No More Learning

If you honour men for this kind of
thing, there will be plenty of people to follow their example, and
you will have your hands full. You may judge for yourselves, from
ancient precedent, whether it will suit you to have so many
Oresteses and Pyladeses putting into your ports. It seems to me
that it will soon end in your having no religion left at all: God
after God will be expatriated in the same manner, and then I
suppose you will supply their place by deifying their kidnappers,
thus rewarding sacrilege with sacrifice. If this is not your motive
in honouring Orestes and Pylades, I shall be glad to know what
other service they have rendered you, that you should change your
minds about them, and admit them to divine honours. Your ancestors
did their best to offer them up to Artemis: you offer up victims to
them. It seems an absurd inconsistency.

_Tox_. Now, in the first place, the incident you refer to is
very much to their credit. Think of those two entering on that vast
undertaking by themselves: sailing away from their country to the
distant Euxine [Footnote: See _Euxine_ in Notes. ]--that sea
unknown in those days to the Greeks, or known only to the
Argonauts--unmoved by the stories they heard of it, undeterred by
the inhospitable name it then bore, which I suppose referred to the
savage nations that dwelt upon its shores; think of their
courageous bearing after they were captured; how escape alone would
not serve them, but they must avenge their wrong upon the king, and
carry Artemis away over the seas. Are not these admirable deeds,
and shall not the doers be counted as Gods by all who esteem
prowess? However, this is not our motive in giving them divine
honours.

_Mne_. Proceed. What else of godlike and sublime was in their
conduct? Because from the seafaring point of view, there are any
number of merchants whose divinity I will maintain against theirs:
the Phoenicians, in particular, have sailed to every port in Greek
and foreign waters, let alone the Euxine, the Maeotian Lake and the
Bosphorus; year after year they explore every coast, only returning
home at the approach of winter. Hucksters though they be for the
most part, and fishmongers, you must deify them all, to be
consistent.

_Tox_. Now, now, Mnesippus, listen to me, and you shall see
how much more candid we barbarians are in our valuation of good men
than you Greeks. In Argos and Mycenae there is not so much as a
respectable tomb raised to Orestes and Pylades: in Scythia, they
have their temple, which is very appropriately dedicated to the two
friends in common, their sacrifices, and every honour. The fact of
their being foreigners does not prevent us from recognizing their
virtues. We do not inquire into the nationality of noble souls: we
can hear without envy of the illustrious deeds of our enemies; we
do justice to their merits, and count them Scythians in deed if not
in name. What particularly excites our reverent admiration in the
present case is the unparalleled loyalty of the two friends; in
them we have a model from which every man may learn how he must
share good and evil fortune with his friends, if he would enjoy the
esteem of all good Scythians. The sufferings they endured with and
for one another our ancestors recorded on a brazen pillar in the
Oresteum; and they made it law, that the education of their
children should begin with committing to memory all that is
inscribed thereon. More easily shall a child forget his own
father's name than be at fault in the achievements of Orestes and
Pylades. Again, in the temple corridor are pictures by the artists
of old, illustrating the story set forth on the pillar. Orestes is
first shown on shipboard, with his friend at his side. Next, the
ship has gone to pieces on the rocks; Orestes is captured and
bound; already Iphigenia prepares the two victims for sacrifice.
But on the opposite wall we see that Orestes has broken free;
he slays Thoas and many a Scythian; and the last scene shows
them sailing away, with Iphigenia and the Goddess; the Scythians
clutch vainly at the receding vessel; they cling to the rudder,
they strive to clamber on board; at last, utterly baffled,
they swim back to the shore, wounded or terrified. It is at this
point in their conflict with the Scythians that the devotion of the
friends is best illustrated: the painter makes each of them
disregard his own enemies, and ward off his friend's assailants,
seeking to intercept the arrows before they can reach him, and
counting lightly of death, if he can save his friend, and receive in
his own person the wounds that are meant for the other. Such
devotion, such loyal and loving partnership in danger, such true and
steadfast affection, we held to be more than human; it indicated a
spirit not to be found in common men. While the gale is prosperous,
we all take it very much amiss if our friends will not share equally
with us: but let the wind shift ever so little, and we leave them to
weather the storm by themselves. I must tell you that in Scythia no
quality is more highly esteemed than this of friendship; there is
nothing on which a Scythian prides himself so much as on sharing the
toils and dangers of his friend; just as nothing is a greater
reproach among us than treachery to a friend. We honour Orestes and
Pylades, then, because they excelled in the Scythian virtue of
loyalty, which we place above all others; and it is for this that we
have bestowed on them the name of Coraci, which in our language
means spirits of friendship.

_Mne_. Ah, Toxaris, so archery is not the only accomplishment
of the Scythians, I find; they excel in rhetorical as well as in
military skill. You have persuaded me already that you were right in
deifying Orestes and Pylades, though I thought differently just now.
I had no conception, either, what a painter you were. Your
description of the pictures in the Oresteum was most vivid;--that
battle-scene, and the way in which the two intercepted one another's
wounds. Only I should never have thought that the Scythians would
set such a high value on friendship: they are such a wild,
inhospitable race; I should have said they had more to do with anger
and hatred and enmity than with friendship, even for their nearest
relations, judging by what one is told; it is said, for instance,
that they devour their fathers' corpses.

_Tox_. Well, which of the two is the more dutiful and pious in
general, Greek or Scythian, we will not discuss just now: but that
we are more loyal friends than you, and that we treat friendship
more seriously, is easily shown. Now please do not be angry with me,
in the name of all your Gods: but I am going to mention a few points
I have observed during my stay in this country. I can see that you
are all admirably well qualified to talk about friendship: but
when it comes to putting your words into practice, there is a
considerable falling off; it is enough for you to have demonstrated
what an excellent thing friendship is, and somehow or other, at the
critical moment, you make off, and leave your fine words to look
after themselves. Similarly, when your tragedians represent this
subject on the stage, you are loud in your applause; the spectacle
of one friend risking his life for another generally brings tears to
your eyes: but you are quite incapable of rendering any such signal
services yourselves; once let your friends get into difficulties,
and all those tragic reminiscences take wing like so many dreams;
you are then the very image of the silent mask which the actor has
thrown aside: its mouth is open to its fullest extent, but not a
syllable does it utter. It is the other way with us: we are as much
superior to you in the practice of friendship, as we are inferior in
expounding the theory of it.

Now, what do you say to this proposal? let us leave out of the
question all the cases of ancient friendship that either of us
might enumerate (there you would have the advantage of me: you
could produce all the poets on your side, most credible of
witnesses, with their Achilles and Patroclus, their Theseus and
Pirithous, and others, all celebrated in the most charming verses);
and instead let each of us advance a few instances of devotion that
have occurred within his own experience, among our respective
countrymen; these we will relate in detail, and whoever can show
the best friendships is the winner, and announces his country as
victorious. Mighty issues are at stake: I for my part would rather
be worsted in single combat, and lose my right hand, as the
Scythian custom is, than yield to any man on the question of
friendship, above all to a Greek; for am I not a Scythian?

_Mne_. I have got my work cut out for me, if I am to engage an
old soldier like Toxaris, with a whole arsenal of keen words at his
command. Well, I am not such a craven as to decline the challenge,
when my country's honour is at stake. Could those two overcome the
host of Scythians represented in the legend, and in the ancient
pictures you have just described so impressively,--and shall
Greece, her peoples and her cities, be condemned for want of one to
plead her cause? Strange indeed, if that were so; I should deserve
to lose not my hand like you, but my tongue. Well now, is the
number of friendships to be limited, or does wealth of instances
itself constitute one claim to superiority?

_Tox_. Oh no; number counts for nothing, that must be understood.
We have the same number, and it is simply a question whether
yours are better and more pointed than mine; if they are, of
course, the wounds you inflict will be the more deadly, and I
shall be the first to succumb.

_Mne_. Very well. Let us fix the number: I say five each.

_Tox_. Five be it, and you begin. But you must be sworn first:
because the subject naturally lends itself to fictitious treatment;
there is no checking anything. When you have sworn, it would be
impious to doubt your word.

_Mne_. Very well, if you think it necessary. Have you any
preference among our Gods? How would the God of Friendship meet the
case?

_Tox_. Excellently; and when my turn comes, I will employ the
national oath of the Scythians.

_Mne_. Zeus the God of Friendship be my witness, that all I
shall now relate is derived either from my own experience, or from
such careful inquiry as I was able to make of others; and is free
from all imaginative additions of my own. I will begin with, the
friendship of Agathocles and Dinias. The story is well known in
Ionia. This Agathocles was a native of Samos, and lived not many
years ago. Though his conduct showed him to be the best of friends,
he was of no better family and in no better circumstances than the
generality of the Samians. From boyhood he had been the friend of
Dinias, the son of Lyson, an Ephesian. Dinias, it seems, was
enormously wealthy, and as his wealth was newly acquired, it is not
to be wondered at that he had plenty of acquaintances besides
Agathocles; persons who were quite qualified to share his
pleasures, and to be his boon-companions, but who were very far
indeed from being friends. For some time Agathocles--little as he
cared for such a life--played his convivial part with the rest,
Dinias making no distinction between him and the parasites.
Finally, however, he took to finding fault with his friend's
conduct, and gave great offence: his continual allusions to
Dinias's ancestry, and his exhortations to him to husband the
fortune which had cost his father such labour to acquire, seemed to
his friend to be in indifferent taste. He gave up asking Agathocles
to join in his revels, contented himself with the company of his
parasites, and sought to elude his friend's observation. Well, the
misguided youth was presently persuaded by his flatterers that he
had made a conquest of Chariclea, the wife of Demonax, an eminent
Ephesian, holding the highest office in that city. He was kept well
supplied with billets-doux, half-faded flowers, bitten apples, and
all the stock-in-trade of those intriguing dames whose business it
is to fan an artificial passion that vanity has inspired. There is
no more seductive bait to young men who value themselves on their
personal attractions, than the belief that they have made an
impression; they are sure to fall into the trap. Chariclea was a
charming little woman, but sadly wanting in reserve: any one might
enjoy her favours, and on the easiest of terms; the most casual
glance was sure to meet with encouragement; there was never any
fear of a repulse from Chariclea. With more than professional
skill, she could draw on a hesitating lover till his subjugation
was complete: then, when she was sure of him, she had a variety of
devices for inflaming his passion: she could storm, and she could
flatter; and flattery would be succeeded by contempt, or by a
feigned preference for his rival;--in short, her resources were
infinite; she was armed against her lovers at every point. This was
the lady whom Dinias's parasites now associated with them; they
played their subordinate part well, and between them fairly hustled
the boy into a passion for Chariclea. Such a finished mistress of
the art of perdition, who had ruined plenty of victims before, and
acted love-scenes and swallowed fine fortunes without number, was
not likely to let this simple inexperienced youth out of her
clutches: she struck her talons into him on every side, and secured
her quarry so effectually, that she was involved in his
destruction,--to say nothing of the miseries of the hapless victim.
She got to work at once with the billets-doux. Her maid was for
ever coming with news of tears and sleepless nights: 'her poor
mistress was ready to hang herself for love. ' The ingenuous youth
was at length driven to conclude that his attractions were too much
for the ladies of Ephesus; he yielded to the girl's entreaties, and
waited upon her mistress. The rest, of course, was easy. How was he
to resist this pretty woman, with her captivating manners, her
well-timed tears, her parenthetic sighs? Lingering farewells,
joyful welcomes, judicious airs and graces, song and lyre,--all
were brought to bear upon him. Dinias was soon a lost man, over
head and ears in love; and Chariclea prepared to give the finishing
stroke. She informed him that he was about to become a father,
which was enough in itself to inflame the amorous simpleton; and
she discontinued her visits to him; her husband, she said, had
discovered her passion, and was watching her. This was altogether
too much for Dinias: he was inconsolable; wept, sent messages by
his parasites, flung his arms about her statue--a marble one which
he had had made--, shrieked forth her name in loud lamentation, and
finally threw himself down upon the ground and rolled about in a
positive frenzy. Her apples and her flowers drew forth presents
which were on quite another scale of munificence: houses and farms,
servants, exquisite fabrics, and gold to any extent. To make a long
story short, the house of Lyson, which had the reputation of being
the wealthiest in Ionia, was quite cleared out. No sooner was this
the case, than Chariclea abandoned Dinias, and went off in pursuit
of a certain golden youth of Crete, irresistible as he, and not
less gullible. Deserted alike by her and by his parasites (who
followed the chase of the fortunate Cretan), Dinias presented
himself before Agathocles, who had long been aware of his friend's
situation. He swallowed his first feelings of embarrassment, and
made a clean breast of it all: his love, his ruin, his mistress's
disdain, his Cretan rival; and ended by protesting that without
Chariclea he could not live. Agathocles did not think it necessary
to remind Dinias just then how he alone had been excluded from his
friendship, and how parasites had been preferred to him: instead,
he went off and sold his family residence in Samos--the only
property he possessed--and brought him the proceeds, 750 pounds.
Dinias had no sooner received the money, than it became evident
that he had somehow recovered his good looks, in the opinion of
Chariclea: once more the maid-servant and the notes, with
reproaches for his long neglect; once more, too, the throng of
parasites; they saw that there were still pickings to be had.
Dinias arrived at her house, by agreement, at about bedtime, and
was already inside, when Demonax--whether he had an understanding
with his wife in the matter, as some say, or had got his
information independently--sprang out from concealment, gave orders
to his servants to make the door fast and to secure Dinias, and
then drew his sword, breathing fire and flagellation against the
paramour. Dinias, realizing his danger, caught up a heavy bar that
lay near, and dispatched Demonax with a blow on the temple; then,
turning to Chariclea, he dealt blow after blow with the same
weapon, and finally plunged her husband's sword into her body. The
domestics stood by, dumb with amazement and terror; and when at
length they attempted to seize him, he rushed at them with the
sword, put them to flight, and slipped away from the fatal scene.
The rest of that night he and Agathocles spent at the latter's
house, pondering on the deed and its probable consequences. The
news soon spread, and in the morning officers came to arrest
Dinias. He made no attempt to deny the murder, and was conducted
into the presence of the then Prefect of Asia, who sent him up to
the Emperor. He presently returned, under sentence of perpetual
banishment to Gyarus, one of the Cyclades. All this time,
Agathocles had never left his side: with unfaltering devotion, he
accompanied him to Italy, and was the only friend who stood by him
in his trial. And now even in his banishment he would not desert
him, but condemned himself to share the sentence; and when the
necessaries of life failed them, he hired himself out as a diver in
the purple-fishery, and with the proceeds of his industry
supported Dinias and tended him in his sickness till the end. Even
when all was over, he would not return to his own home, but
remained on the island, thinking it shame even in death to desert
his friend. There you have the history of a Greek friendship, and
one of recent date; I think it can scarcely be as much as five
years ago that Agathocles died on Gyarus.

_Tox_. I wish I were at liberty to doubt the truth of your
story: but alas! you speak under oath. Your Agathocles is a truly
Scythian friend; I only hope there are no more of the same kind to
come.

_Mne_. See what you think of the next--Euthydicus of Chalcidice. I
heard his story from Simylus, a shipmaster of Megara, who vowed
that he had been an eyewitness of what he related. He set sail from
Italy about the setting of the Pleiads, bound for Athens, with a
miscellaneous shipload of passengers, among whom were Euthydicus
and his comrade Damon, also of Chalcidice. They were of about the
same age. Euthydicus was a powerful man, in robust health; Damon
was pale and weakly, and looked as if he were just recovering from
a long illness. They had a good voyage as far as Sicily: but they
had no sooner passed through the Straits into the Ionian Sea, than
a tremendous storm overtook them. I need not detain you with
descriptions of mountainous billows and whirlwinds and hail and the
other adjuncts of a storm: suffice it to say, that they were
compelled to take in all sail, and trail cables after them to break
the force of the waves, and in this way made Zacynthus by about
midnight. At this point Damon, being seasick, as was natural in
such a heavy sea, was leaning over the side, when (as I suppose) an
unusually violent lurch of the vessel in his direction, combining
with the rush of water across the deck, hurled him headlong into
the sea. The poor wretch was not even naked, or he might have had a
chance of swimming: it was all he could do to keep himself above
water, and get out a cry for help. Euthydicus was lying in his
berth undressed. He heard the cry, flung himself into the sea, and
succeeded in overtaking the exhausted Damon; and a powerful
moonlight enabled those on deck to see him swimming at his side for
a considerable distance, and supporting him. 'We all felt for
them,' said Simylus, 'and longed to give them some assistance, but
the gale was too much for us: we did, however, throw out a number
of corks and spars on the chance of their getting hold of some of
them, and being carried to shore; and finally we threw over the
gangway, which was of some size. '--Now only think: could any man
give a surer proof of affection, than by throwing himself into a
furious sea like that to share the death of his friend? Picture to
yourself the surging billows, the roar of crashing waters, the
hissing foam, the darkness, the hopeless prospect: look at
Damon,--he is at his last gasp, he barely keeps himself up, he
holds out his hands imploringly to his friend: and lastly look at
Euthydicus, as he leaps into the water, and swims by his side, with
only one thought in his mind,--Damon must not be the first to
perish;--and you will see that Euthydicus too was no bad friend.

_Tox_. I tremble for their fate: were they drowned, or did
some miraculous providence deliver them?

_Mne_. Oh, they were saved all right; and they are in Athens
at this day, both of them, studying philosophy. Simylus's story
closes with the events of the night: Damon has fallen overboard,
Euthydicus has jumped in to his rescue, and the pair are left
swimming about till they are lost in the darkness. Euthydicus
himself tells the rest. It seems that first they came across some
pieces of cork, which helped to support them; and they managed with
much ado to keep afloat, till about dawn they saw the gangway, swam
up to it, clambered on, and were carried to Zacynthus without
further trouble. These, I think, are passable instances of
friendship; and my third is no way inferior to them, as you shall
hear.

Eudamidas of Corinth, though he was himself in very narrow
circumstances, had two friends who were well-to-do, Aretaeus his
fellow townsman, and Charixenus of Sicyon. When Eudamidas died, he
left a will behind him which I dare say would excite most people's
ridicule: but what the generous Toxaris, with his respect for
friendship and his ambition to secure its highest honours for his
country, may think of the matter, is another question. The terms of
the will--but first I should explain that Eudamidas left behind him
an aged mother and a daughter of marriageable years;--the will,
then, was as follows: _To Aretaeus I bequeath my mother, to tend
and to cherish in her old age: and to Charixenus my daughter, to
give in marriage with such dowry as his circumstances will admit
of: and should anything befall either of the legatees, then let his
portion pass to the survivor_. The reading of this will caused
some merriment among the hearers, who knew of Eudamidas's poverty,
but did not know anything of the friendship existing between him
and his heirs. They went off much tickled at the handsome legacy
that Aretaeus and Charixenus (lucky dogs! ) had come in for:
'Eudamidas,' as they expressed it, 'was apparently to have a death-
interest in the property of the legatees. ' However, the latter had
no sooner heard the will read, than they proceeded to execute the
testator's intentions. Charixenus only survived Eudamidas by five
days: but Aretaeus, most generous of heirs, accepted the double
bequest, is supporting the aged mother at this day, and has only
lately given the daughter in marriage, allowing to her and to his
own daughter portions of 500 pounds each, out of his whole property
of 1,250 pounds; the two marriages were arranged to take place on
the same day. What do you think of him, Toxaris? This is something
like friendship, is it not,--to accept such a bequest as this, and
to show such respect for a friend's last wishes? May we pass this
as one of my five?

_Tox_. Excellent as was the behaviour of Aretaeus, I admire
still more Eudamidas's confidence in his friends. It shows that he
would have done as much for them; even if nothing had been said
about it in their wills, he would have been the first to come
forward and claim the inheritance as natural heir.

_Mne_. Very true. And now I come to Number Four--Zenothemis of
Massilia, son of Charmoleos. He was pointed out to me when I was in
Italy on public business: a fine, handsome man, and to all
appearance well off. But by his side (he was just driving away on a
journey) sat his wife, a woman of most repulsive appearance; all
her right side was withered; she had lost one eye; in short, she
was a positive fright. I expressed my surprise that a man in the
prime of manly beauty should endure to have such a woman seated by
him. My informant, who was a Massiliot himself, and knew how the
marriage had come about, gave me all the particulars. 'The father
of this unsightly woman,' he said, 'was Menecrates; and he and
Zenothemis were friends in days when both were men of wealth and
rank. The property of Menecrates, however, was afterwards
confiscated by the Six Hundred, and he himself disfranchised, on
the ground that he had proposed an unconstitutional measure; this
being the regular penalty in Massilia for such offences. The
sentence was in itself a heavy blow to Menecrates, and it was
aggravated by the sudden change from wealth to poverty and from
honour to dishonour. But most of all he was troubled about this
daughter: she was now eighteen years old, and it was time that he
found her a husband; yet with her unfortunate appearance it was not
probable that any one, however poor or obscure, would have taken
her, even with all the wealth her father had possessed previous to
his sentence; it was said, too, that she was subject to fits at
every increase of the moon. He was bewailing his hard lot to
Zenothemis, when the latter interrupted him: "Menecrates," he said,
"be sure that you shall want for nothing, and that your daughter
shall find a match suitable to her rank. " So saying, he took his
friend by the hand, brought him into his house, assigned him a
share of his great wealth, and ordered a banquet to be prepared, at
which he entertained Menecrates and his friends, giving the former
to understand that he had prevailed upon one of his acquaintance to
marry the girl. When dinner was over, and libations had been poured
to the Gods, Zenothemis filled a goblet and passed it to
Menecrates: "Accept," he cried, "from your son-in-law the cup of
friendship. This day I wed your daughter Cydimache. The dowry I
have had long since; 60,000 pounds was the sum. " _"You? "_
exclaimed Menecrates; "Heaven forbid that I should be so mad as to
suffer you, in the pride of your youth, to be yoked to this
unfortunate girl! " But even while he spoke, Zenothemis was
conducting his bride to the marriage-chamber, and presently
returned to announce that she was his wedded wife. Since that day,
he has lived with her on the most affectionate terms; and you see
for yourself that he takes her about with him wherever he goes. As
to his being ashamed of his wife, one would rather 26 suppose that
he was proud of her; and his conduct in this respect shows how
lightly he esteems beauty and wealth and reputation, in comparison
with friendship and his friend; for Menecrates is not less his
friend because the Six Hundred have condemned him. To be sure,
Fortune has already given him one compensation: his ugly wife has
borne him a most beautiful child. Only a few days ago, he carried
his child into the Senate-house, crowned with an olive-wreath, and
dressed in black, to excite the pity of the senators on his
grandfather's behalf: the babe smiled upon them, and clapped his
little hands together, which so moved the senators that they
repealed the sentence against Menecrates, who is now reinstated in
his rights, thanks to the pleadings of his tiny advocate. '

Such was the Massiliot's story. As you see, it was no slight
service that Zenothemis rendered to his friend; I fancy there are
not many Scythians who would do the same; they are said to be very
nice even in their selection of concubines.

I have still one friend to produce, and I think none is more worthy
of remembrance than Demetrius of Sunium. He and Antiphilus of the
deme of Alopece had been playmates in their childhood, and grown up
side by side. They subsequently took ship for Egypt, and carried on
their studies there together, Demetrius practising the Cynic
philosophy under the famous sophist of Rhodes, while Antiphilus, it
seems, was to be a doctor. Well, on one occasion Demetrius had gone
up country to see the Pyramids, and the statue of Memnon. He had
heard it said that the Pyramids in spite of their great height cast
no shadow, and that a sound proceeded from the statue at sunrise:
all this he wished to see and hear for himself, and he had now been
away up the Nile six months. During his absence, Antiphilus, who
had remained behind (not liking the idea of the heat and the long
journey), became involved in troubles which required all the
assistance that faithful friendship could have rendered. He had a
Syrian slave, whose name was also Syrus. This man had made common
cause with a number of temple-robbers, had forced his way with them
into the temple of Anubis, and robbed the God of a pair of golden
cups, a caduceus, also of gold, some silver images of Cynocephali
and other treasures; all of which the rest entrusted to Syrus's
charge. Later on they were caught trying to dispose of some of
their booty, and were taken up; and being put on the rack,
immediately confessed the whole truth. They were accordingly
conducted to Antiphilus's house, where they produced the stolen
treasure from a dark corner under a bed. Syrus was immediately
arrested, and his master Antiphilus with him: the latter being
dragged away from the very presence of his teacher during lecture-
time. There was none to help him: his former acquaintances turned
their backs on the desecrator of Anubis's temple, and made it a
matter of conscience that they had ever sat at the same table with
him. As to his other two servants, they got together all his
belongings, and ran off.

Antiphilus had now lain long in captivity. He was looked upon as
the vilest criminal of all in the prison; and the native gaoler, a
superstitious man, considered that he was avenging the God's wrongs
and securing his favour by harsh treatment of Antiphilus. His
attempts to clear himself of the charge of sacrilege only served to
set him in the light of a hardened offender, and materially to
increase the detestation in which he was held. His health was
beginning to give way under the strain, and no wonder: his bed was
the bare ground, and all night he was unable so much as to stretch
his legs, which were then secured in the stocks; in the daytime,
the collar and one manacle sufficed, but at night he had to submit
to being bound hand and foot. The stench, too, and the closeness of
the dungeon, in which so many prisoners were huddled together
gasping for breath, and the difficulty of getting any sleep, owing
to the clanking of chains,--all combined to make the situation
intolerable to one who was quite unaccustomed to endure such
hardships.
At last, when Antiphilus had given up all hope, and
refused to take any nourishment, Demetrius arrived, ignorant of all
that had passed in his absence. He no sooner learnt the truth, than
he flew to the prison. It was now evening, and he was refused
admittance, the gaoler having long since bolted the door and
retired to rest, leaving his slaves to keep guard. Morning came,
and after many entreaties he was allowed to enter. Suffering had
altered Antiphilus beyond recognition, and for long Demetrius
sought him in vain: like men who seek their slain relatives on the
day after a battle, when death has already changed them, he went
from prisoner to prisoner, examining each in turn; and had he not
called on Antiphilus by name, it would have been long before he
could have recognized him, so great was the change that misery had
wrought. Antiphilus heard the voice, and uttered a cry; then, as
his friend approached, he brushed the dry matted hair from his
face, and revealed his identity. At the unexpected sight of one
another, the two friends instantly fell down in a swoon. But
presently Demetrius recovered, and raised Antiphilus from the
ground: he obtained from him an exact account of all that had
happened, and bade him be of good cheer; then, tearing his cloak in
two, he threw one half over himself, and gave the other to his
friend, first ripping off the squalid, threadbare rags in which he
was clothed. From that hour, Demetrius was unfailing in his
attendance. From early morning till noon, he hired himself out as a
porter to the merchants in the harbour, and thus made a
considerable wage. Returning to the prison when his work was over,
he would give a part of his earnings to the gaoler, thus securing
his obsequious goodwill, and the rest sufficed him amply for
supplying his friend's needs. For the remainder of the day, he
would stay by Antiphilus, administering consolation to him; and at
nightfall made himself a litter of leaves near the prison door, and
there took his rest. So things went on for some time, Demetrius
having free entrance to the prison, and Antiphilus's misery being
much alleviated thereby. But presently a certain robber died in the
gaol, apparently from the effects of poison; a strict watch was
kept, and admittance was refused to all applicants alike, to the
great distress of Demetrius, who could think of no other means of
obtaining access to his friend than by going to the Prefect and
professing complicity in the temple robbery. As the result of this
declaration, he was immediately led off to prison, and with great
difficulty prevailed upon the gaoler after many entreaties to place
him next to Antiphilus, and under the same collar. It was now that
his devotion to his friend appeared in the strongest light. Ill
though he was himself, he thought nothing of his own sufferings:
his only care was to lighten the affliction of his friend, and to
procure him as much rest as possible; and the companionship in
misery certainly lightened their load. Finally an event happened
which brought their misfortunes to an end. One of the prisoners had
somehow got hold of a file. He took a number of the others into his
confidence, filed through the chain which held them together by
means of their collars, and set all at liberty. The guards being
few were easily slain; and the prisoners burst out of the gaol
_en masse_. They then scattered, and each took refuge for the
moment where he could, most of them being subsequently recaptured.
Demetrius and Antiphilus, however, remained in the prison, and even
secured Syrus when he was about to escape. The next morning the
Prefect, hearing what had happened, sent men in pursuit of the
other prisoners, and Demetrius and Antiphilus, being summoned to
his presence, were released from their fetters, and commended for
not having run away like the rest. The friends, however, declined
to accept their dismissal on such terms: Demetrius protested loudly
against the injustice which would be done to them if they were to
pass for criminals, who owed their discharge to mercy, or to their
discretion in not having run away. They insisted that the judge
should examine carefully into the facts of their case. He at length
did so; and was convinced of their innocence, did justice to their
characters, and, with a warm commendation of Demetrius's conduct,
dismissed them; but not before he had expressed his regret at the
unjust sentence under which they had suffered, and made each of
them a present from his own purse,--400 pounds to Antiphilus, and
twice that sum to Demetrius. Antiphilus is still in Egypt at the
present time, but Demetrius went off to India to visit the
Brahmins, leaving his 800 pounds with Antiphilus. He could now, he
said, leave his friend with a clear conscience. His own wants were
simple, and as long as they continued so, he had no need of money:
on the other hand, Antiphilus, in his present easy circumstances,
had as little need of a friend.

See, Toxaris, what a Greek friend can do! You were so hard just now
upon our rhetorical vanity, that I forbear to give you the
admirable pleadings of Demetrius in court: not one word did he say
in his own behalf; all was for Antiphilus; he wept and implored,
and sought to take all the guilt upon himself; till at last the
confession of Syrus under torture cleared them both. These loyal
friends whose stories I have related were the first that occurred
to my memory; where I have given five instances, I might have given
fifty. And now I am silent: it is your turn to speak. I need not
tell you to make the most of your Scythians, and bring them out
triumphant if you can: you will do that for your own sake, if you
set any value on that right hand of yours. Quit you, then, like a
man. You would look foolish if, after your truly professional
panegyric of Orestes and Pylades, your art were to fail you in your
country's need.

_Tox_. I honour you for your disinterested encouragement:
apparently you are under no uneasiness as to the loss of your
tongue, in the event of my winning. Well, I will begin: and you
will get no flowery language from me; it is not our Scythian way,
especially when the deeds we handle dwarf description. Be prepared
for something very different from the subjects of your own eulogy:
here will be no marryings of ugly and dowerless women, no five-
hundred-pound-portionings of friends' daughters, nor even
surrenderings of one's person to gaolers, with the certain prospect
of a speedy release. These are very cheap manifestations; the
lofty, the heroic, is altogether wanting. I have to speak of blood
and war and death for friendship's sake; you will learn that all
you have related is child's-play, when compared with the deeds of
the Scythians. After all, it is natural enough: what should you do
but admire these trifles? Living in the midst of peace, you have no
scope for the exhibition of an exalted friendship, just as in a
calm we cannot tell a good pilot from a bad; we must wait till a
storm comes; then we know. We, on the contrary, live in a state of
perpetual warfare, now invading, now receding, now contending for
pasturage or booty. There is the true sphere of friendship; and
there is the reason that its ties among us are drawn so close;
friendship we hold to be the one invincible, irresistible weapon.

But before I begin, I should like to describe to you our manner of
making friends. Friendships are not formed with us, as with you,
over the wine-cups, nor are they determined by considerations of
age or neighbourhood. We wait till we see a brave man, capable of
valiant deeds, and to him we all turn our attention. Friendship
with us is like courtship with you: rather than fail of our object,
and undergo the disgrace of a rejection, we are content to urge our
suit patiently, and to give our constant attendance. At length a
friend is accepted, and the engagement is concluded with our most
solemn oath: 'to live together and if need be to die for one
another. ' That vow is faithfully kept: once let the friends draw
blood from their fingers into a cup, dip the points of their swords
therein, and drink of that draught together, and from that moment
nothing can part them. Such a treaty of friendship may include
three persons, but no more: a man of many friends we consider to be
no better than a woman who is at the service of every lover; we
feel no further security in a friendship that is divided between so
many objects.

I will commence with the recent story of Dandamis. In our conflict
with the Sauromatae, Dandamis's friend Amizoces had been taken
captive,--oh, but first I must take the Scythian oath, as we agreed
at the start. I swear by Wind and Scimetar that I will speak
nothing but truth of the Scythian friendships.

_Mne_. You need not have troubled to swear, as far as I am
concerned. However, you showed judgement in not swearing by a God.

_Tox_. What can you mean? Wind and Scimetar not Gods? Are you
now to learn that life and death are the highest considerations
among mankind? When we swear by Wind and Scimetar, we do so because
Wind is the cause of life and Scimetar of death.

_Mne_. On that principle, you get a good many other Gods
besides Scimetar, and as good as he: there is Arrow, and Spear, and
Hemlock, and Halter, and so on. Death is a God who assumes many
shapes; numberless are the roads that lead into his presence.

_Tox_. Now you are just trying to spoil my story with these
quibbling objections. I gave _you_ a fair hearing.

_Mne_. You are quite right, Toxaris; it shall not occur again,
be easy on that score. I'll be so quiet, you would never know I was
here at all.

_Tox_. Four days after Dandamis and Amizoces had shared the
cup of blood, the Sauromatae invaded our territory with 10,000
horse, their infantry being estimated at three times that number.
The invasion was unexpected, and we were completely routed; many of
our warriors were slain, and the rest taken captive, with the
exception of a few who managed to swim across to the opposite bank
of the river, on which half our host was encamped, with a part of
the waggons. The reason of this arrangement I do not know; but our
leaders had seen good to divide our camp between the two banks of
the Tanais. The enemy at once set to work to secure their booty and
collect the captives; they plundered the camp, and took possession
of the waggons, most of them with their occupants; and we had the
mortification of seeing our wives and concubines mishandled before
our very eyes. Amizoces was among the prisoners, and while he was
being dragged along he called upon his friend by name, to witness
his captivity and to remember the cup of blood. Dandamis heard him,
and without a moment's delay plunged into the river in the sight of
all, and swam across to the enemy. The Sauromatae rushed upon him,
and were about to transfix him with their raised javelins, when he
raised the cry of Zirin. The man who pronounces that word is safe
from their weapons: it indicates that he is the bearer of ransom,
and he is received accordingly. Being conducted into the presence
of their chief, he demanded the liberation of Amizoces, and was
told in reply, that his friend would only be released upon payment
of a high ransom. 'All that was once mine,' said Dandamis, 'has
become your booty: but if one who is stripped of all can have
anything yet left to give, it is at your disposal. Name your terms:
take me, if you will, in his place, and use me as seems best to
you. ' 'To detain the person of one who comes with the Zirin on his
lips is out of the question: but you may take back your friend on
paying me a part of your possessions. ' 'What will you have? ' asked
Dandamis. 'Your eyes,' was the reply. Dandamis submitted: his eyes
were plucked out, and the Sauromatae had their ransom. He returned
leaning on his friend, and they swam across together, and reached
us in safety.

There was comfort for all of us in this act of Dandamis. Our
defeat, it seemed, was no defeat, after all: our most precious
possessions had escaped the hands of our enemies; loyal friendship,
noble resolution, these were still our own. On the Sauromatae it
had the contrary effect: they did not at all like the idea of
engaging with such determined adversaries on equal terms; gaining
an advantage of them by means of a surprise was quite another
matter. The end of it was, that when night came on they left behind
the greater part of the herds, burnt the waggons, and beat a hasty
retreat. As for Amizoces, he could not endure to see, when Dandamis
was blind: he blinded himself, and the two now sit at home,
supported in all honour at the public expense.

Can you match that, friend? I think not, though I should give you
ten new chances on the top of your five; ay, and release you from
your oath, too, for that matter, leaving you free to exaggerate as
much as you choose. Besides, I have given you just the bare facts.
Now, if _you_ had been telling Dandamis's story, what embroidery we
should have had! The supplications of Dandamis, the blinding
process, his remarks on the occasion, the circumstances of his
return, the effusive greetings of the Scythians, and all the _ad
captandum_ artifices that you Greeks understand so well.

And now let me introduce you to another friend, not inferior to
Dandamis,--a cousin of Amizoces, Belitta by name. Belitta was once
hunting with his friend Basthes, when the latter was torn from his
horse by a lion. Already the brute had fallen upon him, and was
clutching him by the throat and beginning to tear him to pieces,
when Belitta, leaping to earth, rushed upon him from behind, and
attempted to drag him off, and to turn his rage upon himself,
thrusting his hands into the brute's mouth, and doing his best to
extricate Basthes from those teeth. He succeeded at last: the lion,
abandoning his half dead prey, turned upon Belitta, grappled with
him, and slew him; but not before Belitta had plunged a scimetar
into his breast. Thus all three died together; and we buried them,
the two friends in one grave, the lion in another close by.

For my third instance, I shall give you the friendship of Macentes,
Lonchates, and Arsacomas. This Arsacomas had been on a visit to
Leucanor, king of Bosphorus, in connexion with the tribute annually
paid to us by that country, which tribute was then three months
overdue; and while there he had fallen in love with Mazaea, the
king's daughter. Mazaea was an extremely fine woman, and Arsacomas,
seeing her at the king's table, had been much smitten with her
charms. The question of the tribute was at length settled,
Arsacomas had his answer, and the king was now entertaining him
prior to his departure. It is the custom for suitors in that
country to make their proposals at table, stating at the same time
their qualifications. Now in the present case there were a number
of suitors--kings and sons of kings, among whom were Tigrapates the
prince of the Lazi and Adyrmachus the chief of the Machlyans. What
each suitor has to do is, first to declare his intentions, and
quietly take his seat at table with the rest; then, when dinner is
over, he calls for a goblet, pours libation upon the table, and
makes his proposal for the lady's hand, saying whatever he can for
himself in the way of birth, wealth, and dominion. Many suitors,
then, had already preferred their request in due form, enumerating
their realms and possessions, when at last Arsacomas called for a
cup. He did not make a libation, because it is not the Scythian
custom to do so; we should consider it an insult to Heaven to pour
away good wine: instead, he drank it all off at one draught, and
then addressed the king. 'Sire,' he said, 'give _me_ your
daughter Mazaea to wife: if wealth and possessions count for
anything, I am a fitter husband for her than these. ' Leucanor was
surprised: he knew that Arsacomas was but a poor commoner among the
Scythians. 'What herds, what waggons have you, Arsacomas? ' he
asked; 'these are the wealth of your people. ' 'Waggons and herds I
have none,' was Arsacomas's reply: 'but I have two excellent
friends, whose like you will not find in all Scythia. ' His answer
only excited ridicule; it was attributed to drunkenness, and no
further notice was taken of him. Adyrmachus was preferred to the
other suitors, and was to take his bride away the next morning to
his Maeotian home. Arsacomas on his return informed his friends of
the slight that had been put upon him by the king, and of the
ridicule to which he had been subjected on account of his supposed
poverty. 'And yet,' he added, 'I told him of my wealth: told him
that I had the friendship of Lonchates and Macentes, a more
precious and more lasting possession than his kingdom of Bosphorus.
But he made light of it; he jeered at us; and gave his daughter to
Adyrmachus the Machlyan, because he had ten golden cups, and eighty
waggons of four seats, and a number of sheep and oxen. It seems
that herds and lumbering waggons and superfluous beakers are to
count for more than brave men. My friends, I am doubly wounded: I
love Mazaea, and I cannot forget the humiliation which I have
suffered before so many witnesses, and in which you are both
equally involved. Ever since we were united in friendship, are we
not one flesh? are not our joys and our sorrows the same? If this
be so, each of us has his share in this disgrace. ' 'Not only so,'
rejoined Lonchates; 'each of us labours under the whole ignominy of
the affront. ' 'And what is to be our course? ' asked Macentes. 'We
will divide the work,' replied the other. 'I for my part undertake
to present Arsacomas with the head of Leucanor: you must bring him
his bride. ' 'I agree. And you, Arsacomas, can stay at home; and as
we are likely to want an army before we have done, you must be
getting together horses and arms, and raise what men you can, A man
like you will have no difficulty in getting plenty of people to
join him, and there are all our relations; besides, you can sit on
the ox-hide. ' This being settled, Lonchates set off just as he was
for the Bosphorus, and Macentes for Machlyene, each on horseback;
while Arsacomas remained behind, consulting with his acquaintance,
raising forces from among the relations of the three, and, finally,
taking his seat on the ox-hide.

Our custom of the hide is as follows. When a man has been injured
by another, and desires vengeance, but feels that he is no match
for his opponent, he sacrifices an ox, cuts up the flesh and cooks
it, and spreads out the hide upon the ground. On this hide he takes
his seat, holding his hands behind him, so as to suggest that his
arms are tied in that position, this being the natural attitude of
a suppliant among us. Meanwhile, the flesh of the ox has been laid
out; and the man's relations and any others who feel so disposed
come up and take a portion thereof, and, setting their right foot
on the hide, promise whatever assistance is in their power: one
will engage to furnish and maintain five horsemen, another ten, a
third some larger number; while others, according to their ability,
promise heavy or light-armed infantry, and the poorest, who have
nothing else to give, offer their own personal services. The number
of persons assembled on the hide is sometimes very considerable;
nor could any troops be more reliable or more invincible than those
which are collected in this manner, being as they are under a vow;
for the act of stepping on to the hide constitutes an oath. By this
means, then, Arsacomas raised something like 5,000 cavalry and
20,000 heavy and light armed.

Meanwhile, Lonchates arrived unknown in Bosphorus, and presented
himself co the king, who was occupied at the moment in affairs of
state. 'I come,' he said, 'on public business from Scythia: but I
have also a private communication of high import to make to your
Majesty. ' The king bade him proceed. 'As to my public errand, it is
the old story: we protest against your herdsmen's crossing the
Rocks and encroaching on the plains. And with reference to the
robbers of whom you complain, I am instructed to say that our
government is not responsible for their incursions, which are the
work of private individuals, actuated merely by the love of booty;
accordingly, you are at liberty to punish as many of them as you
can secure, And now for my own news. You will shortly be invaded by
a large host under Arsacomas the son of Mariantas, who was lately
at your court as an ambassador. I suppose the cause of his
resentment is your refusing him your daughter's hand. He has now
been on the ox-hide for seven days, and has got together a
considerable force. ' 'I had heard,' exclaimed Leucanor, 'that an
army was being raised on the hide: but who was raising it, and what
was its destination, I had no idea. ' 'You know now,' said
Lonchates. 'Arsacomas is a personal enemy of mine: the superior
esteem in which I am held, and the preference shown for me by our
elders, are things which he cannot forgive. Now promise me your
other daughter Barcetis: apart from my present services, I shall be
no discreditable son-in-law: promise me this, and in no long time I
will return bringing you the head of Arsacomas. ' 'I promise,' cried
the king, in great perturbation; for he realized the provocation he
had given to Arsacomas, and had a wholesome respect for the
Scythians at all times. 'Swear,' insisted Lonchates, 'that you will
not go back from your promise. ' The king was already raising up his
hand to Heaven, when the other interrupted him. 'Wait! ' he
exclaimed; 'not here! these people must not know what is the
subject of our oath. Let us go into the temple of Ares yonder, and
swear with closed doors, where none may hear. If Arsacomas should
get wind of this, I am likely to be offered up as a preliminary
sacrifice; he has a good number of men already. ' 'To the temple,
then, let us go,' said the king; and he ordered the guards to
remain aloof, and forbade any one to approach the temple unless
summoned by him. As soon as they were inside, and the guards had
withdrawn, Lonchates drew his sword, and putting his left hand on
the king's mouth to prevent his crying out, plunged it into his
breast; then, cutting off his head, he went out from the temple
carrying it under his cloak; affecting all the time to be speaking
to the king, and promising that he would not be long, as if the
king had sent him on some errand. He thus succeeded in reaching the
place where he had left his horse tethered, leapt on to his back,
and rode off into Scythia. There was no pursuit: the people of
Bosphorus took some time to discover what had happened; and then
they were occupied with disputes as to the succession. Thus
Lonchates fulfilled his promise, and handed the head of Leucanor to
Arsacomas.

The news of this reached Macentes while he was on his way to
Machlyene, and on his arrival there he was the first to announce
the king's death. 'You, Adyrmachus,' he added, 'are his son-in-law,
and are now summoned to the throne. Ride on in advance, and
establish your claim while all is still unsettled. Your bride can
follow with the waggons; the presence of Leucanor's daughter will
be of assistance to you in securing the support of the Bosphorans.
I myself am an Alanian, and am related to this lady by the mother's
side: Leucanor's wife, Mastira, was of my family. I now come to you
from Mastira's brothers in Alania: they would have you make the
best of your way to Bosphorus at once, or you will find your crown
on the head of Eubiotus, Leucanor's bastard brother, who is a
friend to Scythia, and detested by the Alanians. ' In language and
dress, Macentes resembled an Alanian; for in these respects there
is no difference between Scythians and Alanians, except that the
Alanians do not wear such long hair as we do. Macentes had
completed the resemblance by cropping his hair to the right
shortness, and was thus enabled to pass for a kinsman of Mastira
and Mazaea. 'And now, Adyrmachus,' he concluded, 'I am ready to go
with you to Bosphorus; or, if you prefer it, I will escort your
bride. ' 'If you will do the latter,' replied Adyrmachus, 'I shall
be particularly obliged, since you are Mazaea's kinsman. If you go
with us, it is but one horseman more; whereas no one could be such
a suitable escort for my wife. ' And so it was settled: Adyrmachus
rode off, and left Mazaea, who was still a maid, in the care of
Macentes. During the day, Macentes accompanied Mazaea in the
waggon: but at nightfall he placed her on horseback (he had taken
care that there should be a horseman in attendance), and, mounting
behind her, abandoned his former course along the Maeotian Lake,
and struck off into the interior, keeping the Mitraean Mountains on
his right. He allowed Mazaea some time for rest, and completed the
whole journey from Machlyene to Scythia on the third day; his horse
stood still for a few moments after arrival, and then dropped down
dead. 'Behold,' said Macentes, presenting Mazaea to Arsacomas,
'behold your promised bride. ' Arsacomas, amazed at so unexpected a
sight, was beginning to express his gratitude: but Macentes bade
him hold his peace. 'You speak,' he exclaimed, 'as if you and I
were different persons, when you thank me for what I have done. It
is as if my left hand should say to my right: Thank you for tending
my wound; thank you for your generous sympathy with my pain. That
would be no more absurd than for us--who have long been united, and
have become (so far as such a thing may be) one flesh--to make such
ado because one part of us has done its duty by the whole; the limb
is but serving its own interest in promoting the welfare of the
body. ' And that was how Macentes received his friend's thanks.

Adyrmachus, on hearing of the trick that had been played upon him,
did not pursue his journey to Bosphorus; indeed, Eubiotus was
already on the throne, having been summoned thither from his home
in Sarmatia. He therefore returned to his own country, collected a
large army, and marched across the mountains into Scythia. He was
presently followed by Eubiotus himself, at the head of a
miscellaneous army of Greeks, together with 20,000 each of his
Alanian and Sarmatian allies. The two joined forces, and the result
was an army of 90,000 men, one third of whom were mounted bowmen.
We Scythians (I say _we_, because I myself took part in this
enterprise, and was maintaining a hundred horse on the hide)--we
Scythians then, numbering in all not much less than 30,000 men,
including cavalry, awaited their onset, under the command of
Arsacomas. As soon as we saw them approaching, we too advanced,
sending on our cavalry ahead. After a long and obstinate
engagement, our lines were broken, and we began to give ground; and
finally our whole army was cut clean in two. One half had not
suffered a decisive defeat; with these it was rather a retreat than
a flight, nor did the Alanians venture to follow up their advantage
for any distance. But the other and smaller division was completely
surrounded by the Alanians and Machlyans, and was being shot down
on every side by the copious discharge of arrows and javelins; the
position became intolerable, and most of our men were beginning to
throw down their arms. In this latter division were Lonchates and
Macentes. They had borne the brunt of the attack, and both were
wounded: Lonchates had a spear-thrust in his thigh, and Macentes,
besides a cut on the head from an axe, had had his shoulder damaged
by a pike.