No More Learning

I think we had better give Parrhesiades this commission; he
has been shown an honest man, our friend and your true admirer,
Philosophy. Let him take Exposure with him and have interviews with
all who profess philosophy; any genuine scion that he finds let him
crown with olive and entertain in the Banqueting Hall; and for the
rascals--ah, how many! --who are only costume philosophers, let him
pull their cloaks off them, clip their beards short with a pair of
common goatshears, and mark their foreheads or brand them between the
eyebrows; the design on the branding iron to be a fox or an ape.

_Philos_. Well planned, Truth. And, Parrhesiades, here is a test for
you; you know how young eagles are supposed to be tested by the sun;
well, our candidates have not got to satisfy us that they can look at
light, of course; but put gold, fame, and pleasure before their eyes;
when you see one remain unconscious and unattracted, there is your man
for the olive; but when one looks hard that way, with a motion of his
hand in the direction of the gold, first off with his beard, and then
off with him to the brander.

_Par_. I will follow your instructions, Philosophy; you will soon find
a large majority ornamented with fox or ape, and very few with olive.
If you like, though, I will get some of them up here for you to see.

_Philos_. What do you mean? bring them back after that stampede?

_Par_. Oh yes, if the priestess will lend me the line I see there and
the Piraean fisherman's votive hook; I will not keep them long.

_Priestess_. You can have them; and the rod to complete the equipment.

_Par_. Thanks; now quickly, please, a few dried figs and a handful of
gold.

_Priestess_. There.

_Philos_. What _is_ all this about?

_Priestess_. He has baited his hook with the figs and gold, and is
sitting on the parapet dangling it over the city.

_Philos_. What _are_ you doing, Parrhesiades? do you think you are
going to fish up stones from the Pelasgicum?

_Par_. Hush! I wait till I get a bite. Posidon, the fisherman's
friend, and you, dear Amphitrite, send me good fishing!

Ah, a fine bass; no, it is not; it is a gilthead.

_Expo_. A shark, you mean; there, see, he is getting near the hook,
open-mouthed too. He scents the gold; now he is close--touching--he
has it; up with him!

_Par_. Give me a hand with the line, Exposure; here he is. Now, my
best of fishes, what do we make of you? _Salmo Cynicus_, that is what
_you_ are. Good gracious, what teeth! Aha, my brave fish, caught
snapping up trifles in the rocks, where you thought you could lurk
unobserved? But now you shall hang by the gills for every one to look
at you. Pull out hook and bait. Why, the hook is bare; he has not been
long assimilating the figs, eh? and the gold has gone down too.

_Diog_. Make him disgorge; we want the bait for some more.

_Par_. There, then. Now, Diogenes, do you know who it is? has the
fellow anything to do with you?

_Diog_. Nothing whatever.

_Par_. Well, what do you put him at? threepence was the price fixed
the other day.

_Diog_. Too much. His flavour and his looks are intolerable--a coarse
worthless brute. Drop him head first over the rock, and catch another.
But take care your rod does not bend to breaking point.

_Par_. No fear; they are quite light--about the weight of a gudgeon.

_Diog_. About the weight and about the wit. However, up with them.

_Par_. Look; what is this one? a sole? flat as a plate, thin as one of
his own fillets; he gapes for the hook; down it goes; we have him; up
he comes.

_Diog_. What is he?

_Expo_. His plateship would be a Platonist.

_Pl_. You too after the gold, villain?

_Par_. Well, Plato? what shall we do with him?

_Pl_. Off with him from the same rock.

_Diog_. Try again.

_Par_. Ah, here is a lovely one coming, as far as one can judge in
deep water, all the colours of the rainbow, with gold bars across the
back. Do you see, Exposure? this is the sham Aristotle. There he is;
no, he has shied. He is having a good look round; here he comes again;
his jaws open; caught! haul up.

_Ar_. You need not apply to me; I do not know him.

_Par_. Very well, Aristotle; over he goes.

Hullo! I see a whole school of them together, all one colour, and
covered with spines and horny scales, as tempting to handle as a
hedgehog. We want a net for these; but we have not got one. Well, it
will do if we pull up one out of the lot. The boldest of them will no
doubt try the hook.

_Expo_. You had better sheathe a good bit of the line before you let
it down; else he will gorge the gold and then saw the line through.

_Par_. There it goes. Posidon grant me a quick catch! There now! they
are fighting for the bait, a lot of them together nibbling at the
figs, and others with their teeth well in the gold. That is right; one
soundly hooked. Now let me see, what do _you_ call yourself? And yet
how absurd to try and make a fish speak; they are dumb. Exposure, tell
us who is his master,

_Expo_. Chrysippus.

_Par_. Ah, he must have a master with gold in his name, must he?
Chrysippus, tell me seriously, do you know these men? are you
responsible for the way they live?

_Ch_. My dear Parrhesiades, I take it ill that you should suggest any
connexion between me and such creatures.

_Par_. Quite right, and like you. Over he goes head first like the
others; if one tried to eat him, those spines might stick in one's
throat.

_Philos_. You have fished long enough, Parrhesiades; there are so many
of them, one might get away with gold, hook and all, and you have the
priestess to pay. Let us go for our usual stroll; and for all you it
is time to be getting back to your place, if you are not to outstay
your leave. Parrhesiades, you and Exposure can go the rounds now, and
crown or brand as I told you.

_Par_. Good, Philosophy. Farewell, ye best of men. Come, Exposure, to
our commission. Where shall we go first? the Academy, do you think, or
the Porch?

_Expo_. We will begin with the Lyceum.

_Par_. Well, it makes no difference. I know well enough that wherever
we go there will be few crowns wanted, and a good deal of branding.

H.




VOYAGE TO THE LOWER WORLD

_Charon. Clotho. Hermes. Shades. Rhadamanthus. Tisiphone. Lamp. Bed_


_Cha_. You see how it is, Clotho; here has all been ship-shape and
ready for a start this long time; the hold baled out, the mast
stepped, the sail hoisted, every oar in its rowlock; it is no fault of
mine that we don't weigh anchor and sail. 'Tis Hermes keeps us; he
should have been here long ago. Not a passenger on board, as you may
see; and we might have made the trip three times over by this. Evening
is coming on now; and never a penny taken all day! I know how it will
be: Pluto will think _I_ have been wanting to my work. It is not I
that am to blame, but our fine gentleman of a supercargo. He is just
like any mortal: he has taken a drink of their Lethe up there, and
forgotten to come back to us. He'll be wrestling with the lads, or
playing on his lyre, or giving his precious gift of the gab a good
airing; or he's off after plunder, the rascal, for what I know: 'tis
all in the day's work with him. He is getting too independent: he
ought to remember that he belongs to us, one half of him.

_Clo_. Well, well, Charon; perhaps he has been busy: Zeus may have had
some particular occasion for his services in the upper world; _he_ has
the use of him too, remember.

_Cha_. That doesn't say that he should make use of him beyond what's
reasonable. Hermes is common property. We have never kept him here
when he was due to go. No, I know what it is. In these parts of ours
all is mist and gloom and darkness, and nothing to be had but asphodel
and libations and sacrificial cakes and meats. Yonder in Heaven, all's
bright, with plenty of ambrosia, and no end of nectar. Small wonder
that he likes to loiter there. When he leaves us, 'tis on wings; it is
as though he escaped from prison. But when the time comes for return,
he tramps it on foot, and has much ado to get here at all.

_Clo_. Well, never mind now; here he comes, look, and a fine host of
passengers with him; a fine flock, rather; he hustles them along with
his staff like so many goats. But what's this? One of them is bound,
and another enjoying the joke; and there is one with a wallet slung
beside him, and a stick in his hand; a cantankerous-looking fellow; he
keeps the rest moving. And just look at Hermes! Bathed in
perspiration, and his feet covered with dust! See how he pants; he is
quite out of breath. What is the matter, Hermes? Tell us all about it;
you seem disturbed.

_Her_. The matter is that this rascal ran away; I had to go after him,
and had well nigh played you false for this trip, I can tell you.

_Clo_. Why, who is he? What did he want to run away for?

_Her_. His motive is sufficiently clear: he had a preference for
remaining alive. He is some king or tyrant, as I gather from his
piteous allusions to blessedness no longer his.

_Clo_. And the fool actually tried to run away, and thought to prolong
his life when the thread of Fate was exhausted?

_Her_. Tried! He would have got clean away, but for that capital
fellow there with the club; he gave me a hand, and we caught and bound
him. The whole way along, from the moment that Atropus handed him over
to me, he dragged and hung back, and dug his heels into the ground: it
was no easy work getting him along. Every now and then he would take
to prayers and entreaties: Would I let him go just for a few minutes?
he would make it worth my while. Of course I was not going to do that;
it was out of the question. --Well, we had actually got to the very
pit's mouth, when somehow or other this double-dyed knave managed to
slip off, whilst I was telling over the Shades to Aeacus, as usual,
and he checking them by your sister's invoice. The consequence was, we
were one short of tally. Aeacus raised his eyebrows. 'Hermes,' he
said, 'everything in its right place: no larcenous work here, please.
You play enough of those tricks in Heaven. We keep strict accounts
here: nothing escapes us. The invoice says 1,004; there it is in black
and white. You have brought me one short, unless you say that Atropus
was too clever for you. ' I coloured up at that; and then all at once I
remembered what had happened on the way, and when I looked round and
this fellow was nowhere to be seen, I knew that he must have made off,
and I set off after him along the road to the upper world, as fast as
I could go.
My worthy friend here volunteered for the service; so we
made a race of it, and caught the runaway just as he got to Taenarum!
It was a near thing.

_Clo_. There now, Charon! And we were beginning to accuse Hermes of
neglect.

_Cha_. Well, and why are we waiting here, as if there had not been
enough delay already?

_Clo_. True. Let them come aboard. I'll to my post by the gangway,
with my notebook, and take their names and countries as they come up,
and details of their deaths; and you can stow them away as you get
them. --Hermes, let us have those babies in first; I shall get nothing
out of them.

_Her_. Here, skipper. Three hundred of them, including those that were
exposed.

_Cha_. A precious haul, on my word! -These are but green grapes,
Hermes.

_Her_. Who next, Clotho? The Unwept?

_Clo_. Ah! I take you. --Yes, up with the old fellows. I have no time
to-day for prehistoric research. All over sixty, pass on! What's the
matter with them? They don't hear me; they are deaf with age. I think
you will have to pick them up, like the babies, and get them along
that way.

_Her_. Here they are; fine well-matured fruit, gathered in due season;
three hundred and ninety-eight of them.

_Cha_. Nay, nay; these are no better than raisins.

_Clo_. Bring up the wounded next, Hermes. _Now_ I can get to work.
Tell me how you were killed. Or no; I had better look at my notes, and
call you over. Eighty-four due to be killed in battle yesterday, in
Mysia, These to include Gobares, son of Oxyartes.

_Her_. Adsunt.

_Clo_. The seven who killed themselves for love. Also Theagenes, the
philosopher, for love of the Megarian courtesan.

_Her_. Here they are, look.

_Clo_. And the rival claimants to thrones, who slew one another?

_Her_. Here!

_Clo_. And the one murdered by his wife and her paramour?

_Her_. Straight in front of you.

_Clo_. Now the victims of the law,--the cudgelled and the crucified.
And where are those sixteen who were killed by robbers?

_Her_. Here; you may know them by their wounds. Am I to bring the
women too?

_Clo_. Yes, certainly; and all who were shipwrecked; it is the same
kind of death. And those who died of fever, bring them too, the doctor
Agathocles and all. Then there was a Cynic philosopher, who was to
have succumbed to a dinner with Dame Hecate, eked out with sacrificial
eggs and a raw cuttlefish; where is he?

_Cy_. Here I stand this long time, my good Clotho. --Now what had I
done to deserve such a weary spell of life? You gave me pretty nearly
a spindleful of it. I often tried to cut the thread and away; but
somehow it never would give.

_Clo_. I left you as a censor and physician of human frailties; pass
on, and good luck to you.

_Cy_. No, by Zeus! First let us see our captive safe on board. Your
judgement might be perverted by his entreaties.

_Clo_. Let me see; who is he?

_Her_. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes; tyrant.

_Clo_. Come up, Megapenthes.

_Me_. Nay, nay, my lady Clotho; suffer me to return for a little
while, and I will come of my own accord, without waiting to be
summoned.

_Clo_. What do you want to go for?

_Me_. I crave permission to complete my palace; I left the building
half-finished.

_Clo_. Pooh! Come along.

_Me_. Oh Fate, I ask no long reprieve. Vouchsafe me this one day, that
I may inform my wife where my great treasure lies buried.

_Clo_. Impossible. 'Tis Fate's decree.

_Me_. And all that money is to be thrown away?

_Clo_. Not thrown away. Be under no uneasiness. Your cousin Megacles
will take charge of it.

_Me_. Oh, monstrous! My enemy, whom from sheer good nature I omitted
to put to death?

_Clo_. The same. He will survive you for rather more than forty years;
in the full enjoyment of your harem, your wardrobe, and your treasure.

_Me_. It is too bad of you, Clotho, to hand over my property to my
worst enemy.

_Clo_. My dear sir, it was Cydimachus's property first, surely? You
only succeeded to it by murdering him, and butchering his children
before his eyes.

_Me_. Yes, but it was mine after that.

_Clo_. Well, and now your term of possession expires.

_Me_. A word in your ear, madam; no one else must hear this. --Sirs,
withdraw for a space. --Clotho, if you will let me escape, I pledge
myself to give you a quarter of a million sterling this very day.

_Clo_. Ha, ha! So your millions are still running in your head?

_Me_. Shall I throw in the two mixing-bowls that I got by the murder
of Cleocritus? They weigh a couple of tons apiece; refined gold!

_Clo_. Drag him up. We shall never get him to come on board by
himself.

_Me_. I call you all to witness! My city-wall, my docks, remain
unfinished. I only wanted five days more to complete them.

_Clo_. Never mind. It will be another's work now.

_Me_. Stay! One request I can make with a clear conscience.

_Clo_. Well?

_Me_. Suffer me only to complete the conquest of Persia; . . . and to
impose tribute on Lydia; . . . and erect a colossal monument to myself,
. . . and inscribe thereon the military achievements of my life. Then
let me die.

_Clo_. Creature, this is no single day's reprieve: you would want
something like twenty years.

_Me_. Oh, but I am quite prepared to give security for my expeditious
return. Nay, I could provide a substitute, if preferred--my
well-beloved!

_Clo_. Wretch! How often have you prayed that he might survive you!

_Me_. That was a long time ago. Now,--I see a better use for him.

_Clo_. But he is due to be here, shortly, let me tell you. He is to be
put to death by the new sovereign.

_Me_. Well, Clotho, I hope you will not refuse my last request.

_Clo_. Which is?

_Me_. I should like to know how things will be, now that I am gone.

_Clo_. Certainly; you shall have that mortification. Your wife will
pass into the hands of Midas, your slave; he has been her gallant for
some time past.

_Me_. A curse on him! 'Twas at her request that I gave him his
freedom.

_Clo_. Your daughter will take her place in the harem of the present
monarch. Then all the old statues and portraits which the city set up
in your honour will be overturned,--to the entertainment, no doubt, of
the spectators.

_Me_. And will no friend resent these doings?

_Clo_. Who was your friend? Who had any reason to be? Need I explain
that the cringing courtiers who lauded your every word and deed were
actuated either by hope or by fear--time-servers every man of them,
with a keen eye to the main chance?

_Me_. And these are they whose feasts rang with my name! who, as they
poured their libations, invoked every blessing on my head! Not one but
would have died before me, could he have had his will; nay, they swore
by no other name.

_Clo_. Yes; and you dined with one of them yesterday, and it cost you
your life. It was that last cup you drank that brought you here.

_Me_. Ah, I noticed a bitter taste. --But what was his object?

_Clo_.