No More Learning

Good Diogenes pitches close to Sardanapalus,
Midas, and other specimens of magnificence. The sound of their
lamentations and better-day memories keeps him in laughter and
spirits; he is generally stretched on his back roaring out a noisy
song which drowns lamentation; it annoys them, and they are looking
out for a new pitch where he may not molest them.

_Phi_. I am satisfied. And now for that decree which you told me had
been passed against the rich.

_Me_. Well remembered; that was what I meant to tell you about, but I
have somehow got far astray. Well, during my stay the presiding
officers gave notice of an assembly on matters of general interest.
So, when I saw every one flocking to it, I mingled with the shades and
constituted myself a member. Various measures were decided upon, and
last came this question of the rich. Many grave accusations were
preferred against them, including violence, ostentation, pride,
injustice; and at last a popular speaker rose and moved this decree.




DECREE


'Whereas the rich are guilty of many illegalities on earth, harrying
and oppressing the poor and trampling upon all their rights, it is the
pleasure of the Senate and People that after death they shall be
punished in their bodies like other malefactors, but their souls shall
be sent on earth to inhabit asses, until they have passed in that
shape a quarter-million of years, generation after generation, bearing
burdens under the tender mercies of the poor; after which they shall
be permitted to die. Mover of this decree--Cranion son of Skeletion of
the deme Necysia in the Alibantid [Footnote: The four names are formed
from words meaning skull, skeleton, corpse, anatomy. ] tribe. ' The
decree read, a formal vote was taken, in which the people accepted it.
A snort from Brimo and a bark from Cerberus completed the proceedings
according to the regular form.

So went the assembly. And now, in pursuance of my original design, I
went to Tiresias, explained my case fully, and implored him to give me
his views upon the best life. He is a blind little old man, pale and
weak-voiced. He smiled and said:--'My son, the cause of your
perplexity, I know, is the fact that doctors differ; but I may not
enlighten you; Rhadamanthus forbids. ' 'Ah, say not so, father,' I
exclaimed; 'speak out, and leave me not to wander through life in a
blindness worse than yours. ' So he drew me apart to a considerable
distance, and whispered in my ear:--'The life of the ordinary man is
the best and most prudent choice; cease from the folly of metaphysical
speculation and inquiry into origins and ends, utterly reject their
clever logic, count all these things idle talk, and pursue one end
alone--how you may do what your hand finds to do, and go your way with
ever a smile and never a passion. '

So he, and sought the lawn of asphodel.

It was now late, and I told Mithrobarzanes that our work was done, and
we might reascend. 'Very well, Menippus,' said he, 'I will show you an
easy short cut. ' And taking me to a place where the darkness was
especially thick, he pointed to a dim and distant ray of light--a mere
pencil admitted through a chink. 'There,' he said, 'is the shrine of
Trophonius, from which the Boeotian inquirers start; go up that way,
and you will be on Grecian soil without more ado. ' I was delighted,
took my leave of the Mage, crawled with considerable difficulty
through the aperture, and found myself, sure enough, at Lebadea.

H.




CHARON

_Hermes. Charon_


_Her_. So gay, Charon? What makes you leave your ferry to come up
here? You are quite a stranger in the upper world.

_Ch_. I thought I should like to see what life is like; what men do
with it, and what are these blessings of which they all lament the
loss when they come down to us. Never one of them has made the passage
dry-eyed. So I got leave from Pluto to take a day off, like that
Thessalian lad [Footnote: See Protesilaus in Notes. ], you know; and
here I am, in the light of day. I am in luck, it seems, to fall in
with you. You will show me round, of course, and point out all that is
to be seen, as you know all about it.

_Her_. I have no time, good ferryman. I am bound on certain errands of
the Upper Zeus, certain human matters. He is short-tempered: any
loitering on my part, and he may hand me over to you Powers of
Darkness for good and all; or treat me as he did Hephaestus the other
day--hurl me down headlong from the threshold of Heaven; there would
be a pair of lame cupbearers then, to amuse the gods.

_Ch_. And you would leave an old messmate wandering at large on the
face of the earth? Think of the cruises we have sailed together, the
cargoes you and I have handled! You might remember one thing, son of
Maia; I have never set you down to bale or row. You lie sprawling
about the deck, you great strong lubber, snoring away, or chatting the
whole trip through with any communicative shade you can find; and the
old man plies both oars at once. Come, stand by me, like a true son of
Zeus as you are, and show me all the ins and outs, there's a dear lad.
I want to see something of life before I go back, and if you leave me
in the lurch, I shall be no better off than a blind man: _he_ comes to
grief because he is always in the dark, and, contrariwise, _I_ can
make nothing of it in the light. Do me this good turn, and I'll not
forget it.

_Her_. Clearly this is to be a flogging matter for me. There will go
some shrewd knocks to the settlement of this reckoning. However, I
must give you a helping hand. What is one to do, when a friend is so
pressing? Now, as to going over everything thoroughly, it is out of
the question; it would take us years. Meanwhile, I should have the
hue-and-cry out after me, you would be neglecting your ghostly work,
Pluto would lose the shades that you ought to be shipping over all
that time, and Aeacus would never take a single toll, and would be
proportionately furious. We have only to think, therefore, of
contriving you a general view of what is going on.

_Ch_. You must do the best you can for me. I know nothing of the
matter, being a stranger up here.

_Her_. The main thing is to get an elevation from which you may see in
every direction. If you could come up to Heaven, we should be saved
any further trouble; you would then have a good bird's-eye view of
everything. But it would be sacrilege for one so conversant with
phantoms to set foot in the courts of Zeus. Let us lose no time,
therefore, in looking out a good high mountain.

_Ch_. You know what I sometimes say to you on the ship, Hermes. --If a
sudden gust strikes the sail from a new quarter, and the waves are
rising high, you landsmen know not what to make of it; you are for
taking in sail, or slackening the sheet, or letting her go before the
wind, and then I tell you not to trouble your heads, for _I_ know what
to do. Well, now it is your turn; you are sailing this ship; do as you
think best, and I'll sit quiet, as a passenger should, and obey
orders.

_Her_. Just so; leave it to me, and I will find a good look-out. How
would Caucasus do? Or is Parnassus higher? Olympus, perhaps, is higher
than either of them. Olympus! stay, that reminds me; I have a happy
thought. But there is work for two here; I shall want your assistance.

_Ch_. Give your orders, I'll bear a hand, to the best of my ability.

_Her_. Homer tells us how the sons of Aloeus [Footnote: See _Olus_ in
Notes. ] (they were but two, like ourselves) took it into their heads,
when they were yet children, to drag up Ossa from its foundations, and
plant it on the top of Olympus, and then Pelion on the top of all;
they thought that would serve as a ladder for getting into heaven. The
two boys were rightly punished for their presumption. But _we_ have no
design against the Gods: why should not we take the hint, and make an
erection of mountains piled one on the top of another? From such a
height we should get a better view.

_Ch_. What, shall we two be able to lift Pelion or Ossa?

_Her_. Why not? We are gods; I should hope we are as good as those two
infants.

_Ch_. Yes; but I should never have thought we could do such a job as
that.

_Her_. Ah, my dear Charon, you don't understand these things; you have
no imagination. To the lofty spirit of Homer this is simplicity
itself. Just a couple of lines, and the mountains are in place;--we
have only to walk up. I wonder you make such a marvel of this. You
know Atlas, of course? He holds up the entire heaven by himself, Gods
and all. And I dare say you have heard how my brother Heracles
relieved him once, and took the burden on his own shoulders for a
time?

_Ch_. Yes, I have heard it. But you and the poets best know whether it
is true.

_Her_. Oh, perfectly true. What should induce wise men to lie? --Come,
let us get to work on Ossa first; for so the masterbuilder directs:

Ossa first;
On Ossa leafy Pelion.

There! What think you of this? Is it suave work? is it poetry? I must
run up, and see whether we shall want another storey. Oh dear, we are
no way up as yet. On the East, it is all I can do to make out Ionia
and Lydia; on the West is nothing but Italy and Sicily; on the North,
nothing to be seen beyond the Danube; and on the South, Crete, none
too clear. It looks to me as if we should want Oeta, my nautical
friend; and Parnassus into the bargain.

_Ch_. So be it; but take care not to make the height too great for the
width; or down we shall come, ladder and all, and pay our footing in
the Homeric school of architecture with a cracked crown apiece.

_Her_. No fear; all will be safe enough. Pass Oeta along. Now trundle
Parnassus up. There; I'll go up again. . . . That's better! A fine view.
You can come now.

_Ch_. Give me a hand up, Hermes. This _is_ an erection, and no
mistake!

_Her_. Well, you know, you would see everything. Safety is one thing,
my friend, and sight-seeing is another. Here is my hand; hang on, and
keep clear of the slippery bits. There, now _you_ are up. Let us sit
down; here are two peaks, one for each of us. Now take a general look
round at the prospect.

_Ch_. I see a vast stretch of land, and a huge lake surrounding it,
and mountains, and rivers bigger than Cocytus and Pyriphlegethon; and
men, tiny little things! and I suppose their dens.

_Her. Dens_? Those are cities!

_Ch_. I tell you what it is, Hermes; all this is no use. Here have we
been shifting about Parnassus (Castalia and all complete), and Oeta,
and these others, and we might have spared ourselves the trouble!

_Her_. How so?

_Ch_. Why, I can make nothing out up here. These cities and mountains
look for all the world like a map. It is _men_ that I am after; I want
to see what they do, and hear what they say. That is what I was
laughing about just now, when first you met me, and asked me what the
joke was. I had heard something that tickled me hugely.

_Her_. And what might that be?

_Ch_. One of them had been asked by a friend to dinner, I think it
was, the next day. 'Depend on it,' says he, 'I'll be with you. ' And
before the words were out of his mouth, down came a tile--started
somehow from the roof--and he was a dead man! Ha, ha, thought I,
_that_ promise will never be kept. So I think I shall go down again; I
want to see and hear.

_Her_. Sit where you are. I will soon put that right; you shall see
with the best; Homer has a charm for this too. Now, the moment I say
the lines, there must be no more dull eyes; all must be clear as
daylight. Don't forget!

_Ch_. Say on.

_Her_.

See, from before thine eyes I lift the veil;
So shalt thou clearly know both God and man.

Well? Are the eyes any better?

_Ch_. A marvellous improvement! Lynceus is blind to me. Now, the next
thing I want is information. I have some questions to ask. Will you
have them couched in the Homeric style, to convince you that I am not
wholly unversed in his poems?

_Her_. And how should you know anything of Homer? A seaman, chained to
the oar!

_Ch_. Come, come; no abuse of my profession. The fact is, when he
died, and I ferried him over, I heard a good many of his ballads, and
a few of them still run in my head. There was a pretty stiff gale on
at the time, too. You see, he began singing a song about Posidon,
which boded no good to us mariners,--how Posidon gathered the clouds,
and stirred the depths with his trident, as with a ladle, and roused
the whirlwind, and a good deal more (enough to raise a storm of
itself),--when suddenly there came a black squall which nearly
capsized the boat. The poet was extremely ill, and disgorged such an
avalanche of minstrelsy (Scylla, Charybdis, the Cyclops, all came up
bodily), that I had no difficulty in preserving a few snatches. I
should like to know, for instance,

Who is yon hero, stout and strong and tall,
O'ertopping all mankind by head and shoulders?

_Her_. That is Milo of Croton, the athlete. He has just picked up a
bull, and is carrying it along the race-course; and the Greeks are
applauding him.

_Ch_. It would be more to the point, if they were to offer their
congratulations to _me_. I shall presently be picking up Milo himself,
and putting him into my boat; that will be after he has had his fall
from Death, that most invincible of antagonists, who will have him on
his back before he knows what is happening.
We shall hear a sad tale
then, no doubt, of the crowns and the applause he has left behind him.
Meanwhile, he is mightily elated over the bull exploit, and the
distinction it has won him. What is one to think? Does it ever occur
to him that he must _die_ some day?

_Her_. How should he think of death? He is at his zenith.

_Ch_. Well, never mind him. We shall have sport enough with him before
long; he will come aboard with no strength left to pick up a gnat, let
alone a bull. But pray,

Who is yon haughty hero?
No Greek, to judge by his dress.

_Her_. That is Cyrus, son of Cambyses, who transferred to the Persians
the ancient empire of the Medes. He has lately conquered Assyria, and
reduced Babylon; and now it looks as if he meditated an invasion of
Lydia, to complete his dominion by the overthrow of Croesus.

_Ch_. And whereabouts is Croesus?

_Her_. Look over there. You see the great city with the triple wall?
That is Sardis. And there, look, is Croesus himself, reclining on a
golden couch, and conversing with Solon the Athenian. Shall we listen
to what they are saying?

_Ch_. Yes, let us.

_Cr. Stranger, you have now seen my stores of treasure, my heaps of
bullion, and all my riches. Tell me therefore, whom do you account the
happiest of mankind_?

_Ch_. What will Solon say, I wonder?

_Her_. Trust Solon; he will not disgrace himself.

_So_. _Croesus, few men are happy. Of those whom I know, the happiest,
I think, were Cleobis and Biton, the sons of the Argive priestess_.

_Ch_. Ah, he means those two who yoked themselves to a waggon, and
drew their mother to the temple, and died the moment after. It was but
the other day.

_Cr_. _Ah. So they are first on the list. And who comes next_?

_So_. _Tellus the Athenian, who lived a righteous life, and died for
his country_.

_Cr_. _And where do I come, reptile_?

_So_. _That I am unable to say at present, Croesus; I must see you end
your days first. Death is the sure test;--a happy end to a life of
happiness_.

_Ch_. Bravo, Solon; _you_ have not forgotten us! As you say, Charon's
ferry is the proper place for the decision of these questions. --But
who are these men whom Croesus is sending out? And what have they got
on their shoulders?

_Her_. Those are bars of gold; they are going to Delphi, to pay for an
oracle, which oracle will presently be the ruin of Croesus. But
oracles are a hobby of his.

_Ch_. Oh, so that is _gold_, that glittering yellow stuff, with just a
tinge of red in it. I have often heard of gold, but never saw it
before.

_Her_. Yes, that is the stuff there is so much talking and squabbling
about.

_Ch_. Well now, I see no advantages about it, unless it is an
advantage that it is heavy to carry.

_Her_. Ah, you do not know what it has to answer for; the wars and
plots and robberies, the perjuries and murders; for this men will
endure slavery and imprisonment; for this they traffic and sail the
seas.

_Ch_. For this stuff? Why, it is not much different from copper. I
know copper, of course, because I get a penny from each passenger.

_Her_. Yes, but copper is plentiful, and therefore not much esteemed
by men. Gold is found only in small quantities, and the miners have to
go to a considerable depth for it. For the rest, it comes out of the
earth, just the same as lead and other metals.

_Ch_. What fools men must be, to be enamoured of an object of this
sallow complexion; and of such a weight!

_Her_. Well, Solon, at any rate, seems to have no great affection for
it. See, he is making merry with Croesus and his outlandish
magnificence. I think he is going to ask him a question. Listen.

_So_. Croesus, will those bars be any use to Apollo, do you think?

_Cr_. Any use! Why there is nothing at Delphi to be compared to them.

_So_. And that is all that is wanting to complete his happiness, eh? --
some bar gold?

_Cr_. Undoubtedly.

_So_. Then they must be very hard up in Heaven, if they have to send
all the way to Lydia for their gold supply?

_Cr_. Where else is gold to be had in such abundance as with us?

_So_. Now is any iron found in Lydia?

_Cr_. Not much.

_So_. Ah; so you are lacking in the more valuable metal.

_Cr_. More valuable? Iron more valuable than gold?

_So_. Bear with me, while I ask you a few questions, and I will
convince you it is so.

_Cr_. Well?

_So_. Of protector and protege, which is the better man?

_Cr_. The protector, of course.

_So_. Now in the event of Cyrus's invading Lydia--there is some talk
of it--shall you supply your men with golden swords? or will iron be
required, on the occasion?

_Cr_. Oh, iron.

_So_. Iron accordingly you must have, or your gold would be led
captive into Persia?

_Cr_. Blasphemer!

_So_. Oh, we will hope for the best. But it is clear, on your own
admission, that iron is better than gold.

_Cr_. And what would you have me do? Recall the gold, and offer the
God bars of iron?

_So_. He has no occasion for iron either. Your offering (be the metal
what it may) will fall into other hands than his. It will be snapped
up by the Phocians, or the Boeotians, or the God's own priests; or by
some tyrant or robber. Your goldsmiths have no interest for Apollo.

_Cr_. You are always having a stab at my wealth. It is all envy!

_Her_. This blunt sincerity is not to the Lydian's taste. Things are
come to a strange pass, he thinks, if a poor man is to hold up his
head, and speak his mind in this frank manner! He will remember Solon
presently, when the time comes for Cyrus to conduct him in chains to
the pyre. I heard Clotho, the other day, reading over the various
dooms. Among other things, Croesus was to be led captive by Cyrus, and
Cyrus to be murdered by the queen of the Massagetae. There she is:
that Scythian woman, riding on a white horse; do you see?

_Ch_. Yes.

_Her_. That is Tomyris. She will cut off Cyrus's head, and put it into
a wine-skin filled with blood. And do you see his son, the boy there?
That is Cambyses. He will succeed to his father's throne; and, after
innumerable defeats in Libya and Ethiopia, will finally slay the god
Apis, and die a raving madman.

_Ch_. What fun! Why, at this moment no one would presume to meet their
eyes; from such a height do they look down on the rest of mankind. Who
would believe that before long one of them will be a captive, and the
other have his head in a bottle of blood? --But who is that in the
purple robe, Hermes? --the one with the diadem? His cook has just been
cleaning a fish, and is now handing him a ring,--"in yonder sea-girt
isle"; "'tis, sure, some king. "

_Her_. Ha, ha! A parody, this time. --That is Polycrates, tyrant of
Samos. He is extremely well pleased with his lot: yet that slave who
now stands at his side will betray him to the satrap Oroetes, and he
will be crucified. It will not take long to overturn _his_
prosperity, poor man! This, too, I had from Clotho.

_Ch_. I like Clotho; she is a lady of spirit. Have at them, madam! Off
with their heads! To the cross with them! Let them know that they are
men. And let them be exalted in the meantime; the higher they mount,
the heavier will be the fall. I shall have a merry time of it
hereafter, identifying their naked shades, as they come aboard; no
more purple robes then; no tiaras; no golden couches!

_Her_. So much for royalty; and now to the common herd. Do you see
them, Charon;--on their ships and on the field of battle; crowding the
law-courts and following the plough; usurers here, beggars there?

_Ch_. I see them. What a jostling life it is! What a world of ups and
downs! Their cities remind me of bee-hives. Every man keeps a sting
for his neighbour's service; and a few, like wasps, make spoil of
their weaker brethren. But what are all these misty shapes that beset
them on every side?

_Her_. Hopes, Fears, Follies, Pleasures, Greeds, Hates, Grudges, and
such like. They differ in their habits. The Folly is a domestic
creature, with vested rights of its own. The same with the Grudge, the
Hate, the Envy, the Greed, the Know-not, and the What's-to-do. But the
Fear and the Hope fly overhead. The Fear swoops on its prey from
above; sometimes it is content with startling a man out of his wits,
sometimes it frightens him in real earnest. The Hope hovers almost
within reach, and just when a man thinks he is going to catch it, off
it flies, and leaves him gaping--like Tantalus in the water, you know.
Now look closely, and you will make out the Fates up aloft, spinning
each man his spindle-full; from that spindle a man hangs by a narrow
thread. Do you see what looks like a cobweb, coming down to each man
from the spindles?

_Ch_. I see each has a very slight thread. They are mostly entangled,
one with another, and that other with a third.

_Her_. Of course they are. Because the first man has got to be
murdered by the second, and he by the third; or again, B is to be A's
heir (A's thread being the shorter), and C is to be B's. That is what
the entangling means. But you see what thin threads they all have to
depend on. Now here is one drawn high up into the air; presently his
thread will snap, when the weight becomes too much for it, and down he
will come with a bang: whereas yonder fellow hangs so low that when he
does fall it makes no noise; his next-door neighbours will scarcely
hear him drop.