No More Learning

My Olympic boxing and wrestling victories would
be thrown away.

Whom have we now? is this Thrasycles the philosopher? sure enough it
is. A halo of beard, eyebrows an inch above their place, superiority
in his air, a look that might storm heaven, locks waving to the wind--
'tis a very Boreas or Triton from Zeuxis' pencil. This hero of the
careful get-up, the solemn gait, the plain attire--in the morning he
will utter a thousand maxims, expounding Virtue, arraigning self-
indulgence, lauding simplicity; and then, when he gets to dinner after
his bath, his servant fills him a bumper (he prefers it neat), and
draining this Lethe-draught he proceeds to turn his morning maxima
inside out; he swoops like a hawk on dainty dishes, elbows his
neighbour aside, fouls his beard with trickling sauce, laps like a
dog, with his nose in his plate, as if he expected to find Virtue
there, and runs his finger all round the bowl, not to lose a drop of
the gravy. Let him monopolize pastry or joint, he will still criticize
the carving--that is all the satisfaction his ravenous greed brings
him--; when the wine is in, singing and dancing are delights not
fierce enough; he must brawl and rave. He has plenty to say in his
cups--he is then at his best in that kind--upon temperance and
decorum; he is full of these when his potations have reduced him to
ridiculous stuttering. Next the wine disagrees with him, and at last
he is carried out of the room, holding on with all his might to the
flute-girl. Take him sober, for that matter, and you will hardly find
his match at lying, effrontery or avarice. He is _facile princeps_ of
flatterers, perjury sits on his tongue-tip, imposture goes before him,
and shamelessness is his good comrade; oh, he is a most ingenious
piece of work, finished at all points, a _multum in parvo_. I am
afraid his kind heart will be grieved presently. Why, how is this,
Thrasycles? I must say, you have taken your time about coming.

_Thr_. Ah, Timon, I am not come like the rest of the crowd; _they_ are
dazzled by your wealth; they are gathered together with an eye to gold
and silver and high living; they will soon be showing their servile
tricks before your unsuspicious, generous self. As for me, you know a
crust is all the dinner I care for; the relish I like best is a bit of
thyme or cress; on festal days I may go as far as a sprinkling of
salt. My drink is the crystal spring; and this threadbare cloak is
better than your gay robes. Gold--I value it no higher than pebbles on
the beach. What brought _me_ was concern for you; I would not have you
ruined by this same pestilent wealth, this temptation for plunderers;
many is the man it has sunk in helpless misery. Take my advice, and
fling it bodily into the sea; a good man, to whom the wealth of
philosophy is revealed, has no need of the other. It does not matter
about deep water, my good sir; wade in up to your waist when the tide
is near flood, and _let no one see you but me_. Or if that is not
satisfactory, here is another plan even better. Get it all out of the
house as quick as you can, not reserving a penny for yourself, and
distribute it to the poor five shillings to one, five pounds to
another, a hundred to a third; philosophy might constitute a claim to
a double or triple share. For my part--and I do not ask for myself,
only to divide it among my needy friends--I should be quite content
with as much as my scrip would hold; it is something short of two
standard bushels; if one professes philosophy, one must be moderate
and have few needs--none that go beyond the capacity of a scrip.

_Tim_. Very right, Thrasycles. But instead of a mere scripful, pray
take a whole headful of clouts, standard measure by the spade.

_Thr_. Land of liberty, equality, legality! protect me against this
ruffian!

_Tim_. What is your grievance, my good man? is the measure short? here
is a pint or two extra, then, to put it right.

Why, what now? here comes a crowd; friend Blepsias, Laches, Gniphon;
their name is legion; they shall howl soon. I had better get up on the
rock; my poor tired spade wants a little rest; I will collect all the
stones I can lay hands on, and pepper them at long range.

_Bl_. Don't throw, Timon; we are going.

_Tim_. Whether the retreat will be bloodless, however, is another
question.

H.




PROMETHEUS ON CAUCASUS

_Hermes. Hephaestus. Prometheus. _


_Her_. This, Hephaestus, is the Caucasus, to which it is our painful
duty to nail our companion. We have now to select a suitable crag,
free from snow, on which the chains will have a good hold, and the
prisoner will hang in all publicity.

_Heph_. True. It will not do to fix him too low down, or these _men_
of his might come to their maker's assistance; nor at the top, where
he would be invisible from the earth. What do you say to a middle
course? Let him hang over this precipice, with his arms stretched
across from crag to crag.

_Her_. The very thing. Steep rocks, slightly overhanging, inaccessible
on every side; no foothold but a mere ledge, with scarcely room for
the tips of one's toes; altogether a sweet spot for a crucifixion.
Now, Prometheus, come and be nailed up; there is no time to lose.

_Prom_. Nay, hear me; Hephaestus! Hermes! I suffer injustice: have
compassion on my woes!

_Her_. In other words, disobey orders, and promptly be gibbeted in
your stead! Do you suppose there is not room on the Caucasus to peg
out a couple of us? Come, your right hand! clamp it down, Hephaestus,
and in with the nails; bring down the hammer with a will. Now the
left; make sure work of that too. --So! --The eagle will shortly be
here, to trim your liver; so ingenious an artist is entitled to every
attention.

_Prom_. O Cronus, and Iapetus, and Mother Earth! Behold the sufferings
of the innocent!

_Her_. Why, as to innocence,--to begin with, there was that business
of the sacrificial meats, your manner of distributing which was most
unfair, most disingenuous: you got all the choice parts for yourself,
and put Zeus off with bones 'wrapped up in shining fat'; I remember
the passage in Hesiod; those are his very words. Then you made these
human beings; creatures of unparalleled wickedness, the women
especially. And to crown all, you stole fire, the most precious
possession of the Gods, and gave it to them. And with all this on your
conscience, you protest that you have done nothing to deserve
captivity.

_Prom_. Ah, Hermes; you are as bad as Hector; you 'blame the
blameless. ' For such crimes as these, I deserve a round pension, if
justice were done. And by the way, I should like, if you can spare the
time, to answer to these charges, and satisfy you of the injustice of
my sentence. You can employ your practised eloquence on behalf of
Zeus, and justify his conduct in nailing me up here at the Gates of
the Caspian, for all Scythia to behold and pity.

_Her_. There is nothing to be gained now by an appeal to another
court; it is too late. Proceed, however. We have to wait in any case
till the eagle comes to look after that liver of yours; and the time
might be worse spent than in listening to the subtleties of such a
master in impudence as yourself.

_Prom_. You begin then, Hermes. Exert all your powers of invective;
leave no stone unturned to establish the righteousness of papa's
judgements. --You, Hephaestus, shall compose the jury.

_Heph_. The jury! Not a bit of it; I am a party in this case. My
furnace has been cold, ever since you stole that fire.

_Prom_. Well, at this rate you had better divide the prosecution
between you. You conduct the case of larceny, and Hermes can handle
the man-making, and the misappropriation of meat. I shall expect a
great deal of you; you are both artists.

_Heph_. Hermes shall speak for me. The law is not in my line; my
forge takes up most of my time. But Hermes is an orator; he has made a
study of these things.

_Prom_. Well! I should never have thought that Hermes would have the
heart to reproach me with larceny; he ought to have a fellow-feeling
for me there. However, with this further responsibility on your
shoulders, there is no time to be lost, son of Maia; out with your
accusation, and have done with it.

_Her_. To deal adequately with your crimes, Prometheus, would require
many words and much preparation. It is not enough to mention the
several counts of the accusation; how, entrusted with the distribution
of meats, you defrauded the crown by retaining the choicer portions
for your own use; how you created the race of men, with absolutely no
justification for so doing; how you stole fire and conveyed it to
these same men. You seem not to realize, my friend, that, all-things
considered, Zeus has dealt very handsomely by you. Now, if you deny
the charges, I shall be compelled to establish your guilt at some
length, and to set the facts in the clearest possible light. But if
you admit the distribution of meat in the manner described, the
introduction of men, and the theft of fire,--then my case is complete,
and there is no more to be said. To expatiate further would be to talk
nonsense.

_Prom_. Perhaps there has been some nonsense talked already; that
remains to be seen. But as you say your case is now complete, I will
see what I can do in the way of refutation. And first about that meat.
Though, upon my word, I blush for Zeus when I name it: to think that
he should be so touchy about trifles, as to send off a God of my
quality to crucifixion, just because he found a little bit of bone in
his share! Does he forget the services I have rendered him? And does
he think what it is that he is so angry about, and how childish it is
to show temper about a little thing like that? What if he did miss
getting the better share? Why, Hermes, these tricks that are played
over the wine-cups are not worth thinking twice about. A joke,
perhaps, is carried a little too far, in the warmth of the feast;
still, it is a joke, and resentment should be left behind in the dregs
of the bowl. I have no patience with your long memories; this nursing
of grievances, this raking up of last night's squabbles, is unworthy
of a king, let alone a king of Gods. Once take away from our feasts
the little elegancies of quip and crank and wile, and what is left?
Muzziness; repletion; silence;--cheerful accompaniments these to the
wine-bowl! For my part, I never supposed that Zeus would give the
matter a thought the next morning; much less that he would make such a
stir about it, and think himself so mightily injured; my little
manoeuvre with the meat was merely a playful experiment, to see which
he would choose. It might have been worse. Instead of giving him the
inferior half, I might have defrauded him of the whole. And what if I
had? Would that have been a case for putting heaven and earth in
commotion, for deep designs of chain and cross and Caucasus,
dispatchings of eagles, rendings of livers? These things tell a sad
tale, do they not, of the puny soul, the little mind, the touchy
temper of the aggrieved party? How would he take the loss of a whole
ox, who storms to such purpose over a few pounds of meat? How much
more reasonable is the conduct of mortals, though one would have
expected them to be more irritable than Gods! A mortal would never
want his cook crucified for dipping a finger into the stew-pan, or
filching a mouthful from the roast; they overlook these things. At the
worst their resentment is satisfied with a box on the ears or a rap on
the head. I find no precedent among them for crucifixion in such
cases. So much for the affair of the meat; there is little credit to
be got in the refutation of such a charge, and still less in the
bringing of it.

I am next to speak of my creation of mankind. And here the terms of
your accusation are ambiguous. I have to choose between two distinct
possibilities. Do you maintain that I had no right to create men at
all, that I ought to have left the senseless clay alone? Or do you
only complain of the form in which I designed them? However, I shall
have something to say on both points. I shall first endeavour to show
that no harm has accrued to the Gods from my bringing mankind into
existence; and shall then proceed to the positive advantages and
improvements which have resulted to them from the peopling of the
earth. The question as to the harm done by my innovation is best
answered by an appeal to the past, to those days when the race of
heaven-born Gods stood alone, and earth was a hideous shapeless mass,
a tangle of rude vegetation. The Gods had no altars then, nor temples
(for who should raise them? ), no images of wood or stone, such as now
abound in every corner of the earth, and are honoured with all
observance. It was to me that the idea occurred--amid my ceaseless
meditations on the common welfare, on the aggrandizement of the Gods
and the promotion of order and beauty in the universe--of setting all
to rights with a handful of clay; of creating living things, and
moulding them after our own likeness. I saw what was lacking to our
godhead: some counterpart, some foil wherein to set off its
blessedness. And that counterpart must be mortal; but in all else
exquisitely contrived, perfect in intelligence, keen to appreciate our
superiority. Thereupon, I moulded my material,

With water mingling clay,

and created man, calling in Athene to aid me in the task. And this is
my rank offence against the Gods. Destructive work,--to reduce
inanimate clay to life and motion! The Gods, it seems, are Gods no
longer, now that there are mortal creatures on the earth. To judge at
least by Zeus's indignation, one would suppose that the Gods suffered
some loss of prestige from the creation of mankind; unless it is that
he is afraid of another revolt, of their waging war with heaven, like
the Giants.

That the cause of the Gods suffered nothing at my hands is evident;
show me the slightest instance to the contrary, and I will say no
more; I have but my deserts. But for the positive benefits I have
conferred, use the evidence of your eyes. The earth, no longer barren
and untilled, is decked with cities and farms and the fruits of
cultivation; the sea has its ships, the islands their inhabitants.
Everywhere are altars and temples, everywhere festivals and
sacrifices:

Zeus with his presence fills their gatherings,
He fills their streets.

Had I created mankind for my own private convenience, it might perhaps
have denoted a grasping spirit: but I made them common property; they
are at the service of every God of you. Nay more: temples of Zeus, and
Apollo, and Hera, temples of Hermes, are everywhere to be seen; but
who ever saw a temple of Prometheus? You may judge from this, how far
I have sacrificed the common cause to my private ambition.

And further. Consider, Hermes: can any good thing whatsoever, be it
gift of Nature or work of our hands, give the full measure of
enjoyment to its possessor, when there is none to see, none to admire?
You see whither my question tends? But for mankind, the glories of the
universe must have been without a witness; and there was little
satisfaction to be derived from a wealth which was doomed to excite no
envy in others. We should have lacked a standard for comparison; and
should never have known the extent of our happiness, while all were as
happy as ourselves. The great is not great, till it is compared with
the small. Yet instead of honouring me for my political insight, you
crucify me; such are the wages of wisdom!

Ah, but (you will say) there is so much wickedness among them;
adultery, war, incest, parricide. Well, I fancy these are not unknown
among ourselves? And I am sure no one would think that a reason for
saying that Uranus and Ge made a mistake in creating us. Or again, you
will complain that we have so much trouble in looking after them. At
that rate, a shepherd ought to object to the possession of a flock,
because he has to look after it. Besides, a certain show of occupation
is rather gratifying than otherwise; the responsibility is not
unwelcome,--it helps to pass the time. What should we do, if we had
not mankind to think of? There would be nothing to live for; we should
sit about drinking nectar and gorging ourselves with ambrosia. But
what fairly takes away my breath is, your assurance in finding fault
with my _women_ in particular, when all the time you are in love
with them: our bulls and satyrs and swans are never tired of making
descents upon the Earth; women, they find, are good enough to be made
the mothers of Gods!

Yes, yes (you will say), it was quite right that men should be
created, but they should not have been made in our likeness. And what
better model could I have taken than this, whose perfection I knew?
Was I to make them brute beasts without understanding? Had they been
other than they are, how should they have paid you due honour and
sacrifice? When the hecatombs are getting ready, you think nothing of
a journey to the ends of the earth to see the 'blameless Ethiopians';
and my reward for procuring you these advantages is--crucifixion! But
on this subject I have said enough.

And now, with your permission, I will approach the subject of that
stolen fire, of which we hear so much. I have a question to ask, which
I beg you will answer frankly. Has there been one spark less fire in
Heaven, since men shared it with us? Of course not. It is the nature
of fire, that it does not become less by being imparted to others. A
fire is not put out by kindling another from it. No, this is sheer
envy: you cannot bear that men should have a share of this necessary,
though you have suffered no harm thereby. For shame! Gods should be
beneficent, 'givers of good'; they should be above all envy. Had I
taken away fire altogether, and left not a spark behind, it would have
been no great loss. You have no use for it. You are never cold; you
need no artificial light; nor is ambrosia improved by boiling. To man,
on the other hand, fire is indispensable for many purposes,
particularly for those of sacrifice; how else are they to fill their
streets with the savour of burnt-offerings, and the fumes of
frankincense I how else to burn fat thigh-pieces upon your altars? I
observe that you take a particular pleasure in the steam arising
therefrom, and think no feast more delicious than the smell of roast
meat, as it mounts heavenwards

In eddying clouds of smoke.
Your present complaint, you see, is sadly at variance with this taste.
I wonder you do not forbid the Sun to shine on mankind. He too is of
fire, and fire of a purer and diviner quality. Has anything been said
to _him_ about his lavish expenditure of your property?

And now I have done. If there is any flaw in my defence, it is for you
two to refute me. I shall answer your objections in due course.

_Her_. Nay, you are too hard for us, Prometheus; we will not attempt a
sophist of your mettle. Well for you that Zeus is not within earshot,
or you would have had a round dozen of hungry vultures to reckon with,
for certain; in clearing your own character, you have grievously
mishandled his. But one thing puzzles me: you are a prophet; you ought
to have foreseen your sentence.

_Prom_. All this I knew, and more than this; for I shall be released;
nay, even now the day is not far off when one of your blood shall come
from Thebes, and shoot this eagle with which you threaten me
[Footnote: See _Prometheus_ in Notes. ].

_Her_. With all my heart! I shall be delighted to see you free again,
and feasting in our midst; but not, my friend, not carving for us!

_Prom_. You may take my word for it; I shall be with you again. I have
the wherewithal to pay abundantly for my ransom.

_Her_. Oh, indeed? Come, tell us all about it.

_Prom_. You know Thetis--But no; the secret is best kept. Ransom and
reward depend upon it.

_Her_. Well, you know best. Now, Hephaestus, we must be going; see,
here comes the eagle. --Bear a brave heart, Prometheus; and all speed
to your Theban archer, who is to set a term to this creature's
activity.

F.




DIALOGUES OF THE GODS

I

_Prometheus. Zeus_


_Prom_. Release me, Zeus; I have suffered enough.

_Zeus_. Release you? you? Why, by rights your irons should be heavier,
you should have the whole weight of Caucasus upon you, and instead of
one, a dozen vultures, not just pecking at your liver, but scratching
out your eyes. You made these abominable human creatures to vex us,
you stole our fire, you invented women. I need not remind you how you
overreached me about the meat-offerings; my portion, bones disguised
in fat: yours, all the good.

_Prom_. And have I not been punished enough--riveted to the Caucasus
all these years, feeding your bird (on which all worst curses light! )
with my liver?

_Zeus_. 'Tis not a tithe of your deserts.

_Prom_. Consider, I do not ask you to release me for nothing. I offer
you information which is invaluable.

_Zeus_. Promethean wiles!

_Prom_. Wiles? to what end? you can find the Caucasus another time;
and there are chains to be had, if you catch me cheating.

_Zeus_. Tell me first the nature of your 'invaluable' offer.

_Prom_. If I tell you your present errand right, will that convince
you that I can prophesy too?

_Zeus_. Of course it will.

_Prom_. You are bound on a little visit to Thetis.

_Zeus_. Right so far. And the sequel? I trust you now.

_Prom_. Have no dealings with her, Zeus. As sure as Nereus's daughter
conceives by you, your child shall mete you the measure you meted to--

_Zeus_. I shall lose my kingdom, you would say?

_Prom_. Avert it, Fate! I say only, that union portends this issue.

_Zeus_. Thetis, farewell! and for this Hephaestus shall set you free.

H.




II

_Eros. Zeus_


_Eros_. You might let me off, Zeus! I suppose it _was_ rather too bad
of me; but there! --I am but a child; a wayward child.

_Zeus_. A child, and born before Iapetus was ever thought of? You bad
old man! Just because you have no beard, and no white hairs, are you
going to pass yourself off for a child?

_Eros_. Well, and what such mighty harm has the old man ever done you,
that you should talk of chains?

_Zeus_. Ask your own guilty conscience, what harm. The pranks you have
played me! Satyr, bull, swan, eagle, shower of gold,--I have been
everything in my time; and I have you to thank for it. You never by
any chance make the women in love with _me_; no one is ever smitten
with _my_ charms, that I have noticed. No, there must be magic in it
always; I must be kept well out of sight. They like the bull or the
swan well enough: but once let them set eyes on _me_, and they are
frightened out of their lives.

_Eros_. Well, of course. They are but mortals; the sight of Zeus is
too much for them.

_Zeus_. Then why are Branchus and Hyacinth so fond of Apollo?

_Eros_. Daphne ran away from him, anyhow; in spite of his beautiful
hair and his smooth chin. Now, shall I tell you the way to win hearts?
Keep that aegis of yours quiet, and leave the thunderbolt at home;
make yourself as smart as you can; curl your hair and tie it up with a
bit of ribbon, get a purple cloak, and gold-bespangled shoes, and
march forth to the music of flute and drum;--and see if you don't get
a finer following than Dionysus, for all his Maenads.

_Zeus_. Pooh! I'll win no hearts on such terms.

_Eros_. Oh, in that case, don't fall in love. Nothing could be
simpler.

_Zeus_. I dare say; but I like being in love, only I don't like all
this fuss. Now mind; if I let you off, it is on this understanding.

F.




III

_Zeus. Hermes_


_Zeus_. Hermes, you know Inachus's beautiful daughter?

_Her_. I do. Io, you mean?

_Zeus_. Yes; she is not a girl now, but a heifer.

_Her_. Magic at work! how did that come about?

_Zeus_. Hera had a jealous fit, and transformed her. But that is not
all; she has thought of a new punishment for the poor thing. She has
put a cowherd in charge, who is all over eyes; this Argus, as he is
called, pastures the heifer, and never goes to sleep.

_Her_. Well, what am I to do?

_Zeus_. Fly down to Nemea, where the pasture is, kill Argus, take Io
across the sea to Egypt, and convert her into Isis. She shall be
henceforth an Egyptian Goddess, flood the Nile, regulate the winds,
and rescue mariners.

H.




VI

_Hera_. Zeus_


_Hera_. Zeus! What is your opinion of this man Ixion?

_Zeus_. Why, my dear, I think he is a very good sort of man; and the
best of company. Indeed, if he were unworthy of our company, he would
not be here.

_Hera_. He _is_ unworthy! He is a villain! Discard him!

_Zeus_. Eh? What has he been after? I must know about this.

_Hera_. Certainly you must; though I scarce know how to tell you. The
wretch!

_Zeus_. Oh, oh; if he is a 'wretch,' you must certainly tell me all
about it. I know what 'wretch' means, on your discreet tongue. What,
he has been making love?

_Hera_. And to me! to me of all people! It has been going on for a
long time. At first, when he would keep looking at me, I had no idea--.
And then he would sigh and groan; and when I handed my cup to
Ganymede after drinking, he would insist on having it, and would stop
drinking to kiss it, and lift it up to his eyes; and then he would
look at me again. And then of course I knew. For a long time I didn't
like to say anything to you; I thought his mad fit would pass. But
when he actually dared to _speak_ to me, I left him weeping and
groveling about, and stopped my ears, so that I might not hear his
impertinences, and came to tell you. It is for you to consider what
steps you will take.

_Zeus_. Whew! I have a rival, I find; and with my own lawful wife.
Here is a rascal who has tippled nectar to some purpose. Well, we have
no one but ourselves to blame for it: we make too much of these
mortals, admitting them to our table like this. When they drink of our
nectar, and behold the beauties of Heaven (so different from those of
Earth! ), 'tis no wonder if they fall in love, and form ambitious
schemes! Yes, Love is all-powerful; and not with mortals only: we Gods
have sometimes fallen beneath his sway.

_Hera_. He has made himself master of _you_; no doubt of that. He does
what he likes with you;--leads you by the nose. You follow him whither
he chooses, and assume every shape at his command; you are his
chattel, his toy. I know how it will be: you are going to let Ixion
off, because you have had relations with his wife; she is the mother
of Pirithous.

_Zeus_. Why, what a memory you have for these little outings of mine!
--Now, my idea about Ixion is this. It would never do to punish
him, or to exclude him from our table; that would not look well. No;
as he is so fond of you, so hard hit--even to weeping point, you tell
me,--

_Hera_. Zeus! What _are_ you going to say?

_Zeus_. Don't be alarmed. Let us make a cloud-phantom in your
likeness, and after dinner, as he lies awake (which of course he will
do, being in love), let us take it and lay it by his side. 'Twill put
him out of his pain: he will fancy he has attained his desire.

_Hera_. Never! The presumptuous villain!

_Zeus_. Yes, I know. But what harm can it do to you, if Ixion makes a
conquest of a cloud?

_Hera_. But he will think that _I_ am the cloud; he will be working
his wicked will upon _me_ for all he can tell.

_Zeus_. Now you are talking nonsense.