No More Learning

As Charicles recounted the misfortunes of his family, Sophi los had listened with sympathy, and, when he now further ques tioned Charicles about many passages in his life, his glance dwelt on the youth with peculiar satisfaction. Whilst they were en gaged in low-toned conversation, the hanging was pushed aside, and Cleobule entered, followed by a female slave. Nearly over come with timidity, she did not dare raise her eyes, but kept them fixed on the glass phial in her right hand, and she hastened to present to her sick husband and uncle the portion which it contained, the physician having first mingled in it something from his drug box. She next smoothed the pillow, bending affectionately over her husband, as if to inquire whether he felt any relief.
The eyes of all present were fastened on this picture of dutiful affection, but the gaze of Charicles especially seemed
THE FORGED WILL. 243
riveted to the spot. When Cleobule entered, he was convers ing with Sophilos, with his back to the door, and she on her part was so entirely occupied with tending the sick man, that her face had not once been turned towards the group behind her. Yet there was something in that graceful figure that awoke scarcely stifled emotions in his breast. It was the very image of the apparition by the brook. . . .
The physician next prescribed a bath for his patient. . . . Cleobule hastened to superintend in person the needful prepara tions, and as she turned round to go towards the door, her eye fell upon Charicles, who was standing near it. Suddenly she started as though she had seen the Gorgon's head, or some specter risen out of Hades ; and the glass phial would have dropped from her hand, had not the doctor caught it. With a deep blush, and downcast eyes, she rushed hurriedly past the young man, who was himself so surprised and confused that he did not hear the question which Sophilos just then put to him. It was now necessary to leave the sick chamber, and he was not sorry to do so. Approaching the bed, he expressed a hope that its tenant would amend, and then hastened from the chamber in a tumult of contending emotions.
It was one of those blustering nights so common at the com mencement of Maemacterion [latter part of November]. The wind blew from Salamis, driving before it the scud of black rain clouds over the Piraeus ; and when they opened for a mo ment, the crescent of the waning moon would peer forth, throw ing a transient glimmer on the distant temples of the Acropolis. In the streets of the seaport, generally so full of bustle, reigned deep repose, only broken by the dull roaring of the sea, or the groaning of the masts, as some more violent gust swept through the rigging of the vessels yet remaining in the harbor. Occa sionally, too, some half -intoxicated sailor would stagger lantern- less from the wine shops towards the harbor ; or some footpad would sneak along the sides of the houses, ready to pounce on the cloak of a belated passenger, and hiding cautiously behind a Hermes or an altar whenever the bell of the night patrol was heard.
In a small room of a house situated some distance from the harbor, a young man of unprepossessing exterior lay stretched upon a low couch, which was too short for his figure. His hol low eyes and sunken cheeks, the carelessness of his demeanor,
244 THE FORGED WILL.
his hasty way of draining the cup in his right hand, and the coarse jokes that from time to time escaped him, sufficiently marked him as one of those vulgar roues who were accustomed to waste the day at the dice board, and devote the night to riot and debauchery. On the table near him, beside the nearly empty punch bowl, stood a lamp with a double wick, whose light abundantly illumined the narrow chamber. There were also the remnants of the frugal supper that he had just concluded, and a second goblet, which a slave, who sat upon another couch opposite the young man, replenished pretty frequently. Be tween them was a draughtboard which the slave was eying attentively, whilst the other surveyed it with tolerable indiffer ence. The game was by no means even. The menial evidently had the advantage ; and he now made a move which reduced his adversary to great straits.
" A stupid game, this ! " exclaimed the youth, as he tossed the pieces all in a heap ; " a game where it's all thinking, and nothing won after all. Dicing for me," he added with a yawn. " But what has got Sosilas ? It must be past midnight ; and such weather as this, I should not over-enjoy the walk from the town to the haven. "
"He's gone to Polycles," replied the slave. "'Twas said he would not live till morning, and Sosilas seems vastly con cerned about him. "
" I know," answered the youth ; " but then why did he send for me, just at this time of all others ? The morning would have done quite as well ; and I must needs leave a jolly party, forsooth ; and here I am, hang it, and have to stand my own wine, for not a drop has the old hunks provided. "
" All I know," replied the slave, " is that he bade me fetch you wherever you were, as he must have speech with you this very night without fail. "
" Then why doesn't he come ? " retorted the other, peevishly. "Did he go unattended? "
" Syrus went with him ; he'll come to no harm. And even suppose he didn't return," continued the slave with a smile ; "why, you're his next relation and heir, aren't you? Two houses in the city, besides this here — a carpenter's shop, and maybe some five or six talents in ready cash ; — in sooth, no such bad heritage ! "
The youth lolled back complacently on the couch. " Yes, Molon," said he, " when he's once out of the way, then "
THE FORGED WILL. 245
At this moment came a violent rap at the outer door. " There he is ! " cried the slave, as he hastily caught up the draughtboard and one of the goblets, smoothed down the cushion and coverlet of the couch he had been sitting on, and stationed himself at the stripling's elbow, as if he had been waiting on him.
Steps were now audible in the courtyard, and a gruff voice was heard giving orders to a slave in harsh accents. The door opened, and in walked a man with a large beard, and dark and forbidding features. He was wrapped, after the Spartan fash ion, in a short mantle of coarse thick texture, and wore Laco- nian shoes. In his hand was a stout cudgel, with its handle bent in the form of a cross. The sight of the drinking cups and the unwonted illumination of the chamber made him forget the greeting. He approached the slave in a rage.
" Ah ! you knave ! " cried he, raising his stick ; " what d'ye mean by these two burners, and such large wicks ? Does not the winter consume oil enough without this ? And you, Lysis- tratos," — he here turned to the youth — "seem to make your self"quite at home in my house. " "
Oh ! to be sure, uncle," answered the other, dryly ;
on credit from the tavern, since yours is safe under lock and key. Do you suppose I'm going to wait here half the night for you, without a drop to drink? "
" I didn't expect to be kept so long," said the old man, some what softened, as he hastily scanned the apartment. " You may go," he said to the slave ; " we don't want you any more : leave us, and go to bed. " The slave departed; Sosilas bolted the door, and returned to his nephew.
" He is dead," whispered he, drawing a long breath ; " Poly- cles is dead, and a property of sixty talents and more is left
without natural heirs. " " The nephew started.
Well ! and what good is that to us, ifwe do not come in for a share ? "
" That's just the question," answered the uncle. " Lysistra- tos," he resumed after a short silence, " you may be a rich man, if you will. "
" Will ? ay ! by Dionysos will I, and no mistake," laughed the nephew.
"Only do what I tell you," said Sosilas, "and you have your desire. We are connected — very distantly, I grant — with Polycles, for my long-deceased wife and Cleobule's mother
wine
246 THE FORGED WILL.
were first cousins. Yet this connection gives us no title to the property. But, now, what if a will were produced naming me heir ! "
" You mean a forged one," said Lysistratos musingly ; " but how will it be accredited without you have his signet ring ? And do you suppose Polycles, during his long illness, has not himself arranged about bequeathing his property ? "
The old man quietly opened an adjoining room, and fetched out of it a box, which he unfastened, and drew forth a document with a seal. " Look ye there, read that," said he, as he placed it before the youth. " " What's the superscription ? "
" By Dionysos ! cried the youth springing to his feet, "' The last will of Polycles. ' How came you by this ? "
"Very simply," replied the uncle. "When Polycles was starting to JSdepsos, and Sophilos, who had got him in his meshes, was luckily gone upon a journey, he summoned me, as a relative of his wife's, and intrusted me with his will in the presence of the three witnesses therein named. "
" Capital ! " shouted Lysistratos ; " so you can substitute another of your own composing. But still, even then, you will want his signet : do you think you could imitate it? "
" "That would be a dangerous experiment," replied the uncle;
and besides, you can perceive by the superscription in what peculiar shaky characters it is written; so that it would be almost impossible to forge an imitation, nor indeed do we want one. " Saying this he produced a knife, removed the shell which served as a capsule to the seal, and said, " See ! that's Polycles' seal, and there is just such another beneath the writing ; and now look at this," cried he, as he placed side by side"with it another seal, hanging by a slip of string.
" You'll understand presently," replied the uncle. He took the knife, and without hesitation severed the string to which the seal was appended, opened the document, and spread it before his nephew. " Look," he said with a malicious grin ; " supposing ' Sosilas ' stood here instead of ' Sophilos,' and there, ' Sophilos ' instead of ' Sosilas. ' I should not so much mind then. " "
By Poseidon ! exactly the same," exclaimed Lysistratos, in amazement; "but I can't conceive what all this is about. "
The youth read in astonishment.
"that were indeed a master stroke; and there are only two letters to alter; for as good luck has the fathers' names are
I' faith!
"
he exclaimed,
it,
THE FORGED WILL. 247
the same. But the seal ? " he added, " the seal ? how could you venture to break open the deed ? "
The old man made a second dive into the mysterious box, and drew out something resembling a signet. "I learned how to make this substance from a cunning fellow who went about soothsaying. If pressed upon a seal when soft, it receives all the characters with perfect accuracy and in a short time be comes as hard as stone. " The will had been opened before, and the seal appended to it was merely an impression of this. " Can you distinguish between it and the genuine one ? "
" No, that I can't," answered the nephew.
" So, then, it will be an easy matter to reseal the deed, when we have alterIed the letters in these two places. "
"
to become rich by this ? now interposed
"But how am
the youth, suspiciously; "my name is not mentioned in the testament. "
"Listen a moment," replied the uncle; "the inheritance, as you may have read, is coupled with one condition — that the heir must marry the widow Cleobule, and if he object to this, must be content with five talents as his portion ; but he will have the right of giving the widow in marriage, along with the rest of the property, to whomsoever he may judge proper. Now I am too old to marry again; and be sides, I was warned against it in a dream. I dreamed that I wished to take a wife, and went to the bride's house to be be trothed to her; but when I essayed to go away again, the door was fastened, and could not be opened. Two interpreters of dreams, whom I consulted, foretold that I should die on the day of my betrothment ; and that is warning enough ; but you shall marry Cleobule, if you will privately cede half the property to me. " "
After some higgling, it was finally settled that the uncle should not receive the five talents over and above his half of the property, but that these should be included in the parti tion.
The nephew reflected for a moment.
tition," he said at last: "your share is unincumbered, while my moiety will be saddled with the widow. "
" Fool ! " retorted Sosilas : " Cleobule is such a beauty that many a man would be glad to take her without any dowry at all ; besides which, it all depends on me, you know, whether you get a farthing. "
It's an unequal par
248 THE FORGED WILL.
" Now hand me the will," said the old man ; "with this little sponge I erase the two letters, and the more easily because the paper is so good. Look ! they are now scarce distinguishable. This ink," continued he, as he produced a little box and the writing reed, "is of just the same blackness as the writing. There we have it, all right. Who will assert that it was not always as it now stands ? "
" Excellent ! " said the nephew ; " now for the seal. "
The old man carefully folded up the deed again, moistened some clay, tied the string, and impressed the forged stamp upon the clay. "There ! " said he, "isn't it the same seal ? "
" Well, that beats everything," cried Lysistratos, as he com pared the two seals ; " no one will ever dream that it is a forgery. "
A rustling outside the door startled the old man. He snatched up the will and the other contents of the box, which he bore off, and fastened the door of the room adjacent, seal ing it for greater security. Then taking the lamp he explored the court, to discover if possible the cause of the disturbance. " It was nothing," he said, when he came back ; " most likely the storm which made the door shake. It will soon be morn ing : Lysistratos, come into my bedchamber, and let us have a short nap. "
The two worthies had not been long gone when Molon glided softly into the room, and groped about in the dark for one of the sofas. A gleam of moonlight shone through the open door, and he hastily seized something that lay in the folds of the drapery, and then as quickly and softly vanished, his gestures denoting the prize to be one on which he set a high value.
When morning dawned on the house of the deceased, it found the inmates already busy with preparations for the burial. An earthen vessel, filled with water, stood before the door, to signify to the passenger that it was a house of mourn ing. Within, the women were occupied in anointing and lay ing out the corpse. Cleobule, inexperienced, and woe-begone like an orphan child, had begged the aid of Sophilos, who, even without solicitation, would have undertaken to conduct the funeral. She had always looked on Polycles in the light of an affectionate uncle, who had indulged her every wish ; and now she wept for him as for a parent ; while she applied herself to
THE FORGED WILL. 249
her mournful duties, assisted by her mother, whom she had sent for on the previous evening, — as her childlike tremors, which had been early nourished by nurses' fairy tales and ghost stories, rendered solitude in the house of death insupportable.
It was still early, and Sophilos was just debating with the women of the order of the interment, when Sosilas also made his appearance, with sorrow in his aspect but exultation in his heart. He had hastened, he said, to bring the will which the deceased had deposited in his hands ; as perhaps it might con tain some dispositions respecting his interment. He then named the witnesses who had been by when he received the will, and whose presence would now be necessary at the opening. Cleo- bule was somewhat disconcerted to find the document that was to decide her future fate placed in the custody of one to whom, from early childhood, she had entertained feelings of aversion. Polycles had never been explicit on this head, merely assuring her in general terms that she had been cared for. And such she now hoped was the case ; but yet she had rather that any body else had produced the will. Sophilos, on the other hand, did not seem at all put out by the circumstance. He praised Sosilas for his punctuality, and desired that the witnesses might be cited to attend ; but this, the other said, was not necessary, as he had already sent them notices to that effect. "
Before long the three made their appearance.
present," said Sosilas to" them, " when Polycles committed his last will to my charge ?
They replied in the affirmative.
"You will be ready then to testify that this is the deed which he intrusted to me ? "
" The superscription and the seal," answered one of them, " are what prove its authenticity. All that we can witness to is that a testament was deposited with you — not, that this is the identical one in question ; still there is no ground for the con trary assumption, since the seal is untouched, and may be recog nized as that of Polycles. "
" Do you, therefore, satisfy yourself, Cleobule, that I have faithfully discharged your husband's behest. Do you acknowl edge this seal ? "
With trembling hand Cleobule took the deed. " An eagle clutching a snake," said she ; "it is the device of his signet. " She next handed the testament to Sophilos, who also pro nounced it all right.
You were
250
THE FORGED WILL.
" Open it then," said Sosilas to one of the witnesses, " that its contents may be known. My sight is bad : do one of you read for me. "
The string was cut, the document unfolded, and the witness read as follows : —
" The testament of Polycles the Paeanian. May all be well ; but should I not recover from this sickness, thus do I devise my estate. I give my wife Cleobule, with all my fortune, as set down in the accompanying schedule, — save and except all that is herein otherwise disposed, — to my friend Sosilas, the son of Philo, to which end I adopt him as my son. Should he refuse to marry her, then I bequeath to him the five talents lying with Pasion, the money changer ; but I then constitute him guardian of Cleobule, and he shall give her, with the rest of the property, to some husband of his own choosing, who shall take posses sion of my house. I give and bequeath my house on the Olym- pieion to Theron, the son of Callias ; and the lodging house in the Piraeus to Sophilos, son of Philo. To the son of Callipides I bequeath my largest silver bowl, and to his wife a pair of gold earrings, and two coverlets and two cushions of the best in my possession ; that I may not seem to have forgotten them. To my physician Zenothemis I leave a legacy of one thousand drachmae, though his skill and attention have deserved still more. Let my sepulchre be erected in a fitting spot of the garden outside the Melitic gate. Let Theron, together with Sophilos and my relatives, see to it that my obsequies and monument be neither unworthy of me, nor yet on too sumptu ous a scale. I expressly prohibit Cleobule and the women, as well as the female slaves, from cutting off their hair, or other wise disfiguring themselves. To Demetrius, who has long been free, I remit his ransom, and make him a present of five minae, a himation and a chiton [cloak and gown], in considera tion of his faithful services. Of the slaves I hereby manumit Parmeno, and Chares, with his child ; but Carion and Donax must work for four years in the garden, and shall then be made free, if they shall have conducted themselves well during that period. Manto shall be free immediately on Cleobule's mar riage, and shall also receive three minae. Of the children of my slaves none are to be sold, but are to be kept in the house
till they are grown up, and then set free. Syrus, however, shall be sold. Sophilos, Theron, and Callipides will discharge the duties of executors. This testament is placed in the keeping
THE FORGED WILL.
251
of Sosilas. Witnesses : Lysimachos, son of Strato ; Hegesias, of Hegio; and Hipparchos of Callippos. "
A deathlike stillness reigned among the audience when the reader had concluded.
At the first words Cleobule had turned pale, and sunk back on a settle half fainting, while her mother, who was crying, supported her. Sophilos placed his hand on his lips, and was lost in thought ; the witnesses mutely surveyed the scene. Sosilas alone seemed perfectly composed. "Take courage," said he, approaching Cleobule ; " fear not that I will lay claim to the happiness that Polycles intended for me. I my self, too, am astonished, and could easily be dazzled by the tempt ing prize ; but I am too old to dream of wedding a young bride. Willingly do I resign the rich inheritance, and shall select for you a husband more suitable in age. "
Cleobule turned away with a shudder. Sosilas grasped the will, saying, " Nothing more is now wanting but the attesta tion of the witnesses, that such was the tenor of the will when opened. "
" The witnesses accordingly set their seals to the writing. It is not the only testament that Polycles has left," remarked
one of them. " " How ? What ?
exclaimed Sosilas, turning pale ; " noth ing is said here about the existence of another will. "
" I don't rightly understand it," replied the witness ; " but two days after you received this, Polycles called me and four others in as witnesses, on his depositing another document— doubtless a duplicate of this — in the hands of Menecles, to whose house he had caused himself to be conveyed. "
The effects of this disclosure on those present were, as might have been expected, extremely various. Sosilas stood like one utterly undone ; a faint ray of hope glimmered in the bosom of Cleobule ; Sophilos eyed narrowly the countenance of the forger, who quailed before his glance; and the witnesses looked doubtingly at one another.
Sosilas at length broke the silence. "This will," said he with some vehemence, " is genuine ; and even supposing that there is another authentic one in existence, its contents will of course be the same. "
"Why"! it is indeed hardly to be supposed," rejoined Sophilos, that Polycles would have changed his mind in two days ; but we must invite Menecles to produce the copy in his custody, without loss of time. " A slave here entered, and
252 THE FORGED WILL.
whispered a message in his ear. " The very thing ! " he cried. " Menecles is not less punctual than you. Two of his witnesses have already arrived, in obedience to his summons ; and he will therefore shortly be here in person. "
The men now entered. Sosilas walked up and down the room, and gradually recovered his composure. Even should his plans be unpleasantly disturbed by the contents of the second will, still a wide field would be open for litigation, in which he had an even chance of coming off victor. Menecles soon arrived with the other two witnesses, and delivered the will. The superscription and seal were found to be correct, and its contents tallied with those of the first, word for word, with the exception of the two names, which were interchanged. At the end was a postscript, to the effect that an exactly similar testament was deposited with Sosilas the Piraean.
The reading of this caused a violent scene, and plenty of abuse and recrimination followed on both sides. Sosilas pro nounced it a forgery, and went off declaring that he would make good his claims before a court of law.
The morning of the funeral had arrived ; and before day break a crowd of mourners, and of others actuated merely by motives of curiosity, had collected in and around the house, either to attach themselves to the procession, or merely to be spectators of the pageant. Even the day before, whilst the corpse lay in state, the door was crowded by persons who in the course of their lives had never before crossed its threshold. Several, too, had evinced much celerity in putting on mourning, being very anxious to establish their claims to a distant rela tionship with the defunct, when they learned the property was in dispute, and there seemed a prospect of good fishing in the troubled waters.
Charicles, however, did not present himself within ; although perhaps the house possessed greater attractions for him than for any of the others. The impression his late unexpected appear ance made on Cleobule had not escaped him, and he held it im proper to disturb her duties to the departed by a second visit. Still he could not omit accompanying the funeral procession to the place of interment ; and in fact Sophilos, who somehow felt a great liking for the youth, had himself invited him to be pres ent. The old gentleman had paid him several visits, and in a significant manner had described how much Cleobule was im
THE FORGED WILL. 253
periled by the will, which he was convinced was a forgery. Charicles was perhaps more disquieted at this than even Sophilos himself. Whichever way the matter might be decided, it would of course make no difference to him personally : for in case a fraud were detected, the lady would become the wife of Sophilos ; and as regarded himself, he had made up his mind that even under the most favorable circumstances, it would never befit one of his years and condition to marry a widow of such large property : he was nevertheless pained to think that such a fascinating creature might fall into the power of one who, to judge from all accounts, must be utterly unworthy of her. . . .
When the bones had been consigned to the ground, and the women had bidden farewell to the new-made grave, Charicles with Sophilos wended his way back towards the city. The possible consequences of the unhappy will formed the topic of conversation. Charicles could not conceal how very different an impression Sosilas had made upon him from what he had ex pected. To-day the man had looked so unassuming and devout, and withal so venerable, that he had well nigh dropped his sus picions.
"Who would ever believe," said he, "that beneath this exterior lurked such knavery? "
" You will meet with plenty more such," answered Sophilos, "who go about with the aspect of lambs, but within are the most poisonous scorpions ; it is just these that are most danger ous of all. "
At the city gate they separated. A strange slave had fol lowed them at a distance all the way. He now stood still for a moment, "apparently undetermined which of the two he should pursue. Youth is more liberal," said he half aloud, after re flecting a moment, "especially when in love. " With this he struck into the path Charicles had taken, and which led through a narrow lonely lane, between two garden walls ; here he re doubled his pace, and soon overtook Charicles.
" Who art thou ? " asked the youth, retreating back a step.
" A slave, as you see," was the reply, " and one who may be of service to you. You seem interested in Cleobule's fate,
eh? " " " What business is that of yours ?
retorted Charicles ; but his blush was more than a sufficient answer for the slave.
"It is not indifferent to you," he proceeded, "whether Sophilos or Sosilas be the heir. "
254 THE FORGED WILL.
" Very possibly ; but wherefore these inquiries ? what is this to you, sirrah ? "
" More than you think," rejoined the slave. " What shall be my reward"if I hand you the proof that one of the two wills
is a forgery ? "
" You ! a miserable slave !
" The slave is often acquainted with his master's most secret
exclaimed the youth, astonished.
dealings," answered the other. " Come now, what's to be my reward ? " *
" Freedom, which is your rightful due for the discovery of such a crime. "
"Good," replied the slave, "but the freedman must have the means wherewith to live. "
" That also shall you have : five minae are yours, if you speak the truth. "
"Thy name is Charicles," said the slave; "no one hears your promise, but I'll trust you. My master is Sosilas, and they call me Molon. " He opened a small "bag, and pulled something out of it with a mysterious air. See, here is the signet," said he, " with which the forged will was sealed. " He took some wax, wetted it, and impressed the seal thereon. " That is the device of Polycles, an eagle clawing a snake ; you will be the eagle. " He related how he had witnessed the forgery through a crack in the door ; how a rustling he had made was near betraying him ; and how Sosilas, in his haste to bundle up the things, had unwittingly let the false stamp drop on the coverlet. "Now then," said he, "haven't I kept my word? "
" By the gods ! and so will I," cried Charicles, almost be side himself with wonder and joy. " Not five — no — ten minae shalt thou"have. And now to Sophilos with all speed. "
"No ! said the slave, "Itrust toyou. Do you go by your self, and have me called when you have need of me. " . . .
In addition to the slave's statement, and the production of the forged signet, another decisive proof had been obtained. With his usual circumspection and prudence, Polycles had, during his stay at iEdepsos, deposited a third copy of the will in the hands of a respectable man there. Of course this also testified against Sosilas ; and the forgery he had committed was now so manifest, that he might congratulate himself on the magnanimity of Sophilos in not proceeding against him.
THE GOLDEN MEAN. 255
THE GOLDEN MEAN. By ARISTOTLE.
(From the "Ethics. ")
[Aristotle, the greatest name in the history of philosophy, was born at Stageira, Macedonia, B. C. 384, of a line of able physicians ; his father was the friend and physician of King Philip's father. Early orphaned, and trained for the family profession, at eighteen he went to Athens to study philosophy ; on Plato's return from Syracuse, three years later, Aristotle became his pupil, and remained such for the seventeen years of Plato's life, teaching rhetoric, also in rivalry with Isocrates. On Plato's death, he went to the court of his old pupil Hermeias, now chief by conquest of Atarneus, opposite Lesbos. Three years after, Hermeias was slain by treachery ; Aristotle escaped to Mitylene with and married Hermeias' daughter. Two years later, b. c. 342, Philip invited him to Macedon to educate his son Alexander, then thirteen. In 334, when Alexander invaded Asia, he returned to Athens, and opened a school of phi losophy in the Peripatos, or covered walk of the Lyceum. After the death of Alexander in 323, Aristotle was prosecuted for impiety, like Socrates ; he fled to Chalcis in Euboea, and died in 322. His writings comprised 146 volumes
(100 now lost), and systematized all the knowledge of antiquity. Of his extant works, the chief are his "Logic,""— a science he practically created, — "Eth ics," "Politics," "Poetics," and Rhetoric. "]
Liberality and Illiberalitt.
Let us next speak of liberality. Now it appears to be a mean on the subject of possessions ; for the liberal man is praised, not for matters which relate to war, nor for those in which the temperate character is exhibited, nor yet for his judgment, but in respect to the giving and receiving of prop erty; and more in giving than receiving. But by property we mean everything of which the value is measured by money. Now, the excess and defect on the subject of property are prodigality and illiberality : the term illiberality we always attach to those who are more anxious than they ought about money ; but that of prodigality we sometimes use in a com plex sense, and attach it to intemperate people, — for we call those who are incontinent, and profuse in their expenditure for purposes of intemperance, prodigal ; therefore they seem to be the most wicked, for they have many vices at once. Now, they are not properly so called, for the meaning of the word prodigal is the man who has one single vice, namely, that of wasting his fortune ; for the man who is ruined by his own means is prodigal, and the waste of property appears
256 THE GOLDEN MEAN.
to be a sort of ruining one's self, since life is supported by means of property. This is the sense, therefore, that we attach to prodigality. But it is possible to make a good and bad use of everything which has use. Now, money is one of the useful things ; and that man makes the best use of every thing who possesses the virtue which relates to it : therefore he who possesses the virtue that relates to money will make the best use of it, and the possessor of it is the liberal man.
But spending and giving seem to be the use of money, and receiving and taking care of it are more properly the method of acquiring it : hence it is more the part of the liberal man to give to proper objects than to receive from proper persons, or to abstain from receiving from improper persons; for it belongs more to the virtue of liberality to do than to receive good, and to do what is honorable than to abstain from doing what is disgraceful. And it is clear that doing what is good and honorable belongs to giving, and that receiving good and abstaining from doing what is disgraceful belongs to receiv ing; and thanks are bestowed on the giver, and not on him who abstains from receiving, and praise still more so ; and abstaining from receiving is more easy than giving, for men are less disposed to give what is their own than not to take what belongs to another; and givers are called liberal, while those who abstain from receiving are not praised for liberality, but nevertheless they are praised for justice ; but those who receive are not praised at all. But liberal men are more beloved than any others, for they are useful, and their use fulness consists in giving.
But actions according to virtue are honorable, and are done for the sake of the honorable : the liberal man, therefore, will give for the sake of the honorable, and will give properly, for he will give to proper objects, in proper quantities, at proper times: and his giving will have all the other qualifications of right giving, and he will do this pleasantly and without pain ; for that which is done according to virtue is pleasant, or without pain, and by no means annoying to the doer. But he who gives to improper objects, and not for the sake of the honorable, is not to be called liberal, but something else ; nor yet he who gives with pain, for he would prefer the money to the performance of an honorable action, and this is not the part of a liberal man. Nor yet will the liberal man receive from improper persons, for such receiving is not characteristic
THE GOLDEN MEAN. 257
of him who estimates things at their proper value ; nor would he be fond of asking, for it is not like a benefactor readily to allow himself to be benefited : but he will receive from proper sources, for instance from his own possessions, not because it is honorable, but because it is necessary in order that he may have something to give; nor will he be careless of his own fortune, because he hopes by means of it to be of use to others ; nor will he give at random to anybody, in order that he may have something to give to proper objects and in cases where it is honorable to do so.
It is characteristic of the liberal man to be profuse and lavish in giving, so as to leave but little for himself ; for it is characteristic of him not to look to his own interest. But the term liberality is applied in proportion to a man's fortune, for the liberal consists not in the quantity of the things given, but in the habit of the giver ; and this habit gives according to the means of the giver. And there is nothing to hinder the man whose gifts are smaller being more liberal, provided he gives from smaller means. But those who have not been the makers of their own fortune, but have received it by inheritance, are thought to be more liberal, for they are inexperienced in want, and all men love their own productions most, as parents and poets. But it is not easy for the liberal man to be rich, since he is not apt to receive or to take care of money, but rather to give it away, and to be careless of it for its own sake, and only to care for it for the sake of giving away. And for this reason people upbraid fortune, because those who are most deserving of wealth are the least wealthy. But this happens not without reason, for it is impossible for a man to have money who takes no pains about getting as the case in other things.
Yet the liberal man will not give to improper persons, nor at improper times, and so forth, for he did, he would cease to act with liberality; and he were to spend money upon these things, he would have none to spend upon proper objects, —for, as has been observed, the man who spends according to his means, and upon proper objects, liberal, but he who
in the excess prodigal. For this reason we do not call kings prodigal, for does not appear easy to exceed the greatness of their possessions in gifts and expenditure.
Liberality, therefore, being middle state on the subject of
giving and receiving money, the liberal man will give and vol. nr. — 17
it is
a
is
if
is
if
it, is
258 THE GOLDEN MEAN.
expend upon proper objects, and in proper quantities, in small and great matters alike, and this he will do with pleasure ; and he will receive from proper sources, and in proper quantities : for since the virtue of liberality is a mean state, it both giving and receiving, he will in both cases act as he ought ; for proper receiving is naturally consequent upon proper giving, and im proper receiving is the contrary. Habits, therefore, which are naturally consequent upon each other are produced together in the same person, but those that are contrary clearly cannot. But if it should happen to the liberal man to spend in a manner inconsistent with propriety and what is honorable, he will feel pain, but only moderately and as he ought ; for it is character istic of virtue to feel pleasure and pain at proper objects, and in a proper manner. And the liberal man is ready to share his money with others ; for, from his setting no value on it, he is liable to be dealt with unjustly, and he is more annoyed at not spending anything that he ought to have spent, than pained at having spent what he ought not. But the prodigal man even in these cases acts wrongly, for he neither feels pleasure nor pain, where he ought nor as he ought.
But we have said that prodigality and illiberality are the excess and the defect, and that they are conversant with two things, giving and receiving, for we include spending under giving. Prodigality, therefore, exceeds in giving and not receiving, and falls short in receiving ; but illiberality is defi cient in giving, but excessive in receiving, but only in cases of small expenditure. Both the characteristics of prodigal ity, therefore, are seldom found in the same person ; for it is not easy for a person who receives from nobody to give to everybody, for their means soon fail private persons who give, and these are the very persons who seem to be prodigal. This character now would seem considerably better than the illiberal one ; for he is easily to be cured by age and by want, and is able to arrive at the mean : for he has the qualifications of the liberal man ; for he both gives and abstains from receiving, but in neither instance as he ought, nor well. If, therefore, he could be accustomed to do this, or could change his conduct in any other manner, he would be liberal, for he will then give to proper objects, and will not receive from improper sources ; and for this reason he does not seem to be bad in moral char acter, for it is not the mark of a wicked or an ungenerous man to be excessive in giving and not receiving, but rather of a
THE GOLDEN MEAN. 259
fool. But he who is in this manner prodigal seems far better than the illiberal man, not only on account of the reasons already stated, but also because he benefits many people, while the other benefits nobody, not even himself.
But the majority of prodigals, as has been stated, also receive from improper sources, and are in this respect illiberal. Now, they become fond of receiving, because they wish to spend, and are not able to do it easily, for their means soon fail them: they are, therefore, compelled to get supplies from some other quarter, and at the same time, owing to their not caring for the honorable, they receive without scruple from any person they can ; for they are anxious to give, and the how or whence they get the money matters not to them. Therefore their gifts are not liberal, for they are not honorable, nor done for the sake of the honorable, nor as they ought to be done ; but sometimes they make men rich who deserve to be poor, and will give to men of virtuous characters nothing, and to flat terers, or those who provide them with any other pleasure, much. Hence the generality of prodigals are intemperate also; for, spending money carelessly, they are expensive also in acts of intemperance, and, because they do not live with a view to the honorable, they fall away towards pleasures. The prodigal, therefore, if he be without the guidance of a master, turns aside to these vices ; but if he happen to be taken care of, he may possibly arrive at the mean, and at propriety.
But illiberality is incurable, for old age and imbecility of every kind seem to make men illiberal, and it is more congenial to human nature than prodigality; for the generality of man kind are fond of money rather than of giving, and it extends very widely, and has many forms, for there appear to be many modes of illiberality : for as it consists in two things, the defect of giving and the excess of receiving, it does not exist in all persons entire, but is sometimes divided ; and some ex ceed in receiving, and others fall short in giving. For those who go by the names of parsimonious, stingy, and niggardly, all fall short in giving : but do not desire what belongs to another, nor do they wish to receive, some of them from a cer tain fairness of character, and caution lest they commit a base action ; for some people seem to take care of their money, or at least say that they do, in order that they may never be com pelled to commit a disgraceful action. Of these also is the cummin splitter, and every one of similar character, and he
260 THE GOLDEN MEAN.
derives his name from being in the excess of unwillingness to give. Others, again, through fear abstain from other persons' property, considering it difficult for them to take what belongs to other people, without other people taking theirs. They therefore are satisfied neither to receive nor give.
Again, in receiving, some are excessive in receiving from any source and anything; those, for instance, who exercise illiberal professions, and brothel keepers, and all persons of this kind, and usurers, and those who lend small sums at high interest; for all these receive from improper sources, and in improper quantities. And the love of base gain appears to be common to them all ; for they all submit to reproach for the sake of gain, and even for small gain. For we do not call those illiberal who receive great things from improper sources, as tyrants, who lay waste cities and pillage temples, but rather we call them wicked, impious, and unjust. But the gamester, the clothes stealer, and the robber are of the illiberal class, for they are fond of base gain ; for both of them ply their trades for the sake of gain, and incur reproach. Clothes stealers and robbers submit to the greatest dangers for the sake of the advantage they gain, and gamesters gain from their friends, to whom they ought to give. Both, therefore, are lovers of base gain, in that they desire to gain from sources whence they ought not ; and all such modes of receiving are illiberal. With reason, therefore, is illiberality said to be contrary to liberal ity ; for not only is it a greater evil than prodigality, but also men are more apt to err on this side than on the side of the prodigality before mentioned.
Of Magnanimity and Little-Mindedness.
Magnanimity, even from its very name, appears to be con versant with great matters. First let us determine with what kind of great matters. But it makes no difference whether we consider the habit, or the man who lives according to the habit. Now, the magnanimous man appears to be he who, being really worthy, estimates his own worth highly ; for he who makes too low an estimate of it is a fool ; and no man who acts according to virtue can be a fool, nor devoid of sense. The character before-mentioned, therefore, is magnanimous ; for he whose worth is low, and who estimates it lowly, is a modest man, but not a magnanimous one : for magnanimity belongs to greatness,
THE GOLDEN MEAN.
261
just as beauty exists only with good stature ; for little persons may be pretty and well proportioned, but cannot be beautiful. He who estimates his own worth highly, when in reality he is unworthy, is vain ; but he who estimates it more highly than he deserves, is not in all cases vain. He who estimates it less highly than it deserves, is little-minded, whether his worth be great or moderate, or when worth little, he estimates himself at less and the man of great worth appears especially little- minded for what would he have done his worth had not been so great The magnanimous man, therefore, in the great ness of his merits, in the highest place but in his proper estimation of himself, in the mean for he estimates himself at the proper rate, while the others are in the excess and defect. If therefore the magnanimous man, being worthy of great things, thinks himself so, and still more of the greatest, his character must display itself on some one subject in particular.
Now, the term value used with reference to external goods and we must assume that to be of the greatest value which we award to the gods, and which men of eminence are most desirous of, and which the prize of the most honorable acts and such
thing as this honor; for this the greatest of external goods. The magnanimous man, therefore, acts with propriety on subjects of honor and dishonor. And, even without argu ments to prove the point, seems that the magnanimous are concerned with honor, for great men esteem themselves worthy of honor more than anything else for according to their desert. But the little-minded man in the defect, both as regards his own real merit and the magnanimous man's dig nity but the vain man in the excess as regards his own real merit, but in the defect as regards that of the magnanimous man.
The magnanimous man, he worthy of the highest honors, must be the best of men for the better man always worthy of the greater honor, and the best man of the greatest. The truly magnanimous man must therefore be good man and seems that whatever great in any virtue belongs to the magnanimous character for can in nowise be befitting the magnanimous man to swing his arms and run away, nor to commit an act of injustice for what could be the motive to base conduct to him to whom nothing great? And we examine the particulars of the case will appear ridiculous that the magnanimous man should not be good man and he
a
it
if
:
if
;
is
is
it
:
if
it
;
;
it ;
:
it is is is
is
is ;
a
is
;
is
;:
a
is is
is
is
if,
; ?
:
262 THE GOLDEN MEAN.
could not even be deserving of honor, if he were a bad man ; for honor is the prize of virtue, and is bestowed upon the good.
Magnanimity, then, seems to be, as it were, a kind of orna ment of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and cannot exist without them. And for this reason it is difficult to be really magnanimous ; for it is impossible without perfect excel lence and goodness. The magnanimous character, therefore, is principally displayed on the subject of honor and dishonor. And in the case of great instances of honor, bestowed by the good, he will be moderately gratified, under the idea that he has obtained what is his due, or even less than he deserves ; for no honor can be equivalent to perfect virtue. Not but that he will receive it, because they have nothing greater to give him ; but honor from any other persons, and on the score of trifles, he will utterly despise : for these he does not deserve ; and like wise he will despise dishonor, for he cannot justly deserve it.
The magnanimous character is therefore, as has been said, principally concerned with honors : not but that in wealth and power, and all good and bad fortune, however it may come to pass, he will behave with moderation ; and not be too much delighted at success, nor too much grieved at failure : for he will not feel thus even at honor, though it is the greatest thing of all ; for power and wealth are eligible because of the honor they confer — at any rate, those who possess them desire to be honored on account of them. To him, therefore, by whom honor is lightly esteemed, nothing else can be important ; wherefore magnanimous men have the appearance of supercili ousness.