PA 
 
 423/ 
 
 -A 59 
 1818 
 
 - H 
 flfi Kg 
 
 ■ 
 
 Bni 
 
 in w& 
 
 HHBHPMHmQnMI 
 
 SraBB 
 
 H 
 
 i a liffWHffWf rwilB 
 
 5wE MB 
 
 HV 
 
 eeg8 
 
 fun 
 
 ■hi 
 
-A NEW 
 
 LITERAL. TRANSLATION 
 
 ew 
 
 STOCK'S LUCIANj 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 L Micyllus and his Cock. — IT. The Sale of Slaves. 
 
 b Fisherman ; or, Philosophers I 
 
 T. Prometheus; or, Caucasus, ai 
 
 V, The Treatise- on History. 
 
 III. The Fisherman ; or, Philosophers Revived* 
 IV. Prometheus; or, Caucasus, and 
 
 WITH A FEW USEFUL NOTES INTERSPERSEB. 
 
 *^r* *^*++4 * r**^r*^*+*-* =» 
 
 By DEB. HICKIE. 
 
 DUBLIN: 
 
 Printed by Brett Smithy 46, Mary-street, 
 FOR P. BYRNE, BOOKSELLER AND STATIONER, 
 20, ANGLESEY -STREET 
 
 'Where the highest Price will be given for second-hand Classics) 
 
 1818." 
 
•Western Ont. Univ. Library 
 
 /VPR 3 
 
 1940 
 
>^a£ 
 
 yj 
 
 ^ ABVIMTISEMENT. 
 
 <m » » »«» 
 
 X he two former Translations of Stocks Lucian> 
 as compiled from the publications of Francklin and 
 Carr, having been for some time out of print, and 
 not to be procured; and these besides being rather 
 free, sometimes incorrect, and often omitting whole 
 sentences together, the Editor thought it advisable 
 to give the public a Translation altogether new, and 
 that as literal as the idioms of the Greek and English, 
 language would permit. 
 
 The following sheets, therefore^, were composed 
 with that view — to exhibit a Translation of Stock's. 
 Lmcian, pretty closely corresponding with the original 
 text, and yet such as not to appear entirely barbarous. 
 
 It was originally his design, merely to have 
 given a reprint of Vernon's Translation of the 
 "Syngraphin," as it is commonly called; but 
 that having been found, on a comparison with the 
 original, not to deserve all the praises usually lavished 
 on it, he was induced afterwards to alter his intention, 
 and procure one, which, he hopes> will be more 
 acceptable to the learner. 
 
 In the course of the work, a few notes liave been 
 occasionally added at the foot of the page, either 
 to elucidate some particular passage, or to put the 
 learner on his guard against the false interpretation 
 of other Translations. 
 
 26th September, 1818. * ' 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 L The Dream; or, Micyllus, and his Cocky .page 1 
 II. The Sale,of Slaves, 24 
 
 III. The Fisherman;, or,, the Philosophers Revived,, 40 
 
 IV. Prometheus; or, Caucasus, . . . 67 
 V« How History ought to be written, . . . 77 
 
DIALOGUES OF LUCIAN. 
 
 OR, 
 
 MICVLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 Micyllus. T?_iosT cursed Cock, may Jove himself 
 crush you to pieces, as being so envious and clamo- 
 rous, who setting up such a piercing and loud roar, 
 have awakened me, enjoying myself in riches, engaged 
 with the sweetest dream, and blessed with wonderful 
 felicity ; so that I cannot at least by night fly poverty, 
 a companion by far more impure, if possible, than 
 yourself: and yet, if indeed it can be conjectured 
 both from the silence, being still much prevalent, and 
 from the cold not yet pinching me as it is accustomed 
 in the morning (for this is to me the most infallible in- 
 dex of approaching day) it is not yet midnight. But 
 he vigilant, as if he were guarding the golden fleece, 
 from evening till now sets up his roar ; it shall, how- 
 ever, be no rejoicing matter, for I will instantly be 
 revenged of you, as soon as it is day, pounding you 
 to pieces with a stick ; for now you would only give me 
 fruitless employment, springing up in the dark. — 
 Cock. My good master, Micyllus, I thought to do you 
 a favour anticipating as much of the night as I could, 
 that rising before day you might have it in your power 
 to finish the most of your work ; for if before the sun 
 rises you could make one shoe, it would be so much 
 labour done in advance towards your support. But 
 
 A 
 
£ MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 if it be delightful to you to sleep, I will indeed be si- 
 lent for you, and more mute than fishes. Take care 
 however that you, rich in your dream, be not hungry 
 when you awake. 
 
 MicylL O wonder working Jove ! and Hercules, 
 the warder off of mischief, what evil is this ? A cock 
 has spoken like a man ! Cock. Does this seem to you 
 a prodigy then, if I am endowed with a voice like you ? 
 MicylL And why not a prodigy ? but O ye gods, 
 avert the evil from us ! Cock. You seem to me, Mi- 
 cyllus, to be altogether illiterate, nor to have read 
 Homer's poems, in which Xanthus too, the horse of 
 Achilles, having bid a long farewell to neighing, stood 
 lap in the midst of the battle speaking, reciting whole 
 verses, not as I do now, without metre, but he also 
 prophesied, and foretold things to come ; nor did he 
 seem to do any thing wonderful, nor did the audience 
 like you, invoke the averter of evil, as deeming what 
 they heard abominable. What would you do there- 
 fore, if the prow* of the Argo spoke to you, as once 
 the beech in Dodona, speaking by itself prophesied ? 
 or if you saw hides creeping, and heard the flesh of 
 the oxen lowing, half roasted and boiled, and trans- 
 fixed on spits ? I truly, being the companion of Mer- 
 cury, the most loquacious and eloquent of all the gods, 
 and besides an inmate and familiar with you, might 
 without difficulty have learned the human voice. But 
 if you will promise me inviolable secrecy, I will not 
 deem it irksome to tell you a truer reason of my hav- 
 ing a voice like yours, and whence I have the faculty 
 of thus speaking. 
 
 MicylL But is not this a dream too, a cock thus 
 discoursing with me? Tell me then by Mercury, ex- 
 cellent bird, what else is the cause of your speech. 
 But that 1 be silent and tell it to nobody, why need 
 you fear ? for who would believe me, if 1 told to any 
 person that I heard a cock telling these things ? — 
 
 * Jf any translate this the heeli some the helm, seme the mast. 
 
MICYLLUS ASD HIS COCK. 6 
 
 Cock. Hear then, I know very well that I tell you a 
 most wonderful story, Micyllus; for he who now ap- 
 pears to you a cock, was a man not long since, — 
 MicylL 1 have formerly heard such a story indeed, 
 about you, that a certain youth named Alectryon, was 
 beloved by Mars, and drank with that god, and 
 attended him in his revels, and was his confidant in 
 his amours. Whenever Mars therefore went to Venus 
 to commit adultery, that he also brought Alectryon 
 with him, and because he suspected the Sun in parti- 
 cular, lest looking down, he might reveal the affair to 
 Vulcan, that he always left the young man without at 
 the door, to tell him whenever the Sun might appear; 
 then that Alectryon once fell asleep, and betrayed his 
 trust without intention : but that the Sun secretly 
 stood by Venus, and Mars lying at rest unconcerned, 
 from a confidence that Alectryon, would tell him if 
 any person approached ; and that Vulcan, being in- 
 formed by the Sun, seized them, having surrounded 
 and entrapped them in the chains which he formerly 
 constructed for them : that Mars as soon as lie was 
 dismissed, was enraged with Alectrvon, and trans- 
 formed him into a bird, with the very same armour, 
 so as to have a crest on his head in place of a helmet : 
 that you for this reason, in order to excuse yourselves 
 to Mars, when it avails you nothing, as soon as you 
 perceive the Sun rising, sing out long before, to give 
 notice of his rising. 
 
 Cock. And they tell this story too, Micyllus; but 
 mine was somewhat different ; and it is but very lately 
 1 was metamorphosed for you into a cock. MicylL 
 How! for I desire much to know it ? Cock. Have 
 you heard then of the Samian Pythagoras, the son of 
 Mnesarchus ? MicylL You mean that sophist, that 
 proud sophist, who made a law forbidding us neither 
 to taste flesh, nor to eat beans, and removing from 
 our tables the sweetest food in the world ; and besides 
 persuading men not to converse for five years. Cock. 
 And surely you know this, that he was Euphorbus 
 
 A 2 
 
A MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 before he was Pythagoras. MicylL They say that 
 the fellow was an imposter, and a trick-munger. Cock. 
 I am to you that very same Pythagoras ; therefore 
 desist my good friend, reviling me, and that not know- 
 ing how upright I was in my character. MicylL 
 This is much more prodigious than the other story — 
 a cock a philosopher ! Explain, however, O son of 
 Mnesarchus, how you became a bird for us in place of 
 a man, and a Tenagraean in place of a Samian.* Nor 
 are these stories of yours probable, nor very easy to be 
 credited, since I think 1 have already perceived two 
 things in you very foreign from Pythagoras. Cock. 
 What are they ? MicylL One, indeed, that you are 
 talkative and clamorous ; but he, 1 think, ordered 
 silence for five entire years: and the other, altogether 
 contrary to his laws : for when I had nothing else to 
 throw you, I went to you yesterday, having some 
 beans, as you know, and you without scruple picked 
 them up. Wherefore you must have either told a 
 falsehood, and are somebody else, or being Pythago- 
 ras, you have broken your own law, and have acted 
 equally as impious in eating beans, as if you had de- 
 voured the head of your father. 
 
 Cock. You do not know then, Micyllus, what the 
 cause of these things is, nor the things suited to each 
 life. Then indeed I did not eat beans, for I acted 
 the philosopher; but now I may eat them, for 1 a*m a 
 cock, and that food is not forbidden us. But if it be 
 pleasing to you, hear how from being Pythagoras I 
 became what I am now, and in how many lives I 
 lived, and what was the good and bad attendant on 
 each change. MicylL Pray tell me; for the hear- 
 in<y of it would be so extremely delightful to me, that 
 if liny person should put it to my choice, whether I 
 rather hear you relating such things, or see again that 
 all- divine dream which 1 enjoyed a short time ago, I 
 
 * Micyllus, the cobler, was of Tenagra, a City of Boeotia. So 
 says the scholiast. But Lucian seems to call the Cock Tenagreean, 
 because that city was famous for its breed of Cocks. See Plin. X. 2U 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. O 
 
 do not know which I would chuse, so related I think 
 your conversation is to my delightful visions ; and I 
 hold both in equal honor, you and that most estimable 
 dream. Cock. What! do you still call to mind that 
 dream, whatever it was that was offered to your ima- 
 gination, and retain some vain images of it ; pursuing 
 in memory some empty, and, as in poetical language, 
 some fleeting happiness. 
 
 Micyll. But know, O Cock, I shall never forget 
 that sight : the dream vanished, having left so much 
 honey in my eyes, that I can scarcely open my eyelids 
 from it, drawn back again into sleep. The things I 
 have seen give me such titillation, as feathers cause 
 turned about in the ear. Cock, By Hercules, you tell 
 of wonderful love in a dream, if indeed being so fleet- 
 ing, as you say, and having sleep the boundary of its 
 flight, it passes over the line of demarkation, and 
 tarries in your open eyes, shewing itself so full of 
 honey 9 and manifestly. I desire, therefore, to hear 
 what it is, that is so desirable to you. Micyll. \ 
 am ready to tell you ; for it is sweet to remember it, 
 and to relate something of it. But when will you, 
 Pythagoras, give me an account of your transformati- 
 ons ? Cock. When you, Micyllus, shall cease to 
 dream, and wipe the honey from your eye brows. 
 But first tell me, that 1 may understand, whether 
 your dream came flying to you through the ivory gates 
 or through those of horn, MicylL Through neither 
 of these, Pythagoras. Cock. But Homer mentions 
 only these two. Micyll. Bid adieu to that trifler of 
 a poet, knowing nothing about dreams. Perhaps the 
 dreams of the poor pass through them, such as he saw, 
 and not very clearly, being himself blind. But this 
 most sweet dream came to me through some golden 
 gates, golden itself, and clad in gold, and bringing 
 much gold with it. Cock. Desist, my good" Midas, 
 to speak of gold : for doubtless your dream is like lus 
 wish, and you seem to me to have dreamt of whole 
 mines of gold, 
 
 A3 
 
D MICYXLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 MicylL Much, Pythagoras, much gold have I 
 seen : how beautiful do you think? shining with what 
 splendour! what then does Pindar say in its praise? 
 (remind me if you know,) when saying that " water 
 is the best thing," then admires gold, and justly, in 
 the very beginning of the most beautiful of all his 
 poems. Cock. Is it this you enquire after ? water 
 indeed is the best thing ; but gold, like a blazing fire 
 by night, shines far above the riches of the great. 
 MicylL By Jove, the very same ; for Pindar thus 
 praises gold as if he had seen my dream. But, most 
 learned Cock, hear, that you may know what it was. 
 You know I did not sup at home yesterday; for when 
 the wealthv Eucrates had seen me in the market place, 
 he invited me to come from the bath, at an appointed 
 hour, to supper. 
 
 Cock. I remember it well indeed, being hungry 
 during the whole day, until you, returning home late 
 in the evening, a little moistened with wine, brought 
 me them five beans, no very sumptuous supper for a 
 cock, who w T as once a wrestler, and vied not without 
 glory in the Olympic games. MicylL But when 
 having returned from supper I gave you the beans, I 
 went immediately to rest ; then, according to Homer, 
 in ambrosial night, a certain divine dream, like rea- 
 lity, standing near me. Cock. But first of all tell me, 
 Micyllus, what happened at the house of Eucrates, what 
 kind the supper was, and the whole management of 
 the feast. For nothing hinders you from supping 
 again, exhibiting some part of that supper, as if in a 
 dream, and bringing back your food in memory, as if 
 chewing the cud. 
 
 MicylL I thought T would be troublesome to 
 you, if] told these too; but since you desire it, I will 
 tell you — when never before in all my life 1 supped at 
 a rich man's table, O Pythagoras, yesterday by some 
 good luck I happened to light on Eucrates. And 
 when I had saluted him, my Lord, as 1 used, I was 
 vrcmw off, that I should not shame him, following him 
 
MICYLLUS ANI> HIS COCK. 7 
 
 in a ragged garb ; but he says, Micyllus, I celebrate 
 to-day the birth-day feasts of my daughter, and have 
 invited many friends; but since they say that a certain 
 one of those, being indisposed, cannot sup with us, 
 come you in his place after bathing, unless he who is 
 invited should promise to come; for yet indeed it is 
 doubtful. Having heard these words, and made my 
 obeisance to him, 1 departed, offering vows to all the 
 gods, that they would send to that sickly man a fever 
 or pleurasy, or the gout, as whose substitute and vice- 
 gerent at the feast and successor i was invited ; and 
 all that time till the hour of bathing, I considered 
 longer than an age, often looking how many feet the 
 shadow was, and when 1 ought to bathe, And when 
 at length the hour arrived, speedily taking to my feet 
 I depart, dressed pretty decently, thus turning my 
 coat, that the best side might appear outermost. 
 
 1 find at the gate, with many other persons, him 
 also, in whose place 1 should have supped, carried in 
 a litter by four men, — him, who was said to be sick ; 
 and it was manifest that he was ill, for he sighed deeply 
 and coughed, and reached with something inwardly, 
 and unattainable, being all w T an and bloated, and 
 about sixty years of age. He was said to be some 
 philosopher, one of those who blab out their trifles to 
 young men. His beard indeed was goatish, exceed- 
 ingly wanting a barber. Archibius, the physician, 
 chiding him that he came in this condition. It does 
 not become one, says he, to neglect his duty, especi- 
 ally a philosopher, though six hundred diseases should 
 oppose him ; for Eucrates might have thought that he 
 was slighted by me. Not at all, said I, he will praise 
 you, if you chuse rather to die at home in your own 
 house, than here at a feast to cough out your soul with 
 your phlegm. And he, indeed, through greatness of 
 soul, pretended not to hear this. -A little after came 
 Eucrates from bathing, and having seen Thesmopolis, 
 (for that was the name of the philosopher) you have 
 done right ; master ; says he ; in coming personally to 
 
8 MJCYLLUS AND MIS COCK. 
 
 us ; you \f ould however have fared never the worse, 
 for every thing would have been sent to you in turn. 
 Saying this, he at the same time went in, giving his 
 hands to Thesmopolis, about to lean on his slaves and 
 depart. 
 
 1 therefore was preparing to go off; but-he turning 
 about, when he hesitated for a long time, and after 
 he had seen me very melancholy, come you also, 
 Micyllus, says he, and sup with us ; for I will order 
 my son to banquet with his mother in the woman's 
 apartment, that you may have room. I therefore 
 entered, little differing from a wolf gaping in vain for 
 his prey; but blushing that 1 seemed to have driven 
 the little son of Eucrates from the feast. When the 
 time of sitting down came, at first, five lusty young 
 men, not without some difficulty lifting Thesmopolis, 
 settled him in his place, placing pillows under him 
 on all sides, that he might remain in that posture, and 
 could continue so long. When no persori,£hen could 
 bear to sit near him, they bring and set; me lolling 
 too, that we might be at the same table: then we 
 supped, O Pythagoras, partaking of an abundant and 
 various supper out of much gold and much silver. 
 The cups were golden, the servants handsome, and 
 sung well, and were facetious; in short, the conver- 
 sation was most delightful. One thing however an- 
 noyed me in no small degree, Thesmopolis disturbing 
 my mirth, telling me of something called Virtue, and 
 teaching that two negatives made an affirmative, and 
 that if it were day, it was not night : sometimes also he 
 said I had horns; and blabbed forth many such things 
 in an uninterrupted harrangue, teaching me philoso- 
 phy, which 1 did not require, and thus interrupted 
 my mirth, not suffering me to attend to either the 
 harpers or singers. Such, O Cock, was our supper. 
 Cock. Not the pleasantest, Micyllus, and especially 
 since you happened to be placed with that doating 
 old fellow. 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. V 
 
 MicylL Now hear my dream too : — I thought 
 that Eucrates himself, being without children, was, 
 by some chance, about dying; that having called me 
 then, and made his will, in which I was heir of all, 
 and, surviving a short time, died. But that I, having 
 entered upon the possessions, drew gold and silver 
 from certain large vessels, flowing incessantly and in 
 abundance; and that all the rest his garments, tables, 
 cups, servants, were all mine, as was fit. Then I 
 was carried, stretched at my ease, in a white chariot, 
 admired and envied by all that saw me. Many ran 
 before, and rode round me. and more followed. But 
 I, having his garments, and his weighty rings, about 
 sixteen in number, fitted on my fingers,* ordered a 
 certain sumptuous banquet to be prepared for the 
 entertainment of my friends. They, however, as is 
 probable enough in a dream, came immediately; and 
 now the supper was ended, t and drinking commenced. 
 Being in this situation, and as I was drinking friend- 
 ship to every one present in golden goblets, and while 
 the sweetmeats were bringing in, yon, squalling un- 
 seasonably, disturbed our banquet for us, overturned 
 our tables, and so dissipated those riches, that you 
 gave them to be carried away by the winds. Do I 
 seem then to be angry with you -without cause, as I 
 would willingly see that dream that befel me, still for 
 three continual nights? 
 
 Cock. Are you such a lover of gold and of riches, 
 Micyllus, and do you admire these alone of all 
 things, and think it a blessing to possess much gold ? 
 MicylL I am not the only person, Pythagoras, that 
 did this; but you yourself too, when you were Eu- 
 phorbus, having tied gold and silver in your curls, 
 went thus to fight against the Greeks, and that k* 
 
 * Carr renders this, li With a number of monstrous rings, quite 
 sufficient for sixteen fingers." — He adds, *' eight rings on the fingeifc 
 were not uncommon.' * 
 
 f See note in Stock. 
 
10 * MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 battle, where it was better to carry iron than gold. 
 You, I say, chose then to face danger, having your 
 locks b/aided with gold. And Komre, for this rea- 
 son, I think, says your hair was like the Graces, be- 
 cause it was bound with gold and silver; for, to be 
 sure, it appeared better and more lovely being braided 
 with gold, and shining with it. And this, O golden- 
 haired is moderate in you, if, being the son of Pan- 
 theus, you valued gold: Jupiter, the father of all 
 the gods and men, the son of Saturn, and Rhea, 
 when once enamoured of that maid of Argos, and 
 having nothing more lovely into wlfich he could 
 change himself, nor wherewith he might bribe the 
 guards of her father Acrisius, (you have at some 
 time heard it,) becoming gold, and so showering thro' 
 the tiles, enjoyed his beloved. Why should I further 
 tell you after that, how many uses gold affords? and 
 how it renders those beautiful, and wise, and brave, 
 with whom it is present, procuring them honor and 
 glory ? and how sometimes in a short time it makes 
 people conspicuous and famous from being obscure 
 and inglorious? 
 
 You know my neighbour then, and fellow trades- 
 man, Simon, who supped with me not long since, 
 when at the Saturnalia, 1 boiled pottage, throwing 
 in two cuts of sausage. Cock. 1 know that flat- 
 nosed, short fellow, who stole our little earthen 
 pitcher, the only one we had, and hiding it under 
 his arm, went off after supper; for I myself have 
 seen it, Micyllus. Micyll. It was he then that 
 stole it, and perjured himself by so many gods! 
 But why did you not then inform and scream out, 
 O Cock, when you saw us robbed ? Cock. I crowed, 
 which alone was possible for me then to do. — But 
 what then of Simon ? for you seemed to say something 
 of him. MicylL He had a very rich cousin, named 
 Drimylus. He, while living, never gave an obolus 
 to Simon, and how could he, who could not in his 
 heart touch his riches himself. But when he died 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 1 1 
 
 lately, Simon being heir at law enjoyed it all ; he 
 with ragged cloaths, he who licked the dish, is noz& 
 carried joyfully on horseback, clad in purple and 
 violet coloured robes, having servants, and chariots, 
 and golden cups, and tables with ivory feet ; adored 
 by all and looking no longer on me. For I seeing 
 him lately passing along, I said, Hail, Simon! but he, 
 indignant, said, tell that beggar not to clip my name, 
 for 1 am not called Simon, but Simonides. But the 
 greatest point is, that all the women are in love with 
 him, and he acts effeminately also towards them, and 
 despises them ; some indeed he admits to his favours, 
 and is propitious ; but others, who are neglected, 
 threaten to procure their own death. You see of 
 what good things gold is the cause, since it even 
 reforms the deformed, and, like the poetical Cestus 
 of Venus, renders them amiable. You hear the poets 
 also saying— " O Gold, thou fortunate boon, thou 
 most beautiful possession:" and, " For 'tis Gold 
 which has power over mortals." — But why, in the 
 meantime, do you laugh, O Cock ? 
 
 Cack. Because through ignorance, you also, Micyl- 
 lus, like the rest of the vulgar, are deceived concerning 
 rich&i. But they, y6u know well, spend a more miser- 
 able life than you do. This 1 tell you for truth, who 
 have often been both poor and rich, and had made 
 trial of both kinds of life: you yourself too shall 
 shortly know each particular. MicyfL Therefore, 
 by Jove, it is time now that you teli how you had 
 been changed, and the things you know in each life. 
 Cock. Hear: know this first, that 1 never saw any 
 person happier than you. MicylK Than 1 am, 
 O Cock! may such happiness befal you! for you 
 irritate me to wish you ill. But tell me, beginning 
 with Euphorbus, how you were changed into Pytha- 
 goras; and thence till you were changed into a cock: 
 for it is likely that you have seen and suffered various 
 things in lives so different. 
 
12 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 Cock. How my soul originally flying down from 
 Apollo on earth, entered the body of man, to suffer 
 a certain punishment, would be tedious to relate; 
 besides it is not lawful either for me to tell, nor for 
 you to hear, such things. But when 1 became Eu- 
 
 phorbus Micyll But pray, wonderful Sir, tell me 
 
 first who was I, before I was the person I now am; 
 whether I also have been transformed like you ? 
 Cock. Certainly. Micyll. Who then was I, if you 
 can by any means tell me? for I desire to know it. 
 Cock. You were an Indian Pismire,* of that kind 
 which dig up gold. MicylL Have I then neglected, 
 wretched as I am, to bring a small share of the scrap- 
 ings into this life, taken as a viaticum from that life? 
 But tell me also what will I be hereafter; for it is 
 probable that you know. If it be any thing good, 
 I will rise immediately and hang myself from the 
 perch on which you stand. Cock. You cannot know 
 this by any means. 
 
 But when I was Euphorbus (for I return to that) 
 I fought at Troy, and being slain by Menelaus, after 
 some time, I went into Pythagoras, but so long con- 
 tinued without an habitation, till Mnesarchus built a 
 mansion for me. MicylL Pray, friend, were you 
 without meat and drink? Cock. Certainly: for none 
 wants them but the body alone. MicylL There- 
 fore, first tell me the things that happened at Troy : 
 were they such as Homer relates them to have been ? 
 Cock. How could he know them, who, while they 
 were happening, was a camel in Bactria ? But this 
 much I tell you, nothing was supernatural then, nor 
 was Ajax so large, nor Helen so beautiful, as people 
 believe: for I have seen a certain woman with a 
 white long neck, so that one would imagine her to be 
 the daughter of a swan, but very old, almost equalling 
 
 * Those Indian pismires, or emmets, according to Herodotus, are 
 about the size of a middling dog. They differ also from other pis- 
 mire % in throwing up hills of gold. 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. IS 
 
 the age of Hecuba. Theseus having carried her off 
 first, °had her at Aphidnae, who lived in the age of 
 Hercules ; and Hercules took Troy first, in the time 
 of our ancestors, then very powerful.* For my father 
 Pantheus told me these things, saying that Hercules 
 had been seen by him, when he was very young. 
 MicylL But, prythee, was Achilles such as he is said 
 to be, most excellent in every respect : or is this also 
 a fable? Cock. I was never connected with him, 
 Micyllus ; nor can 1 so accurately relate to you the 
 things that happened with the Greeks. For how 
 could I know them, being an enemy? I, however, 
 killed his friend Patroclus without difficulty, having 
 transpierced him with my spear. MicylL Then 
 Menelaus slew you with much less difficulty. But 
 enough of these things. Now tell the things relating 
 to Pythagoras. 
 
 Cock. Upon the whole, + Micyllus, T was a sophist, 
 (for 1 think it becomes me to tell the truth,) otherwise 
 not illiterate, nor unexercised in the most excellent 
 disciplines. I travelled into Egypt, that 1 might 
 confer with the prophets concerning wisdom. And 
 entering the shrines, I learned the books of Orus and 
 Isis ; and sailing back again into Italy, I so instructed 
 the Greeks of that country,^ that they considered me 
 a god. MicylL I have heard these things, and 
 besides, that you were believed to revive after death, 
 and sometimes showed them a golden thigh. But 
 tell me this, what came into your head to make the 
 law against eating flesh and beans? Cock. Do not 
 ask me such questions, Micyllus. MicylL Why so, 
 Cock ? Cock. Because I am ashamed to tell you the 
 truth about them; MicylL But you ought not hesi- 
 tate telling it to an inmate and friend, for I no longer 
 
 * Leedes renders this u Then at their best, or in the prune of their 
 youth" 
 
 f To tell all in few words. 
 
 i Some falsely render it H The Greeks of that age.'* 
 
 B 
 
 
14 MICYXLUS AND HIS COCK, 
 
 call myself your master. Cock. Nothing sound or 
 wise was in it ; but seeing that, if I enacted common 
 laws, and such as are taught by the vulgar, 1 would 
 not allure mankind into an admiration of me; and the 
 more foreign I made them, the more singular, I 
 thought, 1 would appear to them : 1 therefore de- 
 termined to make innovations, feigning a secret cause, 
 that, several persons making various conjectures, all 
 would be struck with amazement, as in the obscurities 
 of oracles. Micyll. Do you see? you also laugh at 
 me in turn, as well as at the Crotonians and JYieta- 
 pontians and Tarentines, and the others who followed 
 you in silence, and adored the tracks which you left 
 after you walking. 
 
 But having put off Pythagoras, whom did you put 
 on after him? Cock. Aspasia, the Milesian courte- 
 zan. Micyll. Wonderful language ! Pythagoras be- 
 come woman too, among other changes ? Was there 
 not a time too, when you, most generous cock, laid 
 eggs, and were free with Pericles, being Aspasia ? and 
 you became pregnant by him, and carded wool, and 
 spun the thread, and became woman for the exercise 
 of whoredom ? Cock. 1 did all this indeed; but was 
 not the only person that did so! for Tiresias did it 
 before me, and Cseneus the son of Elatus : wherefore, 
 whatever reproaches you cast on me, you will cast the 
 same on them. Micyll. What then ? which life was 
 more pleasant to you, when you were a man, or when 
 Pericles had communication with you ? Cock. Do 
 you see what you ask, an answer which was not expe- 
 dient for Tiresias ? Micyll. Rut though you will not 
 tell it, Euripides has sufficiently decided the point, 
 when he said, that he would rather stand thrice under 
 a shield, than bear a child once. Cock. And certainly 
 I remind you, that in no short time you will bear the 
 pangs of labour.* For you also will at one time or 
 
 * Carr, after Boss, translates it thus : « I will put you in mind •/ 
 this conversation by and by, when you are in childbed" 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 15 
 
 other be a woman, and that often, in that various 
 round of transformations. Mcijll. Should you not 
 go he hanged, O Cock, you who think us all Mile- 
 sians or San ians ?* They say, therefore, that when 
 you were Pythagoras of beautiful form, you were an 
 Aspasia to the tyrant Polycrates. 
 
 But what man after Aspasia, or woman did you 
 again appear to be? Cock. The Cynic Crates.—* 
 Micyll, O sons of Jove! what disparity, a philoso- 
 pher from a harlot ! Cock, Then a king, then a 
 pauper, and a little after a satrap ; then a horse and a 
 jack-daw, and a frog, and six hundred other beings ; 
 it would be tedious to recount each : but lastly, a cock, 
 and that often ; for 1 am delighted in that life particu- 
 larly. And after having served many others, kings 
 and paupers, and rich persons, at last I live with you, 
 deriding you daily complaining and bewailing your 
 poverty, and admiring the rich, through ignorance of 
 the evils attendant on them. For if you knew the 
 cares which they have, you would laugh at yourself, 
 having before imagined that the rich person is always 
 over happy. Micyll. Therefore, Pythagoras, or 
 whatever else you like best to be called, that 1 may 
 not confuse the discourse, calling you a different per- 
 son at different times. — Cock. It will signify nothing, 
 whether you call me Euphorbus, or Pythagoras, or 
 Aspasia, or Crates; for I am all these. But if you 
 call me, a cock, that which I now seem to be, you 
 will do best, that you may not despise a bird as seem- 
 ing to be contemptible, especially having so many souls 
 in it. 
 
 Micyll. Therefore, O Cock, since you have ex- 
 perienced almost every kind of life, and have known 
 all, tell me now plainly and separately, the particu- 
 lar manner in which the rich, and the particular man- 
 
 * " You think you can persuade me to believe any thing you say, be 
 it ever so improbable, as, when you were Pythagoras, you did the 
 Samians and Milesians." 
 
 Franklin. 
 
 B2 
 
16 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 ner in which the poor live, that I may know if you 
 tell these things true, showing me to be more happy 
 than the rich. Cock. Lo ! then, Micyllus, consider 
 the matter thus ; your concern about war is not much, 
 if it be said that ihe enemies are approaching, riorare 
 you troubled, lest making an incursion, they would 
 pillage your land or trample down your garden, or 
 destroy your vines ; but as soon as you hear the trum- 
 pet only, if however you hear it, you look round to 
 provide a place for yourself, when turning you may be 
 saved and escape the danger. On the other hand these 
 are both uneasy for themselves, and tortured in mind, 
 when they behold from the walls, all that property 
 plundered and carried away, which they possess in 
 the fields ; and if tribute must be paid, they only are 
 called upon ; if an attack is to be made, they are first 
 in danger, leading the foot or commanding the horse: 
 but you carrying a wicker shield, disencumbered and 
 light to provide for your safety, prepared to partake of 
 the triumphal feast, whenever the commander sacri- 
 fices after having obtained the victory. 
 
 Again in peace, you being one of the common peo- 
 ple, going up into the assembly, domineer over the 
 rich ; but they tremble and dread you 5 and pacify you 
 with donations ; for they labour that you may have 
 baths, and sports, and exhibitions, and all other 
 things in abundance. You, however, a censor and 
 bitter judge, like a lord, sometimes deign not to speak 
 to them ; and when you think proper, shower down 
 abundance of stones on them, or confiscate their ef- 
 fects. You dread neither the calumniator, nor the 
 robber, lest he take away your gold, by climbing over 
 the enclosure of your house^ or undermining your 
 walls ; and you have no trouble in keeping accounts, 
 or recovering debts, or contending with dishonest 
 stewards, nor are you distracted with so many cares. 
 But as soon as you have finished one shoe, having the 
 wages of seven oboli, rising from your work late in 
 the evening, and bathe if you choose, then having 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 17 
 
 purchased some sprats, or herrings, or a few heads of 
 onions, exhilarate yourself, singing for the most part, 
 and philosophizing with excellent poverty. 
 
 Wherefore on this account you are well in health, 
 and strong in body, and able to bear the cold; for 
 labours sharpen you, and make you no contemptible 
 adversary against those things which seem invincible 
 to others. Wherefore none of those difficult diseases 
 lay wait for you ; but if at any time a slight fever 
 should invade you, you yourself prescribing for it* 
 for a short time, you rise up immediately, having 
 shaken it off by abstinence; it flies instantly, dreading 
 you, when it sees you drink cold zoater^ and bidding 
 the visits of the doctors bewail a long time.t But 
 what evils have they not, miserable through intempe- 
 rance ? gouts, consumptions, inflamations of the lungs, 
 and dropsies — for all these are the offspring of their 
 sumptuous suppers. Some of them, therefore, like 
 Icarus, whilst they raise themselves too much and ap- 
 proach the Sun, ignorant that their wings are stuck 
 together with wax, sometimes make a great noise, 
 falling on their head into the sea; but they, who. like 
 Daedalus, do not aim at things too sublime and lofty, 
 but things humble and near the earth, so that the wax 
 is sometimes sprinkled with the marine spraj/^ gene- 
 rally fly along in safety. MicylL You speak of the 
 moderate and prudent. Cock. And in the mean time, 
 Micyllus, you see the very shameful shipw r recks c*f the 
 others; when Croesus, with plucked wings, having 
 ascended the pile, affords laughter to the Persians ; 
 or Dionysius, deprived of his tyranny, teaches letters 
 at Corinth, and after such a great empire, teaches chil- 
 dren to join syllables. 
 
 * Erasmus and Hemsterhuis translate this, " ad exlguum tempu$ 
 Uli obsecatus " Franklin, who is not very scrupulous in adhering to 
 the text, omits it altogether. 
 
 f Carr omits this clause, and Franklin misconstrues it ; " setting 
 the doctors prescriptions at defiance. 3 ' 
 
 B3 
 
 K 
 
18 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 MicylL Tell me, O Cock, when you were king 
 (for you say that you also ruled,) what kind did you 
 experience that life to be ? Certainly you were extremely 
 happy then, since you enjoyed that which was the 
 summit of all felicity. Lock". Do not, Micyllus, recal 
 all my evils to my recollection, so thrice unhappy 
 was 1 then : ] seemed indeed to be extremely happy 
 in all external things, as you have said, but within I 
 was distracted with innumerable miseries. MicylL 
 With what miseries? for you mention things absurd, 
 and not very credible. Cock. I ruled indeed no small 
 kingdom, Micyllus, most fertile, and very much to 
 be admired for its multitude of inhabitants and the 
 beauty of its cities: and besides, watered with navi- 
 gable rivers, and enjoying many sea ports.* Besides 
 a large army, cavalry well disciplined, no small body 
 of guards, three-oared galleys, and a countless quantity 
 of money, and hollow gold (golden vessels) in abun- 
 dance, and every other equipage of state, accumula- 
 ted without end. When, therefore, 1 went abroad, 
 the common people adored me, and thought they 
 beheld some god, and numbers upon numbers crowded 
 together to see me. Some also climbing upon the tops 
 of houses, thought it a great matter if they could see 
 -my chariot, my robe, my diadem, those who went 
 before me and those who followed. But I, conscious 
 within myself how many troubles tortured and turned 
 me, forgave their ignorance and pitied myself, who 
 was like those huge Colossus' which Phidias or Myro, 
 or Praxiteles made; for each of them has outside 
 either a Neptune, or a beautiful Jupiter, wrought of 
 gold and ivory, holding a thunderbolt, or lightning, 
 or a trident, in the right hand : but if stooping and 
 putting in your head, you view the inside, you will 
 see certain bars and wedges, and nails driven through 
 the interior, and pieces of wood, and pins, and pitch, 
 
 * Using a sea, which formed excellent harbours— forming mmj 
 
 ports. 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 19 
 
 and clay, and much deformity of this kind dwelling 
 within. I omit mentioning the multitude of mice or 
 weazels, building themselves cities within. Such a 
 thing is a kingdom. 
 
 Micyll. You have not yet explained to me what 
 are the clay and the wedges and the bars of your king- 
 dom, nor what that great deformity is. For to be 
 solely looked on with admiration as you were carried 
 about, to rule so many, and to be adored like a deity, 
 so far agrees with the example of the Colossus ; for 
 this also is something divine. But now explain the 
 inside of this Colossus. Cock. What shall 1 first tell 
 you, Micyllus ? the fears, the corroding cares, the 
 suspicions, and the hatred of those who live with one, 
 the plots, antl the little sleep on account of them, and 
 that not profound, and dreams full of confusion, and 
 perplexed thoughts, and expectations always evil ; or 
 the want of leisure, and the occupations, and judg- 
 ments, and expeditions, and edicts, and confedera- 
 cies, and consultations : whence it happens, that not 
 even in sleep, indeed, one can enjoy any pleasure, but 
 alone must look out for the safety of all, and have an 
 innumerable employment on his hands. — For sweet 
 sleep did not possess Agamemnon, the son of Atreus, 
 revolving many cares in his breast — and that while all 
 the Greeks were snoring. A dumb son made the 
 Lydian Crcesus miserable. Clearchus made the Per- 
 sian Artaxerxes miserable, levying foreign soldiers for 
 Cyrus; and Dion, concerting measures with some 
 Syracusians, vexes another, namely p , Dionysius, — 
 Parmenio being praised, is grievous to Alexander ; 
 Ptolemy troubles Perdiccas, and Seleucus plagues 
 Ptolemy. Moreover these things are the cause of grief ; 
 one beloved unwillingly cohabiting, a concubine fond 
 of another person, some of the allies reported to be 
 about revolting, and two or three of the life-guards 
 whispering with one another. But the greatest misery 
 of all is, that the greatest friends must be suspected, 
 and to expect always some evil to come from them. 
 
20 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 For one Icing indeed is killed with poison by his son, 
 and that son himself by the person he loved:* and 
 some similar kind of death perhaps carries off another. 
 
 MicylL Away with it — all you say is dreadful, 
 O Cock. It is, therefore, by far safer for me with in- 
 clined body to cut the hide, than from a golden goblet 
 to quaff' the cup of friendship mixed with hemlock and 
 wolfsbane. I have the danger, indeed, to fear if the 
 knife slips, and turns from the direct incision, of 
 blooding my finger a little in cutting. But they, as 
 you say, feast on deadly suppersJkhd that attended 
 with innumerable evils; then when they fall, they 
 seem to be like tragic performers, .many of whom are 
 to be seen, being, to wit, Cecrops's or Sisyphus's or 
 Telephus's, having diadems, and ivory-hilted swords^ 
 and streaming hair, and a gold embroidered robe : but 
 if any of them (many such things happen) should fall 
 stumbling in the midst of the stage, he certainly 
 affords laughter to the spectators ; his mask being 
 broken together with his diadem, the head of the actor 
 being also blooded, and his legs in a great measure 
 stript, so that the interior part of his dress appears, 
 being wretched rags, and the deformity of the liga- 
 ments of his buskins, which are by no means to the 
 shape of his feet. Do you see how you have taught 
 me also most excellent cock, to make similies? such, 
 indeed, majesty seemed to you to be; but when you 
 were a horse, or a dog, or a fish, or a frog, how did 
 you bear that kind of life ? 
 
 Cock. You move a long discourse, and one not 
 necessary at the present time. However, this is the 
 summary — there were none whatsoever of these lives 
 that did not seem to me more tranquil than the human 
 life^ as they are circumscribed with natural desires and 
 necessities. Among them you do not see a horse a 
 tax-gatherer, or a frog an informer, or a jack-daw a 
 
 * Carr's translation is unpardonable : he gives this sentence &31- 
 execrable turn, not to be inferred frem the original, 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 21 
 
 sophist, or a gnat, a cook, or a cock, a pathic, or the 
 which ye study to be. 
 
 MieylL These things are true perhaps, O Cock. 
 But how I am affected, I do not blush to tell in your 
 presence. I could never yet unlearn that desire of 
 becoming rich, which I had from my childhood : even 
 now that dream stands before my eyes, shewing me the 
 gold ; and above all, 1 am vexed at that cursed Simon, 
 who lives sumptuously amidst so much riches. Cock. 
 I will cure you, Micyllus; and when it is night, rise 
 and follow me; for I will bring you to that very Simon, 
 and into the houses of other rich persons, that you may 
 see what their condition is. MieylL How can you 
 do this, their gates being shut, unless perchance, you 
 force me to dig through the walls ? Cock. Not at all : 
 but Mercury, whose sacred bird I am, granted me 
 this special privilege, that if any person should take 
 the longest feather of my tail, which is bent with soft- 
 ness. — MieylL But you have two alike. Cock. 
 If therefore I suffer any person to take the right-hand 
 one, he, as long as I please, can open every gate, and 
 see all things, unseen himself MieylL I did not 
 know that you, O Cock, were a conjurer. If then you 
 but once give this feather, you will see all Simon's 
 property transferred here in a short time : for going 
 there, 1 will bring them hither : but he again shall bite 
 old shoes, cleaning off the filth. Cock. It is not law- 
 ful for this to happen ; for Mercury commanded me, 
 if he who has the feather should do any such thing, 
 that I should cause, that he be detected by my crow- 
 ing. MieylL What you say is not likely — Mercury 
 himself a thief, to envy thievery in others. Let us go, 
 however, for I will refrain from the gold if I can. 
 Cock. First pluck the feather, Micyllus. — What's 
 this ? you have plucked both. MieylL It is safer 
 so, O Cock, and you will be less disfigured, that you 
 may not halt in one side of your tail. 
 
 Cock. Let it be so : do we go first to Simon, or to 
 some other rich person? MieylL No truly, but to 
 
22 
 
 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 
 
 Simon, who having become rich, requires to be of 
 four syllables now, in place of two syllables. And 
 certainly we are at his gate : what shall I do after this ? 
 Cock. Apply the feather to the lock. Micyll. There 
 it is for you. O Hercules, the gate is opened as if with 
 a key. Cock. Go further on. Do you see him wide 
 awake, and making up his accounts ? Micyll. I see 
 him by Jove, by the little dim and thirsty lamp. He 
 is, I know not how, all pale, O Cock, and entirely 
 dried up, wasted, I suppose, with cares; for he is not 
 said to be ever otherwise indisposed. Cock. Hear 
 what he says, for thus you will understand how he is. 
 Simon. The seventy talents therefore are safely buried 
 under my bed, and nobody has seen them ; but I think 
 the groom, Sosylus, saw me hide the sixteen talents 
 under the manger : for he is now always busy about 
 the stable, who never before had any care of it, nor 
 was fond of labour. But it is most likely, that much 
 more than these have been plundered from me; for 
 how could Tibius have otherwise feasted on such a 
 relish yesterday ? He is said also to have purchased 
 an ear-ring for his wife at five drachms. They entirely 
 lavish in luxury the property of unhappy me. But 
 neither are my numerous cups laid by in safety*: I 
 therefore fear, lest some robber, digging through the 
 wall, should take them away. Many envy and lie in 
 wait for me, and especially my neighbour Micyllus. 
 Micyll. Surely, by Jove, I am like yourself forsooth, 
 and go away having the little earthen vessels under my 
 arm. Cock. Hush, Micyllus, lest he discover that 
 we are here. Sim. It will therefore be best, to keep 
 myself without sleep : rising, I will go round all the 
 house. Who's here? But I see you, an underminer 
 of the walls, by Jove! Since it is a pillar, all's well. 
 I will again count my dug up gold, but some, per- 
 chance, has lately escaped me. Hark again, some 
 person has made a noise near me : 1 am forsooth beset, 
 and secretly attacked by all: where is my dagger? 
 If I but catch any one — let's bury our gold again* 
 
MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 23 
 
 Cock. Such indeed, Micyllus, is Simon's condition 
 for you .Let us go to some other person, whilst a 
 little of the night remains yet. MicylL Oh, wretch ! 
 what a life he leads! may it happen to my enemies to 
 be so rich! Having buffeted him, therefore, on the 
 jaw, I will depart. Sim. Who struck me ? 1 am 
 robbed, wretch that I am ! MicylL Weep and watch, 
 and grow like your gold, as to its colour, pining over 
 it. — But if you think fit, let us go see the usurer 
 Gnipho : he* too does not live far off. — This door is 
 open to us. 
 
 Cock. Do you see him, also waking with cares, 
 counting his "usury, and withered in his fingers, who 
 must, not long ! enee, having left all these, be changed 
 into a moth, a gnat, or a fly. MicylL 1 see the 
 wretched and silly man, living even now, indeed, not 
 jLbetter than a moth or a gnat. But how he also is 
 entirely consumed with computation ! Let us go to 
 another. 
 
 Cock. To your friend E iterates, if you think pro- 
 per: and lo! this door also is open. Let us enter 
 therefore. MicylL All these were mine a little time 
 ago. Cock. Do you still dream of riches ? Do you 
 see Eucrates himself, [ * * * ] that old 
 
 man ? MicylL I see, by Jove, [ * * * * 
 * *] and his wife also in another corner with the 
 cook. • 
 
 Cock. What then ? do you wish, Micyllus, to be 
 master of these also, and to possess all the wealth of 
 I Eucrates? MicylL Not at all, O Cock! may 1 
 ■+-rather die with hunger than suffer any such misery. 
 Farewell gold and supper ! Let two oboli be my 
 only riches, rather than that my walls should be un- 
 dermined by slaves. Cock. But now (for the day is 
 already breaking) let us depart homeward. You will 
 see the rest, Micyllus, at another time. 
 
THE 
 
 SALE OF SLAVES.* 
 
 JUPITER, MERCURY, 8$C. 
 
 Jupiter. JL?o you, Mercury, arrange the benches, 
 and prepare the place for those that are arriving ; hav- 
 ing brought forward the slaves, place them in order : 
 but first adorn them, that they may seem handsome, 
 and entice many bidders. But you, Mercury, make 
 proclamation, and bid, with good luck, the purchasers 
 to be present in the market-place. We sell, by a 
 cryer, philosophic slaves of all kinds and of different 
 sects. But if any person cannot count down ready 
 money, on giving security, he may pay it next year. 
 Merc, Many are come together, therefore we must 
 not delay, nor are they to be detained. Jup. Let us 
 sell therefore. 
 
 Merc. Whom do you wish I should first produce? 
 J up. This long-haired Ionian, for he seems to be 
 some august personage* Merc. You, Fythagorian, 
 come down, and hold yourself near to be viewed by 
 the company. Jup. Now make proclamation. 
 Merc. 1 sell a most excellent slave, most respectable, 
 who will buy him ?• who wishes to be more than 
 man ? who to know the harmony of the universe, 
 and to revive a second time? Buyer. As to his 
 
 * This is generally translated the (i Auction, or sale of lives, but 
 incorrectly. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 25 
 
 appearance, indeed he is not ignoble. Bat what does 
 he chiefly know? Merc. Arithmetic, astronomy, 
 prognostics, geometry, music, juggling You be- 
 hold a great prophet. Buyer. Is it permitted to 
 question him ? Merc. Interrogate him : with good 
 luck. 
 
 Buyer. What countryman are you? Pyth. A 
 Samian. Buyer. Where were you educated ? Pyth, 
 In Egypt, among the wise men there. Buyer. Come 
 then, if 1 buy you, what will you teach me ? Pyth. 
 I will, indeed, teach you nothing, but 1 will put you 
 in mind. Buyer. How will you put me in mind ? 
 Pyth. First, by purging your soul, and washing off 
 the filth that is on it. Buyer. But supposing that I 
 am already purged, what are the means of putting 
 me in mind? Pyth. At first, indeed, long rest and 
 silence, and to speak nothing for five entire years. 
 Buyer, it is for you, excellent sir, to instruct the son 
 of Chrcesus: as for my part, I am talkative, and do 
 not desire to be a statue. But what, however, after 
 silence and five years ? Pyth. You will be exercised 
 in music and geometry. Buyer. You speak agree- 
 ably, if I must first become a harper, and after that a 
 sophist. 
 
 Pyth. Then after these you will learn to count. 
 Buyer. I know already to count Pyth How do 
 you count ? Buyer. One — two —three — four. Pyth. 
 Do you see, these which you think four, are ten 3 and 
 a perfect equilateral triangle, and our oath ?* Buyer* 
 Then by this greatest oath, the number four, I never 
 heard conversations more divine or holy. Pyth. But 
 afterwards, stranger, you will learn concernino- the 
 earth, and water, and fire, what their natural action 
 is, and of what form they are, and how they are 
 
 * The number ten, placed in the following manner, makes a* 
 equilateral triangle : * See Stanley's History of Philosophy, p. 58 1, 
 
 * * # 
 
 * If * * 
 
26 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 
 
 moved Buyer. Has fire, therefore, and air, and 
 water, a shape ? Pyth. And a very manifest one : 
 for they cannot be moved without form and figure. 
 By these you will understand that God is number and 
 harmony. Buyer. You tell wonderful things. 
 
 PyLh. Besides the things already said, you shall 
 know, that you yourself, seeming an individual, 
 appear to be one, but art another. Buyer. What 
 say you ? that I am another person, not the 
 same that speak to you now? Pyth. Now indeed 
 you are the person, but formerly you appeared 
 in another body, and under another name; and 
 again, in process of time, you will pass into another 
 person. Buyer. Do you mean this, that 1 will be 
 immortal, to be changed into different forms. — But 
 enough of these things. 
 
 As to your living, what sort of person are you ? 
 Pyth, 1 eat no animal food; but every thing else 
 except beans. Buyer. Why do you dislike beans ? 
 Pyth. I do not : but they are sacred, and their nature 
 is marvellous. In the first place, the whole is genera- 
 tive, and if you shell a green bean, you will see it, 
 in shape, like the virile members; but, if boiled, you 
 expose them for a certain number of nights to the 
 moon, you will make blood. But what is more, it is 
 a law with the Athenians to choose their Magistrates 
 by a ballot of beans. Buyer. You have spoken all 
 nobly and divinely. But strip, for I wish to see you 
 naked too, — O Hercules, lie has a golden thigh ; he 
 seems some god and not a mortal; wherefore I must 
 by all means buy him. How much do you cry him 
 at. Merc At ten mi use. Buyer. I have him, (He 
 is mine) taking him at such price. Jup. Write down 
 the name and country of the buyer. Merc, He seems, 
 O Jupiter, to be an Italian, one of those who dwell 
 near Crotona, and Tarentum, and Greece therea- 
 bouts. However it is not one, but about three 
 hundred that have purchased him, to have him in 
 common. Jup. Let them take him away— let us 
 bring forward another. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 27 
 
 Merc. Will you have that filthy fellow, him from 
 Pontus ? Jup. Certainly. Merc. Here, you with 
 the wallet hanging at your back, with round shoul- 
 der; come, and go round the bench in order. I sell 
 a manly slave ; an excellent and generous slave, and 
 a slave that is free. Who will buy him ? Buyer. 
 What say you, cryer : do you sell a free man ? Merc. 
 I do. Buyer. Do you not fear then, lest he accuse 
 you of kidnapping, or that he summon you into the 
 Areopagus ? Merc. He is not concerned for being 
 sold ; for he supposes himself to be free every where. 
 Buyer. But what use can be made of him, being 
 filthy and so unhappily affected, unless one would 
 make him a digger or a water-carrier ? Mere* Not 
 this only, but if you station him to act as porter at 
 your gate, you will experience him more faithful than 
 dogs : and certainly his name too is Dog. Buyer. 
 What countryman is he, and what institution does 
 he possess ? Merc. Ask himself, for it is best to do 
 &o. Buyer. I fear his surly and downcast counte* 
 nance, lest he bark at me approaching him, or per- 
 haps, bite me. Do you not see how he raises his stick, 
 and knits his eye-brows, and looks somewhat threat- 
 ening and angry ? Merc. Fear not, for he is tame. 
 
 Buyer. First, good Sir, of what country are you ? 
 Diog. Of every country. Buyer. What do you say? 
 Diog. You see a citizen of the world. Buyer. 
 Whom do you follow ? Diog. Hercules. Buyer. 
 Why, therefore, have you not around you the lion's 
 skin? for as to the club you are like him. Diog. 
 This threadbare coat is my lion's skin. But I wage 
 war, like him, against pleasures, not commanded, 
 but of my own accord, proposing to myself to purge 
 the world. Buyer. 1 commend your design. But 
 what shall we say you know particularly, or what art 
 have you ? Diog. I am the deliverer of mankind, 
 and the physician of the passions ; on the whole, I 
 desire to be the prophet of truth and liberty of speech, 
 
C:>/- St/**- 
 
 28 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 
 
 Buyer. Come, Mr, Prop het, if I buy you, m 
 what manner will you teach me ? Diog. At first, 
 indeed, having received you, and stripped you of your 
 luxury, 1 will confine you with poverty, and throw 
 an old coat round you. Then 1 will oblige you to 
 work and labour, sleeping on the ground, drinking 
 water, and to be filled with whatever food comes in 
 your way. But, advised by me, you must take and 
 throw your riches, if you have any, into the sea. You 
 w 7 ill be regardless of marriage, and of children, and 
 of country; and will consider all things trifles ; and 
 having left your father's house, you will inhabit either 
 a sepulchre or an old deserted tower, or even a tub. 
 Your wallet shall be filled with lupines,* and books 
 written on the, back. Having yourself thus equipped, 
 you will consider yourself more happy than the great 
 king + But if any person whip or torture you, you 
 will deem none of these troublesome. Buyer. What 
 say you, will I not grieve being whipped ? for I am 
 not surrounded with the shell of a crab or a tortoise. 
 JDicg. You will imitate" that saying of Euripides, 
 having changed it a little. Buyer. What saying ? 
 IJiog. Your mind will giieve, but your tongue will 
 be griefless ! 
 
 These are chiefly what you ought to be — you must 
 be impudent and audacious, and abuse every body in 
 order, both kings and private persons alike : for so 
 they will gaze on you, and think you manly. And 
 your voice will be barbarous, and a discordant sound, 
 and entirely like a dog's: your countenance screwed 
 up, your gait becoming such a countenance; and in 
 short, you will be all savage and rustic. But let 
 modesty, and gentleness, and moderation, be absent ; 
 and altogether shave every blush from your face. 
 Frequent the most public places, and desire to be in 
 
 * See Juvenal, Sat. I. ver. 6. 
 
 f This was the appellation of the King of Persia. See Aristoph. 
 Plut. 170. 
 
 4 $ee the Hippolitus of Euripides, ver. 112. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 29 
 
 them alone, and without company, admitting neither 
 friend nor stranger: tor these things would brin^des- 
 truction to your government. Do courageously tn the 
 faces of all, what another person would not do in 
 private ; and practice the most ridiculous venery. At 
 length, if you please, having devoured a raw polypus* 
 or cuttle fish, die. Such is the happiness we would set 
 before you. 
 
 Buyer. Away! you speak of impurity and things 
 abhorrent to humanity. Diog* But hark, friend, 
 they are most easy, and such as any person could, 
 without difficulty, practice. Nor will you have need 
 of education, and speeches, and trifles : but these are 
 a short way for you to glory. For though you be 
 ignorant, a cobler, a seller of salt fish, a smith, or 
 money-lender, nothing will prevent you from being 
 admirable, provided you have impudence and auda- 
 city, and learn to abuse well. Buyer. To acquire 
 these, 1 do not, indeed, want you : but perhaps you 
 may, with advantage, be made a sailor or a cabbage 
 planter, and that, if he will sell you for these tw r o 
 oboli at most. Merc. Take him, for we are glad to 
 be rid of him, who is so troublesome to us, and roars 
 so, and insults and detracts every body. 
 
 J up. Call another, that Cyrensean,t him in pur- 
 ple, and crowned. Merc. Come then, attend ye all: 
 this is a precious article, and requires a rich purchaser. 
 This is a sweet slave, a thrice happy slave. Who is 
 desirous of pleasure ? who bays this most delicate 
 philosopher? Buyer. Come hither and tell what 
 you happen to know ; for I will buy you if you be 
 useful. Merc. Do not disturb him, good Sir, nor 
 interrogate him, for he is inebriated, so that he cannot 
 answer you, his tongue faltering as you see. Buyer. 
 And who in his senses, would buy so corrupt and 
 wicked a slave ? Of what perfumes he smells ! with 
 
 * Alluding to the death of Democvitus. 
 t Aristippus, a disciple of Socrates, 
 
30 
 
 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 
 
 what a slippery and wavering gait he moves. In the 
 mean time, do you, Mercury, tell what properties 
 are in him, and what profession he happens to pur- 
 sue. Merc. In short he is a dexterous boon compa- 
 nion, and adapted for drinking, and fit to practice 
 lascivious dances with a piper, a lover, and some 
 abandoned lord. Besides, he is skilled in cooking 
 sweet-meats, and very knowing in dainties, and 
 altogether a master in luxury. He was brought up 
 at Athens, and served under the tyrants of Sicily, and 
 was in high esteem with them. But the whole of his 
 philosophy consists in despising all things, enjoying 
 all things, and searching for pleasure every where. 
 Buyer. It is time now for you to look out for another 
 purchaser among the rich and mon'red persona : 1 am 
 not adapted for buying a merry slave. Merc. He, 
 Jupiter, does not seem saleable, and will remain with 
 us, J up Set him aside. 
 
 Bring forward another : and particularly those two, 
 the laugher, * from Abdera, and the weeper, + from 
 Ephesus, for 1 will sell both together. Merc. Come 
 down into the middle : 1 sell most excellent slaves; 
 I publish for sale two the most wise of all. Buyer. 
 O Jove ! what difference. One does not cease to 
 laugh, and the other seems to lament somebody ; for 
 he incessantly weeps. Hark you, what's this ? why 
 do you laugh? Dem, Do you ask ? all your affairs 
 and yourselves seem ridiculous to me. Buyer. What 
 say you ? you laugh at us all : do you consider all our 
 affairs as nothing? De?n. So it is: for there is 
 nothing serious in them : all are vain, and an impulse 
 of atoms, and undefineable.jj: Buyer. By no means : 
 but how truly vain are you, and unskilled ! O inso- 
 lence ! will you not cease laughing ? 
 
 But you, good Sir, why do you weep ? for I think 
 it far better to accost you. Her. I wcep ) stranger* 
 
 * Demccrltus. f Heraclitus, 
 
 $ See note in Stock on this word. 
 
THE SALE OF SLATES. Si 
 
 because I think the affairs of men lamentable and 
 deplorable, and that there is none of them exempt 
 from fate. On this account, then, I pity them and 
 weep: and indeed the present I do not consider great, 
 but deem those things wretched which are to happen 
 at a future time — I mean the burnings and the cala- 
 mity of the universe. These things I deplore, and 
 because nothing is durable, but all things are rolled 
 into a certain confusion ; and because delight and 
 dislike are the same; knowledge and ignorance: great 
 and small; dancing up and down, and changing 
 places in the childhood of life. Buyer. And what is 
 life? Her. A child playing, throwing the dice, 
 roving up and down. Buyer. And what are men ? 
 Her. Mortal gods. Buyer And what are gods ? Her. 
 Immortal men. Buyer. Do you talk riddles, friend, 
 or compose griphi?* For like the Loxian Apollo, 
 you plainly say nothing clear. Her. 1 care nothing 
 about you. Buyer. Nobody therefore in his senses 
 will purchase you. Her. 1 bid you all go wail, great 
 and small, buyers and not buyers. Buyer. This dis- 
 order is not far from madness, 1 will not indeed pur- 
 chase either of them. Merc. Nor can these be sold. 
 J up Proclaim another. 
 
 Merc. Will you have that prating Athenian ? 
 J up. Certainly. Merc. Come hither, Sir. We 
 proclaim a good and prudent slave. Who buys a 
 most holy personage? Buyer. Tell me what you 
 may know in particular. Socr. Iain a lover [* * *] 
 and learned in love affairs. Buyer. How then could 
 1 purchase you : for I wanted a pedagogue for a 
 beautiful youth which I have. Socr. And who can 
 be a more fit companion for a handsome youth : for 
 I am not a lover of their bodies ; 1 admire a beautiful 
 soul. Certainly if they spent the night with me, 
 
 * The Griphi were not very different from our riddles and conun- 
 drums, though they required, perhaps, a little more learning to 
 unravel tberj& See Atkenceus. Cook X. 
 
32 THE SALE OF SLATES. 
 
 under the same covering, you would hear them saying 
 that they suffered nothing abominable from me. 
 Buyer. You speak incredible things, being a lover 
 £ # * * ] and seeking nothing curiously beyond 
 the soul: and that, when it is in your power, lying 
 under the same covering. 
 
 Socr. But 1 swear to you by the dog* and the 
 plane-tree, that these things are so. Buyer O Her- 
 cules, the absurdity of these gods ! Socr. What say 
 you ? Does not the dog seem to you to be a god ? 
 Do you not see how great Anubisisin Kgypt ? and 
 Sirius in heaven ? and Cerberus with those below ? 
 Buyer. You say right; but i was mistaken. 
 
 But in what manner do you live ? Socr. 1 inhabit 
 a certain city which 1 have formed for my*elf : I use a 
 new republic, and enact my own laws. Buyer. I 
 would wish to hear one of your laws. Socr. Then 
 hear the greatest, which 1 was pleased to make con- 
 cerning women. 1 was pleased to enact that none of 
 them should be the property of any one person, but 
 to participate in the marriage of every person desiring 
 her. Buy< r. What say you ? are the laws concerning 
 adultery to be annulled ? Socr. Certainly, by Jove; 
 and simply all that trifling diligence about such things. 
 Buyer. But what is your pleasure concerning Boys 
 flourishing in youth ? Socr. These shall be the re- 
 ward of the bravest [ * * * J having atchieved 
 some splendid and distinguished action. Buyer. 
 Amazing munificence ! 
 
 But what is the chief point of your wisdom ? Socr. 
 IdeajB and examples of things existing, For whatever 
 you see, the earth, and all things on the earth, the 
 heavens, the sea, certain invisible images of all these, 
 exist beyond the universe. Buyer. Where do they 
 exist? Socr. No where : for if they were any where, 
 they would not be. Buyer. I do not see those exarn- 
 
 * Cerberus. This is called the oath of Rhadamanthus, who coal" 
 asanded his subjects to swear on every trivial occasion. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 33 
 
 pies which you mention. Socr. No wonder, for you 
 are blind in your mind's eye. But I see the images 
 of all, and you invisible, and myself a different per- 
 son, and all things entirely double. Buyer. There- 
 fore you are to be purchased, being so wise, and sharp- 
 sighted. Come, Mercury, let me see what you re- 
 quire of me for him. Merc. Give me two talents. 
 Buyer. I bought him for what you say : but 1 will 
 count down the silver to-morrow. Merc. What then 
 is your name? Buyer. Dion of Syracuse. Merc. 
 Come, take him, with good luck. 
 
 Now 1 call you, Epicurian, Who will buy him ? 
 He is indeed a disciple of that laughing philosopher^ 
 and of that toper whom we have just sold by procla- 
 mation. But he knows one thing more than they, as 
 far as he is more profane. As to other matters lie is a 
 sweet felloxo, and is a lover of good living. Buyer. 
 How much is his price ? Merc. Two minee. Buyer. 
 Here they are for you : but let me know one thing; 
 what fooci does he delight in ? Merc. He lives on 
 sweet and honied food, and particularly on figs. 
 Buyer. There is no difficulty in this matter, for I will 
 buy him some frails of Carian %s. 
 
 J up. Call another: him shorn to the skin, him 
 from the porch, (the Stoic*). Merc. You advise 
 right : for many of those who have come to the market- 
 place, seem to expect him. I sell virtue itself, the 
 most perfect slave. Who alone wishes to know 
 every thing? Buyer. What is that you say? 
 Merc. That he alone is wise, he alone is beautiful, 
 he alone is just, manly, a king, a rhetorician, a rich 
 man, a law-giver, and every thing else whatever itlbe. 
 Buyer. Therefore, good Sir, he alone is a cook also, 
 and, by Jove, a cobler, and a carpenter, and the 
 like. Merc. It seems so. 
 
 Buyer. Come hither, good Sir, and tell me, about 
 to purchase you, what kind of person you are ; and 
 
 • ChrysippUs.- 
 
w 
 
 34 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 
 
 first, if you do not take it amiss to be sold, and to be 
 a slave ? Chrys. Not at all : for these things are not in 
 our power ; and whatever is not in our power, happens 
 to be indifferent to us. Buyer. I do not understand 
 what you say. Chrys. What say you ? you do not 
 understand that some of these things are to be pre- 
 ferred, and some again to be rejected ? Buyer. Nei- 
 ther do I understand it now. Chrys. No wonder; 
 for you are not accustomed to our terms, nor have you 
 a comprehensive imagination. But the studious per- 
 son, who has learned the theory of logic, not only 
 knows these terms, but also the accidents and super- 
 accidents, and how r , and in what they differ. Buyer. 
 By philosophy, do not envy to tell me this, what are 
 these accidents and super-accidents ? for 1 do not 
 know how I am struck with the number of those 
 terms. Chrys. 1 do not envy you this; for if any 
 person, being lame, has received a wound, suddenly 
 striking that very lame foot against a stone, he cer- 
 tainly has had his lameness an accident, and received 
 his wound as a super-accident. 
 
 Buyer. Wonderful acuteness! But what else do 
 you say you know? Chrys. The mazes of speech, 
 with which I entangle and bind those that converse 
 with me ; and 1 silence them, simply throwing a bridle 
 on them. The name of what I effect this with is the 
 celebrated Syllogism. Buyer. By Hercules, you 
 mention a certain invincible and forcible argument. 
 Chrys. Look you then, have you a child? Buyer. 
 What of that ? Chrys. If by chance a corcodile* 
 
 * The sophism called Corcodile took its rise, they say, from the 
 following story :- — A gipsey walking on the banks of the Nile, had 
 the misfortune to have her little boy laid hold of by a Corcodile. 
 She begged and prayed him to let the child go, till at last the Cor- 
 codile promised, that if she gave him a true answer to a question, 
 she should have her boy again. The question he asked her was, 
 H Will I restore your son to you or not ?" By this the poor woman 
 was reduced to a great dilemma, since the truth of her answer de- 
 pended altogether on the will of the Corcodile. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 35 
 
 should seize him, walking near the river, and then 
 promise to restore him to you, if you should truly tell 
 him what he determined concerning the restoration of 
 the child, what will you say he has resolved upon ? 
 Buyer. You ask what is difficult to be answered : 
 for I hesitate what to say that I may recover him. 
 But do you, in the name of Jove, preserve my child 
 by your answer, lest the Corcodile devour him, before 
 I can answer. Chrys Have courage, for I will teach 
 you other things too, more wonderfiil. Buyer. What ? 
 Chrys. The syllogism called the Reaper, and the 
 Ruler, and above all, the Eiectra, and the Hidden. 
 Buyer. Who is the Hidden, an 1 this Electra you 
 mention ? Chrys. That illustrious Electra, the 
 daughter of Agamemnon, who at the same time, 
 knew the same tiling and did not know it. For while 
 Orestes was standing by her yet unknown, she knew 
 that Orestes was her brother, but did not know that 
 he vas Orestes But you shall immediately hear the 
 hidden and very wonderful speech : for, answer me, 
 do you know your own father? Buyer, Certainly. 
 C/rys. What then, should I place near you any per- 
 son in a mask, and ask you, do you know him ? what 
 would you say ? B."yer, Doubtless, that I do not 
 know him. Chrys But, indeed, that every person was 
 your father, wherefore, if you did not know him, it is 
 manifest that you did not know your father. Buyer. 
 Not at all : unmask him, and I will know the truth. 
 
 But pray what is the end of your wisdom, or what 
 are you to do when you shall arrive at the height of 
 virtue? Chrys. I will be conversant with these things 
 which are first in nature; 1 mean riches, health, and 
 the like. But it is necessary to labour much before- 
 hand, to apply the eyes closely to manuscript books, 
 to compile commentaries, and to be filled with sole- 
 cisi nd absuid sentences; in short, it is not lawful 
 for ypu to become wise, unless you drink hellebore 
 three times in due order. Buyt r. These are really 
 generous and manly studies. But to be a sordid 
 
36 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 
 
 Gnipho* and a usurer, (for I see these are in you, 
 shall we say that these are the property of a ma 
 purged with hellebore, and perfect in virtue. Chryt* 
 Certainly : to practice usury becomes a wise man alone 
 Since it is his property to collect ; + and to act tli 
 usurer, and compute interest, seem a-kin to the art oi 
 collecting; this also, as well as the other, is the part 
 of a studious man ; and not only to take simple inter- 
 est like others, but also other interest of that interest. 
 For are you ignorant, that of interest there are some 
 certain firsts, and some seconds, as if the offspring of 
 them (of the first interest) ?■ See, therefore, what the 
 syllogism says — If he will receive the first interest, 
 he will (iho receive the second ; but he will certainly 
 receive the first. Ergo, he will receive the second also. 
 
 Buyer. Therefore we may say the same concerning 
 the rewards, which you receive from the youths on 
 account of your wisdom ; and 'tis manifest that the 
 good man alone will receive a reward on account of 
 virtue. Chrys. You understand it : for 'tis not on 
 my own account I receive it, but for the sake of the 
 giver himself; for since one is a lavisher, and another 
 a receiver, 1 study to be a receiver, and for my disci- 
 ple to be a Ltvisher. Buyer. You have certainly said 
 the contrary ; that the youth was the receiver, and you 
 who alone are wise, are the lavisher. Chrys. You 
 deride me, good sir ; but see that 1 do not shoot you 
 with an indefinite syllogism. Buyer. And what evil 
 fa to be feared from that weapon? Chrys. Doubt, 
 and silence, and the distraction of the mind. 
 
 Bat what is greatest, if I wish, I will instantly 
 make you a stone. Buyer. How a stone? For, good 
 sir, you do not seem to me to be Perseus. Chrys. 
 
 * Gnipho, in the foregoing Dialogue, is used as the name of a cer- 
 tain miser. Here it is to be taken generally as an appellation for ail 
 misers. 
 
 f To make syllogisms. — The pun, or play upon the word here, 
 tan only be perceived in the original. Punning or playing on words 
 ©an seldom or never be translated. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 3T 
 
 Thus : is a stone a body ? Buyer. Yes. Chrys. 
 What then, is not an animal a body ? Buyer. Yes. 
 Chrys. Are you an animal ? Buyer. I think so, in- 
 deed. Chrys. Ergo, you are a stone being a body. 
 Buyer. Not at all; but liberate me, 1 pray you by 
 Jove, and make me a man again. Chrys. It is not 
 difficult : be then a man once more. Tell me, is every 
 body an animal ? Buyer. No. Chrys. What, is a 
 stone an animal ? Buyer. No. Chrys. But are you 
 a body? Buyer. Yes. Chrys. Being a body then 
 are you an animal ? Buyer. Yes. Chrys. Therefore 
 you are not a stone being an animal. Buyer. You 
 have done well, since already my legs, like those of 
 Niobe, were chilled and stony. But I will, however, 
 buy you. How much, Mercury ', shall I lay down 
 for him ? Mere. Twelve minae. Buyer. Take them. 
 Merc. Do you alone buy him? Buyer. No, by 
 Jove ; but all tho?e whom you see. Merc. They are 
 many indeed, and strong as to their shoulders, and 
 fit for the discourse called the Reaper. 
 
 J up. Don't lose time : call another. Merc. I name 
 you Peripatetic,* the handsome, the rich. Come 
 then, purchase the most wise philosopher, him under- 
 standing every thing in the universe. Buyer. What 
 kind is he ? Merc. Moderate, just, fit for the world, 
 and what is best of all, he is double. Buyer. What 
 say you ? Merc. Appearing one person outwardly, 
 he seems to be another inwardly. Wherefore, if vou 
 purchase him, remember that you are to call this in- 
 ternal, that external. Buyer. What in particular 
 does he profess ? Merc. That good things are three, 
 in the soul, in the body, in external things. Buyer. 
 He knows human affairs. But what is his price. 
 Merc. Twenty minae. Buyer. You name a great 
 price. Merc. No, good sir, for he himself also seems 
 to have some money ; wherefore you cannot avoid buy- 
 ing him : besides you will very speedily know front 
 
 * Aristotle. 
 
 ^ D 
 
38 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 
 
 him, how long a gnat lives, to what depth the sea li 
 rendered pellucid by the sun, and what sort is the 
 soul of oysters. Buyer. O Hercules ! what accurate 
 investigation. Merc. But what if you heard many 
 other instances more accurate than these, concerning 
 seed, and generation, and the formation of embryos 
 in the womb ? and that man is a risible animal, but 
 that an ass is neither risible, nor fit for building or 
 sailing ? Buyer. You name precepts both respectable 
 and useful : wherefore I will purchase him for twenty. 
 Merc. Let it be so. Who besides is left us ? — 
 This sceptic. Come hither you Pyrrhias,* and be 
 proclaimed instantly. Now, indeed, many are going 
 off, and the sale will be to few bidders. However, 
 who will buy him ? Buyer. I will : but tell me first, 
 therefore, what you know. Pyr. Nothing. Buyer. 
 What do you mean by that? Pyr. That nothing 
 altogether seems to me to exist. Buyer. Are we 
 therefore nothings. Pyr. I do not know that either. 
 Buyer. Nor that you yourself are- something? Pyr* 
 I am still much more ignorant of that Buyer. O, 
 excessive doubt ! But what means these scales ? Pyr. 
 I ponder arguments in them, and correct them into 
 equality ; and when I see them perfectly alike and of 
 equal weight, then indeed 1 do not know which is the 
 truer side of the question. Buyer. But of other 
 matters, what can you do correctly? Pyr. All, ex- 
 cept pursuing a fugitive. Buyer. Why is that im- 
 possible to you ? Pyr. Because, good sir, I cannot 
 apprehend. t Buyer. No wonder; for you seem to 
 be a certain slow and sluggish fellow. But what is 
 the end of your knowledge? Pyr. Ignorance, and 
 neither to hear nor see. Buyer. You say therefore that 
 you are both deaf and blind together. Pyr. And 
 moreover, without judgment, and void of sense, and 
 
 * Diogenes Lsertius calls him Pyrrho. 
 
 •j- It will readily be apprehended, that the wit of this passage is 
 merely a pun arising from a technical term* See note in Stock. 
 
THE SALE OF SLAVES. 39 
 
 altogether differing in nothing from a reptile. Buyer, 
 You are to be bought on that account. How much 
 ought we say him to be worth? Merc. Ait Attic 
 Miua. Buyer. Take it. What say you, sir, have 
 I bought you ? Pyr. It is uncertain. Buyer. Not 
 at all ; for I have purchased you and laid down the 
 money. Pyr. 1 suspend my judgment about that, 
 and consider it. Buyer. However, follow me as you 
 should, being my slave. Pyr. "W ho knows whether 
 you say these things true. Buyer. The Auctioneer 
 and the Mina, and the people present. Pyr. Are 
 any present with us? Buyer. But I, having in- 
 stantly cast you into the workhouse, will make you 
 know that I am your master with an argument a 
 deteriori. Pyr. 1 suspend my judgment about that. 
 Buyer. But, by Jove, 1 have now shown my deter- 
 mination. Merc. Desist opposing, and follow your 
 purchaser. — But, gentlemen, we invite you to-mor- 
 row, for we are about to proclaim for sale, private 
 persons, and mechanics, and people of the market- 
 place.* 
 
 * Suidas explains the Greek word by Homines qui inforo versan* 
 tur, emendi aiit vendendi causa. Benedict renders it viles. 
 
 D2 
 
®fce ffiiffbttm&n; 
 
 OB, THE 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 
 
 Socrates. I elt, pelt the cursed wretch with 
 abundance of stones ; shower on him with clods, 
 shower on him still with pot-sherds — beat the villain 
 with your sticks; see that he does not escape. And 
 you, Plato, pelt him ; and you, Chrysippus ; and 
 
 you Let us all rush on him in aJ)ody, that 
 
 wallet may aid wallet, and stick sticks ; for he is 
 our common enemy, and there is none of us that he 
 has not affronted. But do you, Diogenes, use your 
 stick, if you ever did it before, and do not spare it : 
 lethim suffer worthy punishment, as being a calum- 
 niator. What's this ? are you wearied Epicuru3 
 and Aristippus ? certainly it did not become you. 
 Be wise and remember impetuous wrath. 
 
 Aristotle ! make greater haste. It's well: the beast 
 is taken. We have caught you, polluted wretch, you 
 shall therefore speedily know who we are that you 
 abused. But in what manner shall we treat him ? 
 Let us invent various deaths for him, which can'satisfy 
 us all; he deserves to die seven times for each of us. 
 JPhilos. Reviv. at once. It seems to me that he should 
 be impaled, but tirst scourged, by Jove.* Another. 
 
 * Franklin seems to have very well divided the Dialogue here: — 
 Plato. Let him be crucified. Socr, JSut first, by Jove, I will hav§ 
 feim whipped. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 41 
 
 Let his eyes be dug out. Another. But let his tongue 
 first of all be cut out. Socr. What seems it to you 
 Empedocles ? Emp To cast him into the craters of 
 ojie-ry mountain, that he may learn not to abuse his 
 betters. Plat. It would certainly be best, that like 
 some Pentheus or Orpheus, he should find a torn fate 
 on rocks, that each of us having a part of him might 
 go off with it. 
 
 JLucian. O no ! but spare me, by Jove, the protec- 
 tor of suppliants. Socr. It is decreed: you cannot 
 again be let off; but you see what Homer says, that 
 treaties with lions and men are not faithful. Luc. 
 However, I will beseech you out of Homer : you 
 will, perchance, revere his verses, and not despise me 
 reciting them. — Spare a man that is not evil, and re- 
 ceive a worthy ransom, both brass and gold ; for the 
 wise love these.** Plat. Neither will an Homeric 
 answer for you be wanting to us : hear then — Do not, 
 slanderer, meditate flight from me in your mind, 
 having counted down your gold, since you have come 
 into our hands. Luc. Woe is me! Homer, our 
 greatest hope has abandoned us. I must then fly to 
 Euripides; he, perhaps, will preserve me — Slay not 
 * the suppliant, it is not lawful to kill him. Plat. But 
 what ? are not these words too from Euripides ; shall 
 not those that do 'evil things suffer evil things ? Luc. 
 Now, therefore, do you kill me, for w r ords ? Plat. 
 Certainly, by Jove, for the very "same Euripides 
 says, misfortune 'is the end of an unbridled moiuh 
 and impious pride. 
 
 Luc. Therefore, since you are entirely determined 
 to kill me, arrd it is not possible for me to escape by 
 any stratagem, come, tell me this, who you are, or 
 what incurable injury having suffered from me, you 
 are enraged with me beyond cure, and have seized me 
 ' for death. Plat. Ask* yourself, villain, what injurk-s 
 
 * The £re last words of this distich are not in Homer. 
 
 D3 
 
42 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 you have done us ; and those excellent writings of 
 yours, in which you have spoken disrespectfully of 
 Philosophy itself, and reviled us ; proclaiming for 
 sale, as if in the market place, wise men, and what 
 is a greater crime, free men. Indignant for these 
 things, and having obtained a furlow for a short time 
 from Pluto, we have ascended hither against you, 
 this Chrisippus here, and Epicurus, and i Plato, and 
 Aristotle himself, and this silent Pythagoras, and 
 JJiogenes, and all, as many as you have torn in your 
 writings. 
 
 Luc. ] have got breath again — nor will yon kill 
 me if you learn how I behaved towards you : where- 
 fore cast away the stones, or rather preserve them, 
 for you can use them against those that deserve them. 
 PlaL You trifle with us, for you must certainly die 
 to-day; and now you are to have a stone coat on 
 account of all the evils you have done. Luc. But, 
 most excellent sirs, if you kill me, having undertaken 
 so many labours for you, know well that you will 
 Hill the only person you should praise, being your 
 familiar friend, and benevolent to you, and of the 
 same sentiments: and, if it be not disagreeable to say 
 it, the guardian of your studies. See therefore, that 
 you do not act like the Fhilosphers now a- days, and 
 seem thankless, angry, and unmindful of obligations 
 to a man that deserved well of you. Plat. O impu- 
 dence ! and do we owe you thanks for your slander ? 
 does he so verily think that he is treating with slaves; 
 or does he also account such abuse and petulance of 
 words against us as an obligation. 
 
 Luc. Where, therefore, or when have I abused 
 you ? i who lived always admiring philosophy, and 
 extolling you, and conversant in the books which you 
 left after you. How otherwise could 1 shew to men 
 those tilings which 1 say, than by taking them from 
 you, and like bees tasting your flowers? but they 
 praise, and recognize the flower of each, whence and 
 from whom, ana how I collected it; they commend 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 43 
 
 me in speech for this collection of flowers, but in rea- 
 lity you, and that meadow of yours, who produce 
 such various and many coloured flowers, if any per- 
 son knew to collect, and to bind, and to arrange 
 harmoniously, so that they do not disagree one from 
 the other. Is there any person then, having deserved 
 such good things from you, that would dare to speak 
 badly of men, his benefactors, from whom he has 
 whereby he appears to be something great ; unless he 
 be of the same disposition with Thamyris, or Eurytus, 
 to sing against those very muses, from whom he re- 
 ceived the art of singing ; or to contend with Apollo, 
 daring to aim a dart against the very teacher of 
 archery. 
 
 Plat. This indeed, generous soul, you have spoken 
 after the manner of rhetoricians: it is entirely con- 
 trary to the thing itself, and proves your audacity 
 more importunate, since even ingratitude adds to 
 your injury ; who having received weapons from us as 
 you acknowledge, you have shot them at us, propos- 
 ing to yourself this object only, to speak badly of us 
 all. This is the reward w f e have received from you 
 in return for opening our meadow to you, and not 
 hindering you from mowing, and departing, having 
 filled your bosom. Wherefore, even on account of 
 this particularly, you were deserving of death. 
 
 Observe, you listen to anger, and admit nothing 
 just. I never thought, indeed, that the anger of 
 Plato, or Chrysippus, or Aristotle, or of any others 
 of you should come to pass ; but you alone seemed 
 to me to be remote from such weakness. But, how- 
 ever, O admirable adversaries^ you will not kill me 
 uncondemned, nor without standing my trial : for 
 even this was your charaeier^ not to act by violence, 
 and according to the strength of each, but to deter- 
 mine differences by justice, having given and heard 
 evidence on both sides of the question. Wherefore, 
 having fixed on a judge, accuse me, either all together 
 or whomsoever you shall chuse by your votes to speak 
 
44 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 for all : but I will answer to your accusations. If 
 then it appears that I have done you an injury, and 
 the trial shall determine that concerning me, I will 
 certainly withstand the just punishment, and you will 
 attempt nothing violent. But if, after holding the 
 disquisition, I shall be found for you pure irrepre- 
 hensible, the judges will absolve me; but you will 
 turn your resentment against those who deceived you 
 and stirred you up against me. 
 
 Plat. This would be turning the horse loose into a 
 field,* that having deceived the judges you might 
 escape : for they say you are a rhetorician, and a 
 pleader, and a wily disputant. But what judge do 
 you wish to be appointed, whom you would not in- 
 duce, being corrupted with bribes, (you do many 
 such unlawful things) to pass sentence in your fa- 
 vour? Luc. Be confident, with regard to that: I 
 wish for no such suspected or partial judge, nor one 
 who would sell me his opinion ; for, behold, 1 make 
 Philosophy herself as a judge, together with you. 
 Plat. And who shall accuse you if we be judges? 
 Luc. Do you yourselves both accuse and judge. Nor 
 do I fear this in the least; so much 1 overbear in- 
 justice, and trust to plead my cause with fluency. 
 
 Plat. What are we doing Pythagoras and So- 
 crates ; for the man seems to challenge us not without 
 reason, in deigning to be judged. Socr. What else, 
 than to go to the tribunal, and having taken Philoso- 
 phy with us, hear what he has to say for himself; 
 for it is not otir character to condemn before trial, 
 but it is downright vulgar, and the part of certain 
 angry men, and of those placing justice in violence. t 
 For we will give an opportunity to those who wish to 
 detract us, by stoning a man not having spoken for 
 himself, and that, we who say we rejoice in justice. 
 
 * A proverbial expression — Turn the horse loose, and catch him 
 ftgain if you can. See Erasmus. 
 
 f So we use the word imxnu in Latin. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 45 
 
 What otherwise could we say of Anytus and Melitus, 
 my accusers, or of my then judges, if he should die, 
 not at all partaking of the water.* Plat. You advise 
 right, Socrates. Wherefore let us go to Philosophy ; 
 for she will judge, and we will abide by her decision. 
 
 Luc. Well said, most wise men : these things are 
 better and more legal. But preserve the stones as I 
 said, for shortly after you will want them at the tribu- 
 nal. But where shall one find Philosophy? for I do 
 not know where she dwells, though I wandered about 
 a long time, seeking her habitation, that I might be 
 acquainted with her. Then having met with some 
 persons clad in cloaks, and letting down long beards, 
 who said they came from her, 1 enquired, thinking 
 they knew. But they, who were much more ignorant 
 than myself, either answered me nothing at all, lest 
 they should be convicted not knowing, or shewed me 
 one door in place of another. Wherefore even to 
 this very day 1 could not rind her habitation. 
 
 Very often indeed, by my own conjectures, or some 
 other person conducting me, 1 came to some doors, 
 firmly hoping that 1 would then find her ; suspecting 
 so from the multitude of those coming and going, all 
 sour-looking, grave in their habits, and thoughtful in 
 their visage ; secretly mixing, therefore, with these I 
 also entered. Then i beheld a woman in no manner 
 simple, though she settled herself so as to appear most 
 unadorned and negligent ; but presently she appeared 
 to me, neither to have left the pretended negligence 
 of her locks devoid of ornament, nor to have ar- 
 ranged her dress without affectation. But it was 
 manifest that she was adorned with those things, and 
 made use of that feigned neglect of ornament, to 
 appear becoming. Through these appeared some 
 
 * Without his allowance of water ; without trial. Alluding to 
 the custom cf speaking by the Clepsydra, or water-clock, used at 
 Athene, to measure time between plaintiff and defendant, that nei. 
 feer party might have more talk than came to his share. 
 
 » 
 
46 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 paint and varnish, and words exceedingly meritrici 
 ous. And she gloried to be praised by her lovers on 
 account of her beauty; and received eagerly, if any 
 person gave her presents ; and seating herself near 
 the rich, not even looking on the poor sort of lovers, 
 Often too, when she imprudently stripped her bosom, 
 I saw her golden necklace, thicker than eels. Seeing 
 these things, I immediately withdrew in my former 
 footsteps, pitying, forsooth, those unhappy wretches 
 who suffered themselves to be led by her, not by the 
 nose, but by the beard, and, like Ixion, embracing a 
 cloud for a Juno. 
 
 Plat. You have said all this rightly : for the door 
 is not easily found nor known to all. But there is 
 no necessity indeed of going to her house, for we can 
 wait for her here in the Ceramicus, about to come 
 presently on her return from the Academy, to take her 
 walk in the Pcecile, which is usual with her to do 
 every day. — Bur, she is already present ! Behold her 
 decent in her habit ; mild in her aspect, and walking 
 placidly, and full of thought, Luc. I see many like 
 her in figure, gait and dress ; and yet among them 
 only one indeed is true Philosophy. Plat. You speak 
 rightly ; but her beginning to speak only will manifest 
 who she is. 
 
 Philos. Wonderful ! what, are Plato and Chrysip- 
 pus here above, and Aristotle, and all the others, the 
 very heads of my disciples ? What brought you back 
 again into life ; has any one of those below affronted 
 you, for you seem angry : and who is this captive you 
 are bringing along with you ; is he a thief, or a 
 murderer, or a spoiler of temples ? Plat. He is, by 
 Jove, O Philosophy, the most impious of all sacri- 
 legious wretches, who has dared to revile thy most 
 sacred person, and all of us, as many as left to 
 posterity any of those things which we had learn- 
 ed from you. Phil. And are you indignant at a 
 certain individual slandering us, and that knowing 
 me and what I suffer from Comedy at the Dionysia, 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 47 
 
 and yet T deem her my friends, and would not at any 
 time go to law with her, nor approaching, accuse her; 
 but L suffer her to play those pranks which are con- 
 cordant and usual at that festival : for I know that 
 nothing can be rendered worse by ridicule. Rut, on 
 the other hand, that whatever is beautiful, like gold, 
 purified with blows, shines brighter, and becomes 
 more apparent : but 1 do not know how you became 
 angry and indignant. Why then do you strangle 
 him. Plat. Having got leave for this one day, we 
 came against him, that he might suffer punishment 
 worthy his actions. For fame brought us word what 
 , things he said of us, going among the vulgar. 
 
 Philos. Will you then murder him before trial, and 
 , without his answering for himself? for it is manifest 
 j that he is desirous of saying something. Plat. No ; 
 J but we have referred the entire affair to you, and 
 whatever you think proper shall put an end to the 
 suit. Philos. (to Lucian) What say you ? Luc. 
 I say the very same, O sovereign Philosophy : you 
 who alone can investigate the truth. Wherefore with 
 many entreaties 1 scarcely obtained this, to preserve 
 the determination for you. Plat. Wretch most 
 accursed, do you now call her sovereign : you who a 
 little while ago pronounced her most contemptible, 
 , selling by proclamation in such a theatre every kind of 
 d her doctrines for two oboli each. Phil. See ye, he 
 did not traduce Philosophy, but some impostors, men 
 j committing many base things, under my name. Luc. 
 j You will immediately know, if you wish to hear me 
 pleading my cause, JLet us only go into the Areopa- 
 gus, or rather into die Acropolis itself, that all things 
 in the city may at once appear, as if from a watch- 
 j tower. 
 
 Phil. But you in the mean time walk in the 
 
 jPcecile; for I will return to you, having determined 
 
 the suit. Luc. But who are "they, O Philosophy, for 
 
 they too appear decent. Phil. She, indeed, is manly 
 
 * Virtue — she Moderation — and Justice near her — she 
 
48 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 going first is Education; *but she obscure and having 
 little colour, is Tiath. Luc. I do not know whom you 
 mean. P/nl. Do you not see her that is unadorned, 
 naked, always flying away, and always withdrawing 
 herself? Luc. I now see her, but imperfectly. But 
 why do you not bring these with you also, that the 
 sitting in court may be full and perfect ? but I wish 
 that Truth be introduced to the trial, even as my advo- 
 cate. Phil. Certainly, by Jove; do you also follow 
 me ; nor will it indeed be troublesome to decide one 
 cause, and that to be about our own affairs. 
 
 Truth. Go you, for I have no need to hear things 
 which I know long since. Phil* But, O truth, it 
 is our interest that you should be present at the trial, 
 that you may point out each particular. Truth. 
 Therefore I will also bring my two handmaids, being 
 most friendly to me. Phil. Certainly, and as many as 
 you please. Truth. Follow with us, you Liberty and 
 Freedom of speech, that we may save this trembling 
 poor man, being our lover, and in danger for no just 
 cause. But do you, Conviction, remain here. Luc. 
 By no means, sovereign mistress ; let him come also, 
 and if there be any other person ; for 1 have not to 
 engage with trivial beasts, but with insolent men, 
 opposing conviction, and always finding evasions : 
 wherefore, Conviction is necessary. Phil. Therefore, 
 indeed, he is very necessary. And it would be better 
 too, for you to take Demonstration with you. Truth. 
 All of you follow us, since you seem necessary for 
 the trial. 
 
 Phil. Revived. Do you see ? he will gain over 
 Truth against us, O Philosophy. PhiL Do you fear 
 then, Plato, Chrysippus, and Aristotle, that she will 
 lie for him, being Truth. Plat. Not that indeed : 
 but he is dreadfully wily, and flattering; and will 
 therefore pervert her. Phil. Fear not] she will da 
 
 * I should be more inclined to give this to Lucian, m conformity 
 with other editions. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 49 
 
 nothing unjust, while Justice herself is present. Let 
 us go therefore. 
 
 But tell me what is your name? Luc. My name 
 is Free- speaker, the son of Alethion, the grand-son 
 of Elenxicles. Philos. But your country? Luc. 
 1 am of Syria, O Philosophy, one of those bordering 
 . on the Euphrates. But what is that to the purpose? 
 for I know some of my adversaries of no less barba- 
 rous race than I am ; but their manners and education 
 are not like those of Solonians,* or of Cyprians,* or 
 of Babylonians,* or of Stagirites.* However, with 
 you, indeed, the case would be nothing worse, though 
 one had a barbarous voice, provided his sentiments 
 appear to be upright and just. Philos. You say 
 right : I asked that therefore unnecessarily. 
 
 But what is your profession? for that is material to 
 be known. Luc. 1 am a hater of pride, and a hater 
 of deception, and a hater of falsehood, and a hater 
 of vanity, and I hate every such kind of impure men; 
 and they are very numerous as you know. Philos. 
 By Jove you have a many-hating profession. Luc. 
 You say right : you see, therefore, by how many 1 am 
 detested, and how I'm endangered on account of it. 
 Notwithstanding that I however very perfectly know 
 the profession opposite to it; I mean that having its 
 commencement from loving. For I am a lover of 
 truth, and a lover of beauty, and of simplicity, and 
 of every tiling that is allied to loving. But, how- 
 ever, very few are worthy of this, my profession ; but 
 they, subject to the opposite profession, and more 
 adapted for hatred, are fifty thousand. Wherefore 
 I am in danger, lest I should unlearn the one thro* 
 want of practice, and be too great an adept in the 
 other. Philos. Certainly you ought not; for they 
 say that this trade and that are alike : wherefore do 
 not divide these professions, for they are but one, 
 
 * The respective places 'where Crates, Zeno, Diogenes, and 
 Aristotle, were bora, were Solo, Cyprus, Babylon, and dta^ira. 
 
50 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 seeming to be two. Luc. You, O Philosophy, know 
 these things best ; my nature, however, is to hate the 
 bad, and to praise and love the worthy. 
 
 Philos. Come now (for we are present where we 
 ought) let us determine it some where here in the 
 temple of Pallat. Priestess, arrange the seats for 
 us : we, in the mean time, will adore the goddess. 
 Luc. O Minerva, thou guardian of the city, come 
 thou a protector to me, against insolent men, remem- 
 bering how many of their perjuries you daily hear. 
 You alone see what they do, being always a looker on : 
 now is the time to be revenged of ihem. But if by 
 any chance you see me overpowered, and the black 
 pebbles are more numerous, save me thou, throwing 
 in your own.* 
 
 Philos. Come, now we are seated for you, and 
 ready to hear your arguments : but do you, electing 
 one out of all, who may seem best to accuse, make 
 up the charge, and impeach him ; for it is not possi- 
 ble that all of you could speak at once. And do you, 
 Free-speaker, plead your cause after that. PhiL 
 Rev. Who then of us will be fittest for this trial ? 
 Chrynp. Yours is a wonderful sublimity of thought, 
 Plato, and eloquence truly Attic, full of grace, and 
 replete with persuasion ; then your prudence, and 
 your accuracy, &\d your timely introduction of de- 
 monstrations ; all these are abundantly with you. 
 Wherefore do you undertake the part of the orator, 
 and speak for us all what is necessary. Now remem- 
 ber all these ; and collect it into one point, if any 
 thing has been said by you against Gorgias, or Polus, 
 or Prodicus, or Hippias ; for this fellow is more dread- 
 ful. Therefore, give some sprinkling also of your 
 irony, and of your elegant and perpetual interroga- 
 tions.' And, if it seem proper to you, stuff in some 
 
 * The Athenians used black and white shells, or pebbles, in giving 
 their votes, before beans came to be in fashion. — Here the author 
 alludes to the story of Orestes being saved by the vote of Palla*. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 51 
 
 where this too, "that the great Jove driving his 
 winged chariot" would be indignant unless he receive 
 punishment. 
 
 Plat. Not at all ; but let us choose some more vehe- 
 ment person ; this Diogenes, or Antisthenes, or 
 Crates, or even you, Chrysippus ; for. there is no ne- 
 cessity of beauty at the present time, or energy of 
 composition, but of a certain confutation and judi- 
 cial preparation. This Parrhesiades (free-speaker) 
 is a Rhetorician. Diog. But 1 will accuse him ; nor 
 is there need, I think, of a very long oration : and 
 besides I have been affronted above ail, being sold 
 lately for twooboli. Plat. Diogenes, O Philosophy, 
 will make a speech for us all. But reittembe^ gene- 
 rous sir, not to attend solely to your own business iu 
 the accusation, but to look to the common cause; 
 for if we in any manner disagree among ourselves iu 
 our arguments, do not at the present inquire nor de- 
 clare which is truer; but entirely express your indig- 
 nation on account of Philosophy herself being ca- 
 lumniated and abused in the writings of Parrhesiades; 
 and omitting our sects, in which we disagree, contend 
 for this which we ail have in common. See we have 
 made you sole general, and our all is now at stake 
 in you, that they may seem respectable, or be believed 
 such, as he has made them appear. 
 
 Diog. Have confidence; we will be deficient in 
 nothing : 1 will speak for all. And should Philoso- 
 phy, overthrown by his arguments, (for she is mild 
 and gentle in her nature) think of letting him go, my 
 labours will not certainly be wanting; for I will shew 
 him, that I do not carry a stick in vain. Philos. 
 That indeed must not be ; but the business must be 
 done rather with arguments (for it is better) than 
 with a stick Wherefore delay not, for already the 
 water is poured into the clepsydra, and the court 
 are looking on you. Luc. The rest may sit along 
 with yon, Philosophy, and give suffrages; Diogenes 
 alone will accuse. Philos. Are you not afraid then, 
 E2 
 
52 
 
 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 lest they vote against you ? Luc. Not at all : for by 
 many votes 1 wish to conquer. Philus. This is a 
 generous design of thine; sit ye then, and you 
 Diogenes speak. 
 
 You, O Philosophy, know very accurately what 
 kind of men we were in life, and there is no necessity 
 of words on thai. For that I may he sitent concern- 
 ing myself, who knows not that this Pythagoras, and 
 Plato, and Aristotle, and Chrysippus, and' others, 
 have introduced many good things into life? Now 1 
 will tell with what this thrice execrable Parrhasiades 
 has calumniated us being such. For being a Rheto- 
 rician, as they say, leaving judgments, and the res- 
 pect attached to them, as much vehemence or maturity 
 of pleading he had, mustering together all those 
 forces against us, he ceases not to speak badly of us, 
 calling us jugglers and impesters, and persuading the 
 multitude to deride and contemn us, as if we were of no 
 estimation. And what is more, he has already caused 
 both ourselves and you, Philosophy, to be hated by 
 the vulgar, calling your dictates madness and folly, 
 and reciting with buffoonery the most serious lessons 
 wfeich you have taught us, that he himself might be 
 applauded and praised by the spectators, and we 
 insulted. For such the common people are in their 
 nature ; they rejoice with scoffers and calumniators, 
 and chiefly when those things are reviled, which seem 
 most respectable. As, forsooth, they formerly rejoiced 
 with Aristophanes and Eupolis, introducing this 
 Socrates on the stage for sake of ridicule, and per- 
 forming some absurd comedies about him. However, 
 they, indeed, dared to do such things against a single 
 man, and that at the Dionysia, where it was permitted 
 to be done ; and scoffing seems to be a certain part of 
 that festival, and the god* himself, being laughter 
 loving, rejoices perhaps in such sports. 
 
 But he calling together the better sort, after reflect- 
 
 * Bacchus, 
 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 53 
 
 ing for a long time, and preparing for the purpose, 
 and having written certain blasphemies in a huge 
 book, with a loud voice, speaks badly of Plato, 
 Pythagoras, this Aristotle, Chrysippus there, and 
 myself, and all of us together ; no festival permitting 
 it, nor suffering any thing in private from us. The 
 thing might have some excuse in it indeed, if warding 
 off an injury he did so, and not beginning first him- 
 self to offend. And what is most dreadful of all, 
 that doing this he went under your name, O Philoso- 
 phy; and taking to his side Dialogue, being our 
 friend, he makes use of him as an assister and fellow- 
 actor against us ; and besides, prevails on Menippus, 
 our companion, to act comedies with him frequently; 
 who alone is not present, nor accuses along with us, 
 as being a common traitor. 
 
 For all which crimes he deserves to suffer punish- 
 ment. For what can he have to say in his defence, 
 having vilified the most serious precepts before so 
 many witnesses ? Wherefore it may be necessary for 
 these, if they see him suffer punishment, so that no 
 other person hereafter may despise Philosophy : 
 whereas, to rest in peace, and bear with an injury, 
 would be justly thought, not moderation, but sloth 
 and ignorance. For to whom are such extremes toler- 
 able? since bringing us forth into the market-place, 
 like slaves, and appointing a crier, sold us, as they 
 say, some indeed, at a great price, others for an Attic 
 mina; but that most wicked wretch sold me for two 
 oboli, the whole company present laughing at it : for 
 which we, indignant, have returned to life, and en- 
 treat thee to revenge our injury, being insulted with 
 the most shameful opprobrium. 
 
 Phil. JReviv. Well ! Diogenes ! you have nobly 
 said for us all, whatever was necessary. Philosophy. 
 Cease praising : fill now for him that is to speak next.* 
 
 * That is, fill the Clepsydra with water# See a former note on 
 this Dialogue. 
 
 E3 
 
51 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 JBut do you, Parrhesiades, speak now in your turn, 
 for your water already flows : do not therefore hesi- 
 tate. 
 
 Parrh. Diogenes has not spoken all against me, 
 O Philosophy, but he has omitted many charges, 
 such as were more heavy, influenced by what 1 do 
 not know. But as for my part, so far am I from 
 being a retracter that I did not say those things, or 
 from coming, having premeditated an apology, that I 
 have determined, if he has omitted to say any thing 
 himself, or 1 have not anticipated him, by telling it 
 before, to tell it now. For so you may learn what 
 kind of men 1 sold by proclamation, or have spoken 
 badly of, calling them arrogant and impostors. And 
 for this alone attend to me, to see if I tell truth about all. 
 But if my speech seem to have any thing in it malici- 
 ous or harsh, I think it more just not to blame me, 
 who accuse, but those who commit such things. 
 
 For when first I had perceived what evil practices 
 are necessarily attendant on lawyers, — deception, lying, 
 impudence, noise, squabbling, and innumerable other 
 things, I fled them, as was proper, and betaking 
 myself to thy delightful precepts, O Philosophy, 
 desired to spend the remainder of my life under thy 
 protection, as if carried from a storm and tempest 
 into a certain tranquil port. Then having only taken 
 a view of your affairs, I admired you indeed, as was 
 necessary, and ail those, being law-givers of a happy 
 life, and stretching their hand to those that hasten to 
 it, proposing to them the most becoming and most 
 useful precepts, if people would not depart from them, 
 nor stumble, but, with eyes intent on the rules laid 
 down by you, order and direct their life according to 
 them ; which, by Jove, few in our days perform. 
 
 But seeing many not captivated with the love of 
 Philosophy, but led alone by the glory proceeding 
 from the matter, very well imitating good men in 
 those things which are at hand, and vulgar, and in 
 whatever is easy for every person to imitate; (I mean 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 55 
 
 their beards, and their strut, and their cloathing :) 
 but, in their life and actions, v contradicting their 
 outward appearance, and having studies opposite to 
 your's, and corrupting the dignity of the profession, 
 h was indignant ; and the affair seemed to me similar 
 to this, as if any tragedian being himself soft and 
 effeminate, should perform the part of Achilles, or 
 Xhg£te, or Hercules himself, neither walking 'nor 
 pronouncing in an heroical manner, but act delicately 
 under such a mask; whom neither Helen, nor 
 Polyxena, could formerly endure, being similar to 
 them* beyond measure : not to mention how Hercules, 
 adorned with victories, would act. At least 1 think he 
 would instantly dash to pieces such a performer, 
 striking him and his mask together with his club, 
 being thus made so disgracefully effeminate by him. 
 
 And seeing you yourselves suffer such injuries from 
 those, I did not bear with the shame of their buf- 
 foonery ; since being apes, they attempted to assume 
 the characters of heroes, and to imitate the Ass ac 
 Cumse;t who having cloathed himself in the lion's 
 skin, wished to appear a lion himself, roaring very 
 harsh and dreadfully against the ignorant Cumaeans, 
 until a certain stranger, having often seen both a lion 
 and an ass, reprehended him, and drove him away, 
 beating him with a stick. But what appeared most 
 dreadful to me, O Philosophy, was this : that men, 
 if they see any of these act wickedly or shamefully, or 
 libidinously, all, without exception, instantly blame 
 Philosophy herself, and Chrysippus, or Plato, or 
 Pythagoras, or him whose name soever that sinner 
 pretended to bear, or whose precepts he pretended to 
 adopt. And thus from the evil liver, they thought 
 badly of you having died long before ; (for there was 
 
 * That is, in point of effeminacy. 
 
 f We meet with this fable in iEsop, who, however, has not so far 
 honoured "the Ass in the Lion's skin," as to mention his birth- 
 place* 
 
56 THE FISHERMAN ; OR, THE 
 
 no enquiry concerning you while living, but since 
 you have departed from amongst us,) but they all 
 manifestly saw him committing atrocious and dis- 
 graceful actions ; so that you, deserted by your bail, 
 were condemned with them, and dragged into a simi- 
 lar calumny. 
 
 Seeing these things, I did not bear with them, but 
 reprehended them,* and distinguished them from you. 
 But you, who ought to honour me for these things, 
 drag me to justice. Therefore, if I, perceiving any 
 of the initiated, blabbing the mysteries of the goddess, 
 and dancing outside the temple, t should be indignant 
 and reprove him, would you consider me to be impi- 
 ous ? That would not be just: when, also, those 
 presiding over sacred festivals are accustomed to whip 
 the actor, if any actor who undertakes the character 
 of Minerva, or Neptune, or Jove, does not sustain 
 it well, nor according to the dignity of the gods ; nor 
 are the gods, therefore, angry with them, because they 
 have delivered the persons under their character, and 
 clad in their habit, to scourge-bearers, to be flogged; 
 but, in my opinion, are rather delighted with their 
 being whipped. For to do the part of a slave or a 
 messenger, not correctly, would be a trifling error : 
 but to exhibit Jove or Hercules to the spectators, not 
 according to their dignity, is like an ill-omened and 
 shameful action. >* 
 
 This again is the most absurd of all, that the most 
 of these, very eagerly study your doctrines ; but they 
 live in such manner, as if they read and meditated on 
 them for this alone, that they might pursue contrary 
 things : for every thing that they say, such as to des- 
 pise riches, and glory, and to consider that which is 
 good, to be alone beautiful ; and to be free from anger, 
 and contemn those splendid persons, and to treat with ! 
 
 * This, as in the former paragraph, might be rendered, unmasked 
 them, 
 
 f See Lucian's treatise on dancing 5 also Stock's note on this word. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 57 
 
 them on an equality, is, O ye gods ! beautiful, and 
 wise, and truly to be admired. But, indeed, they 
 teach these things for payment, and admire the rich, 
 and gape after silver, being more angry than whelps, 
 and more timid than hares, more flattering than apes, 
 more lewd than asses, more rapacious than cats, and 
 more quarrelsom than game cocks. They, therefore, 
 cause laughter, contending for these things, pushing 
 one another about at the door3 of the rich, partaking 
 of suppers much frequented, praising themselves 
 beyond bounds at them, gormandizing beyond what 
 is becoming, and appearing dissatisfied, and philoso- 
 phizing amidst their cups on things unhandsome and 
 absurd, and not bearing unmixed wine. But the 
 illiterate, as many as feast with them, laugh forsooth, 
 and despise Philosophy, since she cherishes in her 
 bosom such vile wretches. 
 
 But the most shameful of all is, that whilst every 
 one of them says he wants nothing, and cries out 
 that the wise man is alone rich, shortly after he comes 
 and asks something, and is enraged not getting it, 
 just as if some person in royal habit, having a straight 
 tiara, and a diadem, and the other insignia which 
 belong to royalty, should beg, asking from the poor. 
 When, therefore, he hopes to receive something, there 
 will be certainly a long discourse about the community 
 of goods, and how indifferent wealth is ; and will he 
 say, what is gold or silver? they differ nothing from 
 pebbles on the shore. But if an old companion and 
 friend, wanting his assistance, should come and ask 
 a trifle out of a great deal, then will there be silence, 
 and hesitation, and ignorance, and a retracting of 
 his words into a contrary meaning. All the many 
 discourses about friendship, and virtue, and honesty, 
 are totally gone away, flying I know not where — 
 words truly winged, with which in vain they daily 
 fight their sham battles in the schools. 
 
 So far each of them is a friend, as long as neither 
 silver nor gold is lying before them : but if any person 
 
53 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 should shew them a single oholus, peace is instantly 
 dissolved, all agreements and negoeiations are void, 
 and their books are destroyed, and virtue is fled from 
 amongst them : in such manner, also, dogs act; if any 
 one should throw a bone amongst them* leaping 
 about they bite each other, and bark at him having 
 carried off the bone. It is said, also, that a certain 
 ^Egyptian king once taught apes to dance tiie Pyrrhic 
 dance; and tha£ Jthgge beasts (for they very easily 
 mimic human actions) learned very soon to dance, 
 being clad in purple, and covered round with masks ; 
 and that the spectacle was for a long time admired, 
 until, indeed, a certain arch spectator, having nuts in 
 liis lap, cast them among them : then the apes seeing 
 the nuts, and forgetting their dancing, became real 
 apes, as, indeed, they were, in place of Pyrrhic dan- 
 cers, and broke their masks in pieces, and tattered 
 their garments, and fought with each other about the 
 fruit : but the arrangement of the Pyrrhic dance was 
 dissolved and laughed at by the spectators. 
 
 And in such manner, these men act : and of such 
 have 1 spoken bad, nor will 1 ever cease to reprove 
 and to expose them in a comic manner. But V* you, 
 and those resembling you, (for there are some truly 
 seeking Philosophy, and abiding by your laws) I 
 would not be so mad as to speak reproachfully, or 
 uncivilly. For what could 1 have to say ? or what 
 is there in your lives similar? But 1 think it merito- 
 rious to hate those insolent wretches, and odious to 
 the gods. But in what do you, Pythagoras, and 
 Plato, and Chrysippus, and Aristotle, say such per- 
 sons resemble you, or have they shewn any kindred or 
 affinity to you in life? Certainly, by Jove, it is, as 
 they say, Hercules and the ape.* Is it because they 
 have beards, and profess to philosophize, and are of 
 austere look; is it on that account they must resemble 
 
 * A proverbial expression, to signify two things as different as 
 possible from each other. 
 
 // 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED, 59 
 
 you ? But I would bear with it, if they were/ at 
 least, probable in that very buffoonery : but now a 
 vulture will easier mimic a nightingale, than they 
 philosophers. I have spoken for myself all I had to 
 saj/. But, O Truth, bear witness before them if it 
 is true. 
 
 Philos. Retire hence, Parrhesiades : — a little fur- 
 ther. What are we now to do ? how did the man 
 seem to you to have spoken ? Titfrifrr I ? indeed, O 
 Philosophy, wished to sink under the earth, through 
 shame, whilst he was speaking, so true were all the 
 things he said. For 1 knew every person that did 
 them, as I heard hirn, and referred them, whilst they 
 were spoken, this indeed to such a person : this fel- 
 low, said I to myself, did this indeed: and on the 
 whole, he exhibited the men clearly, as if in a cer- 
 tain picture, similar in every respect, expressing most 
 accurately not only their bodies, but even their very 
 souls. PhiL And I blushed exceedingly. O Virtue. 
 But what do you say ? PhiL Reviv. What else, 
 -but that he should be acquitted of the charge, and 
 publicly inscribed our friend and benefactor ? we 
 have manifestly suffered the lot of the Trojans ; we 
 have raised up this tragedian against us, to sing the 
 calamities of the Phrygians. Let him sing on then, 
 and defame in his tragedies, those hateful to the 
 gods. Diog. And I myself, O Philosophy, praise 
 the man very much, and retract the accusations, and 
 make him my friend, being a generous fellow. 
 
 Philos. Bravo, Parrhesiades ; we free you from 
 the accusation ; you conqner every way : besides, 
 know that you are ours. Parrh* In the commence- 
 ment, indeed, 1 entreated you ; but now it seems that 
 I must act rather in a more tragical manner, for 
 it will be more becoming. O great and splendid Vic- 
 tory, protect my life, and cease not to crown me. 
 Hrt. Therefore let us now taste of another cup, and 
 a!l those also, that they may suffer punishment for 
 
 :>se things, which they have reproachfully done 
 
 / Kr^-- 
 
60 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 against us: but Parrhesiades will accuse each of 
 them. Parrh. You have spoken correctly, Virtue. 
 Therefore do you, young Syllogism, taking a peep 
 down into the city, call hither the Philosophers by 
 proclamation. 
 
 Sj/l. Oiez! — Silence! Let the ^Philosophers come 
 into the Acropolis, to plead their cause before Virtue, 
 and Philosophy, and Justice. Parrh. Do you see? 
 but few of them .come together, having known the 
 cryer : for some besides fear Justice : but the greatest 
 number of them have not leisure, being busied about 
 riches. But if you wish them all to come, call them 
 
 by proclamation, Syllogism, in this manner « 
 
 Phil. Not at all: -but do you, Parrhesiades, call 
 them hither, as it seems proper to you. 
 
 Parrh. Neither is that difficult. — Oiez ! — Silence I 
 As many as say they are Philosophers; as many as 
 think they belong to them on account of the name, 
 let them come into the Acropolis to the distribution : 
 two minae and a cake of maize* will be given to each. 
 But whosoever shall exhibit a long beard, he shall, 
 besides, receive a basket of figs. But that each should 
 b»ing with him Temperance, Justice, or Continence, 
 that is by no means required*, nor are such things 
 necessary indeed, if they are not present ; but by all 
 means five syllogisms ; for it is not lawful for a wise 
 man to be without these. Two talents of gold lie 
 before you ; we give them to him who shall be most 
 excellent to wrangle. 
 
 Wonderful ! how full the ascent is of them^ shoving 
 one another about, as soon as they but heard the two 
 minoe named. Some are at the Pelasgicon, and 
 others about the temple of iEsculapius, and still more 
 around the Areopagus ; some, indeed, are at the se- 
 pulchre of Talus, and others too having applied 
 ladders to the temple of Castor, climb with a buzzing, 
 byJove ? and form a cluster like a swarm of bees^ 
 
 * A specie* of Indian corn. 
 
 ; 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 61 
 
 dhal I may speak according to Horner. But even 
 there very many, and there myriads, as many as the 
 leaves and vernal flowers that are produced. In a 
 short time the Acropolis will be full of them taking 
 their seats with a hubbub; and everywhere will be 
 found a wallet, a beard, Flattery, Impudence, a 
 staff, Gluttony, a Syllogism, and a love of money. 
 But the few who ascended at that first proclamation, 
 are scarcely apparent, without mark of distinction, 
 mixed in a crowd of the rest, and are concealed 
 through a similitude of the dress of the others. That 
 indeed, O Philosophy, is most dreadful, and what 
 one would blame most in you, your not placing a 
 mark and sign on them. For these impostors often- 
 times are more probable in their manner than the 
 true Philosophers. Philos. This may be done by and 
 by ; but let us now receive these. 
 
 Platonics. We Platonics ought to be received first. 
 Pyth. No : but we Pythagorians ; for Pythagoras 
 was the first. Stoics. Ye are trifling : we from the 
 porch (the Stoics) are better than any of you. 
 JPeripat. By no means: but at least, in regard to 
 money, we ought to be first, who are Peripatetics. 
 Epieur. Give to us Epicurians, the cakes and the 
 baskets of figs ; we will wait for the minas, though we 
 should receive them last. Acad. Where are the two 
 talents? for we Academics will show how far we are 
 better disputants than the rest. Stoics. Not at all, 
 while we Stoics are present. 
 
 Philos. Cease your quarrelling. You Cynics 
 there do not shove ? nor beat each other with vour 
 sticks; for you are summoned for other purposes : 
 -and now I Philosophy, and Virtue herself, and Truth, 
 shall know which of you are rightly Philosophers. 
 Then as many as are found living according* to our 
 dictates, shall be happy, being deemed best in our 
 opinion. But we will severely beat to pieces the 
 .'wicked impostors, and such as do not belong to us; 
 that they may not affect things above them, being 
 puffed up with pride. 
 
 F 
 
 
62 the fisherman; or, the 
 
 What's all this ? Do you fly, by Jove, many of you 
 leaping down the very precipices ? The Acropolis is, 
 therefore, empty, except by those few who have re- 
 mained, not fearing Justice. Servants, take up the 
 wallet which that Cynic threw away in his flight. 
 Come, let me see what it has in it — whether lupines 
 or a book, or loaves of black bread. Parrh. No : 
 but this gold, and ointment, and sacrificing knife, 
 and looking-glass, and dice. Philos. Well done ! 
 generous fellow ! these were the viatica of your pro- 
 fession; furnished with these you desired to calumni- 
 ate all, and to instruct others. Pan/?. Such, indeed, 
 are these for us : but you ought to see, that those 
 who fall in with them, who are good men, and of 
 another manner of life, may cease to be ignorant of 
 these things, and know how to distinguish them. 
 But you, Truth, find them out : for it would con- 
 cern you, that falsehood should not prevail against 
 you, and that wicked men should not, through igno- 
 rance, be concealed, mixed with the good. 
 
 Virt. We will leave this to Parrhesiades himself; 
 if you think proper, since he is found to be a good 
 man, and benevolent to us, and your greatest ad- 
 mirer, O Philosophy ; that taking Conviction with 
 him, he may investigate* all who call themselves 
 philosophers. Then whomsoever he should find really 
 a genuine friend of Philosophy, let him crown him 
 with an olive garland, and call him to the Pryta- 
 neum.t But if he should meet with any cursed man, 
 merely a pretender to Philosophy, (for there are many 
 such,) having dragged oft" his cloak, let him cut off 
 bis beard for him to the very skin, with that kind of 
 knife with which goats are shorn ; and set a stigma on 
 
 * In the version adopted by Stock ; " cum omnibus agaU" That 
 by Benedict is; «« conveniat cmnes." 
 
 f The Common-hall, or Court of Justice, near the Senate-house 
 at Athens; where those, who had deserved well of their country, 
 were supported at the public expense. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 63 
 
 "his forehead, or burn it in between his eyebrows ; and 
 let the burned impression be FOX or APE. Philos. 
 Well said! O Truth! But the Conviction, O 
 Parrhesiades, will be such, as that of eagles is said 
 to be before the sun. Not, indeed, that they also 
 should look up against the light, and be tried by 
 that; but having set before them gold, and glory, 
 and pleasure, which ever of them you see despise 
 those things, and not attracted by their appearance, 
 let him be crowned with a branch of olive: but 
 whomsoever you perceive looking a( them stedfastly, 
 and reaching their hand to the gold, away with him 
 to the branding- iron, having first shaved off his 
 beard. 
 
 Parrh. These things shall be done as you think 
 proper, O Philosophy, and you shall very speedily 
 see many of them bearing the stigma FOX or APE ; 
 and a few r besides crowned. If you wish, however, 
 I will, by Jove, even here bring up some of them 
 for you. Philos. What say you ? will you bring up 
 again those flying away ? Parrk. Certainly : if 
 the Priestess be pleased to lend me for a little while 
 that line and hook, which the fisherman from the 
 Piraeeum* dedicated to her. Priestess. Here, take it, 
 together with the rod, and have all. Parrh. There- 
 fore, Priestess, see that you give me some figs too, and 
 a little gold. Pries. 'Take them. Philos. What 
 does the man intend doing ? Pries. Having baited 
 the hook with figs and gold, he, sitting on the top of 
 the wall, has let it down into the city. Philos. Why 
 do you do that, Parrhesiades? are you thinking to 
 iish stones from the Pelasgicum ? Parrh. Silence, 
 O Philosophy, and wait for the take. — Do thou, O 
 fishing Neptune, and dear Ampitrite, send us hither 
 many fishes. 
 
 But I see a certain very large pike, or rather a 
 gold-fish. Conviction. No: but he is a dog-fish — he 
 
 * The great harbour of Athens, by the lower city, 
 
 F2 
 
64 THE FISHERMAN,* .OR, THE 
 
 comes, indeed, gaping to the hook. Now he smells ; 
 the gold ; now he is near it ; lie has touched it ; he- 
 is taken : let us draw him up. Parrh. And you, 
 Conviction, lay hold of the line. He is drawn up : 
 come, let's see what you are, n^ost excellent fish. 
 He is indeed a Dog. By Hercules, what teeth ! 
 What is this, most generous Sir ? you are taken feed- 
 ing deliriously among the rocks, where, having got 
 under them, you hoped to be concealed ; but now 
 you isball become manifest to all, being hung up by 
 the gills. Let us take off the bait and this hook. 
 The hook is bare : the figs are already devoured, and 
 the gold has passed into his belly. Diog. Then, by 
 Jove, let him disgorge it, that we may bait the hook 
 for others. Parrh. 'Tis well: what say you, Dio- 
 genes, do you know who he is, or does the man 
 belong to you in any way? Diog. Not at all. 
 Parrh. What then? How much does lie deserve to 
 be valued at ? for I think, indeed, I valued him lately 
 attwooboh. Diog. You mention a great price; 
 for he is not fit to be eaten, and he is horribly ugly, 
 and hard, and worthless. Throw him down head- 
 long from the rock: but do you draw up another, 
 having let down your hook. In the mean time look 
 to this, Parrhesiades, that the rod, being bent, may 
 not be broken. Parrh. Fear not, Diogenes, for 
 they are light, and of less weight than loaches. 
 Diog. Certainly, they are most loach-like* ; however, 
 draw them up. 
 
 Parrh. See, what is this other broad fish,+ and a& 
 if cut in halves, that approaches.? He is a halibut, 
 gaping at the hook ; he has swallowed it ; he is held 
 last: let him be drawn up. What is he? Diog. 
 He says he is a Platonic. Plat. And do you, cursed 
 
 * The play upon the words here cannot be preserved in a transla- 
 tion. 
 
 f Platys; another attempt at punning, as bordering on the name 
 .yiato. 
 
PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 65 
 
 wretch, come to the gold ? Parrh. What say you, 
 Plato, what shall we do with him ? Plat. Let him 
 also be cast from the same rock. 
 
 Diog. Let the hook be sent down for another. 
 Parrh. And certainly I see another, all-beautiful, 
 approaching, variegated in his skin, as far as can be 
 judged at the bottom, having certain golden scales 
 on his back. Do you see him Conviction ? This is 
 he who pretends to be Aristotle. He is come ; there, 
 he has swam back again : observe him carefully : he 
 returns again ; he gapes; is taken, let him be drawn 
 up. Arist. Do not interrogate me about him, 
 Parrhesiades, for I know not who he is. Parrh. 
 Therefore, Aristotle, he also shall be thrown from 
 the rocks. 
 
 Diog. But behold I see many fishes there in the 
 same place, of similar colour, thorny, and all rough 
 outside, harder to be handled than crab fish. * A 
 drag-net will therefore be necessary for them; but it 
 is not at hand. It will be sufficient if we draw up 
 but one of the company. Doubtless, the most coura- 
 geous of them will come to the hook. Conv. Cast 
 down if you please, having much covered your line, 
 at least with iron, that they may not saw it off with 
 their teeth, after having devoured the gold. Parrh* 
 I have cast it down : but you, O Neptune, perfect 
 the take. Wonderful! they are righting about the 
 bait ; and some indeed in numbers, gnaw the figs at 
 once ; and others lay hold of the gold, clinging to it- 
 *Tis well! one of the very strongest is hooked 
 through. Come, let me see, by whose name do you 
 call yourself? Though I am, indeed, ridiculous, 
 compelling a fish to speak ; for they are route, f 
 But do you, Conviction, tell what master he has. 
 Conv. This Chrysippus. Parrh. I understand, be- 
 cause I think gold (Chrj/susJ was in his name. 
 
 * Alluding to the crabbed and thorny subtilties of the Stoies* 
 t Alluding to the Proverb; "More mu:* than fishes.'' 
 
 F3 
 
66 THE FISHERMAN, &C. 
 
 Do you therefore, Chrysippus, tell us by Minerva,' 
 do you know the men, or do yon exhort them to do 
 these things? Chry. Certainly, by Jove, you ask 
 me reproachfully, Parrhesiades, surmising that, being 
 such persons, they belong to us. Parrh. Well said, 
 Chrysippus; you are a noble fellow. So he therefore 
 shall go headlong with the rest, since he is a thorny 
 fynave : and it is to be feared lest some person should 
 transpierce his throat, eating him. 
 
 P/ri/os. There ^s enough of taking, Parrhesiades, 
 lest any one of them, since they are numerous, should 
 go off' with your gold and your hook, and then you 
 would be obliged to make it good to the Priestess. 
 Wherefore we will go take our walk : it is time also 
 that you should depart to where you came from, lesfc 
 you exceed thefuriow given you. And yon, Parrhe- 
 siades, and Conviction, going to them all in rotation, 
 either crown*or stigmatize them, as you said. Parrh. 
 It shall be so, Philosophy. Farewell, most excellent 
 of men. But let us, O Conviction, descend, and 
 perfect the things enjoined on us. But which way 
 shall we go first? whether to the Academy or to the 
 Porch ? or shall we make a commencement with the 
 Lyceum? it will make no difference. I know, how- 
 ever, that wherever we go, we will have need ; indeed^, 
 ef few crowns, but of many branding-irons. 
 
 ■ 
 
 r. " 
 
 
 \ V 
 
IJiomctfKUo; 
 
 01?, 
 
 CAUCASUS. 
 
 MERCURY. VULCAN. PROMETHEUS. 
 
 Merc. £ his, indeed, is Caucasus, Vulcan, to 
 which this miserable Titan must he nailed. Let us 
 now look round for some convenient precipice, wher- 
 ever it is naked of snow, that the chains may be 
 fastened down more firmly, and he, pendant, may be 
 conspicuous to ail. Vide. Let us look round, Mer- 
 cury, for he must be crucified neither on alow place, 
 and near the earth, that men, his own making, may 
 not assist him ; nor even upon a summit ; for there he 
 would be unseen by those below: but if you think 
 proper, let him be crucified some where here in the 
 middle, above the precipice, extending his hands from 
 this rjQck to the opposite one. Merc. You say right; 
 for here the rocks are cragged and inaccessible, and 
 every way gradually inclined, and the precipice has but 
 this narrow ascent for the feet, that one could'scavcely 
 stand any where on tip-toe; and altogether, a most 
 advantageous cross could be made here. Do not he- 
 sitate, therefore, Prometheus, but ascend, and give 
 yourself to be fastened down to the mountain. 
 JProm. But do you at least, Vulcan and Mercury^ 
 pity me, unfortunate beyond my deserts. Merc. 
 Is this what you say, Prometheus, " have pity on 
 mo p " iu place of " Prepare yourselves" to be nailed 
 
68 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 
 
 up immediately for disobedience of orders? Or does 
 not Caucasus seem to you to be a proper place for 
 containing two other persons to be crucified ? But 
 stretch out your right hand ; and you, Vulcan, bind 
 and nail it down, and strike down the hammer forcibly. 
 Give the other hand also ; let it too be bound down 
 well. It is well : the eagle too will fly down presently, 
 to tear your liver, that you may have all your punish- 
 ment for your handsome and well devised work. 
 Prom. O Saturn! and lapetus ! and you mother 
 Earth ! what dire things do I suffer, wretched as I 
 am, having done nothing wicked. 
 
 Merc. Have you, Prometheus, committed nothing 
 wicked, who, at first, having in your care the distri- 
 bution of meat, acted so unjustly and fraudulently, as 
 to have taken off the best part for yourself, and tricked 
 Jupiter, concealing the bones in white fat? for I 
 remember Hesiod,* by Jove, saying so. Then you 
 made men, the most subtle animals, and chiefly 
 women. But above all, you stole fire, the most pre- 
 cious possession of the gods, and gave it to men. 
 Having committed such dire crimes, do you-say you 
 are bound for having done nothing unjustly ? Prom. 
 You also seem to me, Mercury, according to the 
 poet, to blame the blameless,+ who produce such 
 crimes against me, for which I, indeed, would esteem 
 myself worthy of support in the Prytanseum, if jus- 
 tice were done. But if you have leisure, I would 
 willingly make a just defence for myself, before you, 
 concerning these charges, that I might show that Jove 
 made unjust decrees against me. But do you (for you 
 are loquacious and skilled in the law) make a defence 
 for him, and prove, if you can, that he justly laid 
 down the pebble against me, by which I am con- 
 demned to be crucified near these Caspian gates on 
 Caucasus, a most miserable spectacle for all the 
 Scythians. Merc. You will contend, O Prome^eus* 
 
 
 Thcogn. 540. f Homer ; Ilios, XII L 775. 
 
 
PROMETHEUS \ OR, CAUCASUS. 69 
 
 whh x .rather a late and useless challenge. Tell me, 
 however: f!)r we should at any rate remain here 'till 
 the eagle fly down, to take the charge of your liver. 
 In the mean time it would be well to make use of all 
 this leisure in hearing your sophistry, so very wily you 
 are in your arguments. Prom, Do you speak first, 
 Mercury, and so that you may accuse me most vehe- 
 mently, and not depart in any 'point from your father's 
 justice. But, Vulcan, I make you my Judge. Vale. 
 Certainly not, by Jove: but know that you will haye 
 me an accuser, in place of a judge, you who having 
 stolen my fire, left my furnace cold forme. Prom. 
 Therefore, dividing the indictment between you, do 
 you now declare concerning theft ; and Mercury will 
 accuse me of the formation of man, and the distribu- 
 tion of the meat : for both of you seem to be artists, 
 and skilled in speaking. Vide. Mercury too, will 
 speak for me; for I am not conversant in judicial 
 arguments, but have myself employed for the most 
 part about my forge : but he is a retorician, and such 
 things have been studied by him not lightly. 
 
 Prom. I never thought it would happen, that Mer- 
 eury would wish- to speak of theft, or upbraid me with 
 any such thing, being of the same trade. However, 
 O son of Maia, if you take even this upon yourself, 
 it is now time to put an end to the accusation. Merc. 
 Therefore, there is much need of long arguments, O 
 Prometheus, and of a certain sufficient preparation 
 against the things done by you : but is it not enough 
 to mention the heads only of your crimes ? because, 
 you kept the best part of the meat for yourself, when 
 it was allotted to you to divide it ; and you deceived 
 the king, and you formed men, which you should not; 
 and having stolen the fire from us, brought it to them. 
 And you seem to me, most excellent sir, not to be 
 conscious amidst crimes of such nature, that you have 
 experienced Jove very philanthropic. If you are 
 therefore, indeed, a denyer, that you did not these 
 things, it will be necessary for me both to prove the 
 
70 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 
 
 contrary, and to draw out a certain long discourse, 
 and to endeavour, as much as possible, to declare the 
 truth: but if you say that such a distribution of the 
 meat was made, and that the things concerning the 
 formation of men were innovations, and that the fire 
 was stolen ; 1 have sufficiently accused you, and I 
 would not speak more, for such would be downright 
 trifling. Prom. If, indeed, these which you have 
 said, be trifles, we will see a little after : but I, 
 since you say your accusations against me are suffici- 
 ent, will endeavour, as much as 1 can, to dissolve the 
 accusations. And first, hear the circumstances about 
 the meat ; although i swear by heaven, even now 
 telling them, 1 am ashamed on Jove's account, who 
 is so mean-spirited and quarrelsome about his share, 
 that because he found a small bone in his share, he 
 should send a god so very ancient to be crucified, not 
 mindful of the assistance I gave hi?n 7 nor considering 
 how trilling the cause of his anger is, and how childish 
 it is to be angry and indignant for not having himself 
 received the greater part. But, Mercury, 1 think it 
 not becoming to keep in memory such frauds, being 
 convivial ones; but, if any transgression was com- 
 mitted during the Banquet, to consider it a joke, and 
 there to leave his anger after him in the feast. But to 
 store* up hatred for the next day, and to remember 
 injuries, and to keep a certain memory of yesterday, 
 is despicable, and not becoming the gods, and, be- 
 sides, not kingly. 
 
 If any person, therefore, should take away from 
 feasting, such pleasantry, and petty frauds, and raillery, 
 and humour, and laughter, nothing but intoxication 
 will be left, and repletion, and silence; things sad 
 and unpleasant, and by no means becoming a banquet. 
 Wherefore, I neither thought that Jupiter would 
 remember till the next day, much less, that he would, 
 therefore, be so indignant, and consider himself to have 
 
 * Cafr translates it, " to cater a quarrel/' &c. 
 
PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 71 
 
 suffered very grievously, if one distributing meat, should 
 play a littlejoke, trying whether be receiving it, would 
 know the best. But, Mercury, suppose thatwhich is 
 more grievous, that 1 had not distributed to Jove the 
 smaller part, but to have taken away the whole, what 
 then ? should he, therefore, as the saying is, confound 
 heaven and earth, think of chains and crosses, and all 
 Caucasus, and send down eagles, and crop my liver? 
 Let him see, however, that these things do not prove 
 the very narrow heart of him, indignant, and an un- 
 generous mind, and. an inclination to anger ! What 
 would he have done had he lost the entire ox, if he 
 is so much displeased on account of a few bits of 
 meat? yet/* by how much more modesty are men 
 affected in such things, for whom it were natural to be 
 more vehement in auger than the gods ? There is not 
 one of them, however, would punish his cook with a 
 cross, if, roasting meat, having dipped in his finger, 
 he licked round the gravy ; or having torn off a bit 
 from (he roasted meat, he swallowed it ; but they 
 grant them pardon. But, if they are very angry, 
 they either box them, or strike them on the cheeks; 
 but none is crucified t>y them on account of such 
 things. And so far about the meat. Even to me, to 
 make an apology for such things, is shameful ; but 
 much more shameful for him to defend. 
 
 Concerning my plastic art, and that I have made 
 men, it is now time to speak. But since that, Mer- 
 cury, has a double indictment, 1 know not on what 
 side you may accuse me; whether that men should not 
 be made at all, but that it were better for them to have 
 remained an unformed lump of earth ; or that it were 
 
 roper they should be made, but in another, and not 
 n this manner? I will, however, speak on both 
 
 owls. And first, indeed, 1 will endeavour to prove, 
 that no harm was done the gods from this, by bringing 
 
 * From this to the end of the paragraph, is omitted in Stock s 
 traiisiiUiou, 
 
72 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 
 
 mta into life ; and then, that the circumstances was 
 far mare useful and better for them, than if the earth 
 happened to remain desert and void of men. For- 
 merly, therefore, there was only a divine and heavenly 
 race ; for thus it will be more easily manifest, whether 
 1 have committed any crime by ornamenting the earth, 
 and renewing the race of man. The eai th was a wild 
 and deformed thing, all horrid with woods, and those 
 dreary ; nor were there altars or temples of the gods ; 
 but where came statues, or effigies, or any such 
 things, such as appear now every where in abundance, 
 honored with every care ? But I imagined that it 
 were best, if having taken a little clay, 1 made and 
 formed certain living creatures like ourselves in shape; 
 for I am always studying for the common good, and 
 considering how the affairs of the gods might be aug- 
 mented, and all other things encrease in ornament and 
 beauty. For I thought something would be wanting 
 to divinity, whilst nothing existed contrary to itself, 
 and which, on a comparison, would shew that it 
 (divinity) was more happy: that that ought to be 
 * mortal, but otherwise most industrious arid prudent, 
 and, what is best, endowed with intellect. And, there- 
 fore, according to the saying of the poet,* mixing 
 and softening earth with water, I formed men, having 
 at the same time, called in Minerva, that she might 
 lend a hand to the work, along with me. 
 
 These are the grievous things with which I have 
 offended the gods. And you see what a loss it is, if I 
 made living creatures of clay, and brought into action 
 what was before that motionless: and from that time, 
 as it seems, the gods forsooth, are less gods than they 
 were, because certain mortal animals had been pro- 
 duced on the earth. For Jupiter is as angry as if 
 some of their dominions were taken from the gods by 
 the formation of man. Unless by chance he dreads 
 this, lest they meditate a revolt against him, and wage 
 
 * See HesiocPs " Works and Pays/' ver. 61. 
 
 
Prometheus; or, Caucasus. ?3 
 
 war on the gods, like the giants. Bat it is plain, 
 Mercury, that no injury happened to you from me and 
 my works : do you shew me any one injur?/, and that 
 the smallest, and I will be silent, and I will suffer 
 just punishment from you. Thus learn, that these 
 were most useful to the gods, if you contemplate the 
 earth being no longer filthy nor unbeautiful, but 
 adorned with cities, growing corn, and useful plants ; 
 the sea navigated, the islands inhabited ; altars, sacri- 
 fices, temples, and the celebrations of festivals every 
 where ; all the ways full of Jove, and every market- 
 place full of men. "But if 1 had formed this possession 
 for myself alone, I would be practically more rich; 
 bqt now producing it for the common good, I have 
 given it to yourselves. Moreover, the temples of Jove, 
 and of Apollo, and yours, Mercury, may be seen 
 every where, but that of Prometheus no where. You 
 see by this how I watch for my own advantages, and 
 betray and diminish the common good. Put the case 
 thus with me, Mercury : — consider with yourself, whe- 
 ther any thing seem good to you that wants a witness 
 to admire it : do you imagine that possessions and 
 wealth, which nobody sees nor admires, are, neverthe- 
 less, pleasing and delightful to the person having them. 
 I say these things, because if no man existed, the 
 beauty of the universe would be without witnesses, and 
 we would possess certain riches, neither to be admired 
 by any other person, nor held in honour alike by our- 
 selves; for nothing would exist, to which, as more 
 imperfect, we could compare them, nor could we 
 know how happy we are, seeing no persons deprived 
 of our own enjoyments ; for thus what is great can be 
 shown to be great, when it is measured with little. 
 But you, who ought to respect me for my subtle in- 
 vention, have raised me on a gibbet, and such is the 
 recompense you have made me for my good intentions. 
 But you will say some among them are wicked : 
 they commit adulteries, wage wars, marry their own 
 sisters, lie in wait for their fathers. Is there net a 
 
 G 
 
 I 
 
74 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 
 
 great abundance of such crimes among ourselves ? nor 
 does any one of us, for that reason, blame Coelus and 
 Terra, because they put us together. And, perhaps, 
 you will allege this too, that they, of course, give us 
 a great deal of trouble, whilst we take care of them. 
 "With equal reason too the shepherd might complain, 
 that he has a flock, because, of course, he must take 
 care of them ; this may be, indeed, laborious to him ; 
 it is, notwithstanding, pleasing also ; and this care 
 has in it no unpleasant exercise. For what would we 
 do, if we had not mortals to provide for ? We would, 
 forsooth, lounge about, and drink nectar, and stuff 
 ourselves with ambrosia, in idleness. Rut what mostly 
 Hetties me is this ; that you who accuse me for having 
 made men 5 and particularly women, love them, how- 
 ever, and cease not to descend to earth, sometimes 
 changed into bulls, sometimes into satyres and swans, 
 and deign to beget gods of them.* But, perhaps, 
 you will say, that it was proper that men should be 
 made, but after another manner, and not like us. 
 And what other model could 1 purpose better than 
 this, which I knew to be altogether beautiful ? Should 
 1 have made man an unrational, wild, and savage 
 animal ? and if they had not been made such as they 
 are, how could they sacrifice to the gods, or pay you 
 other honours ? You, however, when they offer he* 
 catombs to you, are not slow, though it were neces- 
 sary for you to pass over the ocean to the blameless 
 ^Ethiopians ; in the mean time you raise me on a 
 gibbet, uho am the cause of your honour and sacri- 
 fices, And these are enough about men. 
 
 Now, if it seems proper to you, 1 come to the fire, 
 and that disgraceful theft. And, by the gods / entreat 
 you, answer me this without hesitation, have we lost any 
 of that fire since it is with mankind ? Such, 1 think, 
 
 * Some render it, to make gods of them. Massieu, the French 
 translator says, " et vous ne dedaignez point dc les admettre « fhmnftir 
 defair avcc vous dc nouveattx Diem" 
 
 I 
 
PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. (5 
 
 is the nature of this property, that it becomes nothing 
 less, though one should participate of it : for it is not 
 extinguished, by lighting any thing with it. There- 
 fore, it is certainly an envy to prohibit the use of those 
 things to the needy, which you can dispense with 
 without loss. But on the other hand, since you are 
 gods, you ought to be munificent, and distributers of 
 advantages, and void of all envy : even supposing 
 I stole the entire of this fire, and brought it on the 
 earth, not leavings particle of it to you, I would 
 not have injured you much; nor have you any need 
 of it, who are not cold, nor cook your ambrosia, nor 
 want artificial light : but men use fire of necessity^ 
 for other things, but chiefly in sacrifices, that 
 they may be able to fumigate the ways with odours, 
 and to burn incense, and to roast the thighs of 
 cattle on your altars. But 1 perceive you are very 
 much delighted wfth that fumigation, and consider 
 those banquets most delicious, w T hen the fumigation 
 penetrates into heaven, involved in smoke. This 
 complaint, therefore, must be most repugnant to your 
 own wishes : but I wonder why you did not forbid 
 the sun to shine on them ; and yet this is a fire much 
 more divine and more burning ; do you blame him too 
 for wasting our property. 1 have done. But do you, 
 Mercury and Vulcan, if any thing seems to you not 
 well said, correct and reprove my arguments, and I 
 will again speak in my defence. 
 
 Merc. It is not easy, Prometheus, to contend with 
 so able a pleader : however, it was for your advan- 
 tage that J upiter did not hear this from you ; for if 
 he did) I know very well that he would have placed 
 sixteen vultures to dig out your entrails, you have so 
 dreadfully accused him, seeming to apologize for your- 
 self. But I wonder at this, how, being a prophet, 
 you did not know you would suffer such punishment. 
 Prom. 1 knew, Mercury, both this indeed, and that 
 \ will be again liberated ; and shortly, a certain friend 
 
 G2 
 
76 PROMETHEUS ; OR, CAUCASUS. 
 
 ©f your's* will come from Thebes, to transpierce, with 
 his arrows, that eagle, which you say is to fly down. 
 against me. Merc 1 wish that may happen, Pro- 
 metheus, and that 1 may see you set at liberty, and 
 feasting along with us; but not, however, distributing 
 the meat. Prom. Have courage — 1 will feast with 
 you, and Jupiter will set me free for no small felicity. 
 Merc. What is that ? do not hesitate to mention it. 
 Prom. Do you know Thetis ? but 1 should not name 
 it; for it is betler to keep the secret, that it may be 
 the price and my ransom from condemnation. JShrc. 
 Well, keep it *Titan, since it is betler. We must 
 begone, Vulcan, for now this eagle is near. There- 
 fore, Prometheus, bear it with courage; but, I wish 
 that Theban archer ycu mention would come to you 
 now, that he might give you some cessation from the 
 butchery of this bird. 
 
 * The Theban Hercuks, who killed the eagle, according to Hesiod. 
 ^-Theogn. ver. 526. 
 
 '.. - 
 
 
 
HOW HISTORY 
 
 Ought to be written.* 
 
 .+ ♦ » «— 
 
 1 hey say, my worthy Philo, that while Lysima- 
 ehus was yet ruling, a certain disorder of this nature 
 befel the people of Abdera; that at first, indeed, all 
 were epidemically seized with a fever, violently from the 
 very first day, and with incessant inflammation ; but 
 that about the seventh day, with some, indeed, blood 
 flowing abundantly from their nostrils, with others 
 perspiration coming on, and that in profusion, dis- 
 solved the fever. However, a certain affection enve- 
 loped their minds to a ridiculous pitch; for they were 
 all turned astray to Tragedy, and pronounced 
 Iambics.f and roared aloud ; but especially they sor- 
 rowfully chaunted the Andromeda of Euripides, and 
 repeated the speech of Perseus in a melodious manner. 
 And so the city was rilled with all these pale, emaci- 
 ated, seventh-day tragedians, exclaiming u But thou, 
 O Love, thou tyrant of gods and men," and other 
 passages, with a loud voice, and that for a long time ; 
 till winter, and a severe cold coming on, put a period 
 to their delirium. It seems to me that Archelaus, the 
 tragedian, then in great esteem, gave occasion to such 
 an event, who, in the middle of summer, while the 
 heat was very great, performed for them the tragedy 
 
 * The reader would do well to compare with this, the Abbe de 
 Mably ? s excellent treatise JDe la Maniere (Vccrire PHistoire. There 
 are many who consider it, in point of style, method, and the abun- 
 dance of its examples, much superior to this, of Lucian. 
 
 f The usual measure of Greek Tragedies 
 
 G3 
 
78 HOW HISTORY 
 
 of Andromeda, so tliat many were seized with the 
 fever, from the theatre itself, and rising thence, fell 
 into Lragediziiig, the Andromeda with a certain sweet- 
 ness haunting their memory, and Perseus with his 
 Medusa still hovering about the imaginations of each. 
 
 If it is allowable, therefore, to compare one thing 
 with another, as they say, that Abderile distemper 
 in our times too seized many of the literati ; not that, 
 indeed, they perform tragedies ; for thus they would 
 be less delirious, if they were fascinated with the 
 Iambics of others, and those not bad ones. But, 
 from the beginning of the present commotion, I mean 
 the war against the barbarians, the injury received in 
 Armenia,* and the continual victories, there is not 
 one who does not write a history, or rather, we have 
 them all Thucydideses, Herodotuses, and Xenophons : 
 and, as it seems, that saying was true, " War is the 
 parent of all things, "+ since one single onset has pro- 
 duced so many historians. 
 
 Seeing and hearing these things, therefore, my 
 friend, the behaviour of Sinope occurred to me : for 
 when it was told that Philip was about leading his 
 army against the Corinthians, they all began to be in 
 great confusion and fear ; one provided arms, another 
 brought stones^ another repaired the w r alls, and a 
 fourth strengthened the battlements of the walls, and 
 another laboured at one of those matters which were 
 mseful. But Diogenes seeing all this, and having 
 nothing else to do, (for nobody employed him for any 
 purpose; having tucked up his cloak, he began very 
 carefully to roll up and down through the Cranium, 
 the tub in which he used to live; and one of his ao 
 
 * See the Abbe Eesley in his Observations (Tom XXV. p. 87.) 
 "sur deux raedailles singulieres de Marc-Aurele & de Lucius Verus," 
 where he makes some reflections similar to, and particularly takes 
 notice of this passage of Lucian. 
 
 f According to Empedocles, and some other ancient philosophers, 
 the discord and confusion of the dements have given birth tes 
 lb* Universe. 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 79 
 
 qnaintances asking him " Why do you do this, 
 Diogenes?" he answered, " I too roll my tub, thai I 
 may not seem the only idle person among so many at 
 work. 
 
 Therefore, 1 too, Philo, that I may not* be the only 
 mute person at so vocal a time, nor pass along gaping 
 in dumb show, like a comic satellite, thought it be- 
 came me to roll my tub too, in the best manner 1 
 could ; not in writing a history, nor in relating the 
 facts themselves : 1 am not so presumptuous, nor need 
 you fear this from.me; for I know how great the lin- 
 ger is, in any person's rolling over rocks such a tub as 
 mine in particular, not being very well made by the 
 potter; for 1 would be obliged to pick up the shreds, 
 if I struck it even against a small pebble. 1 will, there- 
 fore, tell you what 1 have determined on> and how I 
 am with safety to take apart in this war, stationing 
 myself beyond the cast of an arrow ; 1 will, indeed, 
 w 7 ith prudent council, keep myself free from the smoke, 
 and the waves, and the cares which are attendant on 
 writing; but shall offer to writers a little advice, and 
 these few precepts, that 1 may come in for some part 
 of the edifice, though no mention of my name will 
 be in the inscription, who am only to touch the mortar 
 with the top of my finger. 
 
 Though most people think they have no need of 
 advice for this purpose, no more than they have for a 
 crta in art in walking, or seeing, or eating ; but that it 
 is a very easy and obvious matter to write a history, and 
 is in the power of every person, provided he can ex- 
 press the things that come into his mind. You, how- 
 ever, my friend, know very well that this is not one 
 of the easiest performances, nor such as will admit of 
 being done negligently ; but that it, above all other 
 literary pursuits, requires much care, if a person de- 
 sires to compose, as Thucydides says, an eternal pos- 
 session. 1 know, indeed, it will happen, that 1 shall 
 not engage very many readers, but seem altogether 
 odious to some ; especially to those who have already 
 
80 now HISTORY 
 
 completed and submitted a history to the public. 
 But if such history has been praised by those that 
 heard it read, it would be madness to hope, that such 
 writers would retract, or write otherwise, any part of 
 those things which have been once confirmed by 
 approbation, and, as it were, deposited in the palaces 
 of kings. Nevertheless, it will be no great harm that 
 these precepts be addressed even to them, that if, per- 
 chance, any other war should break out, either of 
 the Cels against the Getfe, or of the Indians against 
 the Bact nans, (for no nation will dare to wage any such 
 war against us, all of them being now subdued,) they 
 may have it in their power to write better, by applying 
 this rule, if indeed, it seem to them a correct one ; but 
 if not, they may measure their performance by the same 
 yard that they use at present : nor will the physician be 
 much troubled, if all the people of Abdera, wilfully 
 perform the tragedy of Andromeda. 
 
 But since the business of my advice is two-fold, 
 as it teaches to choose some things, and to avoid 
 others, let us first direct what faults are to be avoided 
 by the writer of history, and from what influence he 
 ought to be free ; then by adopting what, he cannot 
 wander from the true way, and what may lead him 
 through the direct course ; what exordium he is to 
 begin with; what order is to be adapted to his sub- 
 jects ; what are to be the limits of each ; what affairs 
 are to be passed by in silence; on what he must dwell ; 
 what he should touch upon rather slightly ; how all 
 is to be expressed in language, to be joined and con- 
 nected together: and of these and such like we will 
 speak hereafter. But now, in the first place, let us 
 treat of the fault which bad writers commit. It would 
 be tedious, indeed, to enumerate the usual faults of 
 writings in general ; in diction, in composition, in the 
 sentiments, and those faults proceeding from igno- 
 rance ; and it is by no means suitable to my design ; 
 for common faults of every kind of writing, as I have 
 just said, are either in the language ; or thecongruity 
 of the expression. 
 
 I 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 8i 
 
 If you wish to observe, you may find those faults 
 which writers commit in history, to be such as they 
 have also seemed to me, who have often heard them, 
 and particularly if you lend an attentive ear to all 
 these publications. But, in the mean time, it would 
 not be unseasonable to mention, by way of specimen, 
 some of those histories which have been already writ- 
 ten in this manner. And first, indeed, let us observe 
 how great a fault they commit in this, that the genera- ' 
 lity of them omit to relate facts, and dwell on the 
 praises of princes and generals, highly extolling their 
 countrymen, but undervaluing the enemy beyond 
 measure ; ignorant that history is divided and separated 
 from encomiums by no narrow isthmus, but that an 
 uhsuperable barrier is interposed between them; and, 
 to use the expression of musicians, they are divided 
 from each other by a double Diapason*; since the 
 only care of the person writing an encomium, is to 
 praise in some way, and to gratify him that is praised, 
 and not to be concerned, even though he obtain his 
 end by lying : but history cannot bear even the slight- 
 est falsehood, no more than the trachean artery, as 
 the sons of Physicians tell us, can receive any thing 
 into it that is swallowed. 
 
 Besides, such writers seem to be ignorant, that the 
 design of poetry and poems is different from that of 
 history r , and that they have their own proper rules; 
 and that history has different rules from them : for in 
 those is an unbounded liberty, and the law is but one, 
 that is, whatever seems fit to the poet. For when full 
 of divine inspiration, and possessed of the muses, 
 though he should think fit to yoke winged horses to his 
 chariot, and though he should set some to run over 
 the waters, or on the tops of the ears of corn, he is 
 not, however, censured ; nor when their Jove, sus- 
 pends both earth and sea together, drawing them up 
 with a single chain, do they fear lest, the chain break- 
 
 * Proverbially, for the greatest possible distance* 
 
82 HOW HISTORY 
 
 ing, all these tumbling headlong, should be dashed in 
 pieces. If, also, they are pleased to praise Agamem- 
 non, no one will forbid him having his head and eyes 
 compared to Jove's, or his breast to his brother Nep- 
 tune's, or his girdle to that of Mars, and on the whole, 
 the son of Aerope and Atreus ought to be a composi- 
 tion of all the gods ; for neither Jupiter, nor Neptune, 
 nor Mars, could alone of themselves, exhibit his 
 beauty. But if history acquires any such adulation, 
 what else will it be but a certain poetical prose, desti- 
 tute, indeed, of that pomp of language, but placing be- 
 fore our eyes, all the other monstrous fictions, naked of 
 metre, and more conspicuous for that very reason. It. 
 is, therefore, a great, or rather an exceeding great 
 fault, if a writer knows not to keep distinct the pro- 
 vinces of history and poetry, but introduces into his- 
 tory the varnish of the other art ; suppose fable and 
 panegyric, and the excesses that are in both; as if 
 one were to dress in purple and other meretricious 
 apparel, a wrestler, (one of those robust fellows, and 
 manifestly stout as oak,) and rub paint and white lead 
 on his face ; how base to be seen would he render him, 
 O Hercules, how disgraceful in his very dress. 
 
 Nor do 1 say this, as if we must not sometimes, 
 praise in history ; but we must praise in proper time, 
 and bounds are to be used in the affairs, in as much 
 as that praise may not be disgusting to the readers; 
 and such works should be directed by the rule of future 
 times, as we will point out a little after. But do you 
 percieve how much they wander from truth, who 
 think they justly divide History into two parts — plea- 
 sure and utility ; and on that account introduce pane- 
 gyric into it, as a certain delectable ingredient, and 
 agreeable to readers : first, indeed, because they use a 
 false division; for the only business and end of his* 
 tory is utility, which is collected from truth alone. 
 But as to the agreeable, it is better, indeed, if that too 
 accompany it, as beauty may advantageously accom- 
 pany a wrestler : but if not,, there is nothing; to hinder 
 
OUGHT TO RE WRITTEN*, S3 
 
 Nicostratus,* the son of Isidotus, from being esteemed 
 the eighthi in glory after Hercules, since he was a 
 brave man, and stouter than either of his antagonists, 
 though he was of most ugly countenance; but Alceus, 
 the handsome Milesian, and he too beloved, as they 
 say, by Nicostratus, might also contend with him. 
 History, therefore, if besides its utility, it adopts 
 pleasure by the bye, it will entice many admirers : 
 but as long as it possesses solely its own perfection, I 
 mean the manifestation of truth, it will little regard 
 beauty. 
 
 It may be proper still to observe, that nothing is 
 pleasing in history that is downright fabulous, and 
 that to praise is a tiling particularly prejudicial to the 
 hearers on either side, if you do not only regard the 
 dregs of the people and the vulgar, but those too, who 
 will listen like critics, and moreover, like calumniators; 
 whom nothing can escape, seeing more sharply than 
 Argus, and that from all parts of their body, exploring 
 every thing said with the caution of a money- dealer, 
 immediately rejecting the counterfeits, but accepting 
 such as are genuine, legal, and have a fair impression. 
 These the historian ought to attend to, but to pay 
 little regard to the others, even though they burst 
 themselves with applauses. But if disregarding these, 
 you season your history beyond bounds, with fables and 
 praises, and other false ornaments, you will very easily 
 render it like Hercules in Lydia : for it is most likely 
 that you have seen him painted some where, as waiting 
 on Omphale, and dressed in a habit manifestly foreign 
 to his character; her, indeed, clad in the lion's skin, 
 and holding the club in her hand, as if, forsooth, she 
 were Hercules, but him in saffron and purple gar* 
 -merits, carding wool, and beaten with Omphales* 
 
 • This Nicostratus was a wrestler who bore away two prizes in tjie 
 204th Olympiad. 
 
 f See note in Stock. But Riollay, the Oxford editor, highly 
 4^approves of Palmerius* conjecture. 
 
84 HOW HISTORY 
 
 f 
 
 sandal. And this is the most shameful sight, that the 
 vesture falls from his body, not sufficiently fitted to 
 him ; and all that is manly in the god, disgracefully 
 rendered effeminate. 
 
 But the vulgar, perhaps, will applaud this in you ; 
 while the few, whom you despise, will laugh heartily 
 indeed, and that till they are satisfied, observing an 
 absurd, incongruous, and jumbled business; for every 
 individual thing has its own beauty: but, if you 
 change the place of these, that very same beauty will 
 be deformed, because it is perverted from its use. I 
 omit mentioning that praises agreeable, perhaps, to 
 some one person, namely, to him that is praised, are 
 disagreeable to others, particularly if they contain 
 immoderate excess, such as the generality make it, 
 whilst they hunt after the favour of those whom they 
 praise, and dwell so long on them, until they make 
 their adulation manifest to every body. For they 
 neither know how to do it with ingenuity, nor do they 
 throw a cover over their flattery ; but making an onset, 
 they rush on with every thing jumbled, improbable, 
 and stripped of the shade of delicacy. 
 
 By these means they do not acquire that which they 
 most eagerly desire ; for they that are praised by them, 
 rather hate them, and detest them as flatterers, and 
 deservedly, indeed, especially if they are of a manly 
 and generous spirit. As when Aristobulus wrote the 
 single combat of Alexander with Porus, and read to 
 him that passage of lus book in particular, (for he 
 thought he would gain great favour from that king, be- 
 cause he fictitiously attributed to him certain valorous 
 exploits, and pretended his actions were greater than 
 they were in reality,) the hero having snatched the book, 
 (for they happened to be sailing on the river Hydaspes) 
 threw it headlong into the water, adding these words, 
 4< and you too, Aristobulus, ought to be treated in 
 like manner, w r ho have undertaken that battle for me, 
 and slain elephants with a javelin." And Alexander 
 aught to be thus indignant, since he could not even 
 

 : -,s -%?rZ/& tferrv 
 
 OUfirflT TO BE WRITTEN. 85 
 
 bear the presumption of the architect, promising that 
 be would make Athos a statue for him, and change 
 the mountain into a likeness of the king: but imme- 
 diately discovering the man to be a flatterer he em- 
 ployed him no longer, not even in business similar to 
 what he used to do. 
 
 Where then is the pleasure in these eulogiums, 
 unless a man be so downright stupid, as to love to be 
 praised in such manner, that his vanity may be mani- 
 fested in their very track? like ugly men, and particu- 
 larly silly women, who enjoin it on their painters, to 
 represent them as handsome as possible ; for they 
 imagine, that they themselves will be more beautiful, if 
 the painter makes use of a greater bloom of rouge in 
 their pictures, and infuse much white in his colours. 
 Such is the generality of historians, who serve the 
 present time and their own interest, and the advantage 
 which they expect from their histories. These it were 
 laudable to detest, since at the present time, indeed, 
 they are manifest flatterers, and injudicious ones too ; 
 and by their extravagance make the whole affair sus- 
 pected at a future period. But shouid any one think 
 that the delectable should be by all means mixed with 
 history, let him intersperse those things only, which, 
 together with truth, are graceful among the other 
 ornaments of speech ; which species of decoration, 
 being neglected, these vulgar historians insert those 
 ridiculous topics which are nothing to the purpose. 
 
 But I shall now relate all i recollect of some histo- 
 rians I lately heard in Ionia, and indeed in Achaia 
 too, reciting this same war : and by the Graces, I 
 .entreat you, let no one discredit what 1 shall say, for I 
 would even swear that they were true, if it were polite 
 to introduce an oath in a book. A certain one of 
 them began presently with the Muses, praying the 
 goddesses to lend a hand to the performance along with 
 him. You see what a proper exordium this is, and how 
 suitable to history, and what becomes such species of 
 composition ! Then proceeding a little, he compared 
 
 H 
 
85 HOW HISTORY 
 
 our prince, forsooth, to Achilles, and the king of the 
 Persians to Thersites, not reflecting how much the 
 more noble his Achilles would be, if he killed a Hector 
 rather than a Thersites, and if some brave person fled 
 first, but another much braver urged him on : then 
 he added a certain panegyric on himself, and what a 
 fit writer happened to record such splendid actions. 
 And now proceeding, he praised his country Miletus, 
 adding, that he acted much better than Homer iu this 
 respect, who never made mention of his country. 
 At length in the conclusion of his Preface, he promises 
 in plain terms, and unequivocally, to exagerate our 
 affairs, and that he too would oppress the barbarians 
 in war to the utmost of his power : and began his 
 history in this manner, at the same time reciting 
 the causes for commencing the war : " That most 
 defiled wretch Vologesus, may he disgracefully perish, 
 began the war for such reason as this." And such; 
 indeed, was his performance. 
 
 But another, a zealous imitator of Thucydides, (an 
 excellent copy, to be sure, of that great original !) made 
 a commencement like him, with his own name, the 
 sweetest of all exordiums, and exhaling Attic thyme: 
 forlo ! " Creperius Calphurnianus, a citizen of Pemeio- 
 polis, composed the war of the Parthians and Ro- 
 mans, shewing how they fought with each other, and 
 beginning with the first occasion of it.*" After such 
 an exordium what need 1 tell you the rest, how he 
 delivered an harrangue in Armenia, bringing on the 
 stage the Corcyraean orator himself?t or what a 
 'plague he sent upon the inhabitants of Nisibis, who 
 did not espouse the cause of the Romans, taking it 
 entirely from Thucydides as his own, excepting only 
 
 * This senter.ce, excepting the proper names, is word for word 
 with the first in Thucydides. 
 
 j I. e. How he put in the mouth of an Armenian, that very 
 harrangue which Thucydides has made a Corcyra?an deliver, in de- 
 manding succour of the Athenians, See that great Greek Historian, 
 I. 32. 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 87 
 
 his not mentioning the Pelasgic, and the long walls, 
 in which those that were sick of the plague lived at 
 the time. In his history besides, the plague* broke 
 out in ./Ethiopia too, and thence spread into Egypt, 
 and into many of the king's territories, and it was 
 well done that it stopped in these. 1 therefore de- 
 parted, taking my leave of him, burying the poor 
 Atheniansf at Nisibis, since I knew very well what 
 Jine things he was to say, after my departure.— 
 Again it is very common also r to suppose that this h 
 writing like Thucydides, if v/ith a little variation, one 
 speaks in his phrases, even those littlenesses— " as 
 you yourself would say ;"— " not for the same reason 
 indeed;" — and 6C I was near forgetting to mention.'' 
 And the same writer has mentioned many kinds of 
 arms and machines, in the same manner that the 
 Romans name them, — a fuss, and abridge, and the 
 like. And consider with me what was the dignity of 
 his history, and how becoming Thucydides, having 
 those Italian terms interspersed with Attic words, 
 which, like a scrap of purple, add to them an orna- 
 ment and grace, and agree with them altogether. 
 
 But another certain person of them, collecting 
 together in writing a mere journal of events, composed 
 it in a very creeping and poor style, svu.h as any sol- 
 dier, or carpenter, or sutler attending the army, might 
 have made, setting down the tilings which occurred 
 daily : however, this untutored fellow was indeed 
 more tolerable ; it was immediately manifest what a 
 wretch he was, yet he anticipated the labour for some 
 other elegant person, and one skilled in the manner of 
 conducting a history. This only, I blamed in him, 
 that he thus entitled his books, in a style more pom- 
 pous than what suited the fortune of his compositions. 
 " The * * * book of the Histories of the Partialis, 
 by Callimorphus, physician to the sixth legion of 
 Pike-men:" and the number was subscribed to each 
 
 * Carr misconstrues this passage. f Meaning the Romans. 
 
 H2 
 
 JL* 
 
 ■ 
 
£8 now HISTORY 
 
 book. And, by Jove, he wrote an introduction, 
 frigid beyond measure, concluding in this manner — 
 that it is natural for a physician to write a history, 
 since iEsculapius himself was the son of Apollo, and 
 Apollo the conductor of the Muses, and the prince of 
 all literature. And 1 blamed him besides^ that having 
 commenced writing in the Ionic, he suddenly passed, 
 with what design 1 know not, to the torn mon dialect, 
 saying I3%mf 9 a,nd W^v, and oxo<rx 3 and w«i* — but 
 bis other words were such as are in use with the gene- 
 rality, and most of them such as are picked up in the 
 high way. 
 
 But I must make mention of a wise man too, yet 
 let his name lie in obscurity ; but 1 will mention his 
 design, and his books lately published at Corinth, 
 surpassing all expectations : for in the beginning, di- 
 rectly in the first sentence of his introduction, he ad- 
 dressed his readers with an interrogation, and endea- 
 voured to demonstrate this very wise proposition, 
 "that it becomes the wise man alone to write a his- 
 tory." Then after a few words comes another syllo- 
 gism ; and in short, his whole preface was a compound 
 of every kind of reasoning by questions. Here was 
 adulation to an excess — intrusive praises, and manifestly 
 parasitical ; nor were these, however, without syllogism, 
 but they were composed of questions and deductions. 
 And this too seemed intrusive to me, and by no means 
 becoming a philosopher, and a hoary and long beard, 
 which he said in the introduction, "our prince will have 
 this great advantage, that even philosophers already 
 deign to write his actions :" for such an observation, if 
 indeed, there were any truth in it, he should rather 
 have left to us to consider on, than mention it himself. 
 
 Nor would it be proper to neglect mentioning him, 
 who commenced with this exordium : u 1 am going 
 to speak of the Romans and Persians." And a little 
 
 * Words in the Ionic, instead of ItRffiUvy and ttvqxv 9 and onccra, 
 stftd vce-oi of the common dialect. 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 89 
 
 after, " It should have happened ill with the Persi- 
 ans " And again, '" This was Osroes, whom the 
 Greeks named Oxyrhoes,"* and many other things of 
 this kind. You see this one resembles another, ex- 
 cept that he was very like Thucydides, and this one 
 like Herodotus. 
 
 And there was another renowned for his power of 
 speech, and he too like Thucydides, or a little better 
 than him, who had most eloquently and energetically, 
 as he thought, described all the cities, and mountains, 
 and plains, and rivers: but (may the averter of evils 
 turn it on the heads of our enemies,) it had in it as 
 much frigidity, as is beyond the Caspian snow, and 
 Gallic ice;+ for the emperor's shield was scarcely des- 
 cribed by him in an entire book, with the gorgon on 
 its boss, and her eyes of azure, white and black, and 
 her girdle of rainbow colour, and snakes curling like 
 tendrils, and twined into clusters. But, O Hercules, as 
 to the trowsers of Vologesus, and the reins of his horse, 
 how many myriads of heroic words each take up ! and 
 what kind the hair of Osroes was, when he swam 
 across the Tigris, and to what cave he fled, ivy and 
 myrtles and laurels, uniting together, and shading it 
 on all sides. You perceive how necessary these things 
 are for history, and how little we would know without 
 them, of the things done there ! 
 
 From a weakness in the management of useful mat- 
 ters, or an ignorance of what ought to be told, they 
 have recourse to such descriptions of countries and 
 caves; and when they fall in with transactions, nume- 
 rous and great, they are like a slave suddenly enriched 
 by being made the heir of his late master, who knows 
 
 * Phrases copied from Herodotus. 
 
 f Understand o?a to correspond with tot&vIyi. All the English 
 translators have misunderstood this passage; nor is it any better in the 
 French version of Massieu, which runs thus: " II croyoit avoir dit 
 quelque chose de bien vehement, quand il s i etoii eerie: Puisse le dieit, 
 qui preserve de tons maux, les /aire reiombcr ions sur la tete de n?s 
 ennemis / — Stock's Latin translation is not wry intelligible, 
 
 / 1 1 
 
90 
 
 HOW HISTORY 
 
 not how his garments are to be put on, nor how to take 
 his meat in a fashionable manner; but when fowl, 
 and boars, and hares, are laid before him, runs head- 
 long and stuffs himself so much with some hash or salt 
 meat, (his old acquaintance,) that he is in danger of 
 bursting. So he whom I just mentioned, likewise des- 
 cribed wounds altogether improbable, and absurd 
 deaths, that a person being wounded in the toe in- 
 stantly expired ; and how seven -and- twenty of the 
 enemy died, upon Prisons the general's merely shouting. 
 Besides, in the number of the slain too, he lied, and 
 that even contrary to what was written in the princes' 
 letters. For he wrote that seventy thousand, and two 
 hundred and thirty-six besides of the enemy, were slain 
 at Europus ; but two only of the Romans, and nine 
 wounded : I do not know that any person in his sound 
 senses could endure such absurdities. 
 
 But this too must be mentioned, which is not tri- 
 fling: through an over zeal for Atticisms and accurate 
 purity in language, he ventured thus to form the 
 Roman names, and to change them into Gree^, 
 saying &g<ws for Saturninus, and making Fronto 
 <t>^v m itg y Titanus TJlawg, and others still more ridiculous. 
 Besides, this same historian thus writes concerning the 
 death of Severianus, that u all other writers are mis- 
 taken, who think that he put himself to death with his 
 sword, for the man certainly died with want ; for this 
 kind of death seemed to him to be most easy ;" not 
 reflecting that all he suffered was completed (I think) 
 in three days ; but many of those who abstain from 
 food, can hold out even seven days : unless one would 
 suppose, that Osroes stood waiting till Severianus 
 should perish with hunger, and for that very reason, 
 that the other, through complaisance^ did not protract 
 his life* for the entire week ! 
 
 * I agree with Lamb. Boss, in filling up the Ellipsis here, 
 against Stock, who seems not at all to have understood this passage: 
 his translation is, " Kt ob id ip?uxn per septem dies aekm noa 
 •Auxisset." 
 

 
 % 
 
 
 OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN, wd 91^ 
 
 But in what rank, my worthy Philo, ca \te 
 
 those who make use of poetical phrases in hisiory ? — 
 "the engine made a noise, and the failing wall r 
 sounded dreadfully" — and again in another book < 
 this fine history — " Edissa resounded all around with 
 clanging arms, and all was clamour there, anq tumult :/' 
 and, " The general pondered in his breast, by what 
 means he might best approach the walls. " Then in 
 the midst of these, many vile, plebeian terms, and 
 even such as are common with beggars, were intro- 
 duced — u The leader of the camp wrote a letter to his 
 master," and " the soldiers bought those provisions 
 which they wanted," and " now having washed, they 
 were taking care of themselves," and the like : so that 
 this history was like a tragedian, who struts, having 
 a high buskin on one foot, and the other bound in a 
 sandal. 
 
 You may perceive others writing splendid and 
 pompous introductions, and long to an excess, (so 
 that one w r ould expect to hear very wonderful things 
 afterwards) but adding to it the body of the history, a 
 poor and contemptible production, that even this is 
 like the infant Cupid, (if by chance you have seen 
 Cupid so playing,) hiding his head in the huge mask 
 of Hercules or (Titan) a giant. The hearers, there- 
 fore rostantly make this observation — "The moun- 
 tains bring forth."* It ought not to be so, but all 
 should be alike, and as it were of the same complexion, 
 and the rest of the body corresponding with the head, 
 so that the helmet be not of gold, and the breast-plate 
 at the same time ridiculous, of rags taken from some- 
 thing else, or a patch-work of rotten skins, and a 
 wicker shield, and pig-skin about the legs; for you 
 may see very many of such kind of writers, placing 
 the head of the Rhodian Colossus on the body of a 
 dwarf: others, on the other hand introducing bodies 
 deprived of a head, and coming instantly to their sub- 
 
 * M Parturiunt aicmtes^nascetur ridiculus mtfs." 
 
 
 
93 HOW HISTORY 
 
 ect matter, who will have it that Xenophon is on 
 their side, since he began thus — " Two sons were 
 born for Darius and Parysatis;" and others of the 
 ancients : they are ignorant, forsooth, that there are 
 some which have the force of prefaces, though they 
 escape the intellect of the vulgar, as we will show at 
 another time. 
 
 However, all these are tolerable, such as are faults 
 in the diction, or.the rest of the construction: but to 
 assert untruths about the very places they write oj] 
 not only by parasangs, but by entire days journeys, 
 what honest business is it like? One of them, in- 
 deed, compiled his history so slovenly, who seems 
 never to have discoursed a Syrian, nor (as the saying 
 is) heard people talking of such matters in the bar- 
 ber's shops, that speaking of the city Europus, he 
 said thus : " But Europus is situate in Mesopotamia, 
 distant two clays journey from the Euphrates : the 
 people of Edissa built it." Nor was this enough for 
 him; but the noble fellow in the same book, having 
 hoisted up my native country, Samosata, transports 
 it with its citadel and walls into Mesopotamia, so that 
 it is inclosed between the two rivers, flowing very 
 near it on either side, and almost washing the very 
 walls. But it would be ridiculous, if, my dear Philo, 
 I were now to plead before you, that 1 am not a 
 Parthian, nor a native of Mesopotamia, whither this 
 admirable writer has brought and planted me. 
 
 This too, by Jove, is extremely probable, what 
 that same writer asserted of Severianus, swearing at 
 the same time, that he heard it from a certain person 
 of those that fled from the very transaction : u that he 
 was not willing to die by the sword, nor to drink poi- 
 son, rior to tie a halter on his neck; but to devise some 
 tragic kind of death, and strange in the attempt. 
 That he had by chance glass cups of wonderful size, 
 and of most beautiful glass ; but when he had entirely 
 resolved to die, that he broke the largest of the cups, 
 and used a piece of one of them to put himself to 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 93 
 
 death, by Cutting his throat with the help of the glass." 
 So he never thought of a dagger or javelin, that at 
 least he might die a manly and heroic death. 
 
 Then, since Thucydides delivered a funeral oration, 
 as pronounced oyer those that first perished in the war, 
 he thought he too should make an harrangue over 
 Severianus ; (for they ail quarrel with Thucydides, 
 who was innocent of all the misfortunes in Armenia.) 
 Therefore, after having buried Severianus, magnifi- 
 cently, he set up a certain Afranius Silo on the tomb, 
 a centurion, a rival of Pericles?, who pronounced 
 over him so many, and such eulogiums, that, by the 
 Graces, he certainly drew from me many tears of 
 laughter; and particularly when the orator Afranius, 
 at the end of his discourse, weeping with a howl, the 
 index of the greatest grief, makes mention of- sump- 
 tuous suppers and drinking-bouts ; then put an end to 
 the matter, taken from the fable of Ajax, For with a 
 drawn sword, nobly indeed, and as became Afranius, 
 he killed himself on the sepulchre, ih the sight of all, 
 not unworthy, by Mars, to die long before, if ever 
 he made such a speech. And, says the historian, 
 when they that were present, saw this, they all 
 admired it, and very much praised Afranius : but I 
 then condemned the rest of his performance, who had 
 almost made particular mention of sauces and dishes, 
 and wept at the recollection of pies ; but I blamed 
 him particularly on this account, that he died himself, 
 without having first put to death the writer, and 
 teacher of this drama. 
 
 But though I could recount to you, my friend, 
 many others like these, yet having made mention of a 
 few more, I will then pass to my other promise, my 
 advice how one may write better ; for there are some 
 who pass by, or slightly run over great events, and 
 such as are worthy to be related ; but, through a want 
 of judgment and of skill in what is beautiful, and an 
 ignorance of things that ought to be mentioned, and 
 things that ought to be passed by in silence, tell every 
 
$4 HOW HISTORY 
 
 most trifling affair very elaborately and carefully, and 
 dwell long on them ; as if a person were neither to 
 see nor commend all the great and manifold beauty 
 of Olympian Jove, nor tell it to those who have not 
 seen it ; but to admire the little footstool which is so 
 perfect according to rule, and the proportion of the 
 base, and to treat of them with much care. 
 
 I have, therefore, known a person who, indeed, ran 
 over the battle at Europus in scarcely seven verses, but 
 spent twenty measures or more of water* on a frigkl 
 narration, and that not material to us — how u a certain 
 Moorish horseman, by name Mausaces, wandering over 
 the mountains with thirst, fell in with some Syrian rus- 
 tics, who had set a repast before themselves, and how 
 they at first were terrified; but then, having discovered 
 that he was a friend, received him ; for it happened 
 that one of them had himself travelled into the coun- 
 try of the Moors, because his brother was a soldier 
 in that quarter." Then follow long fables and nar- 
 rations — how a 4j£ji$ed to hunt in Mauritania," and 
 how " he saw many elephants feeding together," and 
 how "he was near being devoured by a lion," and 
 " what large fishes he bought in Caesarea." And the 
 admirable historian, having omitted many slaughters, 
 which happened around Europus, and the attacks 
 and necessary truces, and the guards and counter- 
 guards, was absent till late in the evening, whilst he 
 was looking at Malchio, the Syrian, buying immense 
 scar-fishes at Csersarea, iov a. small price ; and if night 
 had not come on, he would, perchance, have supped 
 with him too, the scar-fishes being now ready. If 
 these things had not been written in history with care, 
 we would be ignorant of important matters, and the 
 loss to the Romans would have been intolerable, if 
 the thirsty Moor, Mausaces, had not found some- 
 thing to drink, but returned to his camp supperless. 
 
 * That is of the Clepsydra, See Notes on the Philosophers 
 Revived* 
 
 ■fir rm " 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 95 
 
 However, I now wisely pass by many other passages, 
 far more ridiculous : how " a piper came to them 
 from the next village," and how " they gave gifts to 
 each other; the Moor, indeed, a spear to Malchio, 
 but he a buckle to Mausaces ;" and many other sto- 
 ries of this kind, the chief topics, forsooth, of the 
 battle at Europus. One may justly remark, there- 
 fore, that such writers do not see the rose, but minutely 
 observe its thorns near the root. 
 
 Another, my dear Philo, and he too exceedingly 
 ridiculous, who had never set one foot out of Corinth, 
 nor had gone as far as Cenchrese, nor at least Syria, 
 or Armenia; commenced thus, for I remember it 
 myself, u The ears are less credible than the eyes ; I 
 therefore write what I have seen, not what I heard." 
 And he had seen all so accurately, as to say that " the 
 Parthian snakes (for this is the signal with them of 
 their numbers; for, I think, one snake leads a thou- 
 sand soldiers,) are live snakes of enormous size, 
 which are produced in Persia, a little above Iberia. 
 That these at first, indeed, were bound to long poles, 
 and raised on high; and that whilst the armies charge 
 from a distance, they strike terror into the foe. But 
 in the battle, says he, when they join in close fight, they 
 let them loose on the enemy. Many of our men, 
 therefore, were devoured ; others were strangled and 
 squeezed to death, the snakes having twisted them- 
 selves round them. That he himself had seep this 
 from a place hrrd-by, in a safe station, looking from 
 ! a very high tree." And he did well indeed, that he 
 ! had not come in close contact with these beasts, for 
 otherwise so admirable a writer would be lost to us : 
 who also, with his own hand, had atchieved in that 
 certain great and splendid actions ; for he underwent 
 many dangers, and was wounded near Sura, forsooth, 
 as he was walking from the Cranium to Lerna. And 
 these he read to a Corinthian audience, who perfectly 
 knew that he never had seen the war even painted on 
 a wall. Nor did he know any thing of arms, nor 
 
96 HOW HISTORY 
 
 what kind warlike machines are, nor the names of 
 companies and divisions. He, therefore, took great 
 pains to call the deep Phalanx the broad one, and to 
 cali leading in front, leading in wing. 
 
 But one admirable fellow described all the trans- 
 actions from beginning to end, that happened in Ar- 
 menia, in Syria, in Mesopotamia ; those on the 
 Tigris, and those in Media, comprizing them in 
 scarcely five hundred lines ; and when he did this, he 
 said he wrote a history : he, however, inscribed on it a 
 title of this kind, almost larger than the book itself— 
 " A narrative of those affairs which were transacted by 
 the Romans in Armenia, and Mesopotamia, and 
 Media, by Antiochus, the victor, in the sacred con- 
 test of Apollo." (1 believe he had at some time or 
 other, when a boy, conquered in the long race.) 
 
 1 have already heard of one too, who wrote a his- 
 tory of future actions, and of the captivity of Volo- 
 gesus, and the death of Osroes ; how he is to be 
 thrown to a lion ; and above all, of a most wished- 
 for triumph to us. Thus inspired with the frenzy of 
 a prophet, he has already hastened to the end. But 
 besides, he has already built a city in Mesopotamia, 
 " most great in magnitude, in beauty most beautiful." 
 But this he is still consulting and considering on, 
 whether it is proper to call it Nicaca,* or Homoncea,t 
 or Irenia.J On this, indeed, he has not yet deter- 
 mined, and we have this most beautiful city still 
 without a name, replete with many follies and histori- 
 cal snivel. He has already undertaken to write of 
 the things that are hereafter to be transacted among 
 the Indians,, and the circumnavigation of the outward 
 sea. And this is not a promise merely; for the pre- 
 face to the Indian expedition is already composed, 
 and already the third legion, and the Gauls, § and a 
 
 * Victory, f Concord. $ The City of Peace. 
 
 § " Tpsoru in lingua ■ Cetia, nostra Colli appellantur. " — C»sar, de 
 
 b. c. i. i. m ' 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. ST 
 
 small body of the Moors, under the command of 
 Cassius, have all passed over the river Indus. But 
 this admirable writer will, before it is very long, write 
 us word from Muzuris or Oxydracae, what they are to 
 atchieve, or how they are to receive the shock of the 
 -elephants. 
 
 Such follies these writers are guilty of through igno- 
 rance, who neither observe things worthy of observa- 
 tion, nor, should they observe them, are they able to 
 describe thein in a manner adequate to their dignity ; 
 but inventing and feigning whatever may employ an 
 impertinent tongue. They also affect a kind of res- 
 pectability in the number of their books, and especially 
 in their titles ; for again these are extremely ridiculous. 
 "So many books of the Parthian victories, by such a 
 person;" and again, u the first, second, &c. of the 
 Parthis," forsooth, after the example of the Atthis.* 
 Another by far more elegant, for I have read w the 
 Parthonicica of Demetrius the Sagalensian." Nor 
 do I mention these for this purpose, that I might turn 
 into ridicule and derision such beautiful histories, 
 but for utility sake; since whosoever flies these and 
 such like, has already acquired a large portion of the 
 knowledge necessary to write well, or rather wants 
 but little more, if that precept be true, which logic 
 teaches — that of two things, which have no medium, 
 the removal of one is 16 establish the other, t 
 
 And now, some one may say, you have the ground 
 well cleared, and all the briars and thorns that were, 
 are cut off; other rubbish removed, and all that 
 was uneven is now levelled. Therefore it is now- 
 necessary for you to build something yourself, that 
 you may show that you can not only bravely ovek 
 throw the works of others, but also to invent some- 
 
 1 * Written by Philochorus, the Historian. 
 
 f Life and death have no mean ; but black and white have. A dead %l 
 man cannot be a living man j yet tl||£ which is black, may be some 
 ether colour besides white, 
 
 I 
 
 
158 HOW HISTORY 
 
 thing clever, which nobody, not even Momus himself, 
 can object to. n 
 
 I say then, that he who is to write a history well, 
 ought to bring these two very principal things from 
 home for that purpose, political sagacity, and force of 
 eloquence : the one, indeed, an unteachable gift of 
 genius ; but let force of eloquence be acquired by 
 much practice, continual labour, and by an imitation 
 of the ancients. These, therefore, are beyond the 
 reach of art, and do not want my advice : nor, indeed, 
 does this book of mine promise to render such persons 
 prudent and acute, who are not so by nature : if so, 
 it were of great, nay of inestimable value, if it could 
 reform and change such important matters, or make 
 gold from lead, or silver from tin, or a Titormus of a 
 Conon, or a Milo of a Leotrophides. 
 
 But where then is the use of art and advice ? — not 
 to create the qualities which ought to be present with 
 a writer, but to teach the proper use of them. As, 
 forsooth, even Iccus, Herodicus, Theon, or any 
 ether teacher of athletic exercise, would not promise 
 you to take this Perdiccas, (if he indeed be the person 
 who having fallen in love with his step-mother, pined 
 stway on that account, and not Anteochus, the son of 
 Seleucus, who loved Stratonice to distraction,) and 
 make him an Olympian victor, and one that might be 
 compared with Theogines the Thasian, or Polydamas 
 the Scotussaean : but this lie would promise, that he 
 would render much better by the assistance of his art, 
 any fit subject given him, and one born for the recep- 
 tion of athletic prowess. Therefore, far be from me 
 too, that invidious promise, if I say that ] have found 
 out an art for so great and difficult an affair : for 1 do 
 not promise this, that 1 will make historians of any 
 persons taken at random ; but point out to him that is 
 naturally prudent and well practiced in eloquence, 
 certain direct ways, by entering which, (if indeed they 
 appear such to him,) any person may sooner and 
 easte*%accomplish what he ought, and arrive at what 
 he aims at. 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 99 
 
 You will not, however, assert this, that he who is 
 prudent, requires no art or instruction in those things 
 which he is ignorant of; if so, he might play the harp, 
 and the pipes, and know every thing without an in- 
 structor: but now, he can do none of these without 
 instruction. But should any one show him how, he 
 will easily learn, and afterwards perform well by him-' 
 self. 
 
 Therefore, let such a disciple be now given to me 
 also, not slow in understanding nor in speaking ; but 
 one seeing acutely, who can transact real business, if 
 set over it, and have a military spirit, the prudence of 
 a warlike leader, together with that of a civil officer ; 
 and one, by Jove, who has been once in a camp, and 
 seen soldiers exercising or drawn up in battle array, 
 and has a knowledge of arms and certain warlike 
 engines, what means "in wing" and what u in front ;" 
 how the ranks of foot, and how the horse ought to be 
 disposed, and whence they ought to sally : what it is 
 to advance or*w heel about : in short, he must not be 
 one who site at lionie, and merely gives credit to the 
 narrations of others. 
 
 But especially and- above all, let him be liberal in 
 his sentiments, nor fear any person, nor hope for a v%y 
 thing; otherwise he will be like corrupt judges, pro- 
 nouncing judgment for a bribe, to gratify either favour 
 or resentment. Let him not have any regard for 
 Philip, deprived of his eye at Olynthus, by Aster ihe 
 archer of Amphipolis ; but let him be described such as 
 he is : nor let Alexander trouble him, though he write 
 clearly of the murder of Clitus, cruelly committed at a 
 banquet : nor let Cleon intimidate him, very powerful 
 in the assembly of the people, and predominating in 
 judgments, from saying that he was a destructive and 
 furious man ; nor the whole city of Athens byass him, 
 though he relate the slaughters in Sicily, the captivity 
 of Demosthenes, and tire death of JNicias, how they suf- 
 fered from thirst, what kind of water they drank, and 
 how many were slain as they were drinking it. For 
 
 1 2 
 
J 00 HOW HISTORY 
 
 he will be of opinion, (which is the fact,) that he will be. 
 blamed by no sensible person, if he relate those things 
 that were transacted unhappily, or through bad coun- 
 cil, in the manner that they happened ; for he k not 
 the author of them, but the relater. Therefore, when 
 his countrymen are overthrown at sea, 'tis not he that 
 .sinks their ships ; and if they fly, 'tis not he that pur- 
 sues them ; unless, perchance, when there was need of 
 his prayers, he neglected them. ]f Thucidides could 
 have corrected those misfortunes, either by passing 
 them by in silence, or relating them as contrary to 
 what they w r ere, it w T ere most easy for him to have 
 overthrown, with one slender pen, the counter-wall 
 on the Epipola?, to sink the Galley of Hermocrates, 
 and transpierce that execrable Gylippus, whilst he 
 was blocking up the roads with works and entrench- 
 ments ; and in fine, to throw the Syracusian into the 
 quarries ; but to affect this for the Athenians, that they 
 might sail round Sicily and Italy, according to the 
 first hopes of Alcibiades. Cut the things that are 
 already done, I know, neither Clotho can wind up, 
 nor Atropos retract. 
 
 But the only business of a historian is to relate each 
 transaction as it happened : but he cannot do this as 
 lontr as he fears Artaxerxes, whose physician he is, or 
 hopes to receive a purple robe, and a gold collar, and 
 a IS'icsean steed, the reward of his praises in history. 
 But Xenophon, the impartial writer, would not do 
 this, nor Thucydides; but even though he privately 
 hated any persons, he would deem the republic far 
 more necessary to him, and set a greater value on truth 
 than on resentment : and, should he love any person, 
 lie will not yet spare him, being a delinquent. For, 
 as I have said, this one thing is peculiar to history, 
 and he that proceeds to write one, must sacrifice to 
 truth alone, and the regard of all other things is to be 
 disregarded. On the whole, the only rule and exact 
 measure is this, not to regard those who now hear our 
 works, but those who hereafter will be conversant witi} 
 our writings. 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 
 
 101 
 
 But if any person only attend to the present time, he 
 may be deservedly enrolled among the crew of Syco- 
 phants, whom history, at all times from the very be- 
 ginning, detests, no less than the athletic art does the 
 art of decoration. They relate this memorable saying 
 of Alexander — how willingly, said he, Onesicratus, 
 would 1 revive, though for a short time after my death, 
 for the purpose of hearing how the men at that time, 
 will read these things. But now, if they praise and 
 extol them, do not wonder, for they imagine that by 
 this no small bait, they will severally catcli my good 
 will. — Some, indeed, are now led to give credit to 
 Homer, though lie wrote many things fabulously of 
 Achilles, giving this great token only, as a proof of 
 his veracity, that he did write about him in his life- 
 time : for he cannot discover, on what account he 
 told untruths. 
 
 Such, therefore, let my historian be. void of fear, 
 incorruptible, liberal, a friend to freedom of speech 
 and truth, who, as the comic poet says, calls figs, 
 figs; and a boat, a boat:* not distributing either 
 hatred or friendship to any person, not sparing, nor 
 moved with pity, or shame, or bashfulness ; an impar- 
 tial judge \ benevolent to all so far, as not to give to 
 any one more than his due; a stranger in his books ; 
 a person of no state; independent; subject to no 
 king; not considering what the sentiments of this per- 
 son or that person are, but relating what actually hap- 
 pened. 
 
 Thucydides, therefore, justly enacted this law, and 
 distinguished the virtue and vice of the historian, when 
 he saw Herodotug much admired, that his books were 
 called by the names of the Muses. He says he writes, 
 " a perpetual possession, rather than a ludicrous con- 
 
 * Or, as the French say " Qu'il appelle un chat un chat." Com- 
 mentators attribute this phrase to Aristophanes; but Reitzius has ia 
 vain sought for it in ail the works that are extant imder that uoetV 
 Eame. 
 
 is 
 
102 
 
 HOW HISTORY 
 
 tention that will only please at the present time," and 
 that " the fabulous is not approved of by him, but 
 that lie leaves to posterity the truth 
 
 concerning events, 
 vhatever he that is wise 
 would set down as the end of history: "that," says 
 he, " if ever again similar things should happen, they 
 may have it in their power to make good use of the 
 present, by looking back to those things which were 
 anciently written. 
 
 X^et the historian be given to me who, indeed, has 
 such a mind ; but as to language and the power of 
 eloquence, let him not be very violent in that vehe- 
 ment and rugged style, with continual periods, and 
 uninterrupted argumentations, and in the other orato- 
 rial powers ; but commence writing with a tranquil 
 mind. Let his sentiments be regular and concise, 
 and his diction perspicuous and polite, and such as 
 clearly to express his subject matter. 
 
 For as we proposed freedom of speech and truth as 
 the bounds for the writer's mind, so for his language 
 one principal object to explain his subject with perspi- 
 cuity, and tell it clearly; setting aside all unknown and 
 obsolete terms, nor yet adopting those in use with the 
 mob, and in taverns, but such as the common people 
 may understand, and the learned praise. But let his 
 language be also adorned with figures that are easy 
 and not far-fetched ; for these render an author's style 
 like well made soup. 
 
 Let the mind of the historian, besides, partake of 
 and adopt some portion of poetry, in as much as that 
 too makes use of sublime words, and is elevated, and 
 particularly when it is engaged with drawn out armies, 
 and battles, and sea-fights: for then he will have 
 occasion for a certain poetical gale, to fill his sails with 
 a prosperous breeze, and waft his lofty bark over the 
 surface of the waves. His diction, however, may 
 move on the ground, though elated with the beauty 
 and grandeur of his subject, and equalled thereto as 
 vmch as possible; but not ; in the mean time ; running 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 103 
 
 into wildness, nor borne with a certain enthusiastic 
 spirit beyond what is proper: for then the greatest 
 danger is, lest he be driven beyond bounds, and fall 
 into downright poetical frenzy; therefore, the reins 
 must be particularly attended to then, and sobriety 
 must be observed, considering this, that in oratory 
 too an immoderate spirit in words is no small evil. 
 'Tis best then, that diction on foot should attend the 
 imagination, mounted on a steed, holding the saddle, 
 that she may not be left behind from the rapidity of 
 the course. 
 
 But you ought to use a moderate composition of 
 your words, and free from extremes, so that you do 
 not remove and separate them too much, (for that is 
 harsh,) nor end them almost metrically, like many 
 writers, of which this, indeed, is faulty, and that 
 disagreeable to the hearers. 
 
 The subjects themselves should not be connected 
 at random, but* the historian ought to combine them 
 elaborately, and with a certain painful diligence, 
 having often weighed them well in his mind : and in 
 particular he ought to relate what he has been present 
 at, and seen ; but if not, he should give credit to 
 those who tell them most faithfully, and whom one 
 would consider least to extenuate or exaggerate ihe 
 events in any measure through interest or hatred. 
 And here he must be acute in his conjectures, and 
 one that is able to elicit what is most probable. 
 
 And when he shall have collected all his materials, 
 or the most part of them, let him first, indeed, draw 
 up some sort of sketch of them, and form the body of 
 the work, as yet unadorned, and not distinguished 
 into its several numbers. Then having put it into 
 order, let him bestow beauty on it, and add colouring 
 to the diction, and suit the language to the subject, 
 and study a correct composition. 
 
 And on the whole, let him then resemble Homer's 
 
 • Understand hi av\ov 9 
 
104 HOW HISTORY 
 
 Jupiter,* one time looking down upon the land of 
 the horse-feeding Thracians, and another time upon 
 that of the Mysians. In like manner let the historian 
 also one time take a view of the several affairs of the 
 Romans, and relate them such as they appeared to 
 him, observing them from on high; and another time 
 those of the Persians ; then of both, if they are in 
 war with each other. And in the very field of battle, 
 let him not direct his attention to one side only, nor to 
 one horseman, or one footman, unless, perchance, 
 some Brasidas leap forward, or a Demosthenes pre- 
 vent the landing of the enemy. t He must first, in- 
 deed, attend to the generals ; and if they give any 
 orders, let him hear them also ; and how, and with 
 what intent and design, they enjoined them. But when 
 they come into action, let his observation be common 
 to both, and as it were, weigh the transactions in a 
 pair of scales, and pursue with those pursuing, and 
 fly with those flying. 
 
 And in all these, proper bounds are to be observed, 
 that he do not relate matters to satiety, or unskilfully, 
 or in a juvenile manner ; but acquit himself with ease, 
 and, having settled these affairs in some certain pos- 
 ture, let him pass to those subjects that demand his 
 attention : then, acquitted of this charge, let him re- 
 turn to where the former call him, and hasten to all, 
 and be as much as possible in concord with the occa- 
 sion ; and let him fly from Armenia into Media, 
 thence with one dart to Iberia, thence into Italy, so 
 as not to be left behind by any lapse of time. 
 
 But, in particular, let him have his mind like a mir- 
 ror, clear and bright, and exact in the centre ; and 
 such as it shall receive the images of facts, in the same 
 manner let it also reflect them, but show nothing 
 distorted, of different colour or different shape* For 
 
 * Homer, Ilias XIII. 4. 
 
 f See Thucidides, Book, IV. and Hist, And de Rollin, TcUb 
 III. p, 586. 
 
OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 103 
 
 historians do not write for teachers of oratory ; but 
 they are in possession of what they are to relate, and 
 all must be told, for it is already done : but it is ne- 
 cessary to put it into order and relate it : therefore 
 they have not to seek what they are to say, but how 
 they ought to say it. On the whole, we must consider 
 that a writer of history ought to be like Phidias, 
 Praxitiles, or Alcamenes, or any other person of 
 their profession: for they did not make the gold, or 
 silver, or ivory, or other materials ; but these were at 
 hand and ready prepared for them, the Eleans, or 
 Athenians, or Argives, having supplied them ; but 
 they only shaped them, and cut and polished the 
 ivory, and joined it together, and gave it beauty and 
 proportion, and as it were, flowered it with gold : 
 and it was their peculiar art to dispose of the materials, 
 as occasion required. Such too is the business of the 
 historian, to arrange events with beauty, and to des- 
 cribe them as clearly as possible : and when he that 
 hekrs them, thinks afterwards that he has seen the 
 things related, and consequently praises the perfor- 
 mance, then, then indeed, it is accurately executed, 
 and has acquired deserved applause for our historical 
 Phidias. 
 
 All his materials being now prepared r he will some~ 
 times commence without introduction, when the sub- 
 ject itself does not much require any thing to be pro- 
 mised in a preface ; and even then, indeed, he will 
 effect all the force of an introduction, because he de- 
 clares the subjects that are to be related. 
 
 But when he writes a preface, he will begin with 
 two topics only, not like orators with three, but omit- 
 ting that of bespeaking the reader's good will, he wilt 
 seek their attention and comprehension. They will 
 attend, if he show them that he is about speaking of 
 great, necessary, domestic, or useful subjects ; and 
 he will make them understand, and the things that 
 follow clear, by explaining the causes of the events 
 first, and marking out the chief of the transactions. 
 
106 HOW HISTORY 
 
 Such introductions the best historians have made 
 use of. Herodotus, indeed, begins thus, telling us 
 he writes^ " that the events might not vanish with time, 
 since they were great and wonderful, and displayed 
 the victories of the Greeks, and the slaughters of the 
 Barbarians." But Thucydides, " because he himself 
 considered that that war would be great, and more 
 worthy of being recorded, and greater than former 
 wars : for in it also, great calamities had happened." 
 
 But it is a great matter, that the introduction, in 
 proportion to the subjects, should he longer or short- 
 er. But let the transition thence to the narrative, be 
 natural and easy : for in truth all the remaining body 
 of the history is a long narration ; wherefore let it be 
 ornamented with the beauties of narration, and pro- 
 ceed with a smooth and regular pace, and even con- 
 sistent with itself, so that no part should surpass or 
 fall short of the rest. Then let perspecuity prevail in 
 the diction, which depends, as I have said, on the 
 co::::ec^g uf one thj-g with aaribin&. For {has he 
 will make all parts compleat and perfect; and having 
 finished die first, he will subjoin the second annexed 
 to it, and united like the links of a chain, so as to 
 admit of no interruption, nor many stories bundled 
 together at random ; but so that the first part is always 
 not only next to the second, but the second growing 
 out of it, and both united in their contingent ex- 
 tremes. 
 
 Brevity and dispatch are useful in all the parts r 
 particularly if there be no scarcity of materials : and 
 these are not so much to be obtained by a brevity in 
 words and expressions, as from the subjects themselves : 
 I mean this, if you lightly run over trifling and less 
 important incidents, and say a sufficiency on matters 
 of moment ; or rather many things are to be omitted. 
 For supposing you were to give an entertainment to 
 your friends, all tilings being prepared, you would 
 not (I suppose) on that account serve up also, a sprat, 
 and pulse, and the like, if ready, in the midst of 
 
OUGHT TO BE 'WRITTEN. 107 
 
 sweet-meats, and fowl, and so many dishes, and 
 boars, and hares, and sweeUbreads ; but you would 
 omit he meaner articles. 
 
 But, in particular, you must conduct yourself dis- 
 creetly in the description of mountains, fortifications, 
 or rivers, lest you should seem unskilfully and fool- 
 ishly to show your power of eloquence, and, having 
 neglected your history, to be managing your own 
 business ; but when you have lightly touched on these 
 matters for utility and perspecuity sake, pass on, 
 avoiding their bird-lime and all their delights. You 
 see how, in a similar manner the magnanimous Homer 
 acts : though a poet, he slightly passes by Tantalus, 
 and Ixion, and Tityus, and the rest. But if Par- 
 thenius,* or Euphorion,* or Callimachus,t had 
 mentioned them, in how many verses, do you sup- 
 pose, would one of them bring the water to the lip of 
 Tantalus? In how many would he roll round Ixion's 
 wheel ? But you see how rather Thucydides himself, 
 using this kind of writing sparingly, desists immedi- 
 ately, when he has described any warlike machine, or 
 has explained the manner of a siege, though necessary 
 and useful, or the form of Ephipolae, or the harbour 
 of Syracuse. For when he describes the plague, and 
 seems tedious, do you but consider the matter; for 
 thus you will perceive his dispatch, and how the 
 multiplicity of facts retard him, however, in his flight. 
 
 But if at any time too, there is occasion to intro- 
 duce any person speaking, in particular, let language 
 adequate to the character, and suit-able to the subject, 
 be pronounced, and then let it be as clear as possible. 
 Besides you are permitted then to display your oratory 
 and show your power of eloquence. 
 
 Let your praise and censure be altogether moder- 
 ate, circumspect, and free from malice, accompanied 
 
 * Two Authors much esteemed by the Emperor Tiberius. See 
 Sueton. Tib. 70. 
 
 f Not the poet certainly, to whom is attributed the saying, "a great 
 book is a great evil, yf and of whose works several poems, and fragments 
 •f poems, are now extant. 
 
108 HOW HISTORY 
 
 with proofs, concise, and not unseasonable. Other- 
 wise, they are without the tribunal ;* and you will 
 be guilty oF the same fault as Theopompus,+ who, 
 through a certain fondness for enmity, has censured 
 almost every body, and continued so long in that 
 practice, that he had rather accuse, than relate events. 
 
 And if any fabulous story cross you in your way, it is 
 indeed to be mentioned, not, however, to be altogether 
 credited, but left undetermined, that every reader as 
 he thinks proper, may judge of it. But you are there- 
 by safe, and inclined to neither side. 
 
 Above all things, remember this, (I will often incul- 
 cate it,) write not with your mind directed to the 
 present only, that persons now Tiving, may applaud 
 you, and hold you in esteem, but aiming at the me- 
 mory of every age, write rather for those who will be 
 hereafter, and from them seek the rewards of your 
 writing, that it may also be said of you, " He was/ 
 however, a liberal man, and full of freedom of speech r 
 there is nothing of the sycophant, nor of the slavet 
 but downright truth in all his works." This, if | 
 man were wise, he would esteem above all the hopes c 
 life, which are of such short duration. 
 
 Do you see what that architect of Cnidus did t 
 For when he had built the tower in the island of 
 Pharos, the greatest and most beautiFul oF all his 
 works, that thence a signal, by lighting a fire, might 
 be given to mariner's Far at sea, that they should not 
 be dashed on the Paraetonia, being very dangerous, as 
 they say, and whence there is no escaping, iF any 
 vessel should get on that rocky shore. Having there- 
 Fore built his work, he inscribed his name within on 
 the stones themselves : but when he had covered them 
 over with plaister, he inscribed thereon, the name 
 oF the king then reigning, knowing, what indeed 
 
 * See note in Stock. 
 
 f A very malicious writer, according to Com, Nepo~s ; in the life 
 of Alcibiades. 
 

 *H 
 
 OtGHT TO BE WRITtEtf. 1(39 
 
 happened, that after 4 a short time it would come to 
 pass, that these letters would fall off with the plaister* 
 but this inscription appear, " SOSTRATUS, OF 
 CNIDUS, THE SON DEXIPHANES, TO 
 THE GUARDIAN DEITIES, FOR THOSE 
 IN DANGER AT SEA." So neither did he look 
 to the then present time, nor- to his own life, being 
 very short ; but to the time now, and every other future 
 age, as long as the tower shall stand, and his owi$ 
 art remain. 
 
 History ou gfa jtherefcre, 'fo b e written in this manner 
 too, with truuS^ richer to^uture hope, than with 
 flattery to obtain gratification from present praise. 
 L*et this be the rul$ and standard for you, of trus 
 history ; by which, if any persons suffer themselves to 
 oe directed, they would act well, and I shall have 
 written to good purpose : but if not ; my tub has been 
 oiled in the Cranium.* 
 
 •I.e. I have as much laboured id no purpose^ as Diogenes die!* 
 filing his tub in the Cranium. —See the third paragraph of Ihis 
 treatise. 
 
 FINIS, 
 
 ».r*+j r+ /** **^* /^v • 
 
 B&sr.e Smith, Printefj 
 DubU& 
 
1 w 
 
 '^^Z^SSSpzZ 
 
 t^%^^ 
 
 
 
i 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 003 046 021 2 
 
 MHnM 
 
 ■■mm— 
 
 I 
 
 JSm 
 
 i 
 
 
 HH 
 
 ' ' • ■ 
 
 mwsm 
 
 JbrkI 
 mm