoxication has its
interest. As soon as one of them has drunk, and Silenus has
possessed him, he falls dumb for a space like one in vinous
lethargy; then on a sudden his voice is strong, his articulation
clear, his intonation musical; from dead silence issues a stream of
talk; the gag would scarce restrain him from incessant chatter;
tale upon tale he reels you off. Yet all is sense and order withal;
his words are as many, and find their place as well, as those
'winter snowflakes' of Homer's orator. You may talk of his swan-
song if you will, mindful of his years; but you must add that his
chirping is quick and lively as the grasshopper's, till evening
comes; then the fit is past; he falls silent, and is his common
self again. But the greatest wonder I have yet to tell: if he leave
unfinished the tale he was upon, and the setting sun cut him short,
then at his next year's draught he will resume it where the
inspiration of this year deserted him.

Gentlemen, I have been pointing Momus-like at my own foibles; I
need not trouble you with the application; you can make out the
resemblance for yourselves. But if you find me babbling, you know
now what has loosed my tongue; and if there is shrewdness in any of
my words, then to Silenus be the thanks.




HERACLES, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE


Our Heracles is known among the Gauls under the local name of
Ogmius; and the appearance he presents in their pictures is truly
grotesque. They make him out as old as old can be: the few hairs he
has left (he is quite bald in front) are dead white, and his skin
is wrinkled and tanned as black as any old salt's. You would take
him for some infernal deity, for Charon or Iapetus,--any one rather
than Heracles. Such as he is, however, he has all the proper
attributes of that God: the lion's-skin hangs over his shoulders,
his right hand grasps the club, his left the strung bow, and a
quiver is slung at his side; nothing is wanting to the Heraclean
equipment.

Now I thought at first that this was just a cut at the Greek Gods;
that in taking these liberties with the personal appearance of
Heracles, the Gauls were merely exacting pictorial vengeance for
his invasion of their territory; for in his search after the herds
of Geryon he had overrun and plundered most of the peoples of the
West. However, I have yet to mention the most remarkable feature in
the portrait. This ancient Heracles drags after him a vast crowd of
men, all of whom are fastened by the ears with thin chains composed
of gold and amber, and looking more like beautiful necklaces than
anything else. From this flimsy bondage they make no attempt to
escape, though escape must be easy. There is not the slightest show
of resistance: instead of planting their heels in the ground and
dragging back, they follow with joyful alacrity, singing their
captor's praises the while; and from the eagerness with which they
hurry after him to prevent the chains from tightening, one would
say that release is the last thing they desire. Nor will I conceal
from you what struck me as the most curious circumstance of all.
Heracles's right hand is occupied with the club, and his left with
the bow: how is he to hold the ends of the chains? The painter
solves the difficulty by boring a hole in the tip of the God's
tongue, and making that the means of attachment; his head is turned
round, and he regards his followers with a smiling countenance.

For a long time I stood staring at this in amazement: I knew not
what to make of it, and was beginning to feel somewhat nettled,
when I was addressed in admirable Greek by a Gaul who stood at my
side, and who besides possessing a scholarly acquaintance with the
Gallic mythology, proved to be not unfamiliar with our own. 'Sir,'
he said, 'I see this picture puzzles you: let me solve the riddle.
We Gauls connect eloquence not with Hermes, as you do, but with the
mightier Heracles. Nor need it surprise you to see him represented
as an old man. It is the prerogative of eloquence, that it reaches
perfection in old age; at least if we may believe your poets, who
tell us that

Youth is the sport of every random gust,

whereas old age

Hath that to say that passes youthful wit.

Thus we find that from Nestor's lips honey is distilled; and that
the words of the Trojan counsellors are compared to the lily,
which, if I have not forgotten my Greek, is the name of a flower.
Hence, if you will consider the relation that exists between tongue
and ear, you will find nothing more natural than the way in which
our Heracles, who is Eloquence personified, draws men along with
their ears tied to his tongue. Nor is any slight intended by the
hole bored through that member: I recollect a passage in one of
your comic poets in which we are told that

There is a hole in every glib tongue's tip.

Indeed, we refer the achievements of the original Heracles, from
first to last, to his wisdom and persuasive eloquence. His shafts,
as I take it, are no other than his words; swift, keen-pointed,
true-aimed to do deadly execution on the soul. ' And in conclusion
he reminded me of our own phrase, 'winged words. '

Now while I was debating within myself the advisability of
appearing before you, and of submitting myself for a second time to
the verdict of this enormous jury, old as I am, and long unused to
lecturing, the thought of this Heracles portrait came to my relief.
I had been afraid that some of you would consider it a piece of
youthful audacity inexcusable in one of my years. 'Thy force,' some
Homeric youth might remark with crushing effect, 'is spent; dull
age hath borne thee down'; and he might add, in playful allusion to
my gouty toes,

Slow are thy steeds, and weakness waits upon thee.

But the thought of having that venerable hero to keep me in
countenance emboldens me to risk everything: I am no older than he.
Good-bye, then, to bodily perfections, to strength and speed and
beauty; Love, when he sees my grey beard, is welcome to fly past,
as the poet of Teos [Footnote: Anacreon. ] has it, with rush of
gilded wings; 'tis all one to Hippoclides. Old age is Wisdom's
youth, the day of her glorious flower: let her draw whom she can by
the ears; let her shoot her bolts freely; no fear now lest the
supply run short. There is the old man's comfort, on the strength
of which he ventures to drag down his boat, which has long lain
high and dry, provision her as best he may, and once more put out
to sea.

Never did I stand in more need of a generous breeze, to fill my
sails and speed me on my way: may the Gods dispose you to
contribute thereto; so shall I not be found wanting, and of me, as
of Odysseus, it shall be said

How stout a thigh lurked 'neath the old man's rags!




SWANS AND AMBER


You have no doubt a proper faith in the amber legend--how it is the
tears shed by poplars on the Eridanus for Phaethon, the said
poplars being his sisters, who were changed to trees in the course
of their mourning, and continue to distil their lacrimal amber.
That was what the poets taught me, and I looked forward, if ever
fortune should bring me to the Eridanus, to standing under a
poplar, catching a few tears in a fold of my dress, and having a
supply of the commodity.

Sure enough, I found myself there not long ago upon another errand,
and had occasion to go up the Eridanus; but, though I was all eyes,
I saw neither poplars nor amber, and the natives had not so much as
heard of Phaethon. I started my inquiries by asking when we should
come to the amber poplars; the boatmen only laughed, and requested
explanations. I told them the story: Phaethon was a son of Helius,
and when he grew up came to his father and asked if he might drive
his car, and be the day-maker just that once. His father consented,
but he was thrown out and killed, and his mourning sisters 'in this
land of yours,' I said, 'where he fell on the Eridanus, turned into
poplars, and still weep amber for him. '

'What liar took you in like that, sir? ' they said; 'we never saw a
coachman spilt; and where are the poplars? why, do you suppose, if
it was true, we would row or tow up stream for sixpences? we should
only have to collect poplar-tears to be rich men. ' This truth
impressed me a good deal; I said no more, and was painfully
conscious of my childishness in trusting the poets; they deal in
such extravagant fictions, they come to scorn sober fact. Here was
one hope gone; I had set my heart upon it, and was as much
chagrined as if I had dropped the amber out of my hands; I had had
all my plans ready for the various uses to which it was to be put.

However, there was one thing I still thought I really should find
there, and that was flocks of swans singing on the banks. We were
still on the way up, and I applied to the boatmen again: 'About
what time do the swans take post for their famous musical
entertainment? --Apollo's fellow craftsmen, you know, who were
changed here from men to birds, and still sing in memory of their
ancient art. '

But they only jeered at me: 'Are you going to lie all day about our
country and our river, pray? We are always on the water; we have
worked all our lives on the Eridanus; well, we do see a swan now
and again in the marshes; and a harsh feeble croak their note is;
crows or jackdaws are sirens to them; as for sweet singing such as
you tell of, not a ghost of it. We cannot make out where you folk
get all these tales about us. '

Such disappointments are the natural consequence of trusting
picturesque reporters. Well now, I am afraid the newcomers among
you, who hear me for the first time, may have been expecting swans
and amber from me, and may presently depart laughing at the people
who encouraged them to look for such literary treasures. But I
solemnly aver that no one has ever heard or ever shall hear me
making any such claims. Other persons in plenty you may find who
are Eridanuses, rich not in amber, but in very gold, and more
melodious far than the poets' swans. But you see how plain and
unromantic is my material; song is not in me. Any one who expects
great things from me will be like a man looking at an object in
water. Its image is magnified by an optical effect; he takes the
reality to correspond to the appearance, and when he fishes it up
is disgusted to find it so small. So I pour out the water, exhibit
my wares, and warn you not to hope for a large haul; if you do, you
have only yourselves to blame. H.




THE FLY, AN APPRECIATION


The fly is not the smallest of winged things, on a level with
gnats, midges, and still tinier creatures; it is as much larger
than they as smaller than the bee. It has not feathers of the usual
sort, is not fledged all over like some, nor provided with quill-
feathers like other birds, but resembles locusts, grasshoppers, and
bees in being gauze-winged, this sort of wing being as much more
delicate than the ordinary as Indian fabrics are lighter and softer
than Greek. Moreover, close inspection of them when spread out and
moving in the sun will show them to be peacock-hued.

Its flight is accompanied neither by the incessant wing-beat of the
bat, the jump of the locust, nor the buzz of the wasp, but carries
it easily in any direction. It has the further merit of a music
neither sullen as with the gnat kind, deep as with the bee, nor
grim and threatening as with the wasp; it is as much more tuneful
than they as the flute is sweeter than trumpet or cymbals.

As for the rest of its person, the head is very slenderly attached
by the neck, easily turned, and not all of one piece with the body
as in the locust; the eyes are projecting and horny; the chest
strong, with the legs springing freely from it instead of lying
close like a wasp's. The belly also is well fortified, and looks
like a breastplate, with its broad bands and scales. Its weapons
are not in the tail as with wasp and bee, but in its mouth and
proboscis; with the latter, in which it is like the elephant, it
forages, takes hold of things, and by means of a sucker at its tip
attaches itself firmly to them. This proboscis is also supplied
with a projecting tooth, with which the fly makes a puncture, and
so drinks blood. It does drink milk, but also likes blood, which it
gets without hurting its prey much. Of its six legs, four only are
for walking, and the front pair serves for hands; you may see it
standing on four legs and holding up a morsel in these hands, which
it consumes in very human fashion.

It does not come into being in its ultimate shape, but starts as a
worm in the dead body of man or animal; then it gradually develops
legs, puts forth wings and becomes a flying instead of a creeping
thing, which generates in turn and produces a little worm, one day
to be a fly. Living with man, sharing his food and his table, it
tastes everything except his oil, to drink which is death to it. In
any case it soon perishes, having but a short span of life allotted
to it, but while it lives it loves the light, and is active only
under its influence; at night it rests, neither flying nor buzzing,
but retiring and keeping quiet.

I am able to record its considerable wisdom, shown in evading the
plots of its enemy the spider. It is always on the look-out for his
ambushes, and in the most circumspect way dodges about, that it may
not be caught, netted, and entangled in his meshes. Its valour and
spirit require no mention of mine; Homer, mightiest-voiced of
poets, seeking a compliment for the greatest of heroes, likens his
spirit not to a lion's, a panther's, a boar's, but to the courage
of the fly, to its unshrinking and persistent assault; mark, it is
not mere audacity, but courage, that he attributes to it. Though
you drive it off, he says, it will not leave you; it will have its
bite. He is so earnest an admirer of the fly that he alludes to it
not once nor twice, but constantly; a mention of it is felt to be a
poetic ornament. Now it is its multitudinous descent upon the milk
that he celebrates; now he is in want of an illustration for Athene
as she wards off a spear from the vitals of Menelaus; so he makes
her a mother caring for her sleeping child, and in comes the fly
again. Moreover he gives them that pretty epithet, 'thick-
clust'ring'; and 'nations' is his dignified word for a swarm of
them.

The fly's force is shown by the fact that its bite pierces not
merely the human skin, but that of cattle and horses; it annoys
the elephant by getting into the folds of its hide, and letting
it know the efficiency of even a tiny trunk. There is much ease
and freedom about their love affairs, which are not disposed of
so expeditiously as by the domestic fowl; the act of union is
prolonged, and is found quite compatible with flight. A fly will
live and breathe for some time after its head is cut off.

The most remarkable point about its natural history is that which I
am now to mention. It is the one fact that Plato seems to me to
have overlooked in his discourse of the soul and its immortality.
If a little ashes be sprinkled on a dead fly, it gets up,
experiences a second birth, and starts life afresh, which is
recognized as a convincing proof that its soul is immortal,
inasmuch as after it has departed it returns, recognizes and
reanimates the body, and enables it to fly; so is confirmed the
tale about Hermotimus of Clazomenae--how his soul frequently left
him and went off on its own account, and afterwards returning
occupied the body again and restored the man to life.

It toils not, but lives at its case, profiting by the labours of
others, and finding everywhere a table spread for it. For it the
goats are milked, for its behoof and man's the honey is stored, to
its palate the _chef_ adapts his sauces; it tastes before the
king himself, walks upon his table, shares his meal, and has the
use of all that is his.

Nest, home, local habitation, it has none; like the Scythians, it
elects to lead a wandering life, and where night finds it, there is
its hearth and its chamber. But as I said, it works no deeds of
darkness; 'live openly' is its motto; its principle is to do no
villany that, done in the face of day, would dishonour it.

Legend tells how Myia (the fly's ancient name) was once a maiden,
exceeding fair, but over-given to talk and chatter and song,
Selene's rival for the love of Endymion. When the young man slept,
she was for ever waking him with her gossip and tunes and
merriment, till he lost patience, and Selene in wrath turned her to
what she now is. And therefore it is that she still, in memory of
Endymion, grudges all sleepers their rest, and most of all the
young and tender. Her very bite and blood-thirst tell not of
savagery, but of love and human kindness; she is but enjoying
mankind as she may, and sipping beauty.

In ancient times there was a woman of her name, a poetess wise and
beautiful, and another a famous Attic courtesan, of whom the comic
poet wrote:

As deep as to his heart fair Myia bit him.

The comic Muse, we see, disdained not the name, nor refused it the
hospitality of the boards; and parents took no shame to give it to
their daughters. Tragedy goes further and speaks of the fly in high
terms of praise, as witness the following:

Foul shame the little fly, with might courageous,
Should leap upon men's limbs, athirst for blood,
But men-at-arms shrink from the foeman's steel!

I might add many details about Pythagoras's daughter Myia, were not
her story too well known.

There are also flies of very large size, called generally soldier-
flies, or dog-flies; these have a hoarse buzz, a very rapid
flight, and quite long lives; they last the winter through without
food, mostly in sheltered nooks below the roof; the most remarkable
fact about these is that they are hermaphrodites.

But I must break off; not that my subject is exhausted; only that
to exhaust such a subject is too like breaking a butterfly on the
wheel.




REMARKS ADDRESSED TO AN ILLITERATE BOOK-FANCIER


Let me tell you, that you are choosing the worst way to attain your
object. You think that by buying up all the best books you can lay
your hands on, you will pass for a man of literary tastes: not a
bit of it; you are merely exposing thereby your own ignorance of
literature. Why, you cannot even buy the right things: any casual
recommendation is enough to guide your choice; you are as clay in
the hands of the unscrupulous amateur, and as good as cash down to
any dealer. How are you to know the difference between genuine old
books that are worth money, and trash whose only merit is that it
is falling to pieces? You are reduced to taking the worms and moths
into your confidence; their activity is your sole clue to the value
of a book; as to the accuracy and fidelity of the copyist, that is
quite beyond you.

And supposing even that you had managed to pick out such veritable
treasures as the exquisite editions of Callinus, or those of the
far-famed Atticus, most conscientious of publishers,--what does it
profit you? Their beauty means nothing to you, my poor friend; you
will get precisely as much enjoyment out of them as a blind lover
would derive from the possession of a handsome mistress. Your eyes,
to be sure, are open; you do see your books, goodness knows, see
them till you must be sick of the sight; you even read a bit here
and there, in a scrambling fashion, your lips still busy with one
sentence while your eyes are on the next. But what is the use of
that? You cannot tell good from bad: you miss the writer's general
drift, you miss his subtle arrangements of words: the chaste
elegance of a pure style, the false ring of the counterfeit,--'tis
all one to you.

Are we to understand that you possess literary discernment without
the assistance of any study? And how should that be? perhaps, like
Hesiod, you received a laurel-branch from the Muses? As to that, I
doubt whether you have so much as heard of Helicon, the reputed
haunt of those Goddesses; your youthful pursuits were not those of
a Hesiod; take not the Muses' names in vain. They might not have
any scruples about appearing to a hardy, hairy, sunburnt shepherd:
but as for coming near such a one as you (you will excuse my
particularizing further just now, when I appeal to you in the name
of the Goddess of Lebanon? ) they would scorn the thought; instead
of laurel, you would have tamarisk and mallow-leaves about your
back; the waters of Olmeum and Hippocrene are for thirsty sheep and
stainless shepherds, they must not be polluted by unclean lips. I
grant you a very creditable stock of effrontery: but you will
scarcely have the assurance to call yourself an educated man; you
will scarcely pretend that your acquaintance with literature is
more than skin-deep, or give us the names of your teacher and your
fellow students?

No; you think you are going to work off all arrears by the simple
expedient of buying a number of books. But there again: you may get
together the works of Demosthenes, and his eight beautiful copies
of Thucydides, all in the orator's own handwriting, and all the
manuscripts that Sulla sent away from Athens to Italy,--and you
will be no nearer to culture at the end of it, though you should
sleep with them under your pillow, or paste them together and wear
them as a garment; an ape is still an ape, says the proverb, though
his trappings be of gold. So it is with you: you have always a book
in your hand, you are always reading; but what it is all about, you
have not an idea; you do but prick up asinine ears at the lyre's
sound. Books would be precious things indeed, if the mere
possession of them guaranteed culture to their owner. You rich men
would have it all your own way then; we paupers could not stand
against you, if learning were a marketable commodity; and as for
the dealers, no one would presume to contest the point of culture
with men who have whole shopfuls of books at their disposal.
However, you will find on examination that these privileged persons
are scarcely less ignorant than yourself. They have just your vile
accent, and are as deficient in intelligence as one would expect
men to be who have never learnt to distinguish good from bad. Now
you see, _you_ have merely bought a few odd volumes from them:
they are at the fountain-head, and are handling books day and
night. Judge from this how much good your purchases are likely to
do you; unless you think that your very book-cases acquire a
tincture of learning, from the bare fact of their housing so many
ancient manuscripts.

Oblige me by answering some questions; or rather, as circumstances
will not admit of your answering, just nod or shake your head. If
the flute of Timotheus, or that of Ismenias, which its owner sold
in Corinth for a couple of thousand pounds, were to fall into the
hands of a person who did not know how to play the instrument,
would that make him a flute-player? would his acquisition leave him
any wiser than it found him? You very properly shake your head. A
man might possess the instrument of a Marsyas or an Olympus, and
still he would not be able to play it if he had never learnt. Take
another case: a man gets hold of Heracles's bow and arrows: but he
is no Philoctetes; he has neither that marksman's strength nor his
eye. What do you say? will he acquit himself creditably? Again you
shake your head. The same will be the case with the ignorant pilot
who is entrusted with a ship, or with the unpractised rider on
horseback.