No More Learning

He found out all about them, and then came back to me.
'Toxaris,' he exclaimed, 'consider your poverty at an end! In two
days' time, I will make a rich man of you. ' We got through those
two days somehow, and then came the show, in which we took our
places as spectators, Sisinnes bidding me prepare myself for all
the novel delights of a Greek amphitheatre. The first thing we saw
on sitting down was a number of wild beasts: some of them were
being assailed by javelins, others hunted by dogs, and others again
were let loose upon certain men who were tied hand and foot, and
whom we supposed to be criminals. The gladiators next made their
appearance. The herald led forward a strapping young fellow, and
announced that any one who was prepared to stand up against him
might step into the arena and take his reward, which would be 400
pounds. Sisinnes rose from his seat, jumped down into the ring,
expressed his willingness to fight, and demanded arms. He received
the money, and brought it to me. 'If I win,' he said, 'we will go
off together, and are amply provided for: if I fall, you will bury
me and return to Scythia. ' I was much moved.

He now received his arms, and put them on; with the exception,
however, of the helmet, for he fought bareheaded. He was the first
to be wounded, his adversary's curved sword drawing a stream of
blood from his groin. I was half dead with fear. However, Sisinnes
was biding his time: the other now assailed him with more
confidence, and Sisinnes made a lunge at his breast, and drove the
sword clean through, so that his adversary fell lifeless at his
feet. He himself, exhausted by the loss of blood, sank down upon
the corpse, and life almost deserted him; but I ran to his
assistance, raised him up, and spoke words of comfort. The victory
was won, and he was free to depart; I therefore picked him up and
carried him home. My efforts were at last successful: he rallied,
and is living in Scythia to this day, having married my sister. He
is still lame, however, from his wound. Observe: this did not take
place in Machlyene, nor yet in Alania; there is no lack of
witnesses to the truth of the story this time; many an Amastrian
here in Athens would remember the fight of Sisinnes.

One more story, that of Abauchas, and I have done. Abauchas once
arrived in the capital of the Borysthenians, with his wife, of whom
he was extremely fond, and two children; one, a boy, was still at
the breast, the other was a girl of seven. With him also was his
friend Gyndanes, who was still suffering from the effects of a
wound he had received on the journey: they had been attacked by
some robbers, and Gyndanes in resisting them had been stabbed in
the thigh, and was still unable to stand on account of the pain.
One night they were all asleep in the upper story, when a
tremendous fire broke out; the whole building was wrapped in
flames, and every means of exit blocked. Abauchas started up, and
leaving his sobbing children, and shaking off his wife, who clung
to him and implored him to save her, he caught up his friend in his
arms, and just managed to force his way down without being utterly
consumed by the flames. His wife followed, carrying the boy, and
bade the girl come after her; but, scorched almost to a cinder, she
was compelled to drop the child from her arms, and barely succeeded
in leaping through the flames; the little girl too only just
escaped with her life. Abauchas was afterwards reproached with
having abandoned his own wife and children to rescue Gyndanes. 'I
can beget other children easily enough,' said he: 'nor was it
certain how these would turn out: but it would be long before I got
such another friend as Gyndanes; of his affection I have been
abundantly satisfied by experience. '

There, Mnesippus, you have _my_ little selection. The next
thing is to settle whether my hand or your tongue is to be
amputated. Who is umpire?

_Mne_. Umpire we have none; we forgot that. I tell you what:
we have wasted our arrows this time, but some other day we will
appoint an arbitrator, and submit other friendships to his
judgement; and then off shall come your hand, or out shall come my
tongue, as the case may be. Perhaps, though, this is rather a
primitive way of doing things. As you seem to think a great deal of
friendship, and as I consider it to be the highest blessing of
humanity, what is there to prevent our vowing eternal friendship on
the spot? We shall both have the satisfaction of winning then, and
shall get a substantial prize into the bargain: two right hands
each instead of one, two tongues, four eyes, four feet;--everything
in duplicate. The union of two friends--or three, let us say--is
like Geryon in the pictures: a six-handed, three-headed individual;
my private opinion is, that there was not one Geryon, but three
Geryons, all acting in concert, as friends should.

_Tox_. Done with you, then.

_Mne_. And, Toxaris,--we will dispense with the blood-and-
scimetar ceremony. Our present conversation, and the similarity of
our aims, are a much better security than that sanguinary cup of
yours. Friendship, as I take it, should be voluntary, not
compulsory.

_Tox_. Well said. From this day, I am your friend, you mine; I
your guest here in Greece, you mine if ever you come to Scythia.

_Mne_. Scythia! I would go further than Scythia, to meet with
such friends as Toxaris's narratives have shown him to be.




ZEUS CROSS-EXAMINED

_Cyniscus_. _Zeus_


_Cyn_. Zeus: I am not going to trouble you with requests for a
fortune or a throne; you get prayers enough of that sort from other
people, and from your habit of convenient deafness I gather that
you experience a difficulty in answering them. But there is one
thing I should like, which would cost you no trouble to grant.

_Zeus_. Well, Cyniscus? You shall not be disappointed, if your
expectations are as reasonable as you say.

_Cyn_. I want to ask you a plain question.

_Zeus_. Such a modest petition is soon granted; ask what you
will.

_Cyn_. Well then: you know your Homer and Hesiod, of course?
Is it all true that they sing of Destiny and the Fates--that
whatever they spin for a man at his birth must inevitably come
about?

_Zeus_. Unquestionably. Nothing is independent of their
control. From their spindle hangs the life of all created things;
whose end is predetermined even from the moment of their birth; and
that law knows no change.

_Cyn_. Then when Homer says, for instance, in another place,

Lest unto Hell thou go, _outstripping Fate_,

he is talking nonsense, of course?

_Zeus_. Absolute nonsense. Such a thing is impossible: the law
of the Fates, the thread of Destiny, is over all. No; so long as
the poets are under the inspiration of the Muses, they speak truth:
but once let those Goddesses leave them to their own devices, and
they make blunders and contradict themselves. Nor can we blame
them: they are but men; how should they know truth, when the
divinity whose mouthpieces they were is departed from them?

_Cyn_. That point is settled, then. But there is another thing
I want to know. There are three Fates, are there not,--Clotho,
Lachesis, and Atropus?

_Zeus_. Quite so.

_Cyn_. But one also hears a great deal about Destiny and
Fortune. Who are they, and what is the extent of their power? Is it
equal to that of the Fates? or greater perhaps? People are always
talking about the insuperable might of Fortune and Destiny.

_Zeus_. It is not proper, Cyniscus, that you should know all.
But what made you ask me about the Fates?

_Cyn_. Ah, you must tell me one thing more first. Do the Fates
also control you Gods? Do _you_ depend from their thread?

_Zeus_. We do. Why do you smile?

_Cyn_. I was thinking of that bit in Homer, where he makes you
address the Gods in council, and threaten to suspend all the world
from a golden cord. You said, you know, that you would let the cord
down from Heaven, and all the Gods together, if they liked, might
take hold of it and try to pull you down, and they would never do
it: whereas you, if you had a mind to it, could easily pull them up,

And Earth and Sea withal.

I listened to that passage with shuddering reverence; I was much
impressed with the idea of your strength. Yet now I understand that
you and your cord and your threats all depend from a mere cobweb.
It seems to me Clotho should be the one to boast: she has you
dangling from her distaff, like a sprat at the end of a fishing-
line.

_Zeus_. I do not catch the drift of your questions.

_Cyn_. Come, I will speak my mind; and in the name of Destiny
and the Fates take not my candour amiss. If the case stands thus,
if the Fates are mistresses of all, and their decisions
unalterable, then why do men sacrifice to _you_, and bring
hecatombs, and pray for good at _your_ hands? If our prayers
can neither save us from evil nor procure us any boon from Heaven,
I fail to see what we get for our trouble.

_Zeus_. These are nice questions! I see how it is,--you have
been with the sophists; accursed race! who would deny us all
concern in human affairs. Yes, these are just the points they
raise, impiously seeking to pervert mankind from the way of
sacrifice and prayer: it is all thrown away, forsooth! the Gods
take no thought for mankind; they have no power on the earth. --Ah
well; they will be sorry for it some day.

_Cyn_. Now, by Clotho's own spindle, my questions are free
from all sophistic taint. How it has come about, I know not; but
one word has brought up another, and the end of it is--there is no
use in sacrifice. Let us begin again. I will put you a few more
questions; answer me frankly, but think before you speak, this
time.

_Zeus_. Well; if you have the time to waste on such
tomfoolery.

_Cyn_. Everything proceeds from the Fates, you say?

_Zeus_. Yes.

_Cyn_. And is it in your power to unspin what they have spun?

_Zeus_. It is not.

_Cyn_. Shall I proceed, or is the inference clear?

_Zeus_. Oh, clear enough. But you seem to think that people
sacrifice to us from ulterior motives; that they are driving a
bargain with us, _buying_ blessings, as it were: not at all;
it is a disinterested testimony to our superior merit.

_Cyn_. There you are, then. As you say, sacrifice answers no
useful purpose; it is just our good-natured way of acknowledging
your superiority. And mind you, if we had a sophist here, he would
want to know all about that superiority. You are our fellow slaves,
he would say; if the Fates are our mistresses, they are also yours.
Your immortality will not serve you; that only makes things worse.
We mortals, after all, are liberated by death: but for you there is
no end to the evil; that long thread of yours means eternal
servitude.

_Zeus_. But this eternity is an eternity of happiness; the
life of Gods is one round of blessings.

_Cyn_. Not all Gods' lives. Even in Heaven there are distinctions,
not to say mismanagement. _You_ are happy, of course: you are king,
and you can haul up earth and sea as it were a bucket from the
well. But look at Hephaestus: a cripple; a common blacksmith. Look
at Prometheus: _he_ gets nailed up on Caucasus. And I need not
remind you that your own father lies fettered in Tartarus at this
hour. It seems, too, that Gods are liable to fall in love; and to
receive wounds; nay, they may even have to take service with mortal
men; witness your brother Posidon, and Apollo, servants to Laomedon
and to Admetus. I see no great happiness in all this; some of you I
dare say have a very pleasant time of it, but not so others. I
might have added, that you are subject to robbery like the rest of
us; your temples get plundered, and the richest of you becomes a
pauper in the twinkling of an eye. To more than one of you it has
even happened to be melted down, if he was a gold or a silver God.
All destiny, of course.

_Zeus_. Take care, Cyniscus: you are going too far. You will
repent of this one day.

_Cyn_. Spare your threats: you know that nothing can happen to
me, except what Fate has settled first. I notice, for instance,
that even temple-robbers do not always get punished; most of them,
indeed, slip through your hands. Not destined to be caught, I
suppose.

_Zeus_. I knew it! you are one of those who would abolish
Providence.

_Cyn_. You seem to be very much afraid of these gentlemen, for
some reason. Not one word can I say, but you must think I picked it
up from them. Oblige me by answering another question; I could
desire no better authority than yours. What is this Providence? Is
she a Fate too? or some greater, a mistress of the Fates?

_Zeus_. I have already told you that there are things which it
is not proper for you to know. You said you were only going to ask
me one question, instead of which you go on quibbling without end.
I see what it is you are at: you want to make out that we Gods take
no thought for human affairs.

_Cyn_. It is nothing to do with me: it was you who said just
now that the Fates ordained everything. Have you thought better of
it? Are you going to retract what you said? Are the Gods going to
push Destiny aside and make a bid for government?

_Zeus_. Not at all; but the Fates work _through us_.

_Cyn_. I see: you are their servants, their underlings. But
that comes to the same thing: it is still they who design; you are
only their tools, their instruments.

_Zeus_. How do you make that out?

_Cyn_. I suppose it is pretty much the same as with a carpenter's
adze and drill: they do assist him in his work, but no one would
describe them as the workmen; we do not say that a ship has been
turned out by such and such an adze, or by such and such a drill;
we name the shipwright. In the same way, Destiny and the Fates are
the universal shipwrights, and you are their drills and adzes; and
it seems to me that instead of paying their respects and their
sacrifices to you, men ought to sacrifice to Destiny, and implore
_her_ favours; though even that would not meet the case, because I
take it that things are settled once and for all, and that the
Fates themselves are not at liberty to chop and change. If some one
gave the spindle a turn in the wrong direction, and undid all
Clotho's work, Atropus would have something to say on the subject.

_Zeus_. So! You would deprive even the Fates of honour? You
seem determined to reduce all to one level. Well, we Gods have at
least one claim on you: we do prophesy and foretell what the Fates
haye disposed.

_Cyn_.
Now even granting that you do, what is the use of
knowing what one has to expect, when one can by no possibility take
any precautions? Are you going to tell me that a man who finds out
that he is to die by a steel point can escape the doom by shutting
himself up? Not he. Fate will take him out hunting, and there will
be his steel: Adrastus will hurl his spear at the boar, miss the
brute, and get Croesus's son; Fate's inflexible law directs his
aim. The full absurdity of the thing is seen in the case of Laius:

Seek not for offspring in the Gods' despite;
Beget a child, and thou begett'st thy slayer.

Was not this advice superfluous, seeing that the end must come?
Accordingly we find that the oracle does not deter Laius from
begetting a son, nor that son from being his slayer. On the whole,
I cannot see that your prophecies entitle you to reward, even
setting aside the obscurity of the oracles, which are generally
contrived to cut both ways. You omitted to mention, for instance,
whether Croesus--'the Halys crossed'--should destroy his own or
Cyrus's mighty realm. ' It might be either, so far as the oracle
goes.

_Zeus_. Apollo was angry with Croesus. When Croesus boiled
that lamb and tortoise together in the cauldron, he was making
trial of Apollo.

_Cyn_. Gods ought not to be angry. After all, I suppose it was
fated that the Lydian should misinterpret that oracle; his case
only serves to illustrate that general ignorance of the future,
which Destiny has appointed for mankind. At that rate, your
prophetic power too seems to be in her hands.

_Zeus_. You leave us nothing, then? We exercise no control, we
are not entitled to sacrifice, we are very drills and adzes. But
you may well despise me: why do I sit here listening to all this,
with my thunder-bolt beneath my arm?

_Cyn_. Nay, smite, if the thunder-bolt is my destiny. I shall
think none the worse of you; I shall know it is all Clotho's doing;
I will not even blame the bolt that wounds me. And by the way--
talking of thunder-bolts--there is one thing I will ask you and
Destiny to explain; you can answer for her. Why is it that you
leave all the pirates and temple-robbers and ruffians and perjurers
to themselves, and direct your shafts (as you are always doing)
against an oak-tree or a stone or a harmless mast, or even an
honest, God-fearing traveller? . . . No answer? Is this one of the
things it is not proper for me to know?

_Zeus_. It is, Cyniscus. You are a meddlesome fellow; I don't
know where you picked up all these ideas.

_Cyn_. Well, I suppose I must not ask you all (Providence and
Destiny and you) why honest Phocion died in utter poverty and
destitution, like Aristides before him, while those two unwhipped
puppies, Callias and Alcibiades, and the ruffian Midias, and that
Aeginetan libertine Charops, who starved his own mother to death,
were all rolling in money? nor again why Socrates was handed over
to the Eleven instead of Meletus? nor yet why the effeminate
Sardanapalus was a king, and one high-minded Persian after another
went to the cross for refusing to countenance his doings? I say
nothing of our own days, in which villains and money-grubbers
prosper, and honest men are oppressed with want and sickness and a
thousand distresses, and can hardly call their souls their own.

_Zeus_. Surely you know, Cyniscus, what punishments await the
evil-doers after death, and how happy will be the lot of the
righteous?

_Cyn_. Ah, to be sure: Hades--Tityus--Tantalus. Whether there
is such a place as Hades, I shall be able to satisfy myself when I
die. In the meantime, I had rather live a pleasant life here, and
have a score or so of vultures at my liver when I am dead, than
thirst like Tantalus in this world, on the chance of drinking with
the heroes in the Isles of the Blest, and reclining in the fields
of Elysium.

_Zeus_. What! you doubt that there are punishments and rewards
to come? You doubt of that judgement-seat before which every soul
is arraigned?

_Cyn_. I _have_ heard mention of a judge in that connexion; one
Minos, a Cretan. Ah, yes, tell me about him: they say he is your
son?

_Zeus_. And what of him?

_Cyn_. Whom does he punish in particular?

_Zeus_. Whom but the wicked? Murderers, for instance, and
temple-robbers.

_Cyn_. And whom does he send to dwell with the heroes?

_Zeus_. Good men and God-fearing, who have led virtuous lives.

_Cyn_. Why?

_Zeus_. Because they deserve punishment and reward
respectively.

_Cyn_. Suppose a man commits a crime accidentally: does he
punish him just the same?

_Zeus_. Certainly not.

_Cyn_. Similarly, if a man involuntarily performed a good
action, he would not reward him?

_Zeus_. No.

_Cyn_. Then there is no one for him to reward or punish.

_Zeus_. How so?

_Cyn_. Why, we men do nothing of our own free will: we are
obeying an irresistible impulse,--that is, if there is any truth in
what we settled just now, about Fate's being the cause of
everything. Does a man commit a murder? Fate is the murderess. Does
he rob a temple? He has her instructions for it. So if there is
going to be any justice in Minos's sentences, he will punish
Destiny, not Sisyphus; Fate, not Tantalus. What harm did these men
do? They only obeyed orders.

_Zeus_. I am not going to speak to you any more. You are an
unscrupulous man; a sophist. I shall go away and leave you to
yourself.

_Cyn_. I wanted to ask you where the Fates lived; and how they
managed to attend to all the details of such a vast mass of
business, just those three. I do not envy them their lot; they must
have a busy time of it, with so much on their hands. Their destiny,
apparently, is no better than other people's. I would not exchange
with them, if I had the choice; I had rather be poorer than I am,
than sit before such a spindleful, watching every thread. --But
never mind, if you would rather not answer. Your previous replies
have quite cleared up my doubts about Destiny and Providence; and
for the rest, I expect I was not destined to hear it.




ZEUS TRAGOEDUS


_Hermes. Hera. Colossus. Heracles. Athene. Posidon. Momus.
Hermagoras. Zeus. Aphrodite. Apollo, Timocles. Damis_

_Herm_. Wherefore thus brooding, Zeus? wherefore apart,
And palely pacing, as Earth's sages use?
Let me thy counsel know, thy cares partake;
And find thy comfort in a faithful fool.

_Ath_. Cronides, lord of lords, and all our sire,
I clasp thy knees; grant thou what I require;
A boon the lightning-eyed Tritonia asks:
Speak, rend the veil thy secret thought that masks;
Reveal what care thy mind within thee gnaws,
Blanches thy cheek, and this deep moaning draws.

_Zeus_. Speech hath no utterance of surpassing fear,
Tragedy holds no misery or woe,
But our divinest essence soon shall taste.

_Ath_. Alas, how dire a prelude to thy tale!

_Zeus_. O brood maleficent, teemed from Earth's dark womb!
And thou, Prometheus, how hast thou wrought me woe!

_Ath_. Possess us; are not we thine own familiars?

_Zeus_. With a whirr and a crash
Let the levin-bolt dash--
Ah, whither?

_Hera_. A truce to your passion, Zeus. _We_ have not these good
people's gift for farce or recitation; _we_ have not swallowed
Euripides whole, and cannot play up to you. Do you suppose we do
not know how to account for your annoyance?

_Zeus_. Thou knowst not; else thy waitings had been loud.

_Hera_. Don't tell me; it's a love affair; that's what's the
matter with you. However, you won't have any 'wailings' from me; I
am too much hardened to neglect. I suppose you have discovered some
new Danae or Semele or Europa whose charms are troubling you; and
so you are meditating a transformation into a bull or satyr, or a
descent through the roof into your beloved's bosom as a shower of
gold; all the symptoms--your groans and your tears and your white
face--point to love and nothing else.

_Zeus_. Happy ignorance, that sees not what perils now forbid
love and such toys!

_Hera_. Is your name Zeus, or not? and, if so, what else can
possibly annoy you but love?

_Zeus_. Hera, our condition is most precarious; it is touch-
and-go, as they call it, whether we are still to enjoy reverence
and honour from the earth, or be utterly neglected and become of no
account.

_Hera_. Has Earth produced a new brood of giants? Have the
Titans broken their chains, overpowered their guards, and taken up
arms against us once more?

_Zeus_. Nay, fear not that; Hell threatens not the Gods.

_Hera_. What can the matter be, then? To hear you, one might
think it was Polus or Aristodemus, not Zeus; and why, pray, if
something of that sort is not bothering you?

_Zeus_. My dear, a discussion somehow arose yesterday between
Timocles the Stoic and Damis the Epicurean; there was a numerous
and respectable audience (which particularly annoyed me), and they
had an argument on the subject of Providence. Damis questioned the
existence of the Gods, and utterly denied their interest in or
government of events, while Timocles, good man, did his best to
champion our cause. A great crowd gathered round; but no conclusion
was reached. They broke up with an understanding that the inquiry
should be completed another day; and now they are all agog to see
which will win and prove his case. You all see how parlous and
precarious is our position, depending on a single mortal. These are
the alternatives for us: to be dismissed as mere empty names, or
(if Timocles prevails) to enjoy our customary honours.

_Hera_. This is really a serious matter; your ranting was not
so uncalled-for, Zeus.

_Zeus_. You fancied me thinking of some Danae or Antiope; and
this was the dread reality. Now, Hermes, Hera, Athene, what is our
course? We await your contribution to our plans.

_Herm_. My opinion is that an assembly be summoned and the
community taken into counsel.

_Hera_. And I concur.

_Ath_. Sire, I dissent entirely; you should not fill Heaven
with apprehensions, nor let your own uneasiness be visible, but
take private measures to assure Timocles's victory and Damis's
being laughed out of court.

_Herm_. It cannot be kept quiet, Zeus; the philosophers'
debate is public, and you will be accused of despotic methods, if
you maintain reserve on a matter of so great and general interest.

_Zeus_. Make proclamation and summon all, then. I approve your
judgement.

_Herm_. Here, assemble, all ye Gods; don't waste time, come
along, here you are; we are going to have an important meeting.

_Zeus_. What, Hermes? so bald, so plain, so prosy an
announcement--on this momentous occasion?

_Herm_. Why, how would you like it done?

_Zeus_. Some metre, a little poetic sonority, would make the
style impressive, and they would be more likely to come.

_Herm_. Ah, Zeus, that is work for epic poets or reciters, and
I am no good at poetry. I should be sure to put in too many feet,
or leave out some, and spoil the thing; they would only laugh at my
rude verses. Why, I've known Apollo himself laughed at for some of
his oracles; and prophecy has the advantage of obscurity, which
gives the hearers something better to do than scanning verses.

_Zeus_. Well, well, Hermes, you can make lines from Homer the
chief ingredient of your composition; summon us in his words; you
remember them, of course.

_Herm_. I cannot say they are exactly on the tip of my tongue;
however, I'll do my best:

Let ne'er a God (tum, tum), nor eke a Goddess,
Nor yet of Ocean's rivers one be wanting,
Nor nymphs; but gather to great Zeus's council;
And all that feast on glorious hecatombs,
Yea, middle and lower classes of Divinity,
Or nameless ones that snuff fat altar-fumes

_Zeus_. Good, Hermes; that is an excellent proclamation: see,
here they come pell-mell; now receive and place them in correct
precedence, according to their material or workmanship; gold in the
front row, silver next, then the ivory ones, then those of stone or
bronze. A cross-division will give precedence to the creations of
Phidias, Alcamenes, Myron, Euphranor, and artists of that calibre,
while the common inartistic jobs can be huddled together in the far
corner, hold their tongues, and just make up the rank and file of
our assembly.

_Herm_. All right; they shall have their proper places. But
here is a point: suppose one of them is gold, and heavy at that,
but not finely finished, quite amateurish and ill proportioned, in
fact--is he to take precedence of Myron's and Polyclitus's bronze,
or Phidias's and Alcamenes's marble? or is workmanship to count
most?

_Zeus_. It should by rights.