No More Learning

Clotho, I had a particular reason for desiring one more glimpse
of daylight. I have a burning grievance!

_Clo_. And what is that? Something of vast importance, I make no
doubt.

_Me_. It is about my slave Carion. The moment he knew of my death, he
came up to the room where I lay; it was late in the evening; he had
plenty of time in front of him, for not a soul was watching by me; he
brought with him my concubine Glycerium (an old affair, this, I
suspect), closed the door, and proceeded to take his pleasure with
her, as if no third person had been in the room! Having satisfied the
demands of passion, he turned his attention to me. 'You little
villain,' he cried, 'many's the flogging I've had from you, for no
fault of mine! ' And as he spoke he plucked out my hair and smote me on
the face. 'Away with you,' he cried finally, spitting on me, 'away to
the place of the damned! '--and so withdrew. I burned with resentment:
but there I lay stark and cold, and could do nothing. That baggage
Glycerium, too, hearing footsteps approaching, moistened her eyes and
pretended she had been weeping for me; and withdrew sobbing, and
repeating my name. --If I could but get hold of them--

_Clo_. Never mind what you would do to them, but come on board. The
hour is at hand when you must appear before the tribunal.

_Me_. And who will presume to give his vote against a tyrant?

_Clo_. Against a tyrant, who indeed? Against a Shade, Rhadamanthus
will take that liberty. He is strictly impartial, as you will
presently observe, in adapting his sentences to the requirements
of individual cases. And now, no more delay.

_Me_. Dread Fate, let me be some common man,--some pauper! I have been
a king,--let me be a slave! Only let me live!

_Clo_. Where is the one with the stick? Hermes, you and he must drag
him up feet foremost. He will never come up by himself.

_Her_. Come along, my runagate. Here you are, skipper. And I say, keep
an eye--

_Cha_. Never fear. We'll lash him to the mast.

_Me_. Look you, I must have the seat of honour.

_Clo_. And why exactly?

_Me_. Can you ask? Was I not a tyrant, with a guard of ten thousand
men?

_Cy_. Oh, dullard! And you complain of Carion's pulling your hair!
Wait till you get a taste of this stick; you shall know what it is to
be a tyrant.

_Me_. What, shall a Cynic dare to raise his staff against me? Sirrah,
have you forgotten the other day, when I had all but nailed you to the
cross, for letting that sharp censorious tongue of yours wag too
freely?

_Cynic_. Well, and now it is your turn to be nailed,--to the mast.

_Mi_. And what of me, mistress? Am I to be left out of the reckoning?
Because I am poor, must I be the last to come aboard?

_Clo_. Who are you?

_Mi_. Micyllus the cobbler.

_Clo_. A cobbler, and cannot wait your turn? Look at the tyrant: see
what bribes he offers us, only for a short reprieve. It is very
strange that delay is not to your fancy too.

_Mi_. It is this way, my lady Fate. I find but cold comfort in that
promise of the Cyclops: 'Outis shall be eaten last,' said he; but
first or last, the same teeth are waiting. And then, it is not the
same with me as with the rich. Our lives are what they call
'diametrically opposed. ' This tyrant, now, was thought happy while he
lived; he was feared and respected by all: he had his gold and his
silver; his fine clothes and his horses and his banquets; his smart
pages and his handsome ladies,--and had to leave them all. No wonder
if he was vexed, and felt the tug of parting. For I know not how it
is, but these things are like birdlime: a man's soul sticks to them,
and will not easily come away; they have grown to be a part of him.
Nay, 'tis as if men were bound in some chain that nothing can break;
and when by sheer force they are dragged away, they cry out and beg
for mercy. They are bold enough for aught else, but show them this
same road to Hades, and they prove to be but cowards. They turn about,
and must ever be looking back at what they have left behind them, far
off though it be,--like men that are sick for love. So it was with the
fool yonder: as we came along, he was for running away; and now he
tires you with his entreaties. As for me, I had no stake in life;
lands and horses, money and goods, fame, statues,--I had none of them;
I could not have been in better trim: it needed but one nod from
Atropus,--I was busied about a boot at the time, but down I flung
knife and leather with a will, jumped up, and never waited to get my
shoes, or wash the blacking from my hands, but joined the procession
there and then, ay, and headed it, looking ever forward; I had left
nothing behind me that called for a backward glance. And, on my word,
things begin to look well already. Equal rights for all, and no man
better than his neighbour; that is hugely to my liking. And from what
I can learn there is no collecting of debts in this country, and no
taxes; better still, no shivering in winter, no sickness, no hard
knocks from one's betters. All is peace. The tables are turned: the
laugh is with us poor men; it is the rich that make moan, and are ill
at ease.

_Clo_. To be sure, I noticed that you were laughing, some time ago.
What was it in particular that excited your mirth?

_Mi_. I'll tell you, best of Goddesses. Being next door to a tyrant up
there, I was all eyes for what went on in his house; and he seemed to
me neither more nor less than a God. I saw the embroidered purple, the
host of courtiers, the gold, the jewelled goblets, the couches with
their feet of silver: and I thought, this is happiness. As for the
sweet savour that arose when his dinner was getting ready, it was too
much for me; such blessedness seemed more than human. And then his
proud looks and stately walk and high carriage, striking admiration
into all beholders! It seemed almost as if he must be handsomer than
other men, and a good eighteen inches taller. But when he was dead, he
made a queer figure, with all his finery gone; though I laughed more
at myself than at him: there had I been worshipping mere scum on no
better authority than the smell of roast meat, and reckoning happiness
by the blood of Lacedaemonian sea-snails! There was Gniphon the
usurer, too, bitterly reproaching himself for having died without ever
knowing the taste of wealth, leaving all his money to his nearest
relation and heir-at-law, the spendthrift Rhodochares, when he might
have had the enjoyment of it himself.

When I saw him, I laughed as if I should never stop: to think of him
as he used to be, pale, wizened, with a face full of care, his fingers
the only rich part of him, for they had the talents to count,--
scraping the money together bit by bit, and all to be squandered in no
time by that favourite of Fortune, Rhodochares! --But what are we
waiting for now? There will be time enough on the voyage to enjoy
their woebegone faces, and have our laugh out.

_Clo_. Come on board, and then the ferryman can haul up the anchor.

_Cha_. Now, now! What are you doing here? The boat is full. You wait
till to-morrow. We can bring you across in the morning.

_Mi_. What right have you to leave me behind,--a shade of twenty-four
hours' standing? I tell you what it is, I shall have you up before
Rhadamanthus. A plague on it, she's moving! And here I shall be left
all by myself. Stay, though: why not swim across in their wake? No
matter if I get tired; a dead man will scarcely be drowned. Not to
mention that I have not a penny to pay my fare.

_Clo_. Micyllus! Stop! You must not come across that way; Heaven
forbid!

_Mi_. Ha, ha! I shall get there first, and I shouldn't wonder.

_Clo_. This will never do. We must get to him, and pick him up. . . .
Hermes, give him a hand up.

_Cha_. And where is he to sit now he is here? We are full up, as you
may see.

_Her_. What do you say to the tyrant's shoulders?

_Clo_. A good idea that.

_Cha_. Up with you then; and make the rascal's back ache. And now,
good luck to our voyage!

_Cy_. Charon, I may as well tell you the plain truth at once. The
penny for my fare is not forthcoming; I have nothing but my wallet,
look, and this stick. But if you want a hand at baling, here I am; or
I could take an oar; only give me a good stout one, and you shall have
no fault to find with me.

_Cha_. To it, then; and I'll ask no other payment of you.

_Cy_. Shall I tip them a stave?

_Cha_. To be sure, if you have a sea-song about you.

_Cy_. I have several. Look here though, an opposition is starting: a
song of lamentation. It will throw me out.

_Sh_. Oh, my lands, my lands! --Ah, my money, my money! --Farewell, my
fine palace! --The thousands that fellow will have to squander! --Ah, my
helpless children! --To think of the vines I planted last year! Who, ah
who, will pluck the grapes? ---

_Her_. Why, Micyllus, have _you_ never an Oh or an Ah? It is quite
improper that any shade should cross the stream, and make no moan.

_Mi_. Get along with you. What have I to do with Ohs and Ahs? I'm
enjoying the trip!

_Her_. Still, just a groan or two. It's expected.

_Mi_. Well, if I must, here goes. --Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah,
Soles, old Soles! --Oh, ancient Boots! --Woe's me! Never again shall I
sit empty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a
winter's day, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl,
will be another's: whose, ah! whose?

_Her_. Yes, that will do. We are nearly there.

_Cha_. Wait a bit! Fares first, please. Your fare, Micyllus; every one
else has paid; one penny.

_Mi_. You don't expect to get a penny out of the poor cobbler? You're
joking, Charon; or else this is what they call a 'castle in the air. '
I know not whether your penny is square or round.

_Cha_. A fine paying trip this, I must say! However,--all ashore! I
must fetch the horses, cows, dogs, and other livestock. Their turn
comes now.

_Clo_. You can take charge of them for the rest of the way, Hermes. I
am crossing again to see after the Chinamen, Indopatres and
Heramithres.
They have been fighting about boundaries, and have killed
one another by this time.

_Her_. Come, shades, let us get on;--follow me, I mean, in single
file.

_Mi_. Bless me, how dark it is! Where is handsome Megillus _now_?
There would be no telling Simmiche from Phryne. All complexions are
alike here, no question of beauty, greater or less. Why, the cloak I
thought so shabby before passes muster here as well as royal purple;
the darkness hides both alike. Cyniscus, whereabouts are you?

_Cy_. Use your ears; here I am. We might walk together. What do you
say?

_Mi_. Very good; give me your hand. --I suppose you have been admitted
to the mysteries at Eleusis? That must have been something like this,
I should think?

_Cy_. Pretty much. Look, here comes a torch-bearer; a grim, forbidding
dame. A Fury, perhaps?

_Mi_. She looks like it, certainly.

_Her_. Here they are, Tisiphone. One thousand and four.

_Ti_. It is time we had them. Rhadamanthus has been waiting.

_Rhad_. Bring them up, Tisiphone. Hermes, you call out their names as
they are wanted.

_Cy_. Rhadamanthus, as you love your father Zeus, have me up first for
examination.

_Rhad_. Why?

_Cy_. There is a certain shade whose misdeeds on earth I am anxious to
denounce. And if my evidence is to be worth anything, you must first
be satisfied of my own character and conduct.

_Rhad_. Who are you?

_Cy_. Cyniscus, your worship; a student of philosophy.

_Rhad_. Come up for judgement; I will take you first. Hermes, summon
the accusers.

_Her_. If any one has an accusation to bring against Cyniscus here
present, let him come forward.

_Cy_. No one stirs!

_Rhad_. Ah, but that is not enough, my friend. Off with your clothes;
I must have a look at your brands.

_Cy_. Brands? Where will you find them?

_Rhad_. Never yet did mortal man sin, but he carried about the secret
record thereof, branded on his soul.

_Cy_. Well, here I am stripped. Now for the 'brands. '

_Rhad_. Clean from head to heel, except three or four very faint
marks, scarcely to be made out. Ah! what does this mean? Here is place
after place that tells of the iron; all rubbed out apparently, or cut
out. How do you explain this, Cyniscus? How did you get such a clean
skin again?

_Cy_. Why, in old days, when I knew no better, I lived an evil life,
and acquired thereby a number of brands. But from the day that I began
to practise philosophy, little by little I washed out all the scars
from my soul,-thanks to the efficiency of that admirable lotion.

_Rhad_. Off with you then to the Isles of the Blest, and the excellent
company you will find there. But we must have your impeachment of the
tyrant before you go. Next shade, Hermes!

_Mi_. Mine is a very small affair, too, Rhadamanthus; I shall not keep
you long. I have been stripped all this time; so do take me next.

_Rhad_. And who may you be?

_Mi_. Micyllus the cobbler.

_Rhad_. Very well, Micyllus. As clean as clean could be; not a mark
anywhere. You may join Cyniscus. Now the Tyrant.

_Her_. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes, wanted! Where are you off to? This
way! You there, the Tyrant! Up with him, Tisiphone, neck and crop.

_Rhad_. Now, Cyniscus, your accusation and your proofs. Here is the
party.

_Cy_. There is in fact no need of an accusation. You will very soon
know the man by the marks upon him. My words however may serve to
unveil him, and to show his character in a clearer light. With the
conduct of this monster as a private citizen, I need not detain you.
Surrounded with a bodyguard, and aided by unscrupulous accomplices, he
rose against his native city, and established a lawless rule. The
persons put to death by him without trial are to be counted by
thousands, and it was the confiscation of their property that gave him
his enormous wealth. Since then, there is no conceivable iniquity
which he has not perpetrated. His hapless fellow-citizens have been
subjected to every form of cruelty and insult. Virgins have been
seduced, boys corrupted, the feelings of his subjects outraged in
every possible way. His overweening pride, his insolent bearing
towards all who had to do with him, were such as no doom of yours can
adequately requite. A man might with more security have fixed his gaze
upon the blazing sun, than upon yonder tyrant. As for the refined
cruelty of his punishments, it baffles description; and not even his
familiars were exempt. That this accusation has not been brought
without sufficient grounds, you may easily satisfy yourself, by
summoning the murderer's victims. --Nay, they need no summons; see,
they are here; they press round as though they would stifle him. Every
man there, Rhadamanthus, fell a prey to his iniquitous designs. Some
had attracted his attention by the beauty of their wives; others by
their resentment at the forcible abduction of their children; others
by their wealth; others again by their understanding, their
moderation, and their unvarying disapproval of his conduct.

_Rhad_. Villain, what have you to say to this?

_Me_. I committed the murders referred to. As for the rest, the
adulteries and corruptions and seductions, it is all a pack of lies.

_Cy_. I can bring witnesses to these points too, Rhadamanthus.

_Rhad_. Witnesses, eh?

_Cy_. Hermes, kindly summon his Lamp and Bed. They will appear in
evidence, and state what they know of his conduct.

_Her_. Lamp and Bed of Megapenthes, come into court. Good, they
respond to the summons.

_Rhad_. Now, tell us all you know about Megapenthes. Bed, you speak
first.

_Bed_. All that Cyniscus said is true. But really, Mr. Rhadamanthus, I
don't quite like to speak about it; such strange things used to happen
overhead.

_Rhad_. Why, your unwillingness to speak is the most telling evidence
of all! --Lamp, now let us have yours.

_Lamp_. What went on in the daytime I never saw, not being there. As
for his doings at night, the less said the better. I saw some very
queer things, though, monstrous queer. Many is the time I have stopped
taking oil on purpose, and tried to go out. But then he used to bring
me close up. It was enough to give any lamp a bad character.

_Rhad_. Enough of verbal evidence. Now, just divest yourself of that
purple, and we will see what you have in the way of brands. Goodness
gracious, the man's a positive network! Black and blue with them! Now,
what punishment can we give him? A bath in Pyriphlegethon? The tender
mercies of Cerberus, perhaps?

_Cy_. No, no. Allow me,--I have a novel idea; something that will just
suit him.

_Rhad_. Yes? I shall be obliged to you for a suggestion.

_Cy_. I fancy it is usual for departed spirits to take a draught of
the water of Lethe?

_Rhad_. Just so.

_Cy_. Let him be the sole exception.

_Rhad_. What is the idea in that?

_Cy_. His earthly pomp and power for ever in his mind; his fingers
ever busy on the tale of blissful items;--'tis a heavy sentence!

_Rhad_. True. Be this the tyrant's doom. Place him in fetters at
Tantalus's side,--never to forget the things of earth.

F.




THE END






THE WORKS OF LUCIAN OF SAMOSATA

Complete with exceptions specified in the preface

TRANSLATED BY

H. W. FOWLER AND F. G. FOWLER

IN FOUR VOLUMES

What work nobler than transplanting foreign thought into the barren
domestic soil? except indeed planting thought of your own, which the
fewest are privileged to do. --_Sartor Resartus_.

At each flaw, be this your first thought: the author doubtless said
something quite different, and much more to the point. And then you may
hiss _me_ off, if you will. --LUCIAN, _Nigrinus_, 9.

(LUCIAN) The last great master of Attic eloquence and Attic wit. --_Lord
Macaulay_.



VOLUME II




CONTENTS OF VOL. II

THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR

APOLOGY FOR 'THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR'

A SLIP OF THE TONGUE IN SALUTATION

HERMOTIMUS, OR THE RIVAL PHILOSOPHIES

HERODOTUS AND AETION

ZEUXIS AND ANTIOCHUS

HARMONIDES

THE SCYTHIAN

THE WAY TO WRITE HISTORY

THE TRUE HISTORY

THE TYRANNICIDE

THE DISINHERITED

PHALARIS, I

PHALARIS, II

ALEXANDER THE ORACLE-MONGER

OF PANTOMIME

LEXIPHANES




THE DEPENDENT SCHOLAR


The dependent scholar! The great man's licensed friend! --if friend, not
slave, is to be the word. Believe me, Timocles, amid the humiliation and
drudgery of his lot, I know not where to turn for a beginning. Many, if
not most, of his hardships are familiar to me; not, heaven knows, from
personal experience, for I have never been reduced to such extremity, and
pray that I never may be; but from the lips of numerous victims; from the
bitter outcries of those who were yet in the snare, and the complacent
recollections of others who, like escaped prisoners, found a pleasure in
detailing all that they had been through. The evidence of the latter was
particularly valuable. Mystics, as it were, of the highest grade,
Dependency had no secrets for them. Accordingly, it was with keen
interest that I listened to their stories of miraculous deliverance from
moral shipwreck. They reminded me of the mariners who, duly cropped,
gather at the doors of a temple, with their tale of stormy seas and
monster waves and promontories, castings out of cargoes, snappings of
masts, shatterings of rudders; ending with the appearance of those twin
brethren [Footnote: The Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux, who were supposed to
appear to sailors in distress. ] so indispensable to nautical story, or of
some other _deus ex machina_, who, seated at the masthead or
standing at the helm, guides the vessel to some sandy shore, there to
break up at her leisure--not before her crew (so benevolent is the God! )
have effected a safe landing. The mariner, however, is liberal in
embellishment, being prompted thereto by the exigencies of his situation;
for by his appearance as a favourite of heaven, not merely a victim of
fortune, the number of the charitable is increased. It is otherwise with
those whose narrative is of domestic storms, of billows rising mountain
high (if so I may phrase it) within four walls.