,4ncienl Classics for English Readers
EDITED BY THE
REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.
LUCIAN




CONTENTS  OF THE  SERIES.
HOMER: THE ILIAD,...             BY THE EDITOR
HOMER: THE ODYSSEY,..    BY THE SAME
HERODOTUS,               BY GEORGE C. SWAYNE, M.A
CVESAR,.            BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE
VIRGIL,..    BY THE EDITOR
HORACE,......  BY THEODOREI MARTIN.
ZASCHYLUS,  BY THE RIGHT REV. THE BISHOP OF COLOMBO.
XENOPHON,. BY SIR ALEX. GRANT, BART., LL.D.
CICERO,.                            BY THE EDITOR.
SOPHOCLES,... BY CLIFTON WV. COLLINS, M.A.
PLINY,   BY A. CHURCH, M.A., AND W. J. BRODRIBB, M.A
EURIPIDES                BY WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE
JUVENAL,                  BY EDWARD WALFORD M.A.
ARISTOPHANES,.                      BY THE EDITOR.
HESIOD AND THEOGNIS, BY THE REV. JAMES DAVIES, M.A.
PLAUTUS AND TERENCE,.   BY THE EDITOR.
TACITUS,..  BY WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE.
LUCIAN,.....   BY THE EDITOR,
PLATO,..                    BY CLIFTON W. COLLINS.
THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY,.. BY LORD NEAVES.
LIVY,,...    BY THE EDITOR
OVID.                  BY THE REV. A. CHURCH, M.A.
CATULLUS, TIBUI.LUS, & PROPERTIUS, BYJ. DAVIES, M.A.
DEMOSTHENES,.. BY THE REV. W. J. BRODRIBB, M.A,
ARISTOTLE,.. BY SIR ALEX. GRANT, BART., LL.D.
THUCYDIDES,.BY THE EDITOR,
LUCRETIUS,.BY W. H. MALLOCK, AI.A,
PINDAR,...  BY TIlE REV. F. D. MORICE, M.A




LUCIAN
BY THE
REV. W. LUCAS  COLLINS,  M.A
AUTHOR OF'ETONIANA,''THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS,' ETC.
PHILADELPH TA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY








CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAP.  I. BIOGRA        PHPICAL,...'.,    1
i"  II. LUCIAN AND THE PAGAN OLYMPUS,       o..   12
"   III. DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD,..   50
"   IV. LUCIAN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS,.            88
"    V. SATIRES ON SOCIETY..                    138
"   VI. LUCIAN AS A ROMANCE-WRITER,...  158
"  VII. LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY,                  167








L U  C I A  N.;
CHAPTER I.
BIOGRAPHICAL.
LUCIAN (Luciatillis, or Lycinun., as he sometimes calls
hiiiiself) was born about A.D. 120, or perhaps a few
years later, at Saniosata, on the bank of the Euphrates,
at that time the capital city of Comnmagene, and perhaps better known a century later from its heresiarch
bishop, Paul.   What we know  of our author's life
is chiefly gathered from  incidental notices scattered
through his numerous writings.   Of his youthful
days he has given what is probably a truthful account
in a piece which he has entitled "The Dream."  This
apLpears to have been written in his successful later
years (when men are most disposed to be open and
honest about their early antecedents), and recited as
a kind of prologue to his public readinlgs of his works,
before his fellow-citizens of Sainosata.  IHe tells us that
his parents, who seem to have been in humble circunlstances, held a council of the friends of the family to
consult what should be done with their boy.  They
A. C. vol. xviii.                         A




2                    L UCIA N.
calne to the conclusion that a liberal education was not
to be thought of, because of the expense. The next
best thing, for a lad who had already no doubt given
token of some ability, was to choose some calling
which should, ill l'o of an L,.tele tua' rather than a
servile characte:. This is his oun acJount of what
took place in the family council:"When one proposed one thing and one another,
according to their fancies or experience, my father
turned  to my maternal uncle —he was one of thle
party, and passed for an excellent carver of Miercuries'-' It is impossible,' said he, politely,' in your
presence, to give any other art the preference.  So take
this lad home with you, and teach him  to be a good
stone-cutter and statuary: for he has it in lhibn, and
is clever enough, as you know, with his hlands.'  I-He
had formed this notion from the way in which I used
to amuse myself in moulding wax. As soon as I left
school, I used to scrape wax together, and make figures
of oxen and horses, and men too, with some cleverness,
as my father thought.   This accomplishment had
earned me many a beating from  my schoolmasters;
but at this moment it was praised as a sign of natural
talent, and sanguine hopes were entertained th::t I
should speedily become master of my new profession,
from this early plastic fancy.  So, on a day which was
counted lucky for entering on my apprenticeship, to
* The figures of lMercury so commonly set up in the streets
and at the gates of houses were mere busts -without arms, and
could not have required any very great anmlount of art in their
production.




BI O GRA PIll CA L.                3
my uncle I was sent.  I did not at all object to it myself: I thought I should find tile work amusing  enough,
and be very proud when I could show my playmates
bow I could make gods, and cut out other little figures
for myself and my special friends.  But an accident
happened to me, as is not uncommon with beginners.
M[y uncle put a chisel in my hanld, and bid me work
it lightly over a slab of marble that lay in the shop,
quoting at the same time the commron proverb,; aWell
begun is half done.'  But, leaning too hard upon it, ill
my awkwardlness, the slab broke; ancl my uncle, seizing a whip that lay at halld, ma(le lie pay my footing
in no very gelltle or encouraging fashioln; so the first
wrages I earned were tears."'
"I ran off straight home, sobbing  and howling,
with the tears running down Illy chees.  I told them
there all about the whip, and showed the wheals; and
with loud complaints of my uncle's cruelty, I added
that he hlad done it all out of envy,-because he was
afraid I should soon make a better artist than himself.
My mother was extremely illilnalnt, and vented bitter
reproaches against her brother."
Of course, with the mother in such mood, we readily
understandi that young Lucian never went back to the
shop.  " I went to sleep," he says, " with my eyes full
of tears, aand that very ni(ght I had a dream."  This
dream, which the author goes on to relate, is a reproduction, adapted to suit the circumstances, of the wellknown'" Choice of Hercules."   How  far Lucian
6 The Dream," 2-4,




4                     L U' CIA N.
actually dreamed it, or thought he dreamed it, is
impossible to say.  Ile was imaginative enough, no
doubt. to have pictured it all to himself in his sleep;
or a youth who had hit upon so ingenious an explanation of his uncle's beating him was equally capable of
inventing a dream  for the family edification; or (and
this is the most likely supposition) the practised
fabulist might have only adopted it as an apposite parable for the audience before whlloni he related it.  The dreamL  was this: Two female figures
seemea   to have laidc  hold of' hlim  on either side,
anml  struggle d so fiercely for the possession that lie felt
as if he were being torn in two.  " The one figture was
of coArse and masculine aspect, with rough hair and
callous hands, with her robe higll-girt, and covered with
dust-very like my uncle the stone-cutter wlhen he was
polishing his work; the other had a lovely face and
graceful bearing, and was elegantly dressed."   The
first is " Statuary," who offers him, if he will follow
her, an ample maintenance, good healtll, and possibly
fanme.  He is not to be discouraged at her rol(ugh a)ppearance; such, at first starting in life, were Phidias,
Mlyron, and Praxiteles.  The other glaceful ladly is
"Liberal Education."  She remninds hlim that lie had
already made some slight acquaintance withl her: but
nluch is still wanting.  She will mllake hler votary
acquainted with  all the noblest things which the
noblest men in all times have (lone, and said, and
written; she will adorn his soul with temperance, justice, gentleness, prudelnce, and fortitude; with the love
of the beautiful, and the thirst for knowledge.  Nay,




BIOGRAPHICAL.                       5
she will give him  that which all men covet-immortality.  Her rival can but offer him  the work and
position of a mere labourer, earning his living by his
hands, one of the vulgar herd, obliged to bow before
his superiors, and working according to his patrons'
taste.'
Lucian hardly waited, he says, for the termination
of this divine creature's speech, before he sprang up,
turned his back upon ler rival, and( threw himself into
her embraces.  " No doubt," he slyly observes, " the
recollection of the flogging which my brief acquaintance
with the other lady had got me the day before contributed not a little to my choice."  The rejected claimant gnashed upon him  savagely with her teeth, and
then, "stiffening like a second Niobe," she was-very
appropriately-turned into stone.+
Whatever truth there might be in the vision, Lucianl's
choice was made.  How  lhe found the means for tlhe
further education that was needful, we are not told;
but he got himself trained in some way as a RPhetorician.  That science was not only very popular, but its
professors, when  once tlhey had made themselves a
name, were pretty well paid.   Theil Emperor Marcus
Aurelius was himself a most liberal patron of this as of
other sciences, and maintained public lectures on jurisprudence, with which rhetoric was directly connected,
both at Rome and in the provinces.
* Wieland well remarks that the art of sculpture must have
lteen very much on the decline, both in point of merit and re}utation, to lea.d the writer to speak of it in such slighting telna.
~ "The Dream," 6-14.




6                    L UCIA N.
For some time after his education was completed,
he seems to have wandered up and down Ionia, with
very precarious means of support, exercising his profession, among other places, at Antioch, where he must
hlave come into contact more or less with the new sect
called " Christians,"-with what result we shall partly
see hereafter.  By degrees he got.into some practice as
an advocate: but not meeting with the success which
he hoped for in that line, he took to composing orations
for others to deliver, and to giving lectures upon
rhetoric and the art of public speaking. In this latter
capacity he travelled a good deal, as Awas the custom for
all professors in those clays, and delivered his lectures
anad declamations in the towns of Syria, Greece, Italy,
and Gaul.  It was in the last-named country-always
-t rich harvest-field, as we gather from  Juvenal,j for
travelling orators and lecturers on law-that he seems
to have been most successful, and he continued there
for ten years.
Whether he eventually grew tired of his profession,
as some expressions in his writings would lead us to
think, or whether he had made enough money by it to
enable him to devote himself to the more strictly literary life to which his tastes and abilities alike pointed,
-he gave up the study. and the practice of Rhetoric in
about his fortieth year.  He cast off his old mistress,
lie says, because he had grown tired of her false
ways: "she was always painting her face and tiring
her head," and otherwise misbehaving herself, and he
* See his Satires, vii. 175, and xv. 111.




B OG RAPI  CAL.                    7
would endure it no longer.  She had led him a very
unquiet life of it, he declares, for some years.  He
makes poor EIhetoric, indeed, say in her defence in
the same Dialogue, and witlh at least some degree of
truth, that she lhad taken lilm up when he was young,
poor, and unknown, had brought hlil famle and replltation, and lastly in Gaul had made him  a wealthly
mlani.e   It is possible that the declining reputation
ini which thle science, owing to the abuses introduced
by unworthy professors, -was beginning to be held
througllhout Greecec, may have been one great reason
for his withdrawing firom  it.
He delivered his last lecture on the subject at
Thessalonica,-where he would aoain meet withll, or at
least hear something of, the members of the Christian
Church. Thence he returned to his native town of
Samosata, found his father still alive there,t and soon
removed him  and his whole family into Greece.  He
devoted the rest of his life to the study of philosophy
and to his literary work, living in good style at Athens.
It was here, as lihe tells us himself, that he got rid of
his " barbarous SJyrian speech," and perfected himself
in that pure Attic diction which is marvellous in a
writer who was virtually a foreigner.  For such Greek
as was spoken in Syria during the EnEmpire was, as
Lucian confesses, little better than a platois.  To these
years of his life at Athens are naturally assigned those
Dialogues of his which have in them  so nluch of the
Aristophanic spirit and mlanner. There also he enjoyed
" " Tile Double Accusation," 27 and 31.
t " Alexander," 56.




8                       LUCIA N.
the friendship of Deumonax of Cyprus, who, if we may
trust the character which his friend gives of him  in
the little biographical sketch which bears his name,
well deserved  to be called  an  eclectic  philosopher.
His philosophy, combining some of the highest tenets
of the Socratic school with the contempt of riches and
luxury  affected  by the  Cynics,  was, says Lucian,' nil(l,  cheerful, and benevolent,"  and lie lived  respected to the end of his long life, " settilg an example
of moderation and wisdom to all -who saw and heard
him." 
Lucian still travelled occasionally, and on one occasion paid a visit to the reputed oracle of the archimpostor Alexander, at Abonoteicllos in PaplLlagonia,
of which he gives a very graphic account.  This man
exercised an  extraordinary  ilfluence over the credulity not only of his own countrymen lbut of strangers
* Lucian gives u.s a number of conversational anec(dotes of
Demon-ax,-one of the few collections of classical ana. Perhaps
the best is this.  A certain sophist from Sidon, very fond of
praising hilnself, was boasting that he understood all systems
of philosophy.  "If Aristotle calls me to the Lyceum, I can
follow him: if Plato invites me to the Academy, I will meet
him  there: if Zeno to the Porch, I am ready: if Pythagoras
calls upon me, I can be silent."   Rising up quietly among the
audience-" Hark i" said Demonax, addressing him —" Pythagoras calls you."  Th'lere was evidently somethinl ill common
between the two friends in their views upon religious questions.
WiThen a neigrhbour asked Demonax to accompany him to the
temple of lEscullalius to pray for the recovery of hlis son. the
philosopher rel,lil'-"Do you sulppose that the god is deaf;
that he cannot hear us wvhere we are?" -Iife of Deimonax,
14, 27.




BIOGRAPHICAL.                      9
also.  Lucian's zeal against such sham pretenders here
brought him into some trouble, and went near to cost
him his life. Alexander, who had specially invited
him  to an audience, held out his hand, according to
custom, for his visitor to kiss; whereupon Lucian, by
way of active protest against an imposture which he
had already denounced; bit it so hard as actually to
lame him for some time. The Prophet affected to treat
the thing as a practical joke, but, when Lucian was
leaving the country, gave private orders to the captain
and crew of the vessel to fling the malicious unbeliever
overboard-a fate whtich he only escaped through the
unusual tender-heartedness of the Asiatic captain.
Heo seems to have become poorer again in his later
years, and to have occasionally taken up his old profession.  But at last the iEmperor Marcus Aurelius
(or, as Wieland rather thinks, Comnmodus) offered hliml
an official appointment (somnething like that of Iecorder, or Clerk of the Courts) at Alexandria in Egypt.
His  chief duties were, as he tells us, to  preside
over the courts of justice and to keep the records."
He thought it necessary to write an "Apology" for
accepting this position; for it happened that he had
just put forth an essay (which will come under notice
hereafter) on the miseries of a state of dependence on
great men, and was conscious that his enemies might
take occasion to sneer at so stout a champion of independence thus consenting to sell himself for office, He
must have felt like Dr Jolhnson when he consulted
his friends as to the propriety of his accepting the
"Apology," 12.




10                    LUCIANV.
pension offered by Lord LBute, after the bitter definitions of the wordls " pension " and " peunsioner " which
ble had given in the first edition of his Dictionary.
The promotion did not come until, as lie says, he
"had one foot already in Charon's boat," for he must
have been above seventy years oldl when he received
it: but the einoluaents waere iairly good; lie was
allowed to perform the office by depltty, so that it did
not interfere with his busy literary leissure at Athens,
and he lived many years to ei)joy it. He is said to have
been a hundred years old wlen lie died, but nothing
certain is known of the date or manner of his death.
It has been conjectured with much probability that in
his later years he was troubled with the goaot, a cdisorder to which lie mnore than once mlakes allusion in
his writings, very much in the tone of one V1who spoke
froni painful experience; and lie has left t\wo huniorous niocki-tragic dralmatic scenes in wlich Gout is personlifed as the fprincipal character.  The tormlents of
which she is the author to mnakind are anmusingly
exa(gerated.  PIhiloctetes is nmade out to have been a
sufferer, not fromn the bite of the slnake or firom  the
poisoned arrow, but simply froili  out in his foot
-ecloough  to account  for any  amount  of lhowls
and lamentations, such  as are put inl his mouth by
Sophocles; andl Ulysses mIust have died by the sanme
enemy, andl not, as was fabled, by the poisonous slpine
of a sea-urchin.
It has been impossible, in the compass of this
volume, even to notice all the Avorks of this active and




B I O G R A P  I C'A L.           1 
versatile writer, a descriptive catalogue of which would
alone fill some pages.  Nor has the common order of
arrangemlent been here followed, but the Dialogues
and other pieces have been grouped as seemed most
convenient.
Though Lucian was always a popular writer, lie has
not found l   any modern translators.   The formidable number of his works has no (loubt been one
reason for this.  Spence's translation (1684) is termed
by D)ryden " saltdallous."  T'he version by " Emrinent
lands," publislled in 1711, to which is prefixed a
" Life" by Dryden, is very incorreect, though some of the
pieces are rendered with considerable spirit.  Tooke's
translation (1820) is also full of tlhe blunders of
imperfect scholarship, though  the English  is often
racy and good.  Dr Franklin's is, on the whole, that
which does imost justice to the original.  But no English translator approaches in point of excellence the
admnirable German version by Wieland.




CT APTER P.f
LUCIAN AND THE PAGAN OLYMPUS.
TIHE best known andl the most popular of our author's
multifarious writings are his " Dialogues," many of
which wou ll form admirable dramatic scenes, containing more of the spirit of comedy, as we moderns
understand it, than either the broad burlesque of
Aristophanles or the somewhat sententious and didactic
tone of Terence.  The "' Dialognes of the Gods," in
which the old mytiloloogical deities are introduced
to us as it were in unlress,  discussing  their family
affairs and private quarrels in the most familiar style,
were composed with a double purpose by their writer.
Ile not only seizedl upon the absurd points in religious
faMle as presenting excellent material for burlesque,
but he indulged at the same timte in the most caustic
form of satire upon the popular belief, against wlliclh,
long before his day, the intellect of even the heathen
world had revolted.  It is possible that his apprenticeship, brief as it was, to the manufiacture of stone
Mlercuries helped to make him  an iconoclast.  The
man who assists in the chiselling out of a god 1must
know  more or less that he " has a lie in his right




THE PA GAN OL YMP US.                1 3
hand."  The unhesitating faith in which (apparently)
he accepts the truth of all the popular legends about
Jupiter and his court, treating thenm  in the most
matter-of-fact and earnest way, and assuming their
literal truth in every detail, makes tile satire all the
more pungent.  To have sifted the heap of legends
into false and true, or to lhave explained that this was
only a poetical illustration, or that an allegorical forml
of truth, would not have damaged the popular creed
half so much as this representation of the Olympian
deities under all the I)ersonal and domestic circunmstances which followed, as necessary corollaries, froim
their supposed relations to each other.  M7e need
not wonder that the charge of atheism  was hurled
against bum by all the defenders, honest or dishonest,
of the national worship.  Many as had been the blows
struck against it by satirists and philosophers, Lucian's
was, if not the hardest, the most deadly of all.
The Dialogue called " PtOMrETHEUS," tllough it stands
alone, and is not classed among the "Dialogues of the
Gods," is quite of the same character with these,
and may be regarded as a kind of prologue to the
series.  As a punishment for the offence which he has
given to Jupiter, Prometheus is being' chained down
upon iMount Caucasus, the idea of the scene beinlg
1borrowed undloubtedly from. the tragedy of AEschylus.
The executioners of the punishment, however, if this
case, are Vulcan and Mercury alolle, without the aid of
Strength and Force.  The victim  protests against the
cruelty and injustice of his doom, and the mlean and




14                      L UCIA N.
petty revenge takeii by Jupiter (upon a deity of mucll
older family than himself, too), just because he had been
outwitted in the division of the sacrifice: for this lie
believes to have been the head and fiont of his offending.~   Whlat would be said of a mortal who should
crucify his cook for tasting the soup, or cutting a bit
off the roast?  As for his creation of men,-the gods
ought to be very much  obliged  to  lilm: for where
would be their temples, their honours and their sacrifices, if the earth had remaialed  untenanted.  Even the
beauty of the universe would have ahad no admirers.t
If it be said that these srame mortals are wicked, —
murderers, adulterers, and so forth, -the gods had
better hold  their tonigues on that point, considering
tle examples set by thellmselves.  Then, as to his gift
of fire to ien —it is Illere einvy in Jupiter to grudge,
it thelm; andl  gods ouglht surely to be vwidely benleficeont, not enlvious caLd se lfish.  Aild, if the gods do not
like to see fire used uponl earth, at least they seem
very imuch (dlelimhldted witlh the smoke, wlen it comles
up to themn in the shape of inceniie.  l\fercury admits
that his defenlce is, to say thle least, very clever; but,
* Prometheus lh(d cl  t up a victiml, andl divided the portions
ilnto two heaps, of whlieh lie gave Jupiter his choice.  Jupiter
chollse that whllicl sillleei   to llave the t)est share of fat at the
top, but found thalt bieath thliere was nothling  but bones.
Wh "     a' rt use could the Deity have for nman,' said Epicurus,'that He should create him?' Surelv, that there miight be a
being that could u:lnderstalnd His wor'ks; that could have sense
to admire and voice to proclaiml  His providence in arrangement, His plan of operation, His perfection in completing all."
— Lactantius, Div. Instit., b. vii. c. 5.




TIlE PA GA 3  OL LIIP US.            15
he remarks, 4' you may think yourself very fortunate
that Jupiter does not hear what you say, for he woull
surely send down a thundred vultures upon you instead
of onle."
The change of dynasty in heaven presents of course
a salient point, here and elsewhere, to the satirist. Tie
makes Promtheleus in his agony,appeal to the anzciel;t
deities,-Saturn, Jupiter, and Earth,-not recognisinl
ally of the new introductions.  In this, too, he has
followed iEschylus, who makes the great Titan call
upon Earth and Sea cand Air, to witness his treatment
at the hands of a usurper.
Some of the shorter and nmore anusirng of these
"Dialogues of the Gods" are here given entire, and
are a fair specim-en of the humour of the rest.
JUPITER AND CUPID.
COupicd. Well, even if I h]ave done wrong, pray forgive me, Jupiter; I am only a child, you see, an1d don't
know any better.
Jtqpiter. Child, indeed, \Master Cupid! you who are
older than Ilapetus!  Because you don't happen to have
grown a beard yet, and because your hair isn't grey,
you are to be considerfed a child, I suppose-old and
crafty as you are.
Cltp. Wlrhy, whllat great harm  have I done youold as you say I am-that you should think of putting
me in the stocks.
Julp. Look here, then, you mnischievous imp! is this
a trifle —the way in which you have disgraced me?




16                  LUCIA N.
There is nothing you have not turned me into-satyr,
bull, gold pieces, swan, eagle; but you never yet have
made a single woman fall in love with me for myself,
nor have I ever been able to make myself agreeable
in any quarter in my own person, but I have to use
allg1ric in all such affairs, and disguise myself.  And
after all, it's the bull or the swan they fall in love
witll; if they see me, they die of terror.
Capl). Yes, no wonder; they are but mortal, you
knrow, Jupiter, and can't endure your awful person.
Ju1p. How is it, then, that Apollo gets themn to
fall in love with hinm l
Cg0p. W~ell-Daphne, you know, ran away from
him, for all his flowing locks and smooth face. B3ut if
you want to gmalke yourself attractive, you mustn't shake
your regis, and carry your thunderbolt about with you,
but make yourself look as pleasant as you can,-let
your hair hang down on both sides of your face in
curls,-put a fillet round it,-get a purple dress,-put
on gilded sandals,-wtlk with the fashionable step,
with a pipe and timbrel before you: you'll see, the
women will run after you then, faster than the
Mcenads do after Bacchus.
Jrup. Away with you-I couldn't condescend to
be attractive by making myself such a fool as that.
Ca~p. Very well, Jupiter, then give up love-making
altogether; (lookinf/ slily at him)-t/lt's easy enough,
you know.
Jiup. Nay, I must go on with my courting, but you
must find me some less troublesome fashion than that.
And upon this sole condition, I let you off once more.




THE PAGAN  OLMP US.                  17
VULCAN AND APOLLO.
lizldca. I say, Apollo-have you seen this young
bantliicng that Maia has just produced?  What a fine
child it is!-snmiles at everybody, and gives plain token
already that it will turn out somlething wonderfulquite a blessing to us all.
Apollo. A  blessing, you think, eh, Vulcan? that
childl-who is older, in point of wickedness, than old
hither Iapetus himnself!
Vul. Why, wvhat harim can a baby like that do
to anybody?
Ap. Just ask Neptune,-he stole his trident.  Or
ask Mars,-the brat slipped his sword out of its sheath
as quickly as you please; to say nothing of myself, and
he has gone off with my bow and arrows.
Vul. What i that infant? who can hardly stand?
the one in the cradle there?
Ap. You'll soon find out for yourself, Vulcan, if he
pays you a visit.
Vul. Why, he has paid me a visit, just now.
A), Well, have you got all your tools safe? none
of them missing, is there?
Vul. (look7ing r'octnd).   No -  they  are all right,
Apollo.
Ap. Nay, look carefillly.
Volld. By Jove! I can't see my anvil!
Ap. You'll find it somewhere in his cradle, I'll be
bound.
Vol. Why, he's as handy with his fingers as if he
had studied thieving before he was born!
A. c. vol. xviii.




18                  LUCIAN.
Ap. Ah! you haven't heard him yet talking, as pert
and as glib as may be. Why, he wants to run errands
for us all! Yesterday, he challenged Cupid to wrestle
with him, and tripped up both his legs in some way,
and threw him in a second.  Then, when we were all
applauding him, and Venus was hugging  him after his
victory, he stole her cestus; and while Jupiter was
I mghing at that, lie was off with his majesty's sceptre.
Ay, and if the thunderbolt did not happen to be
lheavy, and considerably hot withal, he would have
stolen that too.
Vul. You make the child out to be a prodigy.
Ap. Not only that-he knows music already.
V1od. How did he find that out?
Ap. He got hold of a dead tortoise somewhere, and
made its shell into an instrument: fitted it waith pins,
ancd put a bridge to it, and stretched seven strings
across it.  Thel lie sang to it,-something really quite
pretty, Vulcan, and in good tune: I was absolutely
jealous of himl, though, as you klnow, I have practised
the lyre some time. Maia declares, too, that he never
stays in heaven at night, but goes down into the
Shades, out of curiosity-or to steal something there,
lost likely.  He has got wings, too, and has made
himself a rod of some miraculous power, by which he
guides and conducts the dead below.
V1ld. Oh, I gave him that, myself, for a toy.
Ap. So, in return, to show  his gratitude, your
anvil7Vul. By the by, you remind me. I must go and look
if I can find it, as you say, anywhere in his cradle.




TfiHE PA GAN OLYMPUS.               i 9
JUPITER, iESCULAPIUS, AND HERCULES.
JTupiter. Be quiet, do, both of you —Hercules all(L
2Esculapiiius -quarrelling with one another, just like
mortals.  It's really quite unseemly, this kind of conduct; not at all the thing inl Olylmpian society.
Hercules. But do you mean to say, Jupiter, this
apothecary fellow is to sit above mie?
_EsculCapius. Quite fair I should; I'm  the better
deity.
Htere. In what way, you staring ass?  Because
Jupiter struck you with  his lightning for doing what
you had no right to do, and now out of sheer pity
has made you into an immortal 2
_z'sc. Have you flrgot, Hercules, the bonfire that
you made of yourself upon Ml[ount (Eta, that you
taeunt me with having been burnt?
IHerc. Our lives were considerably different.  I, thle
soil of Jove, who undertook all those labours to benefit my generation, conquering monsters and punisling
tyrants: while you went about like a vagabond, collecting roots, of some little use perhaps to dose a few
sick folk, but never having done a single deed of
valour.
Disc. All very fine; when I healed your sores, sir,l;
when you came up here the other day half roasted
between the effects of the tunic and the fire together.
VWell, if I haven't done much, at least I was never
a slave, as you were-never caided wool in Lydia
in a woman's dress-never had my face slapped by




20                   L U CIA -.
Oinphale with her gilt slipper: and never went mad
and killed my wife and children.
Here. If you don't stop that abuse, sir, you'll
pretty soon find out that your immortality is not of
much use to you.  I'll take and pitch you head-first
out of heaven; and it will be more than Paean him —
self can do to mend you when your skull's broken.
Jup. Stop! I tell you both again, and don't annoy
the company, or I'll turn you both out of the hall.
But it's quite fair, Hercules, that rEsculapius should
sit above you — because he died first.
JUNO AND LATONA.
Juno (nzeet'nq 7.er riveal'with a ci''doainfi.l hc7fbow).  A lovely pair of brats indeed, Lcatonla, you
have presented Jupiter with!
Latona (witf1 a sw'eejpir/g curtsey).  Oh, we cannot
all of us be expected, your majesty, to produce such
a beauty as Vulcan!
Ju. (rather d-ciscon?'certed).  Well, lame as he is,
he is very useful.  He's a charming artist, and has
decorated heaven for us with excellent taste.  Then
h:le has married Venus, and she is wonderfulIy fond
of him  too.   But those children of yours-why,
that girl's quite a masculine creature, only fit for the
country.  And now this last expedition of hers into
Scythia-everybody knows her horrible way of living
there-killinig her visitors aind eating them-as bad
as those cannibals, the Scythians themlselves.  Then
Apollo,-he pretends, I'm  told, to know everything




TIIE PAGAN OL YMP US.              21
-archery, and imusic, and medicine, and magic to
boot; and has set up his prophecy-sliops, one at
Delphi, and one in Claros, and one at Didlyimce; an(l
cheats the people who come to consult him, with his
enigmaas and dolble-entendres, which can be turned
into answers to the question both ways, so that.he can
never be proved wrong.  He makes it pay, no doubt;
there are always fools enough in the world ready to
be cheated by a fortune-teller.  But wiser persons
see through hiln well enouog, for all his humbugging
prodigies.  Prophet as he is, lihe could not divine that
he was to kill his favotlrite vith a'cquoit; or foresee
that Daphne would run away frolli him, in spite of
his pretty face and his curls.  I don't see, for my
own part, how you could have been considered more
fortunate in your children than poor Niobe.
La. Oh yes; I know how you hate to see my two
darlings-the cannibal and the charlatan, as you are
pleased to call them-in the comnpany of the gods:
especially when her beauty is the subject of remark,
or when he plays after dinner, to the admiration of
everybody.
Ju. Really, Latona, you make me laugh.  Admire
his playing indeed!  Why, if the iMuses had only
thought proper to decide fairly, ilMarsh as ought to
have skinned hzim, for lie was unquestionably the
better musician of the two.  As it was, poor fellow,
he was cheated, and lost his life by their unjust
verdict.  AInd as fobl your beautiful daughter, -yes,
she was so beautiful, that wvllen she knew she had
been spied by Actaeon, for fear that the young man




22                    L UCIA.
should publish her ugliness, she set the dlogs at him.
And I might add that her occupation as a midwife
is not over-maidenly.
La. You are mighty proud, Juno, because you ale
the consort of Jove, and so think you can insult us
tall as much as you please. But it will not be very
long before I shall see you in your ulsual hysterics,
when his majesty goes down to earth in disguise upol)
one of his intriguing ranbles.
VENUS AND CUPID.
rVenus. How  in the world is it, Cupid, that you,
who have nmasteredr all the other godls, Jupiter and
Neptune and Apollo and Rhea-annd even me, your
miiotlher-yet you never try your hand upon Minerva't
lit lher case, your torch seeiims to lose its fire, your
quiver has no arrows, and your skill andcl culning is
all at fault.
Clp)id. I am afraid of her, mother; she has such a
terrible look, and such stern eyes, and is so horrib)ly
man-like.  WTheulever I bend my )(,w aud take aiimi
at her, she shakes her crest at mle aiid figlhtens me so
that I absolutely shake, and thle arrow drops out of
my hands.
Ven. But was not M[ars even more terrible?  Yet
you disarmed and conquered him.
Cup. Oh, he gives in to me of his own accord, and
invites me to attack him.  But nMillerva always eyes
mne suspiciously, and whenever I fly near her with my
torch, " If you dare to touch me," she says, " I swear
by my father, I'll run my spear through you, or take




THE PAGAN OLYilIPUS.,                 23
you by the le lg and pitch you into Tartarus, or tear you
limb from  limb."  She has often threatened me so;
and then she looks so savage, and hals got a horrible
head of somle kind fixed upon lher breast, with snakes
for hair, whichl I am dreadfully afraid of.  It terrifies
me, and I run away whenever I see it.
Ven. You are afraid of Millerva and her Gorgon,
you say-you, who are not afraid of Jupiter's thunderbolt! And pray, why are the lMuses still untouched,
as if they were out of the reachi of your arrows. Do
tlhey sliake their crests too, or do they display any
Gorgon's heads?
Cuzp. Oh, nlother! I should be ashamledi to meddle
witli them —they are sucet respectable and dignified
young ladies, always deep ilL thieir studies, or busy
with their music; I often. stand listeling to themn till
I quitc forlet mlyself.
Ven. Well, let thlem  alone; they are very' respectable.  lutt Diana, now —why do you never aim  a
shaft at her?.
Cuhp. The fact is, I can't catch her; shie is always
flyrijng ovTer the mountains; besides, she has a little
private love-affair of her own already.
Veiz. AWith whIom, child?.
Clp). With the ganle —stags and fauns-that she
hunts and brings down witll her arrows; shle cares for
nothing else, that I know of.  But as for that brother
of hers, great archer as he is. and far as he is said to
slhot —
Vein. (caurhlinr/). Yes, yes, I know, child —you've
hit hin? often ellough.




L UCIA N.
As a pendant to these "Dialogues of the Gods,"
though it is not one of the pieces which bear that
name, we have an amusing satire, conceived in the
same daring spirit of iconoclasm, called
JUPITEIR IN IIEROICS.
The speculations of the rationalists of the day as
to the existence or non-existence of the Olympian
deities have reached the ears of Jupiter himself, and
he enters upon the scene in a state of considerable
excitement and inliiguation, marchinig up and down,
and mluttering, with a pallid face, and his skin the
colour of a philosopher, to the great bewilderment of
his family.  He finds it iml)possible to give expression
to his feelings in sober prose, but addresses Minerva
in tragic verse, compounded from  his recollections of
Euripides. "' Good heavens," says his goddess-daughter
to herself, " what an awful prologue!   Not to show
herself wantilg in poetical taste, however, as indeed
was clue to her own reputation, she answers him in hlis
own vein, in a cento from  Homer.  But, as the king
of the gods is proceeding in the same strain, Juno
comes upon the scene, and, like some mortal wives,
has little sympathy with her husband's poetical vein.
She begs him, for the sake of ordinary comprehensions,
to confine himself to prose.  "'Remlember, Jupiter,"
says site, " that all of us have not devoured Euripides
bodily, as you have, and do not be angry if we are unable to keep up with you in this extempore tragecldy."
She draws her owin conclusion at once as to the cause
of this excitement.  Plainly it is nothing more or less




TIIE PA GA N  OL YIP US.               2
than a new love-affair.  Jupiter scornfully assures hle
that this is quite a different matter.  It is a questiola
which concerns the honour and status of all the court
of Olympus; men are actually discussing among thelnlselves upon  earth whether they shall hereafter do
worsl-lip and sacrifice to the gods at all.  A council of
the immortals must be held at once on urgent; affairs,
although  Minerva, with a cautious prudlence wtlcli
will always find imitators, suggests that it would b1h
better to leave such questions to settle themselves, and
that the safest way to treat scepticisml is to ignore it.
But her counsel is overruled, and Mercury has orders
to summon a general assembly of the gods forthwith.
MYercury. 0 yes, 0 yes' the go(ds are to come to
council immediately!  iNo (lelay-all to be presentcomle, come! upon urg'ent affailrsof state.
Jzpiter. Whlat! (ldo you summon thllem in that bald,
inartific'ial, prosaic fasllion, Mercury-and on a business
of such high 1 imiportance.
iMee. WThy, how would you have it done, then?
Jep. How would I have it done?  I say, proclarmation should  be m-,lade in dignified style-in verse of
somle kind, and with a sort of poetical grandeur.  They
would be more likely to come.
lflere. Possibly.   But that's the business of your
epic plets and rhapsodists-I'm  not at all poetical
myselfI   I should infallibly spoil tlhe job, by puttilng
in a foot too much or a foot too little, and only get
myself laughe.d at for my bungling' poetry.  I hear
even Apollu himself ridiculed for sonme of his poetical




26                    L UCIA N.
oracles-though in his case obscurity covers a multitude of sins.  Those who consult him have so much
to do to make out his meaning that they haven't much
leisure to criticise his verse.
Jul). Well, Iut, 3Mercury, mix up a little Homer in
your summons-the form, you know, ill which he
used to call us together; you surely remember it.
Mere. Not very readily or clearly.  However, I'll
try: —
"Now, all ye female gods, and all ye male,
And all ye streams within old Ocean's pale,
And all ye nymphs, at Jove's high summons, come,
All ye who eat the sacred hecatolmb!
Who sit and sniff the holy steamn, come all,
Great names, and snlall names, and no nanmes at all." *
Jupq. Well done, 3iTercury! a most adrmirable proclamation.  Here they are all coming already.  Now
take and seat them, each in the order of their dignity
-according  to their material or their workmanship;
the golden ones in the first seats, the silver next to
them; then in succession those of ivory, brass, and
stone,-and of these, let the works of Phidias, and
Alcamnenes, and Myron, and ElIlhranor, and suchlike
artists, take precedence; but let the rude and inartistic
figures be pushed into sonie corner or other, just to fill
up the meeting-and let them hold their tongues.
Mere. So be it; they shall be seated according to
their degree.  But it may be as well for me to understand, —supposing one be of gold, weighing ever so
A burlesique of sundry passages in Homer.




THE PAGAN OLYMPUS.                  27
many talents, but not well executed, and altogether
common and badly finished, is he to sit above the
brazen statues of Myron and  Polycleitus, or the
marble of Phidias and Alcamenes?  Or must I count
the art as more worthy than the material.
Jup. It ought to be so, certainly; but we must give
the gold the preference, all the same.
Mlerc. I understand. You would have me class them
according to wealth, not according to merit or excellence.  Now, then, you that are made of gold, herein the first seats.  (Turning to Jupiter.) It seems to
me, your majesty, that the first places will be filled up
entirely with barbarians.  You see what the Greeks
are-very graceful and beautiful, and of admirable
workmanship, but of marble or brass, all of them, or
even the most valuable, of ivory, with just a little gold
to give them  colour and brightness; while their interior is of wood, with probably a whole commonwealth of mnice established inside them.  Whereas
that JBendis, and Anubis, and Atthis there, and Medln,
are of solid gold, and really of enormous value.'x
Nepqtuy2e (coming forwardt). And is this fair, Mlelcury, that this dog-faced monster from Egypt should
sit above me-nme —Neptune?
1Mere. That's the rule.  Because, my friend Earthshaker, Lysippus made you of brass, and consequently
poor-the Corinthians having no gold at that time;
Bendis was a Thracian goddess, in whom Herodotus recognises Diana. The Atheniains had introduced her, and held a
festival in her honour. Atthis and Men (Lunus) were Phrygian
deities: Mithras was the Persian sun-god.




28                    gLUCIA N.
whereas that is the most valuable cf all metals.  You
must make up your mind, therefore, to make room for
hil, and not be vexed about it; a god with a great
gold nose like that lmust needs talke precedence.
(Erzt(r VENUS.) — Vez. (coaxi'ngy to l MerqCu y). Now
then, ]Mercury dear, take and put nme in a good place,
please; I'm golden, you know.
Miere. Not at, all, so far as I call see.  Unless I'm
very blilndc, you're cut out of wvilite mnrble — fron'Pentelicus,  I think-anlld it Ilieasedi Praxiteles to llalle a
Venus of you, and hilld you, over to the people of
Cid(lus.
Veno. But I can  pro(duce a most uniunpeaelhable
wituess — Holller himself.  He  contiluually  calls me
"golblen Venus " all throught   liis poems.
Merc. Yes; and the slmne authority calls Apollo
" rich in goldl " and " wealthy; " but you can see him
sittin( down there amnong the ordinary gods.  He was
stripped of his golden crowi, you see, by the tllieves,
and they even stole the stringl-s of hlis lyre.  So you
may tllin:k yourself well off that I don't put you down
quite amongst the crowd.
(Liter the CoLossus  of Rno1DEs.)-Col. Nownr, who
will ventulre to dispute precedence with Ie —me, who
aim the Sun, and of such a size to boot?  If it hadl nJot
bleen that the good people of Ithodes deternlined to
construct me of extraordinary diiensions, tlley could
lhave made sixteen goldenl gods for the salle price.'~
Therefore I must be ranked higher, by the rule of
* Sixteen was the recognised number of legitilmate go,lb.




THE PA GAN  OLYM~iPUS.                29
proportion.  Besides, look at the art and the workmanship,-so correct, thjugh on such an immense
scale.
MIerc. What's to be done, Jtll:iter? It's a very hard
question for me to decile.  If I look at his material,
he's only brass; but if I calculate how many talents'
weighllt of brass he has in hin, lie's worth the most
money of them all.,Jup. (testily). WThat the deuce does he want here at
all-dwarfing all the rest of us into insignificance, as
he does, and blocking up the mIneeting besid!es? (Atom
to Colossus.) Hark ye, good cousin of Rlod(es, though
you nmay be wortll more than all these golden gods,
how  can1 you possibly take the  highest seat, unless
they all get up and you sit downl by yourself?  Why,
one of your thighs would take up all the seats in the
PInyx!  You'd better standl up, if' you please, —anld
you can stoolp your head a little tow-Tards thle company.
Mere. Here's anothler difficulty, again.   Here are
two, both of brass, and of the samne workinaunsip,
both firom  the hatnds of Lysippus, and, nore tblan all,
equal in point of birth, bothl being sons of' Juptiter —
lacchus, here, and Hercules.  Which of theim is to sit
first?  They're quarrelling over it, as you see.,JpLv.  We're wastingo time, Mfercury, -%when we ought
to have becun bu-siness longi ago.  So let theim  sit
down anyhow  now, as they please.  We will have.
another nieetingc  hereafter about this question, anld
then I shall know  better what regulations to make
about precedence.
ilere. But, good heavens! what a row  they all




30                   LUCIA N.
make, shouting that perpetual cry, as they do,"Divide,'vide,'vide the victims 1" "6 Where's the
nectar? where's the nectar'I" "' The ambrosia's all out!
the ambrosia's all out i " 6 Where are the hecatombs?
where are the hecatombs?"  "'Give us our share!"
Jup. Bid them  hold their tongues, do, Mercury,
that they may hear the object of the meeting, and let
such nonsense alone.
Mere. iBut they don't all understand Greek, and I
am no such universal linguist as to make proclamation
in Scythian, and Persian, and Thracian, and Celtic.
It will be best, I suppose, to make a motion with
mly hand for them to be silent.
Jup. Very well-do.
Mere. See, they're all as dumb as philosophers.
Now's your time to speak. Do you see? they're all looking at you, waiting to hear what you're going to say.
Juip  (clearing his throat). Well, as you're my own
son, Mercury, I don't mind telling you how I feel.
You know  how  self-possessed and how  eloquent I
always am at public -meetings?
Merc. I know  I trembled whenever I heard you
speak, especially when you used to threaten all that
about wrenching up earth and sea from their foundations, you know, gods and all, and dangling that
golden chain Em' Lucian repeatedly brings forward, in these Dialogues, the
gasconade which Homer put into the mouth of Jupiter, I1.
viii. 18" A golden chain let down from heaven, and all,
Both gods and goddesses, yolir strength apply;




THEY PA GA N  OL YMJP US.             31
Jup. (interrupqtizg him). But, now, my son,-I can't
tell whether it's the importance of the subject, or the
vastness of the assembly (there are a tremendous lot
of gods here, you see)-my ideas seem  all in a whirl,
all(l a sort of trembling has come over me, and nmy
tongue seems as thoug'h it were tied.  And the moslt
unlucky thing of all is, I've forgotten the opening
i)aragraph of my speech, which I had all ready prepared beforehand, that my  exordiuin  might be as
attractive as possible.
Mlerc. Well, my good sir, you a're in a bad way.
They all mistrust your silence, and fancy they are to
hear sometlling very terrible, and that this is wlhat
nmakes you hesitate.
Jup. Suppose, AMercury, I were to rhapsodise a
little,-that introduction, you know, out of Homer?
lMere. Which l
2Jup. (declaimiag)"Now, hear my words, ye gods and she-gods all    "
Mere. No —heaven forbid! you've given us enough
of that stuff already.  No-pray let that hackneyed
style alone.  Rather give them a bit out of one of tile
Philippics of iDemosthenes-any one you please,; you
Yet would ye fail to drag from heaven to earth,
Strive as ye may, your mighty master Jove:
But if I choose to makle my power be known,
The earth itself and ocean I could raise,
And binding round Olympus' ridge the cord,
Leave theml suspended so in middle air." -(Lord Derby.)
jupiter here dislikes Mercury's allusion to it.




32                     L UCIA W.
can alter and adapt it a little.  That's the plan most
of our modern orators,adopt.
His Olympian majesty begins his oration, accordingly, with an adaptation of the opelil)g of the First
Philippic.  But le presently  descends to  his own
matter-of-fact style  (" hlere," lie says, "'mly  DeI11osthenes fails lie "), and relates how he had been preseiit
the day before, -with some other gods, at a sacrifice of
thanksgiving,, offeledl  by a nierclant-captain  for his
preservation frollm shipwreck —a very shabby affair, hoe
complains it was, a silngle tough old cock for supper
aniong sixteen gods.  O1 his way home,. he had heard
t\o  philosophers disputing, and, wishing to listen to
their arunllents, assumed a cloak and a long beard,
andi light, lie declares, have very easily, for the nojnce,
passed for a philosopher hlimself.  It was that rascal
Danins the Epicurean, disputing witll Timlocles the
Stoic, assertin  thllat the goods toolk no heed to mortals or
their affairs  iii fact, practically denyingl thleir existence.  Poor Timocles had been mlaking a stout fight of it
on the other side, but was so hard pressed by his opponent that Jupiter found hiln all in a perspiration and
almost exhlausted; he had therefore thrown the shadows
of night round the disputants at once, and so put an
end to the discussion.  Following the crowd oil their
way honle, lie had been shocked to find that the majority were on the side of the atheistical Damis; and
he had now  sumnnioned this assembly to take into
their serious consideration  the terrible results that
would ensue if this opinion became the popular one.




TIE PA GALr OL LI~P US.                 33
o more -victsimus, and gifts, and incense-offering,,  " the
gods mLay sit in Iheaven and starve."   Il)iais and
Tiniocles are to mieet agtlin, he uLclderstalIds, for 1)ublic
discussion, andt Jupiter verily fears that unless the
gods give some help to their own champion, the other
will get the best of it.  He begs that sonie onie of
the assemlbly will get up i:- his place and offer some
advice.  Mercury invites any "wh rlo are of the legal
stancding in point of age " (we are to understandl there
are a great many  ne\vly-inttroduced  deities in  the
council) to rise and deliver his opinion.
To inake the burlesque mnore compllete, it is AIMomus,
the jester of the Olympian  conclave, W1ho first rises
in  reply to Jupiter's invitationl.     He has long expected this, and is not surprised at it.  The gods lhave
brought it upon themselves, by ileglectingl their dluties
notoriously.  Here, among friends and gods, with ino
mortal to hear, lie may venture to spetak openly.  Ifas
Jupiter hinmself been careful to make distinction between the good and tlle evil upon earth.  Has virtuel(
found any reward, or vice ally punishment. What htlave
any of thenll been caringl for but their victims and tlleir
dues    Wihat shameful stories they lhave alloNwed tlihe
poets to tell of their private life!-stories whichl, hie,
* Lord Lyttelton, in his "Dialogues of the Dead," mrlkes
Lucian give his own explanation of this passage to ilRaelais,
who does not quite understand the introductioii of Momlns.'
think our priests admitted Momus into our heaven as the
Indians are said to worship thle Devil,-tlhrougl  fear.  Tl(ey
lhad a mind to keep fair with him.    1'or \we 11my talk of the
Giants as we will, but to o0ur Go(ls tl:enl (:all te 1no enemly so
formidable as he.  Ridicule is die terror of all false religions."
a. C. vol xviii.                              o




34                    LU C A N.
adlmits, may possibly be true enough, yet not meet to
be told to mortal hearers. And then the oracles, worse
than vague, positively deceptive-witness those notorious productions of Apollo's about the empire which
Crmesus was to destroy by crossing the Halys, and thle
sons of women who were to meet their fate at Salamis.
No marvel if, when the gods are so remiss in their
duties, men begin to grow tired of worshipping theml.
Jupiter protests anigainst such ribald ]allguage.  He
quotes his Demosthenes to the effect that it is mluch
more easy to abuse and to find fault than to offer suggestions under difficulties.
Then Neptune asks leave to say a few words.  He
lives, indeed, at the bottoim of the sea, and is not in
the habit of interfering much in affairs on land, but
lhe strongly advises that this LDamis shall. be silenced
at once-by lightning', or sole such  irresistible argument.  Blut Jupiter replies, very fairly, that this
would only be a tacit admiission on the part of the
gods that they had no other kind of argument to
offer. Apollo gives it as his opinion that the fault lies
in Timocles himself, who, though a very sensible man,
has not the knlack of putting an argument clearly.
Upon which hMomus remarks that the recomlmenclation
of clearness and perspicuity certainly comes with a
curious kind of propriety fr'onl Apollo, consiClering
the style of his own oracular utterances.  He invites
him  to give them  at1 oracle nOw, —which of the two
disputants wvill get the better in this contest?  Apollo
tries to excuse hiiiiself, on the ground that he has no
tripod or incense, or other appliances at hand, and




THE PA GA N OLYMIP US.             35
that he canl do this kind of thing in much better style
at Colophon or at Delphi.  At last, urged by Jupiter
to prove his art, and so put a stop to the jeers of Momus,
he proceeds, with some apology for extempore versifying, to deliver an utterly incomprehensible oracle,
which fully justifies the criticisms of his brother deity.
Hercules offers to pull down the whole portico on the
head of Danmis, if the controversy should seem to he
taking a turn unfavourable to the Olympian interests.
But now a messenger arrives from  earth, no other
than the brazen statue of Hermagoras-Mercury of the
Forum-lwho stands in front of the PIecile at Athens.
He comes to announce-adopting the new fashion of
heroics set by Jupiter-that the dull of the philosophers has been renewed.  The gods agree to go down
to see the battle, and the scene of the dialogue is
supposed to change at once to Athenls.  There Timocles is trying to argue with his infidel opponent.
HIe wonders, he says, that men do not stone him  for
his impious assertions.  Damnis does not see why
men should take that trouble: the gods, if gods they
be, can surely take their own part; they hear him,
and yet they do not strike.  But they will, replies
Timocles; their vengeance is sure though slow.  They
are otherwise occupied, retorts the sceptic —one out
to dinner, perhaps, with thlose " blameless lEthiopians 
-they often do, according to Homer; possibly, soumetimes, even without waiting for an invitation. In vain
does his opponent argue from the harmony and order
of creation, and from the general consent of mankind:
the very diversities of national worship, the mrlny




30                    L UCIA X.
absurd forms of superstition, are claimed by his opponent as arguments on the other side.  Timocles compares the world to a ship, which could not keep its
course without a steersman. Damiis replies that if
there were, indeed, a divinity at the heln of this
world's affairs, he would surely parcel out the duties
of his crew better than he apl,ears to do-putting the
rascals and lubbers in command, and letting the best
len be stowed away in holes and corners, and kept on
short rations besides.  Tlmocles,' as a last resource,
threatens to break the head of his opponent, who runs
away laughing. Jupiter is in doubt, however, on
which side the real victory lies.  Mercury consoles
him that the gods have still the majority on their side
-three-fourths of the Greeks, all the rabble, and all
the barbarians. " Nay, my son," replies Jupiter, "but
that saying of Darius had much truth, which lihe
uttered of his faithful general Zopyrus: I, too, had
rather have one man like Danmis on my side than ten
thousand Babylonians." -i
The satire, in its bold scepticism, seems to go much
beyond the "Dialogues of the Gods."  In those, it is
but the absurdities of the popular mythology-always
incredible, one cannot but think, to the educated intelligence-which he ridicules and exposes; a creed
which, if it could be supposed to have any influence
upon the moral conduct of men, could only have had
an influence for evil.  Put in that which has now been
sketched, he attacks the belief in a divine providence
* The story is told by Herodotus, iii. 154.




THE PAGAN  OLI2YMPUS.                   37
altogether: and though most of the arguments against
such government of the wo)rld are chiefly taken from
the manifest falsehood of certain items of the Greek
popular creed, still the tone is too much that of pure
materialism.
THE COUNCIL OF TIlE GODS.
In this, amusing scene the absurd(ities of polytheisml
are put inl the broadest liglht, an(l treated with the imost
adlnira)lde humour.  Thlle object of the (ouncil, which
is sulnmoned by Jupiter's orders, is to institute a strict
scrutiny into the riglit and  title of the new  godsalien-s alnd foreigners of all kinds alnd shapes-to a seat
in tlle house of Olympus.   They Iiave lately found
thleir way into heaven in sucli numbers that they are
becoiiiiil  quite a nuisance, as -we have seen in tle complalnt made bloth by Neptuine and  MAercury in  the
dialogue just precedlilg.
Moinuss is agaiul tlhe chlief spokeslmanl; freedom  of
speech is, as he say)s, onie of hlis maill cllaracteristics, and
he is in the habit of giiilg lis opinion withlout fear or
favour. So, withl Jupitelr's Ilerlissio ll, he will nalmie some
of what he considers thle iiost g,loss cases of intrusion.
Momzus. First, there is Bat:celus; a grand pedigree
his is! —half a mortal, miot even -a Greek by his mother's
side, but the grandllclso  o solme Syro-Plcelician merchantcaptain, Cadmus. Sinlce lie llas beel dliglnified with immorutality, I -hall sly nothing ailout hiiimself,-his style
of head-dress, his drlinking, or hlis unsteady   gait.  You
ca-n all see what he is, I suppose-more like a woman




38                    L U C A ~.
thall a muan, half crazy, and stinking of wine even before breakfast.  But he has broughllt in his whole tribe
to swell our company, and here he is with all his rout,
whom he passes off as gods —Pan, and Silenus, and the
Satyrs, a lot of rough country louts, goat-herds most of
them, dancing-fellows, of all manner of stralnge shapes;
one of them  has horns, and is lilke a goat all below
his waist, with a long beardc-you hardly can tell him
from a goat; another is a bald fellow with a flat nose,
generally mounted on an ass —a Lydclian, lie is.  Then
there are'tble Satyrs with their little prick ears, bald too,
they are, and with little budding horns like ki(ds —Phryilaus, I believe; and they've all got tail besides. You
see the sort of gods my noble friend provides us witl.
And then we are surprised that men hold us in contelIpt, whlen they see sucll ridiculous and imonstrous
g,(ls as these!  I say nothing of his introducing two
women here —one his mistress Ariadne (whose crown,
too, he has pIlt among the stars, forsooth!), and the
other a farmler's (laughter, Erigone.   And what is
mlore absurd than all, brother deities, he has brought
her dog in too: for fear, I suppose, that the girl should
cry if she hadn't her darling pet to keep her company
in. heaven. Now, don't you consider all this an insult,
-mere druilken madness and absurdity?  And now
I'll tell you al)out oiie or two more.
Jupiter (i'nterri qting hiig). Don't say a word, if you
please, Mornus, either about Hercules or AEsculapins —
I see what you're ldriving at.  As to those two, one is
a physician, and cures diseases, and, as old Homer says,
yout know-" is worth a host of men;" and as to




. TIE PAGA N OLYM1PUS.              39
Hercules,-why, he's my son, and earned his immortality by very hard work; so say no word against him.
3Morn. Well, I'll hold my tongue, Jupiter, though I
could say a good deal.  They're both as black as cinders still, from  the fire. If you would only give nme
leave to speak my mind freely, I've a good deal to say
about you.
Jrup. )Oh, pray speak out, as far as I am concerned!
Perhaps you charge me with being a foreigner too..iMo7n. Well, in Crete they do say that, you know;
and more than that, they showv the place where you
were buried.  I don't l)elieve tlihem myself-any umore
than I do what the people of ABigium say,-that you
are a changeling.  Buit I do say this; that you've
brought in too many of your illegitilmate children here.
MIomus goes on to tell the royal chairman some
0homle truths, which Jupiter hears wvith great equanimity: Then he inveighs against the mlonstrous forms
introduced from Eastern mythology; P>hrygians and
Medes like Atthis and Mithras, who cannot even
talk Greek; the dog-faced Anubis, and the spotted
bull from Memphis, apes and ibises from. ligypt. And
how can Jupiter himself have allowed them to put
ran's horns on his hlead at Ammnion?  No wonder
that mortals learn to despise him.
A solemn decree is drawn up by AMomus, in strict legal
form, beginning as follows: "Whllereas divers aliens,
not only Greeks but Barbarians, who are in no wise
entitled to the freedoim of our comlmunity, have got
themselves enrolled as gods, and so crowded heaven




40                    L UCIA r.
that it has become a mlere disorderly mob of all natioas
and languages: and whereas thereby the anll)rosia and
the nectar runs short, so that the latter is Lnow four
guineas a pint, because there are so many to drink it;
and whereas these new-comers, in their imlpdence,
push the old and real gods out of their places, and
claim precedence for themselves, against all our ancient
rights, and demand also priority of worship on earth;
it seemed good, tlle:reforle, to the Senate and Conlmmons
of Olymp)us, to hold a High Court at the winter equinox, and to elect as Colllnlissioners of Privileges seven
of the greater g(ods, —three from the ancient council of
the reign of Saturl, and four froml the twelve gods, of
whom Jupiter to be one."
The business of the Commission is to be the examination of all clainms to a seat in Olympus.  Clainmants are to bring their witnesses, and prove their pure
descent;; and they who cannot make good their claims
are to be sent back to the tombs of their fathers.
Moreover, from  this time forth every deity is to mind
his or her proper business, and none to pursue more
than one art or science; Minerva is not to practise
physic, nor ~Asculapius divination; and Apollo is to
mnake his election, and either be a seer, or a musician,
or a doctor-but not all three.
Jupiter had intended to put this decree to the vote;
but, foreseeing that a great many who were there
present would probably vote against it, he took the
easier course of issuing it on his own royal authority.
The dramatic sketch entitled "Timnon " handles the




THE PAGA N OL IYMPUS.              41
Olympian Jupiter in the same free spirit as the preceding Dialogues, and is by some considered as the
author's masterpiece.  The character of Platus, the
god of Riches, introduced into the piece, is obviously
borrowed from Aristophanes's comedy of that name.
Timon is introduced after he has forsaken society,
and is digging for his livelihood.
TIMON.
Timon  (stopjing his wzork, and  leancing  on his
spcade). 0 Jupiter!-god of Friendship, god of Hospitality, god of Sociality, god of the Hearth, Lightningflasher, Oath-protector, Cloud-compeller, Thunderer,or by whatever name those moon-struck poets please
to call you (especially when they have a hitch in the
verse, for then your great stock of titles helps to prop
a lame line, or fill a gap in the metre),-where be your
flashing lightnings now, and your rolling thunders, and
that terrible levin-bolt of yours, blazing and red-hot?
Plainly all these are nonsense, -a mere humbug of thie
poets, nothing but sonorous words.  That thunderbolt
which they are always singing of, that strikes so far
and is so ready to hand,-it's quenched, I suppose,
got cold, and hasn't a spark of fire left in it to scorch
rascals.  A man who has committed perjury is more
afraid, now, of the snuff of last night's lamp than of
your invincible lightning.'Tis just as if you were
to throw the stump of a torch among them,-tliey
would have no fear of the fire or smoke, but only of
getting besmirched with the black from it.
Ah, Jupiter! in your youthful days, when you were




2                    L UCIAN.
hot-blooded and quick-tempered, then you used to deal
sulmmlary justice against knaves and villains  never
malde truce with them  for a day: but the lightning
was always at work, and the aegis always shaking over
tllemln, and the thunder rolling, and the bolts coltinually launched here and there, like a skirmisl of sharpsiooless: and earthquakes shook us all like beans in
a sieve, and snow came in heaps, an(l hail like pebbles,
and-for I'm  determined, you see, to speak my mind
to you-then your rain was good strong rain,-each
d(rop like a river..Why, in Deucalion's days, there
rose such a deluge in no time, that everything was
drowned  except one little ark thalt stuck on Mount
LycOris, and preserved one little surviving spark of
hunman life, - in order, I suppose, to breed a new
generatioel worse than the other.
Weil —you see the consequences of your laziness,
andl it serves you right.  No man inow OQfers you a
sacrifice, or puts a garland on you, except at odd timles
the winners at Olympia; and they (lo it not because
they feel under any obligation to do it, but merely in
colmpliance with a kind of old customl.  They'll very
soon lnmLke you like Saturn, and take all your honours
from you, thoughl you think yourself the grandest of
the gods.  I say nothing as to how often they have
robbed your temples-nay, some fellows, I hear, actually laid hands on your sacred person at Olympia;
while you,-the great thunder-god, -- did not even
trouble yourself to set the dogs at them, or rouse thle
neighbours, but sat there quiet,-you, the celebrated
Giant-killer and Titan-queller, as they call you,-while




TIIE PA GA N OLYiLIPUS.             43
they cut your golden locks off your royal head, though
you had a twenty-foot thunderbolt in your hand all
the while.  When does your High AMightiness mean
to put a stop to all this which you are allowing to go
on?.  How many conflagrations like Phaeton's, how
many deluges like Deucalion's, does such a world as
this deserve?
To pass now  from  public iniquities to my own
case.   After raising so many Athenians from poverty
to wealthl and greatness,- afer lielping every man
tl)at was in want-or rather, pouring my riches out
wholesale to serve nmy friends, -when I have brought
nmyself to poverty by this, these men utterly refuse to
knlow me; men who used to honour me, worship me,
llhancg on my very nod, now will not even lcok at me.
If I meet any of them as I walk, they pass me without a
glallce, as though I were some ol(l sepulcllral stone fallen
down through lapse of years: while those who see me in
the distance turn into another path, as if I were some illomened vision which they feared to meet or look upon
- I, who was so lately tlleir benefactor and preserver!
So, in my distress, I have girt myself with skins,
and retreated to this far corner; and here I dig the
ground for four obols a day,-ancl talk philosophy to
my spade and myself.  One point I thinlk I gain here;
I shall no longer see the worthless in prosperity-for
tlhat were worse to bear tlhan all.  Now then, Son of
Saturn and Rhea, wake up at last fronm this long deep
slumober-for you've slept lonlger thlan Epimenides ~* The Rip van Winkle of classic story. He is said to have
sought shelter in a cave from the heat of the sun, while keep.




44                    L U CIA XV.
and blow your thunderbolt hot again, or heat it afresh
in AEtna, and mnake it blaze lustily, and show a little
righteous wrath, worthy of the Jove of younger days;
unless, indeed, that be a true story which the Cretans
tell, and you be dead and bulried too.
Jupnite7r (in 071/J2mpJi', (listr7o'e(l by Tbinon's clamorous
ex2Iostulationrs below). W'ho in the. world, Mercury, is
this fellow that's bawling so froln Attica, down at the
foot of Hymettus,-a perfect scarecrow, he looks, in a
dirty goat-skin?  Digging, I think lhe is, by his stoopinig  posture.   He's a very noisy impudlent fellow.
Some philosopher, I fancy, or he wouldn't use such
blasphemous language.
Mercury. What do you say,  father? don't you
know Timon of Athens?  Tie's the man who so often
used to treat us with such magnificent sacrifices; that
nou.veau Ca/eu, you klnow, whlo used to offer whole hecatombs; at whose expense we were so splendidly entertained at the Diasia.
Jup. What a sa(l reverse of fortune!  That fine,
handsome, rich fellow, who had used to have such
troops of friends round himn!  What has brought him
to this?-so squalid and miserable, and hiaving to dig
for his bread, I suppose, by the way he drives his
sp)ade into the ground? 
M.[ercury proceeds to inform his father that Timon's
reckless generosity  las red uced him  to poverty, and
that all the friends who shared his bounty havw now
ing his father's sheep, and to have slept there for fifty-seven
years.




THE PA GA N  OL YMIP US.               45
deserted  him.   He has left the ungrateful city in
disgust, and  hired  himself out as a day-labourer
in  the  country.   Jupiter, however, is not going to
follow tle example of mankind, and neglect the man
fromn whom, in his day of prosperity, he has received
so many favours.   He is sorry tllat his case has
hitherto escaped his notice; but really the noise and
clamour those Athenians make with all their philosoplical disputes has so disgusted himl, that for some
tinme he has not turned his eyes in their direction.
" Go down to him  at once," lie says to Mercury, " and
take Plutus with you, with a good supply of money; -
and let Plutus take care not to leave him  again so
easily as he did before.  As for those ungrateful friends
of his, they shall have their (leserts, as soon as ever I can
get my liglltning imended.  I l)roke two of Imy strongest bolts the other day, launchling tlhem ill a passion
against Anaxagoras the, Sophist, who was teaching  his
followers that we gods were an utter impossibility in
the nature of things.  I missed him (Pericles put his
hand in the way),t and the lightning  struck the temple of Castor, I am  sorry to say, and destroyed it;
but my bolt was all but shivered itself against the
"Plutus, the god of gold,
Is but lis steward,"
-Shaksp., "Timon," act i. sc. 1.
The introduction of Plutus's name into this tragedy manlkes one
curious to know whether the author was acquainted (tlhrough
any translation) eitlier with this dialogue of Lucian's or with
the " Plutus " of Aristophanes.
~ Anaxagoras, when accused of impiety and brought to trial,
was protected by Pericles, who had been his pupil.




46                   L UCIA N.
rock there.  However, those rascals will be punished
enough. for the present, when they see Timon grown
rich again."
Mere. See now, what a thing it is to make a
clamour, and to be impudent and troublesome!  I
don't mean for lawyers only, but for those who put up
prayers to heaven.  Here's Tiluon going to be set up
again as a rich man out of the extreme of poverty, all
because of his noise and bold words attracting Jupiter's
nlotice! If he had bent his back to his digging in
silence, he might have dug on till doomsday without
Jutpiter's noticing him.  (He goes oq, and returlzs with
Pltuts.)
Pltuts. I shan't go near that fellow, Jupiter.
Julp. Hlow, my good Plutus, —not when I bid you?
Plu. No.  He insulted ine-turned me out of his
house, and scattered me in all directions-me, the
old friend of the famlily-all but pitched me out of
dloors, as if I burnt his fingers.  WVhat! go back to
h1iml, to be thrown to his parasites, and toadies, and
hlarlots. No: send me to those who value the gift,
Avho will make much of me, who honour me and desire
m: ly company; and let all those fools keep house still
wiithl Poverty, who prefer her to me.  Let them  get
I(er to give them a spade and an old sheep-skin, and go
cig  for their twopence a-day, after squandering thousands in gifts to their friends.
Julp. Timlon will never behave so to you again;
His spade-husbandry. will have taught him pretty well
(unless his back's made of stuff that can't feel) that
you are to be preferred tfo Poverty.  You're rather a




THE  PAGAN OL IP'Us.              47
discontented person'ge, too: you blame Timon because
le opened his doors and let you go wnhere you liked,
and neither locked you up nor watched you jealously;
whereas at other timles you cry out against the rich,
saying that they confine you with bolts and bars, and
put seals on you, so that you never get so much as a
glimpse of daylig'ht.  You used to complain to me
that you were suffocated in the dark holes they klept
you in; and I must say you'used to look quite pale
and careworn, and your fingers quite contracted from
the constant habit of counting; and you often threatened to escape from such confinement. the moment you
had a chance.
Plutus replies to Jupiter with some sensible remiarks
as to there being a mean between the prodigal and the
miser; but he consents to pay Timon a visit at Jupiter's command, though feeling, as he says, that he
might as well get into one of the Danaids' leaky waterjars,    sure is lie to filter rapidly through the hands of
such a master. The god of Riches, we llust remenlber,
is blind; and ]Mercury, who hlas to escort him  to
Athens, recommends him to l1old fast by his coat-tail
all the way down.  Jupiter desires his messenger to
call at YEtna on his way, and send up the Cyclops to
nwend his broken thunderbolt.
They find Timlon hard at work, in the company of
Poverty.  But she has brought with her a band of
other companions - Labour, and Perseverance, and
W7Tisdonm, and Fortit-ude.  This is a stronger bodyguard, as ]Mercury observes, than Pluitus ever gathers
round him.  The god of Riches colfesses it; he can




is8                   L JLUCIAN.
be of no service to a man- who has such friends about
him, and he offers to begone at once.  ZBut Mtercury
reminds him of the will of Jove.  Poverty pleads in
vain that she has rescued him firom his old associates,
Sloth and Luxury, an(i is liow forminig hium to virtue
in her own more wholesome school; and though Timon
asks with some roluglln'ss to be left still under hert
instlruction, and bids Plutus begone "to make fools of
otlher men as he has once of him," he is overruled by
hMercury's appeal to his sense of gratitude to Jupitcr,
\who has taken so much trouble to help himl.  Poverty
reluctantly takes her lecave, and with her depart Labour
and Wisdom and the rest of her company.
Digging onl in the eartlh by direction of Plutus,
Timon finds an ilmnrlelse bulried treasure, and the sight
at once reawakels hlis love of riclhes.  But it now
takes another alld more selfish form.  HIenceforth h1e'will live for himself and not for others, and become
the enemly of men as he had formerly been their injudicious friend.  The namne wlhich he desires to be
known by is that of "'The Alisanthlrope." ~  The companions of his former dlays of splendlour -wlho had
been treated by him  with such munificence, and had
repaid him  with suhel ingratitude-.hear of his new
wealth, and flock to him  to makel their excuses and
apologies, to tendcer him  all kinds of services, and to
offer him public honours, if he will only give them  a
little of his new riches.  Bloxvs from  his spade, and
showers of stollnes, are his only answer.  And in this
* "4 I ani Misanthropos, and hate mankind."
-Shaksp., "1 Timon," act iv. sc. 3.




THE PA GA N OL YMP US.              49
spirit the Dialogue (which concludes somewhat abruptly) leaves him.
Timon the Misanthrope was probablya real personage,
round whose name many fictitious anecdotes gathered.
Aristophlanes refers to hiim  more than once in his
comedies as a well-known cllaracter; Plato mentions
hiln, and, if we mll  -Urust Plutarlch, he lived about the
time of the Peloponnesian war. This latter writer speaks
of his intimacy with the Cynic A pemantus, introduced
in Shakspeare's play,* and gives us an anecdote of him
in connection with Alcibiadles.  Apemantus, we are
told, asked Tinion why he so much affected the company of that young gallant, hating all other men as he
professed to do?  " Because," replied Timon, " I foresee that he shall one day become a great scourge to
those I hate most-the Athenians."
* Shakspeare's play is founded chiefly on the twenty-eight;h
novei in Painter's "'Palace of Pleasure."
A,. V. V o xv iii.




CIHAPTERI ITE
DIALOGUES OF THE DE. D.
LESS original than the Olympian Dialogues,-for tlEcir
idea must be allowed to be borrowed from  Homer,
while the inclination to moralise upon the vanity of
earthly riches, and honours, and beauty, and the work
of that great leveller l)eath, is common enough, —these
have perhaps been even more popular.  An imitation
in great measure themlselves, they have found imitators
alllonst the moderns, in their turn, who have shown
considerable ability. The " Dialogues of the I)ead" of
Fontenelle and of Lord Lyttelton still find readers,
and these imitations have charmed many to whom the
original was unknown in any other way than by name.'
The Dialogues of Fenelon, composed for the instruce.
tion of his pupil the Duke of I3urgundy, were, again,
an imitation of those of Fontenelle, but are somewhat
more didactic, as we should expect, and less lively.
But perhaps the most striking nlodern work for the
q "The dead," says Fontenelle in his preface, "ought to
speak wisely, from their longer experience and greater leisure; it
is to be hoped that they take rather more time to think than is
usual with the living."




DIALOG'UTES OF THE DEAD.                51
idea of which we are indebted to the Greek satirist
is the   Imaginary Conversations' of Walter Savage
Landor.
Some three or four of the rrost striking of this
series must content our readers here.  The following,
although it does not stand first in the common order
of arrangement, seems to form the best introduction to,
the series,
CHIIARON AND HIS PASSENGERS.
Charon. Now  listen to me, good people-I'll tell
vou how it is.  The boat is but snl,11l, as you see, and(
somewhat rotten acnd leaky withal: and if the weigllt
gets to one side, over we go: and here you are crowding in all at once, and with lots of lu(1,gae, every one of
you.  If you coiiie ol hIoard here with all that lumber,
I suspect you'll repent of it afterwards-especially those
who can't swinl.
Mercury. What's best for us to do then, to get safe
across?
Ch/(t. I'll tell you.  You nmust all strip before you
get in, and leave all th],ose encumbrances on shore: and
even then the boat will scarce hold you all.  And you
take care, Mercury, that no soul is admitted that is
not in light marching order, and who has not left all
his encumbrances, as I say, behind.  Just stand at
the gangway and overhaul them, and don't let them
get in till they've stripped.
Mer. Quite right; I'll see to it.-Now, who comes
first here?
Menij2pus. I-Menip)pus.  Look-I've pitched my




52                  L UECIAN.
wallet and staff into the lake; my coat, luckily, I didn't
bring with mne.
Mere. Get in, Menippus-you're a capital fellow.
Take the best seat there, in the stern-sheets, next the
steersman, and watch who gets on board. — Now, who's
this fine gentleman?
Charlmolcaus. I'm Charmolaus of Afegara-a general
favourite.  Mlany a lady would give fifty guineas for a
kiss from me.
Mere. You'll have to leave your pretty face, and
those valuable lips, and your long curls and smooth
skin behind you, that's all. Ah! now you'll doyou're all right and tight now: get in. —lut you, sir,
there, in the purple and the diadem, —who are you l
Lampichus. Lampichus, king of Gelo.
Mere. And what d'ye mean by coming here with all
that trumpery?
Lamvp. How?  Would it be seemly for a king to
come here unrobed?
Mere. Well, for a king, perhaps not-but for a dead
man, certainly.  So put it all off.
Lacmp. There-I've thrown my riches away.
AMere. Yes-and throw away your pride too, and
your contempt for other people.   You'll infallibly
swamp the boat if you bring all that in.
Lamp. Just let me keep my diadem and mantle.
Merc. Impossible-off with them too.
Leramp. Well-anything more? because I've thrown
them all off, as you see.
M]erc. Your cruelty-and your folly —and your inwolence-and bad temper-off with them all!




DIALOGU1TS OF TIHE DEAD.            53
LamCpl. There, then-I'm stripped entirely.
Mere. Very well-get in.-And you fat fellow, who
ale you, with all that flesh on you?
Damasias. Damasias, the athlete.
Mere. Ay, you look like him: I remember having
seen you in the games.
Dam. (smiling). Yes, Mercury; take me on board
-I'm ready stripped, at any rate.
lere. Stripped   Nay, my good sir, not with all
that covering of flesh on you.  You must get rid of
that, or you'll sink the boat the moment you set your
other foot in.  And you must take off your garlands
and trophies too.
Dam. Then-now  I'm  really stripped, and not
heavier than these other dead gentlemen.
Her. All right —the lighter the better: get in.
[In like manner the patrician has to lay aside his
noble birth, his public honours, and statues, and testimonials-the very thought of them, M3ercury declares, is enough to sink the boat; and the general
is made to leave behind him  all his victories and
trophies-in the realms of the dead there is peace.
Next comes the philosopher's turn.]
Mere. Who's this pompous and conceited personage, to judge from his looks-he with the knitted
eyebrows there, and lost in meditation —that fellow
with the long beard?
Men. One of those philosophers, Mercury  or rather
those cheats and charlatans: make him  strip too;
you'll find some curious things hid under that cloak
of his.




54           -        LUCIA N.
Mere. Take your habit off, to begin with, if you
please —and now  all that you have there, - great
Jupiter! what a lot of humlbug  he was bringing0
vitll him —and  ignorance, and disputatiousness, and
vainglory, and useless questions, and prickly arguliments, and involved statements,- ay, and wisted
ingCenuity, and solemn triflinlg, and quips and quirks
of all kinds! Yes — by Jove! and there are gold
pieces there, andi impudeince  and  luxury and debauchery-oh! I see thenl all, though you are trying to hide tllem! And your lies, and pomposity,
and thinking yourself better than everybody elseawvay with all that, I say! Why, if you bring all
that aboa(rd, a fifty-oared galley wouldn't hold you!
Philosoph/?er. Well, I'll leave it all behind then, if
I must.
lMeui. But make himi take his beard off too, Master
Mercury; it's hleavy allnd bushy, as you see; there's
five pound weight of hair there, at the very least.
Mere. You're riglit.  Take it off, sir 
PPhil. But who is tllhere who can shave mle?  
Mere. Menlipllus there will chop it off with'the
boat-hatchet —-he can have the gunwale for a choppin g-bloc;k.
e16kn.;Nay, Mercury, lend us a saw-it will be more
fun.
Here. Oh, the lhatchet will do! So-that's well;
now you've got rid of your goatishness, you look
bomtethilng more like a maln.: 12n. Sllhall I chop a bit off his eyebrows as well?
Mere. By all means; he has stuck them  up on his




DIA LOGUES OF THE DEA D.               55
forehea d, to make himself look grander, I suppose.
What's the matter now?  You're crying, you rascal,
are you-afraid of death?  MIake haste on board, will
you?
Men. He's got something now under his arm.
Mere.  What is it, Menippus? 
Mlen.o Flattery it is, Aercury —and a very profitable
article lie found it, while lie was alive.
Philosoj7pher (in a fryJ).  And you, Menippusleave your lawless t.olgue  bllinrd you, and  your
cursed( independence, an(1 mockinc laugh; you're tle
olnly one of the party who (lares laugh.
Merc. (lacughig.).   No, no, MIenipp-us -- they're
very light, and take little rooml; besides, they are
good things on. a voyage.  But you, Mr Orator there,
throw away your rhetorical flourishes, and antitheses,
and parallelisms, and barbarisms, and all that heavy
wordy gear of yours.
Orator. There, then-there they go!
Mer.. All righllt.   Now  then, slip the moorings.
Haul that plallk aboarld-up anchor, and make sail.
M{indd your helm, nmastel! Alnd a good voyage to
us!-What are'you llowliing albout, you fools?  Yoiu,
Philosopher, specially?  Now  that you've had your
beard cropped 
Phil. Because, dear M\iercury, I always thought the
soul had been immortal.
Men. He's lying! It's something else that troubles
hinm, ijost likely.
Merc. What's that?
Men. That he shall have no more expensive suppers




56                  LUCIAN.
-nor, after spending all the night in debauchery, profess to lecture to the young men on moral philosophy
in the morning, and take pay for it.  That's what
vexes him.
Phil. And you, Mlenippus-are you not sorry to die?
Men. H-ow should I be, when I hastened to death
without any call to it?  But, while we are talking,
don't you hear a noise as of some people shouting
on the earthL
Mere. Yes, I do-and from more than one quarter.'There's a public rejoicing yonder for the death of
Lampichus; and the women have seized his wife,
and the boys are stoning his children; and in Sicyon
they are all praising Diophantus the orator for his
ifneral oration upon Crato here.  Yes —and there
is  )amnasias's mother wailing  for him  amongst her
women.  But there's not a soul weeping for you,
Menippus-you're lying all alone.
Mfen. Not at all —-you'll hear the dogs howlling
over me presently, and the ravens mournfully flapping
their wings, when they gather to lmy funeral.
Mere. Stoutly said.  But here we are at the landing-place.  March off, all of you, to the judgmentseat straight; I and the ferryman must go and fetch
a fresh batch.
Mlen. A pleasant trip to you, Mercury.  So we'll be
moving on.  Come, what are you all dawdling for?
You've got to be judged, you know; and the punishments, they tell me, are frightful-wheels, and stones,
and vultures.  Every man's life will be strictly in.
quired into, I can tell you.




DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.                  57
The Cynic Menippus, introduced  to us in  this
amusing dialogue,-" a clog of the real old breed," -as
Lucian  calls  lilm,  "al'ways  rea(ly  to  bark  and
bite "*-  is a great favourite iwith the author, and reappears very frequently in these imalginary conversations.  He was a disciple of Diogenes, and had been
a usurer in  earlier life, but having lost his wealth
by the. roguery of others, at last committed suicide.
The banter with which he treats Charon in the little
dialogue which follows is very humorous.
CHARON AND MENIPPUS.
Ch aroe, (catiiny qcfter lMeneippus, who is w'caf7ing qo)
Pay mie your fare, you rascal!
l1lIen)ii nus. Bawl away, Charon, if it's any satisfaction to 7you.
Chla. Pay me, I say, for carrying you across!
MIen. You can't get money from a' man who hasn't
got it.
C/ta. Is there any n-an who has not got an obolus?
Men. I know nothing about anybody else; I know
I haven't.
Cha. (catching hold of him). I'll strangle you, you
villain! I will, by Pinto i if you don't pay.
Men. And I'll break your head with my staff.:C/a. Doe you suppose you are to have such a long
trip for nothing? 
* The term " Cynic," applied to that school of philosophy, is
derived from the Greek for " dog."




58                   LUCIA N.
Men. Let MVercury pay for'me, then; it was he iput
nme on board.
Mierculry. A very profitable job for me, by Jove! if
I'm to pay for all the dead people.
C/a. (to Mnz). I shan't let you go.
Men. You can halul your boat ashore, then, for that
matter, and wait as long as you please; but I don't see
how you can take from me what I don't possess.
Cha. Didn't you know you had to pay it?
Ien. I kiiew well enough; but I tell you I hadn't
got it. Is a man riot to die because lie has no money?
Cha. Are you to be the only nlan, then, who can
boast tlhat he has crossed the Styx gratis?
Men. Gratis?  Not.at all, my good friend,-when I
baled the boat, and helped you with the oar, and was
thle only inllmn on board that didn't howl.
Ch/ta. That has nothing to do with the passagemoney; you miiust pay your obolus.  It's against all
our rules to do otherwise.
1Me1i. Then take me back to life again.
Cl/a. Yes —a fine proposal —that I may get a whipping from zAacus for it.
Ieiz. Then don't bother.
Cha. Show me wvllat you've got in your scrip there.
IlMen. Lentils, if you please, and a bit of supper for
Hlecate.
CUIa. (turning to Merculry in de.s2pcir,). TWhere on
earth did you bring this dog of a Cynic from, Mercury?
-chattering, as he did, all the way across, cutting his
jokes and laughing at the other passengers, and singing while they were all bemoaning themselves.




DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.                59
lHerce.  idn't you know, Charon, who your passenlger
was? A most independent fellow, who cares for nobody.  That's Menippus.
Cha,. (shaclcig his fist at him as he mnoves off). Well,
let me only catch you again!
lMen. (looking back and lau( hing). Ay, if you catch
me; but'tis hardly likely, my good friend, that you'll
have me for a passenger twice.
MERCURYY  AND CHARON SQUAqlING ACcOUNTS.
Jl,'ecur!/. Let us have a reckoni]lc, if you please,
Mr Ferryman, how  nmuch you OWe me up to this
present date, that we 1mayn't have a squabble hereaftcer about the items.
Char'on. By all means, M[ercury-nothing like being
correct in such matters; it saves a world of unpleasant-'less.
lMJerc. I supplied an anchor to your order-twentyfive drachlm-lMe.
CGla. That's very clear.
M[elrc.   I vow to Pluto I gave five for it.  And a
rowv-locl thong-two obols.
C(hal. Well, put down five draclhine and two obols.
Mere. And a needle to mend the sail.  Five obols
I paid for that.
ChaZ. Well, put that much down too.
-lre. Then, then, thre's the wax for caulking the seamns
of the boat that were open, and nails, and a rope to
make halyards of, —two drachmle altogether.
Cha. Ay; you bought those worth the money.
Merc. That's all, if I've not forgotten something in




60                   LUCIAA.
my account.  And now, when do you propose to pay
me?
Cha. It's out of my power, Mlercury, at this moment; but if a pestilence or a war should send lpeople
down. here in conisi(leral)ie numbers, you can make a
good thing of it then by a little cheating in the passage-money..lMIerc. So I may go to sleep at present, and put up
prayers for all kinds of horrible tlinrgs to happen, that
1 may get my dues thereby.
Clia. I've no other way of paying you, MIercury,
indeed.  At present, as you see, very fewv comle our
way.  It's a time of peace, you kInow.
HMere. Well, so much'the better, even if I lhave to
wvICit for my money a while.  But those mell in the
good old timles —ah! you remember, Charon, what fine
ifllows used to come bere, —good warriors all, covered
with blood and wounds, most of them! Now,'tis
either somebody who has been poisoned by his son
or his wife, or with hlis limbs and carcase bloated by
gluttony,-pale spiritless wretches all of them, not a
whit like the others.  Aost of them  come here owing
to their attempts to overreach each other in money
matters, it seems to me.
Cha. Why, money is certainly a very desirable
thing.
Mere. Then don't think me unreasonable, if you
-please, if I look sharp after your little debt to me.
When the Cynic philosopher has been admitted




DIALOGUES OF TIHE DEAD.                61
into the region of shadows, he makes hinlself very
much at home there.  In another of these dialogues
lie cross-examines all the officials whom  he meets,
with the air of a traveller anxious for information;
and his caustic wit does not spare the dead a whit
more thau it had spared the living.  He begs Avacus
to show him  some of "the lions" in this new region.
He professes great surprise at seeing the figures which
once were Agamemnon, Ajax, and( Achilles, now mere
belones and dust; anld asks to be allowed just to give
Sardanapalus, whom the Cynic hates especially -for his
luxury and debauchery, a slap in thle face; but A_/acus
assures him  that his skull is as brittle as a woiman's.
Even the wise men and philosophers, he finds, cut no
better figure here. "Where is Socrates h" he asks his
guide. "You see that bald man yonder l" says Lacus.
"' Why, they are all bald alike here," replies Menippus.
" Hlim with the fiat nose, I mean."  "They've all flat
noses," replies Menippus again, looking at the hollow
skulls round him.  But Socrates, l-earing the inquiry,
answers for himself; and the new-comner into the lower
world is able to assure the great Athenian that all men
now admit his claim  to universal knowledge, which
rests, in fact, on the one ground of being conscious
that man knows really nothing.  But he learns something more about the BMaster of the Sophists from a
little dialogue which he has with Cerberus.
MENI1'PUS AND CERlBERUb.
Menilpuqts. I say, Cerberus (I'm a kind of cousin




62                  LUCIAN.
of yours, you know-they call me a dog), tell me, by
the holy Styx, how did Socrates behave himself when
he came down among ye? I suppose, as you're a di-.
vinity, you can not only bark, but talk like a human
creature, if you like?
Cerberus (growclir/q). Well, when he was some way
off, lie came on with a perfectly unmoved countenance,
appearing to have no dread at all of death, and to wish.
to mnake that plain to those who stood outside the
gates here.  But when once he got within the archway
of the Shades, and saw the gloom and darkness; and
when, as he seemed to be lingering, I bit him on the
foot (just to help the hemlock), and dragged him down,
lie slhrieked out like a child, and began to lament over
his family and all sorts of thlilngs.
Metn. So the man was but a sophist after all, and
had no real contempt for death?
Cerb. tNo; but when he saw it niust come, he steeled
Illinself to meet it, professing to suffer not unwillingly
what he mnust needs have suffered aniyhow, that so he
might win the admiration of the bystandlers.  In short,
I could tell you much the same story of all those kind
of people: up to the gate they are stout-hearted and
h,),ld enough, but it is when they get within that the
trial comes.
AlIen. And how did you think I behaved when I
came down?
Cerb. You were the only man, Menippus, who behaved worthy of your profession-you and Diogenes
before you.  You both came here by no force or compulsion, but of your own accord, laughing all tHe way,




DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.               6 3
and bidding  the others who came with you howl and
be hanged to them.
Thle reflections which Lucian has put into the mouth
of the Cynic in the following brief dialogue are of a
graver kind.
MENIPPUS AND MERCURY.
MIenpz~Iput&s. I say, Mercury, where are all the han(Isome men and womenl  Come —show  me about a
little, I am quite a stranger here.
JMercury. I haven't time, really.  Put look yonder,
on your right; there are Hyacinthus, and Narcissus,
and Nirens, and Achilles,-and Tyro, and Helen, and
Leda; and, in short, all the celebrated beauties.
AMen. I can see nought but bones and bare skulls,all very much alike.
ilJere. Yet all the poets have gone into raptures
about those very bones which you seem to look upon
with such contempt.
Men. Anyway, show nme Helen; for I should never
be able to make her'.out from the rest.
Mere. This skull is Helen.a
Mlen. And it was for this that a thousand ships
were manned from all Greece, and so many Greeks and
Trojans died in battle, and so many towns were laid
waste I
* "Now get you to my lady's chamber, ancd tell her, let her
paint an inch thick, to this favour she must colie."-Hamlet,
act v. so. 1




64. L UcIA N\r
16e-rc. Ay, but you never saw the lady alive, M'enippus, or you would surely have said with Homer,"No marvel Trojans and the well-armed Greeks
For such a won-an should lollg toils endure:
Like the immlnortal goddesses is she." *
If one looks at withered flowers which have lost
their colour, of course they seem to have no beauty;
but when they are in bloom, and have all their natural
tints, they are very beautiful to see.
14fe n. Still I do wonder, Mercury, that the Greeks
should never hlave bethought themselves that they were
quarrelling  for a thing that was so short-lived, and
would perish so soon.
Mere. I have really no leisure for moralising, my
good MTenippus.  So pick out a spot for yourself, and
hlay yourself down quietly; I must go and fetch some
Inore dead people.
DIOGENES AND MAUTSOLUS.
Diogqenes. Prithee, my Carian friend, why do you give
yourself such airs, and claim precedence of all of us?
Mactusolts. In the first place, my frielld of Sinope,
1,3' reason of my royal estate; I was kiwng of all Caria,
ruled over much of Lydia, reduced several of the
islands, advanced as far as Miletus, and subdued most
pa)rt of Ionia. Then, because I was handsome and
tall, and a good warrior.   MIost of all, because I bhave
a. magnificent monument set up over me at Halicar* eom., II. iii. 156.




DIALOG UES OF THE DEAD.                 65
nassus,-no man that ever died has the like; so beautifully is it finished, men and horses sculptured to the
life out of the finlest marble: you can scarce find even
a temple like it.  I)on't you think I have a right to be
proud of all this.
Diog. Because of your kingdom, you say?-and y3our
fine person,-and tlle great weight of your tomlb l
Maues. Yes; that is wllhat I am proud of.
Diog. But, my handsomLe fieMld (lla-lha!), you llaven't
mucll  left of th(tt strelgtllh alld beauty that you talk
about.  If wve asl]ked any one to deci(de between our
claims to,good looks, I (doi't see wlhy tlhey should prefer your skull to mine.  BIotll of us are bald and naked,
-both of us sliow our teeth a good deal, —neither of
us have any eyes,-and our noses are both rather fiat.
Thie tomlh, indleedl, and the marble stlues, the mle  of
Ilalicalrnassus mla.y sllow to their visitors, and boast of
thlem  as ornamtents of their landl; but as to you, my
good frienld, I don't see what good your monument
does you.: unless you may say this-that you bear a
greater weight upol  you than I do, pressed down as
you are by all those heavy stones.
JMic.s. Are none  of miy glorlies to profit me, then1?
And are'Mausolus and Diogenes to stand here on equal
terms l
Diog. No; not exactly equal, most excellenit sir;
not at all. MB/ausolus has to lament when lie renmembers his earthly lot, how haply lie was, —and Diogenes
can laugh at him.  And Mausolus can say how he
had the tomb built for him  at HIalicarnassus by his
wife and sister; while Diogenes does lot, know-and'A. o. vol. xviii.




66                    L UCIA N.
does not care —whether his body lad any burial at all,
but can say that he left behind him  the reputation
among the wise of having lived a life worthy of a man,
-a loftier monument, base Carian slave, than yours,
and built on a far safer foundation.
In another dialognue Diogenes talks in the same strain
to Alexander, and recomimentds the -waters of Lethe as
the only remedy for the sad regrets ilwhich those must
feel, who have exchanged the glories of earth for the
cold and dreary equality which reigns among the dead
below —a passionless and objectless existence, in which
none but the bitterest Cynic, who rejoices in the discomfiture of all earthly ambitions, can take any pleasure.  So also Achilles, in a dialogue with the young
Antilochus-a premature visitor to these gloomy regions-repeats the melancholy wish which Homer has
put into his mlouth in the Odyssey[4 Rather would I in the sun's warmth divine
Serve a poor chut'l who drags his days in grief,
Than the whole lordship of the dead were mine." l'
Such is the tone of these Dialogues througllout,-a
grim  despair disclosing itself through their cynica-l
levity.  Whatever the' Elysian Fields" of the poets
nmight be, the satirist gives us no glimpse of thenm.
All whom the new visitors meet are in tears,-except
the infants.  In one scene, Diogenes reimarks a poor
decrepit old man weeping bitterly.   To him, one
- - Horm., Odyss. xi. (Worsley).




DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.                 67
would think, the change collld have been not so very
sad.  Was he a kingu on earth.  No.  Or a man of
rank and wealth?  "No," is the reply; "I was in
my ninetieth year, and miserably poor; I had to earn
my bread by fishing.  I liad no children to succour
me, and I was lame an(l blind."  " Vhat!" says the
philosopher,'" in such a case, could you really wish to
have life prolongedl"   "Ay," replies the old fisherman, echoing the'thoulht of the great Achilles-" Ay,
life is sweet, and death terrible."
T111r TYRANT.
Although this is not classed amongst the "' Dialogules
of the Dead," there seems no reason why it should not
find a place among thenl.  Charon and his ghostly
freight are a favourite slub ject for Lucian's satire, and
he has here introduced them; again in a dramatic scene
of considerablly more length than any of the precedin(.
The sparkling humour of the introduction gives additional force to the serious moral of the close.
CHARON, CLOTITO, MERCURY, ETC.
Cgzaron. Well, Clotheo, here's thle loat all a-taut, and
everything ready for crossing; we've p)lulp)ed out the.
water, and stepped the mast, and. hoisted tlle sail-the
oars are in their row-locks, and, so far as I aml  concerned, nothing lhinders us from weighing  anchor and
setting off. And that Mercury is keepinig me waiting —
he ought to have been here long ago. The boat lies here
empty still, you see, when we nmignt have male three
trips already to-day; and now it's almost evening, and




68                    LUCIAN,
we haven't earned a penny yet.  And I know Pluto
will think it's all my laziness, whereas the fault lies in
quite another quarter.  That blessecd ghost-conductor
of ours has been drinking the waters of Lethe himself,
I suppose, and has forgot to come back.  lie's most
likely wrestling with the young men, or playing on his
lyre, —or holding an argument, to show his subtle iwit.
Or very possibly my gentleman is doing a little thieving,somewhere on the road, for that's one of his many accomplishlents. I-He takes considerable liberties with us,
I must say, considering that he's half our servant.
Clotho. You don't know, Charon, but that he has
been hindered in so-me  way; Jupiter may have wanted
hiMn  for some extra w-ork up above; he's his imaster
too, you see.".Cha. But he has no right to get more than his share
of work out of our common property, Clotho: I never
keep him, when it's his tinme to go.  But I know what
it is; with us he gets nothing but asphodel, and libations, and salt-cake, and such funleral fare-all the rest
is gloom, and fog, and darkness; while in heaven'tis all
brightness, and lots of ambrosia, and nectar in abundance; so I suppose he finds it pleasanter to spend his
time up there.  He flies away from here fast enough, as
if he were escaping out of prison; but whene the hour
comes for him to return, he moves very leisurely, and
takes his time on the road down.
v The many offices of Mercury were a favourite subject of
jest with Aristophanes as well as with Lucianl.  Some figu`ies of
the god. represented him with his face painted half black and
half white, to signify his double occupation, above and below.




DIALOGUES OF 1 TI1' DEAD.                 69
Cot. Don't put yourself in a passion, Charon; look,
here he comes, close by, bringing a large company with
him —driving them  before lhiln, I should rather say,
with his rod, like a flock of -oats.  But what's this 
I see one of the party Aith his hlanlds tied, and another
laughing, and anotller with a wallet on his back and a
club in his hlad!l, looking very savage, and hurryillg
thle rest on.  And doA't you see how AMercury hinmself
is actually rllllllillng (lown with sweat, anld how dusty
his feet are; le's quite oullt of breath, panting, with
his  mouth  ol)en.01    Whalt's tlle  matter, Alercury 
What are you  so hurried about?  You seem  quite
done ullp.
(Euztele r   Ul\'icuauY, very hot,,it7i a large company
of Gholsf. )
JIT,'c. tMatter,  Clotho? Why, I've been hlunting this
runtllway here, till I sull)pose you tlughllt I had runi
away myself to-dtay, allnl dlserted lly ship.
C/o. WTho is lle? and  what dlid he want to run
away for?
_Mlere. Thlat's plain enough —because he wanted to
live a little longer.  He's a kinlg or a tyrant of some
sort, alll  fromn  what I can make out froml his howlings
alnd lamentations, he complainsl that lie is being taken
away from a position of great enjoylllent.
Clo. So the fool tried to run away, did he?-when
the thread of his life wlras already spun out!
Mee'. Tried to run away, did you say? Why, unless
that stout fellow  there, be with the club, had helped
me, so that we contrived between us to catch him and




70                   LU CIA 1V.
tie hiun, he Awould have got clean off.  From  the moinent that Atropos handed 1him  over to me, he did
nothing but kick and struggle all the way, and stuck
his heels in the ground, so that it was very hard to
get him  along.  Then sometimes he would beg and
pray me to let him  go-just for a little bit-offeilng
me ever so much money.  But I, as was my duty, refused-especially as it was impossible.  But when we
got just to the entrance, and I was counting over the
dead, as usual, to IEacus, and he was checking them
off by the list which your sister had sen.t him, lo and
behold! this rascal had got off sonellhow or other, and
was missing.  So there was onle dead man short of the
count.  lEacus frowned at lie awfully.  " Don't try
your cheatinr  galtle here, Mlercury," says he,-" it's
quite enough to play such tricks up above; here in
the Shades we keep strict accounts, and you can't hulnbug us.  A thousald and four, ySou observe, my list
has marked on it; and you colne here bringillg nme one
too few —unless you please to say that Atropos cheated
you in the reckoning."  I quite blushed at his words,
and recollected at once what had happ)ened on the road;
and w.hen I cast my eyes round and couldn't see that
wretch, I knew he had escaped, and ran back after him
all the way, towards daylight, and that excellent fellow
there went with me, of his own accord;I; and by runniilg like race-horses we caught hium just at Tminarus *
-so near he was getting away.
k At mhich spot there was one of the reputed descents
to the Shlnles.




DIALOGU.ES OF TIHl DlEAD.             71
The -Ferryman desires them to waste no more time
now in chattering, and proposes to start at once.  Clotho and IMercury count the dead into the boat.  First,
three hundred infan ts,-including those who have been
deserted and exposed.   Charon (lwho is still very
cross) complains of them  as "a cargo of very unripe
fruit."  MIercury next hands him in four hundred old
people;'they are ripe enough," he observes, " at any
rate-and some rotten."  Seven have died for lovebesides a great philosopher, who has killed himself for
the sake of a good-for-nothing wooman.  Several have
died of a feverl-including' the plhysician who attended
themi.  Cyniscnus, too, is there, the Cynic philosopher,
who has been eating some of Hecate's supper, and a
quantity of raw onions besides, and has died of indigestion. His only complaint is that he has been forgotten
by the Fates, and allowed to live on eartll so long.
Mlegapenthes, the tyrant, who has made such a deternained attempt to escape on the road, entreats Clotho to
let hiia go back to life-only for a little while, if it were
but five days, just to finish his new house, and to give
some dlirections to his wife about somee money,-he will
be sure to come down agaill soon.  He tries in vain to
bribe the Inexorable by offers of gold.  Or, he will
give his son, his only son, as a hostage.  Clotho
reminds him that his prayer used to be that this son
might survive him.  That had been his wish, he confesses; but now he knows better.  Clotho bids him
take comfort; his son will follow hill here speedily;
he will be put to death by the tyrant who succeeds.
At least lie desires to know how things will go after




72                   L UCIAN o
his death.  He shall hear, though the information will
lhardly be pleasant.  His statues will be thrown down
and trampled on: his wife, who has already been faithless to him, will marry her lover: his daughter xwill go
into slavery.  In vain he begs for life, though the life
be that of a slave. Mercury, with the help of Cyniscus,
drives him  into the boat, and threatens to tie him to
the mast.  At this moment a little figure rushes forward, and begs not to be left behind.  It is Mlicyllus,
a poor cobbler. He has not found life on earth altogether so pleasant, tllat lie cares to contiinue it.  " At
the very first signal of Atropos," says hle, "I jumped
up gladly, threw away my knife and leather, and an
old shoe I had in my hand, anld without stopping even
to put on my slippers or wash off the black from  my
face, followed her at once-or rather led the way.
There was nothinog to call me back.  I had no tie to
life,-neither land, nor houses, nor gold, nor precious
furniture; no glory and no statues had I to leave
behind.   Indeed I like all your ways clown below
very much; there's equality for all, and no man is
better than his neighbour; it all seems to me unconmmlonly pleasant. I suppose nobody calls in debts here,
or pays taxes: above all, there is no cold in winter, no
sickness, and no beatings from great people.  Here all
is peace, and conditions seem quite reversed; we poor
laugh and are mierry, while your rich men groan and
howl."  He is eager to be ferried over at once to thai
further shore; and whllen Charon sulkily declares there,
is no rooim in the boat for him, he strips and proposes
to swilm across the Styx; he shall get over that way




DIALOGUES OF TIHE7  DEAD.              73
perhaps as fast as they will. At last it is settled that he
is to sit on the tyrant's back; " and kick hinm well,"
says Clotho.  The Cynic now takles up the dialogue.
lIe, like his fellow-philosopher Menippus, has no nmoney
to pay his passage.
Cyniscus. I'll tell you the plain truth, Charon-I
haven't a penny to pay for my passage: nothing in the
world but my scrip and staff here.  But I'm  quite
ready to pump or to row: you shall have no reason to
complain, if you can find me a good strong oar.
CGharon2. Pull awNay, then.  I must be content to get
that much out of yol.
Cyn. Shall I give you a songl.
Ch01. Well, do; if you knIow a good sea-stave.
CGy. I know plenty, Charon. -But these fellows are
blubbering so loud, they'll drown my voice.
Dead menz, in zdiscoqrdatnt chorus. 0 Iny riches!-O
my lands!-Oh, what a beautiful house I've left behind me! —Alas! for all the money my heir will
squander!-Alas, my poor clear children! —Ah! who'll
gather the grapes from those vines I planted last year.
Mere. Have you nothing to lamlellt, Mlicyllus?  Indeed it's against all rule for any one to make this voyage without a few tears.
Micyllus. Nonsense! I've nothing to cry for, on
such a pleasant voyage.
Mere. Nay, just cry a little, do-just to keep up
the custom.
Ml ic. Very well, if you wish it, Mlercury-here
goes.-0 my leather-parings! 0 my old shoes i Alas i




74                      L UCIA N.
no longer shall I go from  dawn till evening without
food, nor walk barefoot and half-clad all the winter,
wvitll my teeth chattering  for cold!   And, oh dear!
who will inherit my old awl and scraper?
Mere. There, that'll do; we've almost got across.
Cha. now, pay  your fares, all of you, the first
thinlg. You there, fork out! And you! Now I've got
all, I think.-Micyllus, where's your penoy?
hliec. You joke, mly friend; you mi(llt as well try
to,et blood out of a turnip, as they say, as money out
of Mlicyllus.   Heaven help me if I know a penny by
sight —whether it's round or square!
The scene which follows, satire tliouglh it be, has a
terrible anlount of truth in it.  The tonle of burlesque
passes allnost into that of tragedy.  It reads lilke a
passage froml  somle dramatic mecdieval sermon.  The
dead are sulnmmoned one by one before the tribunal of.hadalaanthlus.  Eacll has to strip for examination:
for, burnt in upon the breast of every man, patent now
to the Judge of Souls, though invisible to mortal eyes,
will be found the marks left by the sins of his past
life.'  Cyniscus presellts himself first, cheerfully and
confidently.  Some faint indications there are uponl' This is from Plato.  In his' Gorgias' (524) Rhadamnanthus
finds the soul of the tyrant "full of the prilts and scars of
peojuries and wrongs which have been stalnpled there by each
action."  Tacitus (Ann. vi. 6), speaking of Tiberius, introduces
the idea as that of Socrates:  " If the minds of tyrants could
be laid open to view, scars and wounds would be discovered
upon them: since the mind is lacerated by clrellty, lust, and
evil passions, even as the body is by stripes and blows."




DIALOGUES OP TlE DEAD,                75
his person of scars, healed over and almost obliterated.
He explains that these are the traces of great faults
committed in his youth through ignorance, which by
the help of philosophy he has amended in his maturer
years. He is acquittedl, and bid to taike his place among
the just, after lie sllall have given evidence against the
tyrant NMiegapenthes.  [Micyllus, tile poor cobbler, who
has had few temptations, shows no marks at all.  But
when Megapentlies, hang'ing back in terror from  the
scrutiny, is hurled by Tisiphone into the presence of
the judge, Cyniscus has a terrible list of crimes to
charge against him.  He has abused his power and
wealth to the most atrociouls deeds of lust and cruelty,
In vain h-e tries to deny t]he accusations: his Bed and
his Lamp, thle unwvilling witnesses of his debaucheries,
are sumlmoned, by a bold and striking figure of impersonation, to bear their evidence against him; and when
he is stripped for examination, his -whole person is
found to be livid vwith the mIarks imprinted( on it by
his crimes.  The only question is what punishllent
shall be assigned hlim..The Cynic philosopher begs to
suggest a new and fitting one.
Cy-niscus. It is thle custom, I believe, for all your
dead here to drink the water of Lethe?
Rhadamant2hus. Cerilainly.
Cyn. Then let this man alone not be permitted to
taste it.
Rhacad. And wihy so?
Cya. So shall he suffer the bitterest punishment
in the recollection of all that he has been acnd done,




76                     LUCIA N.
a-nd all the power he had while on earth, and in the
thought of his past pleasures.?hardc. Excellently well advised! Sentence is passed.
Let him  be fettered  and carried  away to Tartarus,
tlere to remember all his past life.
The keen intellect whiclh rcjected, as some of the
greitest miinds of antiquity lad done before him, the
inventions of poet and mythologist as to the future
state, could appreciate the awful truth of a moral hell.
wvhich the sinner carriedl always witllin him.  Luician
wotulcl have said, with that fgreat Roman poet who found
no refuge from superstition but in materialism,"No vultures rend the breast of Tityos,
As his vast bulk lies tost on Acheron's wave;
But lhe is Tityos, whose prostrate soul
The ftangs of guilty love and vain regret,
And flruitless longCings ever vex and tear." *
Tn  that thoughllt, at least, the Christian poet is in
accord with the heathen.  It is the punishment which
M\ilton imagines for the Great Tempter himlself:"Horror and doubt distract
His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom  stir
The Hell within him; for within him Hell
He brings, and round about him now from Hell
On.e stel>, no more than from himself, can fly
By change of place; now conscience works despair
That slumbered,-wakes the bitter meniory
Of what lhe was, what is, and what must be." t
T!,icretius, iii. 997.       t Par. Lost, iv. 18.




CHARON'S VISIT TO TiE TVORLD,.           77
CHARON'S VISIT TO THE UPPER WORJD.
This is one of tlle author's best pieces, and though
classed amotnost the miiscellaneous  Dialogues, niay
very well findl i place here.  The drllamctis jpersolJe
are the same, and the contrast between the world
of the livinglc and the world of ghosts is still thi.
thenme.
MERCURY AND ChIAtON.
Mjiber'cury. What are you lauglling about, Charon?
And what has made you leave your boat and coime up
here into our parts. You don't very often favour us
with a visit.
Chapronr. Well, I had a fancy, Master Mercury, to
see. what kind of a thing human life was, and what
men do in the world, and what it is that they have to
leave behind them, that they all bemoan themselves so
when they come down our way.  For you know that
never a one of them mlakes the voyage without tears.
So I begged leave of absence froml Pluto, just for a
day,' like Protesilaus, al)nd came up here into the dayligllt.  And I think myself very lucky in falling in
with you;  you'll be good enough to act as my guide, I
kllnow, and go round with me and show me everything
-you know all about it.
lMere. Really,'Mr Ferrynman, I can't spare time.  I
have to go off to do an errand for Jupiter upon earth.
He's very irascible, and if I loiter on the road, I fear he
may banish me entirely into your dark dominions, or
do to mle as he did to Vulcan lately, —take me by the




78                   LU CIA N.
foot and pitch me down from heaven, and so I shall
have to go limping round with the wine, like him.
GCch. Alnd will you let me go wandering about the
earth and losing my way-you, my old friend and
messmate? It wouldn't be amiss for you to remember,
ray lad, how I have never made you bale the boat, or
even pull an oar, but you lie snoring on the deck, for
all those great broad shoulders; or if you find any talkative fellow amlong the dead men, you chatter with hii
all the way over, leaving a poor old fellow like me to
pull both oars myself.  By your father's beard., now,
my good Aiercury, don't go away! Show me round
this upper world, that I may see something before I go
home again.  Why, if you leave mue here by myself, I
shall be no better than the blind men.  Just as they
go stumlblingr about in the darkness, so do I in this
confounded light.  Oblige me now, MAercury, do-and
I'll never forget the favour.
lMere1. This job will cost me a beating, I plainly foresee-all the wages I shall get for acting as guide will
be blows.  But I suppose I must ollige you: wllat
can a fellow do when a friend presses him? ll    ut as
to seeing everything thoroughly, MTr Ferrymnan, that's
impossible-it would take a matter of years.  There
would have to be a hue and cry sent after me by
Jupiter, as a runaway; and it would stop your business in the service of Death, and Pluto's empire would
suffer, by your stopping all transportation there for
some time; and then liacus would be in a rage about
his fees, when he found inot an obol corningi il.  But
I'll manacge to let you see what's best worth seeing.




CHARPON'S VISIT TO TIHE WORLD.            79
Cha. You know  best,:iercury; I'm  a perfect
stranger here, andcl know  nought about this upper
world.
ilere. First, then, we must find some commancling
spot, where you can see everythinig from. If you could
have got up into heavein, now, there would have beem
no trouble-you might see it all from there, as from a
watch-tower.  Howevver, since your ghostly functiolls
are a bar to your admitllitanlce into Jove's dolinions,
we must look out for a good high mountain.
Cha. You knlow Nwhat I used to say when we wvere
aboard mIy boat.  Whenever the -wind took us on the
quarter, and the waves rose high, thenl you, in y oeur i(gnorance, would be calling to me to shorten sail, or let?L
the sheet, or run before the winld,and I always bid
you all sit still and hold your tonguLes-I k1nevw whllat
was best to be done.  So now do you just take what
coarse you think best: you are captain lnow,; and I, as
all passengers should do, will sit still and do as you
tell moe.
Mlerrc. Very right.  I know the 1),st plan, and I'll
soon find a'ood look-out place.  Would Caucasus do.
or is Parnassus higher-or Olympus higher still? 
When I look at Olympus, a bright idea comes into my
bead; but you must help me, and do your fair sharje
of the work.
C/a. Give your orders   I'll bhelp as far as I
Mferc. The poet Homer says t'hat the sons of Aloeus
-they were but two, and they were only youthsdesigned once upon a time to wrench up Ossa and put




80                    L UCIA N.
it on Olympus, and then Pelioii on top of that-thinking so to get a good ladder to climnb ilto heaven by.
iTow those lads suffered for it, and it served them right,
for it was a very' insolent tric3k.  -But you see we are
not scheming anythillng against the gods, so why should
not we two roll thlese mlountains one on top of the
othler, so as to get a good view fiom  a comma-ndillng
position?
C/ia. And could we two by ourselves lift and carry
Pelion or Ossa 
Mierc. WVhy not, Charonl you do't mean to say
that we are weaker than those two boys,-we, who are
divinities?
Cha7. No; but the thing, itself seems, to my mind,
imlpossil.de.
iMerc. Very likely; because you're so illiterate,
Clharoln, anid dlestitnte altogether of the poetic faculty.
But that grand HIomner makes a road( into heaven in
two lines-li-he clapls the mountains together so easily. I
wonlder, too, that this slhould seem to you such a prodigy, when you know how Atlas bears the weigllt of
the whole globe himself, anid carries us all on his back.
I suppose you've he:trd, too, of my b)rotlier Hercules,
how lhe sulljdlicel Atl~as's place once, just to allow him
a little rest, while he too(lk the weight upon his own
shoulders.
Clia. Yes, I've heard all about it; but whether it
be true or not, you and thle poet only know.
Jlferc. Quite true, I assure you, Charon': why should
such clever mien tell lies?  So let's set to work upon
Ossa first, as the poet and his verse recolmmend;




CHAROr'S VISIT TO THIE WORLD.           81
"And on Ossa's top
They rolled the leafy Pelion." %
Do you see how easy it is l We've done it capitally
-and most poetically.  Now let me get up and see
whether it will (lo, or whether we must build a little
higher yet.  All! we are still under the shadow of
Olymlpus, I see.  Only Ionia and Lydia are visible
yet on the east: on the west, we can't see further than
Italy and Sicily: on the south, only this side the
Danube,-and Crete only indistinctly down here.  I
say, Ferryman, we slall have to move (Eta too, and
then clap Parnassus on top of all.
0CGa. So be it; only take care we don't attempt
too much,b-I mean, beyond what poetical probability
allows.  Homer will prove a very mllucky architect
for us, if we tumible down with all this weight upon
us and break our skulls.
MIerc. Never fear-it's all quite safe.!Move (Eta
now-now  up with Parnassus.  There —now  I'll get
up and look again. All right —I can see everything.
Now you come up too.
Cha. Lend us a hand then, 3Mercury-it's no joke
getting up such a place as this.
Hlere. Well, if you want to see everything, you
know, Charon, you can't expect to gratify your curiosity
and never risk your neck.  But take fast hold of my
han(l-and take care you don't put your foot upon a
slippery stone.  Well done!-now  you're safe up.
Parnassus, luckily, has two tops, so you can sit upon
* Iom., Odyss. xi.
A. C. vol.. xviii.




82                    L UCIA N.
one and I on the other. Now look all round you and
see what you can see.
Cha. I see a large extent of land, and as it were a
great lake all round it, and mountains and rivers bigger
than Cocytus or Phlegethon,- and men,- oh! such
little creatures! and some kind of hiding-places or
burrows they have..Mere. Those are cities, which you call bilrrows.
Cha. Do you know, Mercury, we seem to have done
no good, after all, in moving Parnassus, and CEta, and
these otlher mountains.
Mlere. Why so?
Cha. Because I can see nothing distinctly from
this height.  I wanted not merely to see cities and
hills, as one does in a picture, but men themselves,
and what they do, and what they talk about, -as
I did when you met me first and found me laughing; I had just been uncommonly amnused at something.
Mere. And what was that, pray?
C/ia. Some man had been invited by one of his
friends to dinner, I conclude, for to-norrow.  "I'll be
sure to come," says he-and just as lhe was speaklin,1
down comes a tile from the roof sonmehow, alld kills
him.  So I laughlled to think lie couldn't keep his
appointment. And now I think I had better get down
again, that I may see and hea.r better.
HereC. Stay where you are.  I've a remedy for thlis
difficulty too.  I can make you marvellously keensighted, by using a certain incantation fronm  Homer,
invented for this special purpose.  The moment I say




CIHA'.OX'S VISIT TO THE  WORLD.         83
the words, you'll find no more difficultv as to vision,
but will see everything quite plain.
Cha. Sacy tllem, then.
" Lo! fron this earthly mist I purge thy sight,
That thou may'st know both gods and men aright."'
How now.  Can you see better.
Cha. Wonderful i Lynceus himself would be blilnd
in comparison.l! Now explain things to me, and answer
my questions.  But first, wouldcl  you like me to ask yo;u
a question out of Homer, that you may see I'm not
quite ignorant of the great poet 
2lMerc. I-low come you to know anything about hlim,
-a sailor like you, always at the oar 3
Cha. Look here now, —that's very disrespectfiul to my
craft.  Why, when I carried him  across after lie was
dead, I heard him  rhapsodising all the way, and I
remember some of it.  A  terrible storm1  we had thatg
voyage, too.  He began some chant of not very happy
omen for seafaring folk,-how Neptune gathered the
clouds, and troubled the sea-stirring it up with his
trident, like a ladle-rousing all the winds and everything else. He so disturbed the water with his poetry,
that all on a sudden we had a perfect tempest about
us, and the boat was wellnigh overset.  Wtell, then,
he fell sick hiniself, and vomited up great part of his
poenl,-_Scylla and Charybclis, and the Cyclops, and
all.  I had no great trouble in picking up a few scraps
of the contents.  So, as the poet has it,* Ioen., 11. v. 127.




84                    L U CA No
"'Who is yon stalwart warrior, tall and strong,
By head and shoulders towering o'er the throng?"
M-c. That's Milo of Crotona, the great wrestler.
Tile Greeks are applauding him  because he has just
lifted a bull alldl is carrying it across the arena.
Cl.a. They'll have much better reason to applaud
me, -Merriry, whllen I get hold of Milo himself, as I
shall do very shortly, and clap him on board my boat,
when he comes down our way after havinig been thrown
by  that invincible wrestler, Death; no back-trick
that he knows can manage him/. He'll weep and groan
then, we shall see, when he remiembers all his laurels
and triumphs; but now he is very proud because they
all admire him for carrying the bull.  Do you suppose,
now, that man eveV expects to die.
The visitor froml the lower world, undcer Mercury's
instruction, surveys many other scenes in human life.
Space and Chlr)onology are, of course, set entirely at
defiance under thle potent incantation which rMercury
has borrowed from  the poet —as they are, indeed,
sometimes by poets themselves.  He sees Cyrus planning his great expedition against Crwsus; overhears
the latter monaelch holding his celebrated conversation
with Solon on the great question of human happiness;
is shown the Scythian Tomnyris on ]ler white horse, the
savage  queen who is to give the Persian conqueror
"' his fill of blood." Hie sees the too fortunate Polycrates receiving back his lost ring from the fishelrman,
andi learns from his guide (who has leard it as a secret




CHARON'S VISIT TO TIlE TORLD.             85
from  Clotheo) the miserable end of the tyrant's prosperity.  Then Mlercury shows him  the now desolate
site of what once was Nineveh, and tells him how the
great Babylon is fated to perish in like manner.  As
for the remains of Mycenre, and Argos, and, above all,
of the renowned Troy,-these M'lercury is afraid to
show his friend, lest when he returns to the Shades
below he should strangle the poet for hlis exaggerations.
The whole dialogue is very fine, and in a higher tone
than is Lucian's wont to use, though no writer could
use it with better effect.
Cha. Strange and multiform indeed is the crowd I
see, and human life seens full of trouble.  And their
cities are like hives of bees, in wh\ich each has his own
sting, and therewith attacks his neighbour; and some,
like wasps,'plunder and harry the weaker.  13ut who
are that crowd of shadows, invisible to them, who
hover over their heads I
Merc. These, Charon, are Hope, and Fear, and
Madness; and Lusts, and Desires, and Passions, and
Hate, and suchlike.  Of these, Folly mingles with the
crowd below, and is, as one may say, their fellow-citizen.
So also Hate, and Anger, and Jealousy, and Ignorance,
and Distress, and Covetousness.  But Fear and Hope
hover above them; and the first, when she swoops
down upon them, drives theml out of their minds, and
makes them  cower and shudder; whilst Hope, still
fluttering over tlenm, the instant one thinks he has
surely laid hold of her, flies up out of his reach, and
leaves him balked and gaping, like Tantalus below,




86                    L U CIA N.
when the water flies his lips. Also, if you look close,
you will see the Fates too hovering  over them, each
with her spindle, whence are drawn slender threads
which are attached to all.
Charon compares human life to the bubbles which
rise and float along the stream —sonme small, which
quickly burst and disappear; some larger, which attract others in their course, and so grow larger still,
but which soon break also in their turn, allnd vanish
into nothing;" and Mercury assures himl that his comparison is quite as good as Homer's celebrated one of the
leaves on the trees. It puzzles him also to discover what
there is inl thlis life so very desirable, thatn men should
so take the loss of it to heart; and lhe would fain
himself take a journey to earth, and preach wisdom to
these miserable imortals, to -warn tlhem  to " cease frtom
vanity, and live with death ever before their eves.
0 fools!' I would say to thein,' why are ye anxious
about such little thingsl  Cease from  thus wearyillng
yourselves; ye cannot live for ever: none of those
thinlgs ye so admire is everlasting, nor can a mnani carry
aught of it away with him when hle dies, but naked
he must depart below; ani(I house and lands and gold
mlust-change their master, and pass into other hlands.' 
But all such preaelhing, Mercury assures him, would
be in vain.  Their ears are so fast stoppe(l with error
and igniorance, that no surgeon's instrument can bore
them.  What Lethe does for the dead, obstinacy does
* Jeremy Taylor has a.dopted and enlarged this pmrssacge fiom
Lucian, in the opening paragraph of his " Holy Dying."




CHAIRONV'S VISIT TO' T1lE WORLD.           87
for the living.  Some there are, however, among these
mortals,   whose ears are open to the voice of truth,
and whose vision is purgedl to see the things of hunman
life ill their real aspect."   Chltron would read his
lesson, then, to therm.  " Thlat would be labour lost,"
replies Mercury, " to teach them Awtlli they know well
already.  See how they sit apart frolm the vulgar herd,
smiling at all that passes, and feeligi, never any kind
of satisfaction in it: but plainly meditating an escape
to your quiet regions, out of thle weariness of life;
hated, moreover, as tlley are by their fellows, because
they seek to convict them  of their folly."  "These
seell but few," says Charon.   "They are enough,"
replies Mercury.  Enouell  to be the salt of the earth;
such, even in the heathenl's estimate, must always be
few.  And cynicisml  and.(  suiicde, —these, as we see,
were the heathein's remedies for the vainity and vexationx of life.




CHAPTER IV.
LUCIAN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS.
THE  great success and  reputation achieved by the
early Greek philosophers, and especially by those who
professed Rhetoric and Dialectics, naturally led to the
assulmption of the character by a host of successors,
many of them  niere pretenders.  It was a profession
not only tempting to a man's self-conceit, but to his
love of gain: for, in sp)ite of the protest of one at least
of the great teachers of anltiquiity-Socrates —agaiinst
debasing  philosophy to  a Imere trade by accepting
money for discoursing on it, it had not unnaturally
become the custom to take fees both for public lectures
and for private instruction.  For a philosopher had to
live, like other mien.  The Antonine Cmsars, zealous
for the education of their subljects, founding lectureships and endowing colleges throughout their empire,
possibly encouraged too much the mere pretenders to
learning by the liberality of their grants, and the ire
of the satirist lmay have been justly roused by the unworthiness of many of the recipients.*
" Beaucoup de gens se faisaient philosopelles parce que lMlarc
Aurble les enrichissait."-Chamipagny, "Les Altonines," iii.




LUCIAN AIND THE PHItLOSOPIIERlS.             89
Athens was still the great resort for professors of
all sciences, fi'om  all countries, and of all characters.
The genius of the people insured such visitors a welcolne reception.  Talk was the Athenian's privilege and
his delight.  " To tell or to hear some niew thing," is
St Paul's brief epitome of the life of tile Atllenian
multitude of his day-and contemporary history does
but amplify the apostle's report.  Nor is it to be supposed that the wisest or the most honest teacher was
always the most popular; rather, the boldest and
least scrupulous pretenders were perhaps the most sure
of an audience.  As in our own days, the medicine
which is put forward as a cure for all diseases is secure
of a wide sale among the vulgar; so the lecturer who
professed universal knowledge-ancl there were plenty
of sncllh-did not fail of commending himself to tile
greedy cars of tlhe Athenian populace.   There were
men who announced themselves as prepared —for a.
consideration-to dispute on any imaginable subject of
humlan knowledge, or to reply to any question which
curiosity might propose.  ~Especially were those sought
after who professed to teach the great secret of beating
an opponent in argument, right or wlong; an enviable
accomplishment, unfortunately, in the eyes of mlost
intellectual people, but especially of men who took
so muc(h part in  public life as did the Athenian
COl11:11011S.
To such an extent had this passion for talk in all its
forms- whether in  propounding the most startlimig
222. The whole passage, as an illustration of Lucian, well deserves attention.




90                   L UCIA N.
tleories of morals or mletaphysics, or in the most ingenious fllcing with the weapons of logic and rhetoric
-*spread itself in Lucian's day, that the abuses of the
Schools presented an ample and tempting field for so
keen a satirist.  Add to this tllat he himself had beeni
very much as it were behind the scenes; that in so
far as he had beeii a real seeker af';er wisdom and an
1honest teacher of the truth, lie had seen how  these
-were disregarded by the pretended philosophers of
his day; or in so far as he had lent himself to the
common tellptation, and had regarded gain and reputation more than a conscientious utterance of what
truth he knew, lie would have experienced how very
readily a few  specious phrases and plausible assertions pass for iwisdom with the multitude, and how
often the unintelligible may be made to do duty for
the sublime.
Next to the absurdities of the popular religion, then,
those of the pretenders to philosophy lay invitingly
open to the attack of the satirist.  The fact that in
both cases such attack had to be madle upon a strong
position, guardedc by much popular prejudice and by
many private interests, would be only an additional
reason for engagiMng   in it.  He looked upon both
systems as what a modern satirist would call " enormous shains," and the success of the imposture made
the work of unmasking it all the more exciting.  In
both cases, truth suffered more or,less under the undiscriminating ridicule which could not affiold to spoil
its point by making distinctions and exceltions..  As
in his merciless dissection of the so-called divinities of




LU'CIAN AND THE PHILOSOPILERSo             91
the pagan heaven, he seems often to repudiate the
existence of any divine principle at all; so when he
holds up to derision the charlatans and impostors whe
sheltered themselves under the names of the great
masters of old times, and who pushed their tenets to
absurdity, he lays himself open to the charge of caricaturing those venerable sages themselves.
But, in truth, veneration for great names is a luxury
in which the satirist by profession can rarely afford to
indulge.  The exigencies of his craft go nigh to forbid
him  to hold anything sacred.  We know how  constantly, even in our more decorous modern clays, the
man who has a keen taste for humour and a reputation
for being amusing is tempted to make jests which savour
of profanity, while he may very possibly be no more
profane at heart thlan those who profess themselves
shocked by his levity of tone.  It has been remarlked
already, in one of the preceding volumes of this series,
in speaking of Aristoplianes, that we may be quite wrong
in assuming that lie bore any malice against Socrates,
or was insensible to the hicher qualities of his character, because he found that it suited his pulpose to
caricature some of the eccentricities of so well known
a personage for the comic stage: and we may be doing
Lucian equal iljustice inll accusing him  of atheism,
because in his writings he touches only the absurd side
of a faith which was fast, passing away and leaving as
yet nothing in its place; or in thinking that he sneers
at all great intellectual discoveries, because he found
in the contradictions and the sophistries of the Schools
such congenial matter for his pen.  And although,




92                   LUCIA N.
like Aristophanes, he uses well-known names from
time to time for the persons of his drama, anything
like what we call personality was probably far from
his thoughts.  "Lucian," says Ranke, " spoke after
the manner of ancient comedy,-things true, not of
this or that individual, but of bodies, of commlunities,
of society in (general."
With this reservation the reader will perhaps judge
more fairly the broad farce-for this is what it really
is-of the Dialogue which follows.
THE SALE OF THE P'IIILOSOPHERSo
Scene, a Slate-mart; JUPITER, MERCURY, PIILOSOPHERS in the garb of slaves for sale; acdlience
of Buyers.
Jtupiter. Now, you arrange the benches, and get the
place ready for the company.  You bring out thle
goods, and set them  in a row; but trim  them  up a
little first, and make them look their best, to attract as
many customers as possible.  You, Mercury, must put
up the lots, and bid all comers welcome to the sale.Gentlemen, we ale here going to offer you philosophical systems of all kinds, and of the most varied and in(genious description.  If any gentleman happens to be
short of ready money, he can give his security for the
amount, and pay next year.
Mercury (to J6upiter). There  are  a great many
come; so we had best begin at once, and not keep
them i waiting.




TIlE  SALE  OF TIE PIlLOSOPHERS.                  93
Jup. Begin the sale, then.
BMerc. Whom  slhall we put up first?
Jup. This fellow  with the long hair,-the Ionian.
He's rather an imposing personiage.
Mier. You, Pytlhagoras! step out, and show yourself
to the company.
Jei12). Put him  up.
M ~erc. Gentlemen, we here offer you a professor of
tihe very best and most select description-who buys?
Who wanits to be a cut above the rest of the world?
WTho wants to understand the harmonies of the universe? and to live two lives? r
Cutstomer (/Zurni. g the Ph/ilosoplaer rouzd and  examii',r/g him). HIe's not bad to look at.  W hIat does
lie know best?
Mr Grote, in the introductory chalter of his Plato, thus
sketches the  Pythagorean doctrine of' "Tl]l3 Music of the
Spheres.' "The revolutions of such grand bodies [the Sun and
Planets] could not tlake place, in the opinion of the Pythagoreans, without producing a loud and powerful sound; and as
their distances from  the central fire were supposed to be arranged
I1n musical ratios, so the result of all tlese separate sounds was
full and perfect harmony.  To the objection-Why were not
these sounds heard by us?-they replied, that we had hearcl
them constantly and without intermission fiom the hour of our
I.irtlh; hence they had become inip)erceptible by habit.';
The "two lives" is of course an allusion to Pythagoras's
notion of the transmigrationl of souls. It is said of him that -re
professed to be conscious of having' been formerly Euphorbus,
one of the chiefs present at the siege of Troy, and of having
subsequently borne other sihapes.  There is also a story of his
having interfered on behalf of a dog which was being beate-n,
declaring that in its cries he recognised "the voice of a departed friend."




94                      L UCIA2X.
Mere. Arithmetic, astronomy, prognostics, geometry,
music, and conjuring-you've a first-rate soothsayer
before you.
Cust. ~May one ask him  a few questions?
HMerc. Certainly- (aside) and much good may the
answers do you.
Cust. What country do you come from?
Pythagoras. Samos.
Cust. Where were you educated?
Pxyth. In Egypt, among the wise men there.
Cust. Suppose I buy you, now-what will you teach
mle.
Plyth. I will teach you notl-ling-only recall things
to your memory.~
Cust. How will you do that?
Pyth. First, I will clean out your mind, and wash
out all the rubbish.
Cust. Well, suppose that done, how do you proceed
to refresh the memory.
Pyth. First, by long repose, and silence-speaking
no word for five whole years.t
* That "all knowledge is but recollection" is an assertion
attributed both to Pythagoras anld Plato.  Tie idea of'" an
immortal soul alwavs learning and forgetting in successive
-periods of existence, having seen and known all things at one
time or other, and by association with one thing capable of
recovering all," may be seen discussed in Plato's Dialogue,
i" Meno,"  8l, 82, &e.
+ The injunction of a period of silence upon neophytes (the
"five years" is most likely an exaggeration) was plainly
meant as a check upon their presuming to teach before they had
nlmtured their knowledge.  "It would be not unserviceable"
(says Tooke) "ill our own age, by preventinn many of our raw




TIlE SALE OF TIIE PHILOSOPHIERS.    95
O,st. Why, look ye, my good fellow, you'd best go
teach the dumb son of Crcesus! I want to talk, and
not be a dumny.  Well,-but after this silence and
these five years 
Pyth. You shall learn music and geometry.
Cust. A queer idea, that one must be a fiddler before
one can be a wise man i
Pyth. Then you shall learn the science of numbers.
Cust. Thank you, but I know how to count already.
Pytoh. How do you count?
Cust. One, two, three, fourPyth. Ha! what you call four is ten, and the perfect triangle, and the great oath by which we swear.'
CGust. Now, so help me the great Ten an(d Four, I
never heard mlore divine or more wonderful words!
Piyth. And afterwards, stranger, you  shlall learn
about Earth, and Air, and Water, and Fire,-what is
their action, and what their form, and what their
motion.
CGst. What!  have Fire, Air, or Water bodily shape h
Pyth. Surely they have; else, without form  acld
shape, how  couldc they move?-PBesides, you shall
learnl that the Deity consists in Number, BlMind, and
Harmony.
zust. What you say is really wonderful!
Pyth. Besides what I have just told you, you shall
young divines exposing themselves in the pulpit before they
have read their Greek Testament."
* Ten being the sum of 1, 2, 3, 4. Number, in the system
of Pythagoras, was the fundCamental principle of all things: in
the Monad- Unity-he recognised the Deity.




96                    L UCIA AT.
understand that you yourself, who seem to be one indib
vidual, are really somebody else.
Czasto.  WT hat i do you mean to say I'm somebody else,
and not myself, now talking to you?
Pyth. Just at this no)ment you are; but once upon a
tilne you appeared in another body, and under another
name; and hereafter you will pass again into another
shape still.
[After a little more discussion of this philosopher's
teniets, he is purchased on behalf of a company of l)rofiesors fronm  Mlog'na Grecia, for ten mimne.  The next
lot is Diogenes, the Cynic.]
Jlferc. Who'll you have next?  That dirty fellow
from Pontus?
Julp. Ay-he'll do.
XMeri. I-Here! you with the wallet on your back,you round-shouldered fellow! come out, andi walk round
the ring'.-A grand character, here, gentlemeni; a most
extraordinary and remallrkable character, I mllay say; a
really flree man here I have to offer you —-who'll buy?
Ct/tst. How  say you, nMr Salesmlanl.  Sell a free
citizen.
Mfierc. Oh yes.
Czst. Are you not afraid he may bring you before
the cour.t of Areopagus for kidnapping? 
Mlere. Oh, he doesn't mind about being sold; he
says lhe's free wherever he goes or whatever becomes of
hinm.
Cust. But what could one do with such a dirty,




THE SALE OF THLL PHILOSOPHERS.    97
wretched-looking body —unless one were to make
a ditcher or a water-carrier of him?
Mere, Well, or if you employ him  as door-porter,
vou'll find him more trustworthy than. any dog.  In
fact,' Dog' is his name.
Cust. Where does he come from, and what does he
profess q
lfVrc. Ask him —that will be most satisfactory.
Cust. I'm  afraid of him, he looks so savage and
sulky; perhaps he'll bark if I go near him, or even
bite me, I shouldn't wonder.  Don't you see how
he handles his club, and knits his brows, and looks
threatening and angry? 
Merc. Oh, there's no fear-hlie's quite tame.
Cust. (capproaching Diogenes caLutiously). First, my
good fellow, of what country are you?
Diogenes (surlily). All countries.
GCut. How can that be?
Diog. I'm a citizen of the world.
Gust. What master do you profess to follow?
Diog. Hercules.
Cust. Why don't you adopt the lion's hide, then?
I see you have the club.
Diog. Here's my lion's hide,-this old cloak. Like
Hercules, I wage war against pleasure; but not under
orders, as he did, but of my own free will. My choice
is to cleanse human life.
CGust. A very good choice too.  But what do you
profess to  know  best? or of what art are you
master?
Diog. I am the liberator of mankind, the physician
A. C. vol. xviii.                     G




98                    LUC'IA N.
of the passions; in short, I claim to be the prophet of
truth and liberty.
Cust. Come now, Sir Prophet, suppose I buy you,
after what fashion will you instruct me?
Diog. I shall first take and strip you of all your
luxury, confine you to poverty, and put an old garment on you: then I shall make you work hard, and
lie on the ground, and drink water only, and fill your
b)elly with whatever comes first; your money, if you
lhave any, at may bidlinug you must talke and throw
into the sea; and you must care for neither wife nor
children, nor country; and hold all things vanity;
and leave your father's house and sleep in an empty
tomb, or a ruined tower,- ay, or in a tub: and have
your wallet filled with lentils, and parchments closewritten on both sides. And in this state you shall
profess yourself happier than the King of the East.
And if any man beats you, or tortures you, this you
shall hold to be not painfuil at all.
CGust. How! do you mean to say I shall not feel
pain when I'm  beaten?  Do you think I've the shell
of a crab or a tortoise, man?.
Diog. You can (quote that line of Euripides, you
know, —-slightly altered.
Cast. And what's that, pray?
Diog.
"Thy mind shall feel pain, but thy tongue confess none."' 
But the qualifications you will most require are these:
you must be unscrupulous, and brazen-faced, and ready
* This unfortunate quibble of Euripides, which he puts into




THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS.               99
to revile prince and peasant alike; so shall men take
notice of you, and hold you for a brave man.  Moreover, let your speech be rough, and your voice harsh.
and in fact like a dog's growl; and your countenance
rigid, and your gait corresponlding to it, and your
nanner generally brute-like and savaage.  All nlodesty
and gentleness and moderation put far froml you; the
fiaculty of blushing you must eradicate utterily.  Seek
the most crowdecl haunts of men; but when there,
keep solitary, and hold converse with none; address
neither friend nor stranger, for that would be the
ruin of your empire.  Do in sight of all what others
are almost ashamed to do alone.  At the last, if
you choose, choke yourself with a raw  polypus, or
an onion.*  And this happy consummnation I devoutly
wish you.
Cust. (recoverinSg from  some astonzishment).  Get
out with you! what abomlinable and unnatural principles!
Diog. But very easy to carry out, mind you, and
not at all difficult to lealn.  One needs no education,
or reading, or such nonsense, for this systeml; it's tho
real short cut to reputation.  Be you the most ordinary person, —cobbler, sausagemonger, carpenter, pawnthe month of HIippolytus in his play (Hipp. 612) as a defence
of perjury,-'My tongue bath sworn it —but my thought was free "was a never - failing subject of parody to his critics and
satizrists.
" The first mode of suicide was said to have been adopt ed
by the philosopher Democritus.




100                 LUCIAN.
broker, -nothing  hinders your being  the  object
of popular admiration, provided  only that you've
impudence enough, and brass enough, and a happy
talent for bad language.
Cust. Well, I don't require your instructions in
that line.  Possibly, however, you might do for a
bargeman or a gardener,' at a pinch, if this party
has a mind to sell you for a couple of oboli,- I
couldn't give more.
Mere. (eagerly). Take him  at your own bidding;
we're glad to get rid of him, he is so troublesome,
— bawls so, and insults everybody up and down,
and uses such very bad language.
Jup. Call out the next-the Cyrenaic there, in
purple, with the garland on.
lMerc. Now, gentlemen, let me beg your best attention.  This next lot is a very valuable one -quite
suited to parties in a good position. Here's Pleasure
and Perfect Happiness, all for sale! Who'll give me
a bidding now, for perpetual luxury and enjoyment?
[A CyreiaZic, bearing traces of recent debauch, staggers
into the ring.]
CGust. Come forward here, and tell us what you
know: I shouldn't mind buying you, if you've any
useful qualities.
Mere. Don't disturb him, sir, if you please, just
now-don't ask him any questions. The truth is, he
* For the accomplishments of the bargemen and vinedressers in the way of bad language we have Horace's testimony, Sat. i. 5 and 7. The first-mentioned fraternity bear the
same reputation still




THiE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHIERS            101
has taken a little too much; that's why he doesn't
answer-his tongue's not quite steady.
CGust. And who in their senses, do you suppose.
would buy such a debauched and drunken rascal2
Faugh! how he stinks of unguents! and lock how he
staggers and goes from side to side as he walks! 1 But
tell us, now, Mercury, what qualifications he really
has, and what he knows anything about.
Mere. Well, he's very pleasant company -good to
drink with, and can sing and dance a little-useful to
a master who is a man of pleasure and fond of a gay
life.  Besides, he is a good cook, and clever in made
dishes-and, in short, a complete master of the science
of luxury.  He was brought up at Athens, and was
once in the service of the Tyrants of Sicily, who gave
himt a very good character.  Tle sum  of his principles is to despise everything, to make use of everything, and to extract the greatest amount of pleasure
firom everything.
Cust. Then you must look  out for some other
purchaser, among the rich and wealthy here; I can't
afford to buy such an expensive indulgence.
Merc. I fear, Jupiter, we shall have this lot left on
our hands-he's unsaleable.
* If this be really meant for Aristippus, the founder of the
Cyrenaic philosophy, it is the most unfair presentation of all.
However some of his followers might have abused his principles, his own character is probably much more fairly described
by Horace:" All lives sat well on Aristippus; though
He liked the high, he yet could grace the low."
-Ep. I. xvii,




102                  L UCIA N..Jup. Put him aside, and bring out another.  Stay,
-those two there, that fellow from Abdera who is
always laughing, and the Ephesian, who is always
crying; I've a mind to sell them as a pair.
merc. Stand out there in the ring, you two.-We
offer you here, sirs, two most admirable characters, the
wisest we've had for sale yet.
Cust. By Jove, they're a remarkable contrast! Why,
one of them  never stops laughing, while the other
seems to be in trouble about something, for he's in
tears all the time.  Holloa, you fellow! what's all this
about   What are you laughing at?
Democritus. Need you ask.    Because everything
seems to me so ridiculous-you yourselves included.
Cust. What! do you mlean to lauglh at us all to our
faces, and mock at all we say and (lo?
Demn. Undoubtedly; there's nothing in life that's
serious.  Everything is unreal and empty-a mere
fortuitous concurrence of indefinite atoms.
Cust. You're an indefinite atom yourself, you rascal!
Conlfound your insolence, won't you stop laughing?
But you there, poor soul (to Hevactbzitus), why do you
weep so? for there seems more use in talking to you.
HIeraccitus. Because, stranger, everything in lile
seems to me to call for pity and to deserve tears; there
is nothing but what is liable to calamity; wherefore
I mourn for men, and pity them.  The evil of to-day I
regard not much: but I mourn for that which is to
come hereafter-the burning and destruction of all
things.  Thlis I grieve for, and that nothing is permanent, but all mlingled, as it were, in one bitter cup,




IHE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS.   103
-pleasure that is no pleasure, knowledge that knows
nothing,, greatness that is so little, all goirng round and
round and taking  their turn in this game of life.
Czust. WTVhalt do you hold humlnn. life to be, then?
Her. A  child  at play, hanldling  its toys, and
chang'ing them  with every caprice.
Gast. And whlcat are ileln 
IHer. Gods- but mortal.
CGst. Andc tlle gods?
Her,'. Men —but immortal.
CGust. You speak in riddles, fellow, and put us off
with puzzles.  You are as bad as Apollo Loxias, giving
oracles that no manl can understand.
Ier. Yea; I troLble not myself for any of ye.
Cust. Then no man in his senses is like to buy
you.
H1er. Woe! woe to every man of ye, I say! buyers
or not buyers.
Cust~. Why, this fillow is pretty near mad!-I'll
have nought to do withl either of them, fbr my part.
1ere. (hwnting to Jupiter). We shall have this pair
left on our hands too.
JuTzp. Put up anlother,
Itferc. WMill you hlave that Athenian there, who talks
so much?
JzuG. Ay-try him.
M~ere. Step out, there!-A highly moral character,
gentlemen, and very sensible.  Who makes me an
offer for this truly pious lot?
[The morality which the satirist puts into the mouth
of Socrates, in his replies to the interrogatories of his




104                  L UCIA N.
would-be purchaser, is that whichl was attributed to him
-probably quite without foundation-by his enemies.
The customer next asks, where he lives?]
Socirates. I live in a certain city of mine own building, a new  model Republic, and I make laws for
myself. -
CGust. I should like to hear one of them.
Soc. Listen to my grand law of all, then, about
wives-that no man should have a wife of his own,
hut that all should have wives in common.
CTust. What! do you mean to say you have abrogated all the laws of marriage?
Soc. It puts an end, you see, to so many difficult
questions, and so much  litigation  in the divorce
courts.
Cust. Grand idea that! But what is the miain
feature of your philosophy?
Soc. The existence of ideals and patterns of all
things in nature.  Everything you see-the earth,
and all that is on it, the heavens, the sea-of all
these there exist invisible ideals, external to tllis
visible universe.
Cust. And pray where are they 1
Soc. Nowhere. If they were confined to any place,
you see, they could not be at all.
Cust. I never see any of these ideals of yours.
Soc. Of course not: the eyes of your soul are
blind.  But I can see the ideals of all things.  I see
a' It must be remembered that Plato, in his'Republic,'
makes Socrates the expositor of his new polity throughout; he
had probably derived at least the leading ideas from him.




THE SALE OF THE PilILOSOP-H1ERS.   105
an invisible  double of yourself, and  another self
besides myself-in fact, I see everything double.
CGust. Bless me! I Ilust buy you, you are so very
clever anld sharp-sighted.  Coime (turning to Mercury),
what do you ask for hliml
Mere. Give us two talents for him.
COust. I'll take him  at your price.  I'll pay yoanother time.
JMerc. What's your name?
Cust. Dion, of Syracuse.
IMere. (imakes a note). Take him, and good luck to
you.  Now, Epicurus, we want you. Who'll buy this
lot?  He's a disciple of that laughing fellow, and also
of the other drunken party, whom  we put up just
now.  Ile knows more than either of them, however.
on one point-lie's mlore of an infidel.  Otherwise,
he's a pleasant fellow, and fond of good eating.
Cast. What's his price?
jiere. Twro minae.
Cust. Here's the money.  But just tell us what he
likes best.
Mere. Oh, anything sweet-honey-cakes, and figs
especially.
Cust. They're easily got; Carian figs are cheap
enlough.
Jup. Now then, call another-him with the shaven
crown there, and gloomy looks-the one we got fromn
the Porch yonder.
Merec. You're right.  I fancy a good many of out
customers who have come to the sale are waiting to
bid for himl.-Now I'm  goillng to offer  yo  the most




106                    L UCIA N.
perfect article of all-Virtue personified.  Who wants
to be the only man who knows everything?
Cust. What do you mean?
Mere. I mean that here you have the only wise
man, the only handsome man, the only righteous man,
the true and only king, general, orator, legislator, and
everything else there is.'
Gust. The true and only cook then, I conclude, and
cobbler, and carpenter, and so forth?
Mere. I conclude so too.
Cust. Collie then, lly good fellow-if I'm  to purchase you, tell me all about yourself; and first let me
ask, with all these wonderful qualifications, are you
not mortified at being put up for sale here as a slave 
Cltrysiippus. Not at all: such things are external
to ourselves, and whatever is external to ourselves, it
follows must be matters of indifference to us.
[The Stoic proceeds to explain his tenets, in the
technllical jargon of his school-whiclh his listener declares to be utterly incomprehensible, and on which
modern readers would pronounce much the same judg* Lucian had evidently in his mind the humorous sketch of
the Stoic given by Horace, Sat. i. 3:" What though the wise ne'er shoe or slipper made,
Thie wise is still a brother of the trade,Just as Hermogenes, when silent, still
Remains a singer of consummate skillAs sly Alfenius, when he had let drop
His implements of art and shut up shop,
Was still a barber,-so the wise is best
In every craft, a king's among the rest."-(Conington. 




THE SALE OF THE PiIILOSOPHERS.   107ment.  His great accomplishment lies, as he himself professes, in the skilful hanclling of sophisms —
" word-nets," as he calls theml —in which he entangles
his opponents, stops their mouths, anld reduces
them  to silence.  He gives an example of his art,
which is a curious specimen of the kind of folly to
which the wisdom of the ancients occasionally concescended. A crocodile is supposed to have seized a boy
in crossing a river, and promises to restore him to
his father if this latter can guess correctly what
he intends to do with him.  If he guesses that the
crocodile means to give him  back, he has guessed
wrong, because the crocodile's real intention is to eat
him.  If lie guesses that the crocodile means to eat
him, why then, if the crocodile gives him  back after
all, the guess would plainly be proved wrong' by the
result; so that there seems no chance for the father,
guess which he will.   The philosopher assures his
listener that this is but one out of many choice
examples of the sophistical art with which he is prepared to furnish him; and when the other retorts upon
him somlewhat in his own style, the Stoic threatens to
knock him down with an " indemonstrable syllogism,"
the effect of which, he warns lim, swill be to plunge
him  into "' eternal doubt, everlasting silence, and clistraction of mind."  In the end, however, he is purchased by his interrogator for "self and company."
The next who is put up for sale is "' the Peripatetic,"
by whoml Aristotle is clearly intended. With him the
satirist deals briefly and lightly, as thougli he hacd
~ome tenderness for that particular school. "G You will




108                   L UCIA I.
find him," says the auctioneer, "moderate, upright,
consistent in his life-anld vwhat makes him yet more
valuable is that in hiln you are really buying two
meln." C How  do yo u mrake that out." asks the customer.  "Beeaui-e," explairns Mercury, "he appears to
ble one person outside and another inside; and rememhir, if you buy Ihim, you must call one' esoteiric' and
tlhe other'exoteric.' "  WVitl such recomml:endaltions,
tlle Peripatetic findcs a ready purchaser for the large
siimi of twenity minml. Last comIes the Sceptic, Pyriho,
wbho figures, by a slight change of namle, as Pyrrhia,
a common appellation fior a barbarianl  slave.  The
ilntending purchaser asks him  a few questions.]
Cust. Tell me, now, what do you know?
Pyrrhia. Nothlinlg.
Oust. What do vou, mean.
Pyrrlh. That nlothing seems to me certain.
CGst. Are we ourselves notilinlg 
Pyrrh. Well, thlat is wl at I am not sure of.
Ca&st. Don't you knlow  whether you are anything
yourself?
Pyrqrh. That is what I am still more in doubt about.
Cust. What a creature of doubts it is! And what
are those scales for, pray?
Pyrrh. I weigh arguments in them, and balance
them one against anothler; andl tlen, when I find them
precisely equal and of the same weight,'why, I find it
impossible to tell whichl of themll  is true.
CGast. Well, is there anything you can do in any
other line of business I




:THE SALE OF TilE PHILOSOPHERS.    109
Pyrrh. Anything, except catch a runaway slave.
Cust. And why can't you do that?
Py'rrhq. Because, you see, I've no faculty of apgprehe-nsion.*
Cust. So I should think-you seem  to me quite
slow  and stupid.  And now, what do you consider
the main end of knowledge?
Pyrrh. Ignorance  to hear nothing  and see nothing.
Cust. You confess yourself blind and deaf then?
Pyrrh. Yea, and void of sense and perception, alnd
in no wise differing from a worm.
Gust. I must buy you.  (To liercury.) What shall
we say for him?
Hferc. An Attic mina.
CGust. Here'tis.  Now, fellow, have I bought you
or not -tell me?
Pyrh. Well, it's a doubtful question.
Cust. Not at all-at least I've paid for you.
Pyrrh. I reserve my opinion  on that point; it
requires consideration.
Cust. Follow  me, at all events —that's a servant's
duty.
Pyrrh. Are you sure you're stating a fact?
Cust. (irmpatiently). There's  the  auctioneer, and
there's the money, and there are the bystanders to
witness.
Pyrrh. Are you sure there are any bystanders?
* The pun here happens to be the same in English as in
Greek. But the Athenians were fonder of such word-play than
we are.




110                   LUCIA N.
Cust. I'll have you off to the grinding-hnouse,$' sir, and
make you feel I'm your lmaster by very tangible proofs.
Pygrbh. Stay-I should like to argue that point a
little.
[The doubting philosopher is hurried off, still unconvinced, by Mercury and his new owner, and the sale is
adjourned to the next day, when Mercury promises the
public that he shall have some cheaper bargains to
offer. The whole scene reads like a passage from the
old Aristophanic comedy; and though some of the
allusions must necessarily lose much of their pungency
from  our comparative ignorance of the popular philosophy of Lucian's day, the humlour of it is still
sufficiently entertaininlg.]
The professors of the various Schools of Philosophy
may well be supposed to have been loud in their indcignation at this caricature, and in their denunciation
of the author.   Or at least it suited Lucian's purpose
to assume that they were so, and to makle the wrath of
the solemn fraternity, real or inimagined, the subject of
a Dialogue which follows by way of sequoel to the first.
Possibly, also, he desired to guard against ally misconception of his purpose in the satire, and to mliake it
clear that it was not against true philosophy or sound
science that he directed his wit, but against shallow and
conceited pretenders. This second Dialogue —" The IResuseitated Professors"-presents the author flying for his
life, pursued by a body of irate philosophers of all sects,
i Slaves who:nis6behaved weiec sil:e.t tll ir~L, as the hardest work.




THE BRESUSJCITA TED PROFESSORS.    111
who have obtained one clay's leave of absence from the
Shades below to avenge themselves on their libeller.
THE IRESUSCITATED PROFESSORS.
Socrates. Pelt the wretch! pelt him with volleys of
stones,-throw clods at him,-oyster-shlells! Beat the
blasphemer with your clubs —don't let him  escape!
Hit him, Plato! and you, Chrysippus! and you! —
Form a phalanx, and rush on him  all together! As
Homer says-" Let wallet join with wallet, club
with club! "   le is the commlon enemy of us all, and
there is no man among ye whom he has not insulted.
You, Diogenes, now use that staff of yours, if ever you
did! Don't stop! let him have it, blasphemer that he is!
What! tired already, Epicurus and Aristippus i  You
oghlit not to be:" Be men, professors! summon all your pluck!"
Aristotle, do run a little faster!-That's good! we've
caught the beast! We've got you, you rascal! You
shall soon find out Awho you've been abusing! Now
what shall we do with him? Let us think of some
multiform kind of death, that may suffice for all of us
— for he deserves a separate death from each.
1Philosop7her A. I vote that he be impaled.
PAhil. B. Yes-but be well scourged first.
Phlil. C. Let his eves be gouged out.
Phil. D. Ay- but his tongue should be cut out
first.
Soc. What think you, Empedocles?
lfnzgedocles. He should be thrown down the crater




112                  LUCIA N.
of some volcano, and so learn not to revile his
betters.
Plato. Nay-the best punishment for him will be
that, like Pciltheus or Orpheus,"Torn by the ragged rocks he meet his fate."
Lucian. Oh no, no, pray! spare me, for the love
of heaven!
Soc. Sentence is passed: nothing can save you.
ior, as Honler says,"'Twixt men and lions, say, what truce can hold?"
Lue. And I implore you, too, in Homer's words —
you will respect him, perhaps, and not reject me, when
I give you a recitation,"Spare a brave foe, and take a ransom meet,
Good bronze, and gold —which even wise men love." *
But his captors have an answer ready out of Homer's
ilexhaustible repertory; and  an appeal which the
prisoner nlakes to Euripides is met in a similar manncr.  Lucian begs at least to be heard in his own
d(efence.  He will prove that he is really the champion
and patron of true philosophy, to whom he owes all
that he knows.  Let him  at least have a fair trial,
before any judge they please.  None can be better
than Philosophy herself; but where can she be ibund?2
Lucian himself does not know where she lives, though
he has often made inquiry.  He has seen men in grave
* Parodied from Homer, Ii. x. 378, &c. But the last half-line
is Ltcian's owna.




TIHE RES USCITATED PROIESSORS.    113
habits, with lonl, beards, who ougldt to have known,
but they have always misdirected him.  He has seen,
too, a flaunrting woman, affecting to represent her, whose
hall of audience was throilged with visitors; but he
had soon detected her as a mere impostor.
Plato agrees with him, that the dwelling of Philosophy is hard to find, nor is her (loor open to all idle
comers.  But while they are speaking, they meet her
walking in the portico; and to her, by.consent of both
parties, the prisoner's case is referred.  Virtue, and
Temperance, and Justice,-and Education, who are walking in her comnpany, shall be her assessors in the court;
and Truth, "a colourliess form, all but imperceptible"
-of whoin Lucian himself has but a din glimpsewho brings with her Liberty aind Free-speech.  The
court is held in the temple of Mimlerva. ThIe aggrieved
parties hlave to choose one of their numIler as formal
accuser; and Clhrysippus, in words of' high eulogy
which may fairly be taken to express the serious
opinion of the author himself, sutggests Plato as the
fittest for that office.  The " marvellous sublimity of
thought, the Attic sweetness of (lliction, the persuasive
grace, and sagacity, and accuracy, andcl apposite illustrations; the delicate irony and raapid interrogation,"
which are here attributed to the great philosopher, are
all too genuine characteristics to hlave been introduced
ironically.   But Plato declines the office, and the
Cynic Diogenes undertakes it, readily enough, disgusted as he is at having been valued at no more than
two oboli at the late " Sale." He accuses Lucian of
endeavouring to bring all philosophy into contempt.
A. c. vol. xviii.                          H




114                   L ULCIA N.
-ie is worse than  the comedy-writers, Eilpolis and
Aristopllanes, who could at least plead( ill their excuse
the recognised licence of the Dionysiac festivals.  He
calls for such a sentence on this profane libeller as
lay deter others from following his example.  Lucian
lefends himself by protesting that it is only sham
tplilosophers, " asses in lions' skins," who shelter their
pl'etensions under the shadow of great names, that he
has attacled; it is tlhey, not he, who bring Philosophy
iinto  contempt.   Such  gloss misrepresentations  as
theirs are the less excusalle because of the dignity of
the things which they mnisrepresent.  " The actor who
performs ba-dly thle part of a slave or a messenger is
guilty of but a venial fault; but to present a Jupiter
or a Hercules to the audience in a fashion unllworthy
of the dignity of the character becomes wellnigh a
1frofarnatioil."
The satirist is triumlllantly acquitted.  Even Plato
anld Diogenes iwithdrew their accusation, and join in
hlailing him as the real friend of Truth.  It is resolved
to call up the false pretenders to philosophy for trial
before the same court. Lucian desires " Syllogism"that useful instrument of argumlent, who acts as crier
of the court-to summn-on them for this purpose; but
a strict logical examlirnation is exactly what these professors shrink from.  Lucian succeeds, however, in
securing their atten(lance by a proclamation of his own.
He announces a )ptblic distribution of money and( corn
in thle Acropolis; zand whoever can show a very long
beard shall be entitled to a basket of figs into the
bargain.  They comle in crowds-Stoics, Peripatetics,




THE MODERNV LAPITI.                 l 115
and Epicureans, each claiming to be served first.  [But
as soon as they hear of the investigation into their
lives and morals, as well as their professions, which
is to take place, all but two or three take to flight in
a panic.  Then Lucian adopts another plan to catch
them for examination: he hangs out from the wall of
the Acropolis a fisherman's rod and line, baited with a
cluster of figs and a purse of gold.  They take the bait
eagerly, and are hauled up one after another; and as
each of the masters of philosophy repudiates all knowledge of them as true disciples, are thrown headlong
from the rock.  But as there is a risk lest some strong
fish should break the line and make off with the bait,
Lucian goes down into the city accompanied by Conviction (one of Philosophy's suite), prepared under her
guidance to crown with olive such as can stand the
test, and to brand conspicuously on the forehead, with
the impression of a fox or an ape, all whose profession
is a mere cloak for selfish ends.  He foretells that
they will require for their purpose very few  olive
crowns, but a good supply of branding-irons.
T1IE BANQUET; OR, THE MODERN BATTLE OF THE LAPITHE.
This is another humorous attack upon the Schools of
Philosophy in general, cast in the form of a dialogue.
There has been a wedding supper-party at the house of
an Athenian of some rank, on the occasion of the
marriage of his son, of which Lycinus (i.e., Lucian)
here gives an account in a conversation with a friend.
lie apologises-ironically —for telling the story at all;




3116                 d~ LUCiA Nv.
lhe protests agaillst betraying the secrets of hospitality;
he declares that, like the poet, he " hates a guest who
has a retentive miemory;" but since the tale hlas already,
he finds, got abroad, —why, perhaps he had better tell
it himnself, in order that at least it may be told truly.
His friend is sure that in point of fact he is burning to
tell it, aind threatens, if he aficCts any more scruple il
tlhe llatte'r, to go to some one else for his information.
Tlhen Lucian lbeins his narrative.  There had been
invited to this banquet representatives of all the diffrent schools,-Stoic, Peripatetic, and Epicurean, and
a' granmmarian " (what we should call a "literary
man") alll a rhetorician besides.   Io the Platonist,
known in the circles of schoolmlen as " The Model,"
tutor to tle yourng bjridegroom, also enters among the
guests, and is treated by the host and by most of the
company with gl-eat consideration and respect, though
the Stoic insisted upon being assigned the highest seat.
Alcidqn.ias, the Cynic, came in last, without an invitation, quoting, as an impudent sort of apology, the
words of Homer-'But Mienelaus uninvited caime."
To which  one of the guests whispered a very apposite
reply from the same poet"Howbeit this pleased not Agamemnon's heart."
The good host, however, though all the seats were
already filled, with much coultesy offered him a stool;
but this the Cynic declined as an effeminate and needless luxury. He preferred, he said, to take his food
standing; and accordingly ate his supper, as Lucian




THE MODIERN LA PTIHE.                 117
describes it, "in a kind of nomad fashion, like the
Scythians, looking  out the best pias-t.ues, and following
the dishes as the slaves halnded them  round."  And
still, as be ate and drank, he declaimed loudly against
the luxury of such entertainnlen ts, until the host stopped
his mlounth with a cup of stIong wine.  The Peripatetic
pllilosopher was observed to be flirting surreptitiously
Vwith a pretty waiting-lmaid,-c a piroceeding to whliC
the host had to put a stop by sendingl her quietly out
of thle room, and stuilstittiultg a rough-looking groom
in her place.  As the Nviie went round, and tongues
we're loosened, thel rhlietorician began to recite passages
from  his orations; whiile the Zitti a nter o, no t content
with quoili)g Pindar and Anacreon, went on to favour
the company with a very tiresome extempore poem of
his own.'There was a hire(- jester present, who, 1of
course, launcllhed his j( lkes inldiseri linately, as occasion
offered, at all the company.  MIost of them  took it
good-hlmuouredly enough; but the Cynic, accustomnedl
to make jests instead of being tlhe sub-ject of thenl,
lost his temper, and engaged  in a match at fisticuffs
with the poor buffoon,.vilo was a mere pigmy of a
man, but who nevertheless gave him  a good thras.ling, to the great delight of the company.
But at this staige of the entertainlllent a slave entered
wit.h a note.  One Stoic professor lhad been left out of
the list of invitations, and lad sent an angry remonstrance, in the form of a kindl of speech, which the slave
-Nwas instructed to read.  "Though, as was well known,
he disliked and despised feasts, as a Tmere form of selnsual oratification; still, ing'ratitude was a thing he could




118                 L UcCIAN.,
not bear. Forgotten? accidentally overlooked. Oh no,
-that excuse would not do. Twice that very morning
he had purposely made his bow to his friend Aristenetus. No one can be expected to put up with such
marked neglect.  Even Diana could not forgive not
having been invited to the sacrifice of (Eneus.  He
begs to enclose a philosophical problem  which he
challenges the whole party of these pretenders who
have been preferred to him to solve if they can.  He
could tell a story about the bridegroom, too, butnever mind.  And he begs to say in conclusion, that
it is no use to think of appeasing his righteous indignation by offering now to send a present of game, or
anything of that kind, by his servant,-the man has
strict orders not to take it."
Lucian declares he was quite ashamed when he
heard this production read.  "You could never have
expected such mean and unworthy language," he says,
"from a man of his hoary hairs and grave demeanour."
The Peripatetic philosopher took occasion from it at
once to attack the Sl;oics generally in the most unmeasured language. One of that school who was in the
company retaliated in similar terms-all the professors
set to work to abuse each other, and ended by throwing wine in each other's faces, and indulging in other
social courtesies of a like kind.
"I could not help reflecting," says the satirist, "how
little the learning of the Schools avails us, if it does
nothing to improve and dignify the intercourse of daily
life.  Here were scholars of the highest mark making
themselves worse than ridiculous in the eyes of the




THE MODERAN LAPITHE.               119
company!  Can it be true that, as some say, much
poring over books, and stuffing  their heads with other
people's ideas, makes men lose their common-sense.
Such conduct cannot in this case be laid to the charge
of the winie,-for the letter-writer at least was sober.
Yet here are the unlearned portion of the company
behaving themselves quietly and modestly, while sulch
is the example set them by these professors of wisdom!"
Jo, the Platonist, nlow tried to quiet the uproar by
proposing a subject for discussion, upon which, after
the fashion of the Dialogues of Plato, each should be
allowed to speak in his turn and without interruption.
He suggested " MAarriaoe " as an appropriate theme,
and proceeded to deliver his own opinion thereupon,
which is, of course, that of his great  master, as broached
in his' Republic,' and as we lhave had it set forth
by Socrates in his exalmination at the " Sale." i  It
uwoulcl be far better if men would makle up their
muinds to  do withott it altogether; but as this
seems improbable, at least he  would  recommend
the abolition of the prejudice in favour of having
separate wives.  Lucian thou ght this expression of
opinion somewhat curious, to say the very least, upon
such an occasionl.  The literary gentleman, instead of
giving his own views on the question, took the opportunity of reciting to the company an epithalamium
of his own composition, which is no doubt a fair
burlesque of the common style of such productions.
Then, as it grew late, the guests began to make their
* See I). 104.




120                  L U CIAN.
preparations for departure; and each proceeded to pack
up and carry home, as was the custom  at such entertainments, some little delicacy set apart for them  by
their liberal host.  They quarrelled again, however, in
their greediness, over the largest portions and the fattest fowls.  A  "free fight" of philosohllers ensued,
which Lucian could only aptly compare with the battle
between the Centaurs and Lapitlhe at the marriage of
Pirithous.  In tle midst of it Alcidamas the CNynic, by
design or accident, upset the lamp, ald the combatants
were left for a while in darkness.  When it -was suddenly relightedl, some awkward revelations were made.
The Peripatetic moralist was discovered maaking fierce
love to a mnusic-girl, while the Epicurean was concealing
under his robe a gold cup which he had snatched from
the table.   Wounded adcl bleeding,, the combatants
were assisted from the room by their attendant slaves.
But even thus they could not resist a gibe or two at
parting.  The Epicurean, with two teeth knocked out
in the scuffle, saw the Stoic, professor with a damnaged
eye and his nose blee(-linlg,, and bids him remenlber that,
according to his own telluts, " Pain is no real evil."
Lucian could' only sum  up the moral, he tells his
friend, in the words of Euripides,"How strange and various are the fates of men!
The gods still bring to pass the unforeseen,
And what we look for never conies at all." *
For what could possibly be more unexpected than
T'Ihe somewhat weak " tag " common to several of -Euripides's play.s




.HER Pi'O TIM11US.              1 21
such a termination to a philosophical and literary
symposium I
iFtRMOTIMUS.
This Dialogue, between  the  author himself as
Lycinus and a disciple of the Stoic school, thonhla
rather of graver cast than either of the preceding, has
yet a great deal of quiet humour in it, and bears token
of careftul finish.  It is a goocl-humoured blow at tile
Stoics, and through them at the theories of philosophers
generally: bat it seems to convey also a graver lesson,
which was probably often present to a mind like
Lucian's,-that wisdom is hard to find, and that humlan
life is not long enough for the subcessful pursuit of her.
Lycinus meets Hernmotimus going to one of his
master's lectures. The student walks with a meditative
air, repeating mentally his lesson of yesterday: for, as
he explains, he must lose no timle; "life is short, and
art is long," as said the great Hippocrates; and if it
were true of physic, still more true is it of philosophy.
Lycinus remarks that as, to his certain knowledge,
Hterllotimus has been studying hard for the last twenty
years, much to the detriment of his health and his
complexion, he should have conceived that he must
by this time be very near the attainment of the goal
of happiness —if that be synonymous with wisdom.
" Nay," replies the other; "Virtue, as Hesiod tells us,
dwells afar off, and the road to her is long, and very
steep and rough, and costs no small toil to theim that
travel it."  He himself is as yet only at the foot of
the mountain.  And when does he hope to get to the




122                  LU UCIA N.
top?  Well, Hermotimus thinks possibly in another
twenty years or so.  Lycinus remarks that a man
might go three times round the world in that time: and
can his master promise him that he will live so long?
He hopes so, at least; and one day-one minute
-of enjoyment on the summit, if once attained, will
recompense him fully for all Ihis time and pains.  But
is he sure again that the happiness he seeks there, and
of which lie can have as yet no kind of experience,
will be found worth the search l  and in what is it to
consist   glory, riches, exquisite pleasures-is that
what he expects?  Hermnotilllus bids his friend talk
more soberly: the life of virtAe is not concerned with
suchL things as these.  The fine passage which follows
can scarcely be altogether ironical. " Riches and glory,
and all pleasures of tile body, all these are stripped off
and left below, and the man ascends, like Hercules,
who rose a god fromn the pile which consumed him on
IMount (Eta: so did he throw off there all that was
mortal, all that he inherited from  his earthly mother,
and bearing with him that which was divine, now purified by fire and cleansed from all dross, soared upwards
to the gods.  And so they who are purified by philosophy, as though by fire, from the love of all those
things which men in their ignorance hold in admiration, attain the summit and there enjoy all happiness,
remembering no more either riches, or glory, or pleasure, and smiling at those who still believe in their
existence."
Lycinus meets him with the weapon which is always
at hand-which the weakness of llhmana nature fur



IERt nM 0 TIMf US.            123
nishes us with as an answer to all high aspirations.
]Men's lives are not found to be in accordance with the
principles they profess.  The actual Stoics whom  he
sees and knows do not display this insensibility to
riches and pleasures which the theoretical Stoic proclaims.  He has seen Hermotimus's own master, the
great Stoic himself, dragginfg off a pupil before the
magistrates for not paying his fees.  The dialogue
which follows is amusing.
Lferm7olti,,us. Ah! that fellow was a rascal, and very
ungrlateful in the matter of payment. My naster never
treated other people so (and there were many he hlad
lent money to) —because, you see, they paid him  the
interest punctually.
Lyciznus. But even suppose they never paid, my
good fellow, what difference could it make to a man
like him, —purified by philosophy, and not caring for
what he had left behind-on Mount CEta, you know?
NHer2m. You don't suppose it was on his own account
he troubled himself about it? He has a young family,
and he would not like to see them come to want.
Lyec. But then, my good Hlermotiimus, he ought to
bring them up in virtuous habits too-to be happy
like him, and care nothing for money.
Herme. I really have no time now, Lycinus, to discuss
such questions with you: I'm1 in a great hurry to get
to his lecture, and am afraid of being too late.
Lycinus begs him to set his mind at rest on that
point; to-clday, he can assure hiln, will be a holiday




124                  L UCIAN.
so far as lectures are concerned.  IHe has just seen
a notice to that effect, in large letters, posted on the
professor's door.  He happens to know that the excellent man is keeping his bed, and has given strict orders
not to be disturbed; having, in fact, been at a late
supper-party the night before. where he had eaten and
drunk rather more than was good for him.  He had
been engaged there, too, in a warm dispute with a Peri
patetic, which had helped to disturb his digestion. The
scholar is naturally anxious to know whether his master
got the better of his opponent.  " Yes," says his ilformant; "the Peripatetic being  rather obstinate  and
argumentative, not willing to be convinced and troublesome to refute, your excellent master, having a cup in
his hand such as would have rejoiced the heart of old
Nestor," broke his head with it-they were sitting close
together —alld so silenced him at once."  "An excellent
plan, too," says the scholar; " there's no other way of
dealing with men who won't be convinced."  And Lycinus gravely assures hiim that he quite concurs in the
opinion.  "It is extremely wrong and foolish," he admits, " to provoke a pllilosopher —especially when he
happens to have a heavy goblet in his hand."
He proposes, however, that as Hermotimus cannot
go to his master's lecture  to - day, he should turn
lecturer himlself for once, so far at least as to give his
old friend some account of his experience as a student
of philosophy.  Only one thing he would be glad to
* "Scarce miguht another raise it froml the board
When full; but aged Nestor raised with ease."
-Iliad, xi. 6j,5 (Lord Derby).




HEAM IOTI 0     US.             125
know before they begin-will he permit his present
ignorant pupil to ask questions, or even contradict
him, if he sees occasion?  Hernmotinlus says it is not
usually  allowed by the teaclle, but in the present case
he sllhall not object.*
The portion of this d(ialogue which follows is a clever
imitattion of the Socratic mode of argument by asking
continuous questions, and forcing answers from  an
opponent whllich have the result of relducing his statement to an al)surdity.  Lycitlus shows himnself an
adept in this kind of fence.  T'l'hough too longr for extract here, it is doing scanty justice to the aulthor to
condense it; yet the spirit of it may perhaps be fairly
given.
Is there one only path to plhilosophy-that of the
Stoics-or, as Lyeinus has hearcld, many, and under
various nalmnes?  Many, undoubtedly, is the answer.
-And do all teach the same or differentll     Totally
different.-Then, probably, only one can be right?
Certainlly.And how camle Hermlotimus (being at the
first outset an ignoramllus, of course, like otlhers, and
not the wise or half-wise man he is now)l-how canme
lie to knoxw which to choose out of all these different
schools. how  distinguish the true from  the false?
Well-he sawv the greater numbers go one way, and
judged that must be the best.-And wvhat mLjority
had  the Stoics over the Epicureans  and cl does he
* The disciples of Plato were apt to reply to those disputants
who were so unreasonable as to ask for proof of any assertion" He said it himself "-the " ipse dixit " which has passed into
a modern phrase.




126                  L r C'IAN.
really think that in such a matter it is safe to,go liy a
mere majority of voices  But it was not only that;
he heard everybody say the St(ics were  the wisestthat your true Stoic is the only complete man-l king,
and cobbler all in one.-l)id the Stoics say this of
themselves? (because you can hardly trust a man's
own account of himself; ) or did other people say it of
them?  Other people, also, certainly-many of them.Surely not the philosophers of rival sects? they would
not say so?  No.-It was people who were not philosophers at all, then? the vulgar and illiterate, in fact?
and could a man of sense like Hermotimus really go
by what they said on such a question?  Nay, but he
had acted on his own ju(lrdgent as well: he had observed the Stoics to be always grave and well-behaved,
and respectably dressed; not effeminate like some, or
rough like others. Then, says Lycinus, it comes to this,
-you judge wisdom  by dress, and looks, and gait:
which makes it hard for the blind man, does it not?
how  is /he to know  which to follow?  HF.erliotimus
does not consider himself bound to make provision for
the blindl: that is an extreme case.  Well, suppose
we leave the blind to shift -without philosophy, says
Lycinus-though they seem  to want it as much as
allybody, poor fellows, to help them to bear their infirmity-still, even those who can see, how can they
look inside a man and know what he really is?' because you chose these men as guides, I suppose, for
their insides, not their outsides? The student feels
that he is no match for his opponent, and wants to
close the discussion.  " Nothing that I say satisfies




IBiRIM OT JIMUIS.              127
you," he sulkily exclaims.  " Nay," says the other,
"6you don't try to satisfy ame.  You waint to go and
leave me here in the sloughlof ily ignlorance: you are
afraid lest I should become as good a philosopher as
yourself.  You won't teach ime.  So now  you must
listen to me-only don't laugh at my awkward way of
putting things."  The passage which follows is too
fine to mutilate.
Lycinus. I picture virtue to myself in this way,as it were a city whose inhabitants are perfectly happy
(as your teacher would surely tell us if he could
come down from  thenice), perfectly wise and brave
and just and temperate, little less than gods.  And in
that city you would see none of those deeds which are
commlon here among us —nmen robbing and committing
violence, and overreachlling each other: but they live
tooethller as fellow-citizens in peace and harmony. And
no wonder; for all those things which in other states
cause strife and contention, and for the sake of which]
men plot against eachl other, are put far away fromll
them: for they regard neither gold, nor sensual pleasure, nor glory, not holding such things necessary to
their polity.  Thus they lead a calm  and entirely
happy life, under good laws and with equal rights,
liberty, and all other blessiings.
]fermnotimus. Wrell, then, Lycinus, is it not good
for all men to wish to be citizens of such a city, and
neither to regard the toil of the road, nor the long
time spent in the pilgrimage, so only they may reach it,
and be enrolled on its records and share its privileges I




128                   L UCIA N.
Lye. Ay, verily it is, Hermotimus.   That would
of all things be best worth striving' for, even if we
had to give up all besides.  Nor, though this present
land in which we live should seek to hold us back,
ought we to regard it; nor, though children or parents,
if we have them, slhouldl seek with tears to detain us
here, oulght we to be movedl by theul, but rather, if
we may, urge them to follow us on the same path, and
if they cannot or will not, then shake ourselves free
from  them, and make straighlt for that blessed citycasting off our very,garmellt, if they cling to that to
retain us, —eager only to get tllere: for there is no fear,
believe me,, that even the lake(l should be denied admnittance if they reach the gate.  There was an old
mnian, I remember, once on a time, who discoursed to
lme of how  natters went in that city, and exhorted
nle to follow him thither: he would lead the way, he
said, and when I came, would  enrol me in his own
tribe, and let me share his privileges, and so I should
live happy there with them  all.  But I, in my youthful folly (I was scalrce fifteen), would not listen to
ohim,  or I miglht now be in the suburbs of that city, or
even at its,gates.<'  Many thinlgs he told nme of it, as
I seen  to remember, and among thenm this,-that all
there were strangers and imnlligrants, and that many' We shall never know Lucian's full meaning here. Is this
hbut another version of " The Dream," and does he imply that
he had failed to carry out the nobler ideal of his choice, and
hlad sunk into the mere hired pleader? Or had he sonme higher
" dream " still in  is youth, whllose inlvitation he was conscious
of having disobeyedl?




JIIEtMO  TIMUS.               129
barbarians and slaves, nay, and deformed persons, and
dwarfs, and beggars, were enrolled among its citizens,
and in short, that any might wvin the freedom of that
city who would.  For that the law there was that a
man should be ranked not by his dress, or his station,
or his beauty, nor yet by his birth and noble ancestry:
of such matters they took no account.  But it sufficed,
in order to become a citizen, that a man should have
sense, and a love of the right, and diligence, and
energy, and should not faint or be discouraged under
the many difficulties he met with on the road: so that he
who displayed these qualities, and made good his way
thither, was at once admitted as a citizen with equal
rights, be he who he mighllt: and such terms as higher
or lower, noble or plebeian, bond or free, were never
so much as named in that commlunitvy.
Herm. You see then, Lycinus, it is no vain or weak
aspiration of mine, to become a denizen myself of such
a noble and blessed republic.
Lye. Nay, I also, my friend, have the same longing
as yourself, and there is no blessing I would more
devoutly pray for.  If only that city were near, and
manifest to all men's eyes, be sure that I had long ere
this becomae a citizen of it.  But since, as you say
(both you and Hesiod), it lies far off, we must needs
inquire the way, and seek the best guide we can, —is
it not so?
Herm. Else we shall hardly get there.
L/c. Now, so far as promises and professions of
knowing the road go, we have guides offering themselves in plenty: many there are, who stand ready,
C c. vol. xviii. 




130                  L UCIA N.
who tell us they are actually natives of the placeo
But it would seem  there is not one roac  thither,
but many, and all in different directions-one east,
one west, one northll, allother south; some lead
through pleasant meadows and shady groves, with no
obstacles or unpleasantness; others over rough alld
stony ground, thlrough niuch heat ildcl thirst and( toil;
yet all are said to lead to that one and the same city,
tlhough their lines lie so far apart.
There are guides, too, each recommending their own
path as the only true one; whictl of all stuell are wve
to follow.  There is Plato's road, and Epicurus's road,
and the road taken by the Stoics; who is to say which
is right.  The guides themselves know no road but
their own: and though each may declare that they have
seen ca city at tlle end of it, who knows whether they
mean the same city, after all?  The only safe guide
would be the man who had tried every path,-wvho
had( studied profoundly all the theories of Pythagoras,
Plato, IEpicurus, Chrlsiplpus, Aristotle, and the rest,
and chosen  that which, from  his own knowledgc,
and experience, he found to be the best and safest.
And what lifetime would suffice for this?  " Twenty
years," says his friendcl  to HTermotinus, "you have
already been studying undol the Stoics, you told us;
and some twenty more you thought you required to
perfect yourself in their philosophy.  And how many
would you give to Plato? anid ]low many to Aristotle 
and how long do you expect to live? "
Poor Hermotirmus is no match for his Socratic crof




tEtRC  0 TIM US.                131
examiner.  He declares, with great truth and honesty,
thlat his clever friend has succeeded, like many clever
disputants, in n.-akilng him, at all events, very uncomfortable, and that he heartily wishes he had never met
him  that morning in his quiet meditations.  " You
always were overbearing in argiument, Lycinus; I
don't know what harm  Philosoplly ever did you, thlat
you hate her so, and nmake such a joke of us philosophers."  " My (lear Herimotimus," calmly replies his
friend, "you and your master, being pllilosophers,
ought to know more about Truth than I do: I only.
know this much, —she is not always pleasant to those
who listen to her."
The Diadlogue is extended to some length, but the
neophyte Stoic fails to hold his ground. Lycinus argues
that after all there conmes no answer to that great questioll-' What is truth' It may be, after all, that she
is something different from  anything yet discovered.
All visions of her are but different guesses, and all the
guesses may be wrong.  And life is too short to waste
in interminable speculations.  " Words, words," are,
in the opinion of Lycinus, the sum of the philosophy
of the day, whereas life demands action.  Hermotilnus
becomes convinced that he has hitherto been wastillng
his time; henceforth he will try to do his duty as
a private citizen, and if he meets a professor of philosophy in tile street, will "avoid him  as he woul(l
a mad doog."
Lucian is best remembered as a satirist and a jester,
but this Dialogue is enough to prove to us that he was




132                 LUC1 A.
something more.  He jests continually at the falsehoods which were passed off as Truth, and at the
doubtful shadows, of various shape and hue, which
confident theorists insisted were her true and only
embodiment.  ]But if he could have been sure of her
identity, there is no reason to think he would not have
become her ready and willing worshipper.
THE NEW ICARUS.
Hopelessly puzzled by the contradictory theories of
the philosophers, especially on cosmogony, the Cynic
Mienippus has taken a journey to the stars to see
whether he may possibly learn the truth there; and
in the Dialogue which bears the above title he gives an
account of his aerial travels to a friend. He had made
for himself a rather uneven pair of wings by cutting off
one firom an eagle and one from a vulture, and after some
preliminary experiments in flying had succeeded in making good his first stage, to the Moon. The eartl and its
inhabitants looked wonderfully snlall fromt that height;
indeed, except the Colossus of Rhodes and the watchtower of Pharos, he could make out little or nothing;
until Empeclocles, whom he met there (looking as black
as a cinder, as well he mighllt, having so lately conme out
of the crater of Etnat), showed him that by using the
eagle's wing only fio a while he mnight also acquire the
eagle's vision. Then he saw nany things not clearly discernible to ordinary eyes, for his new sight penetrated
even into the houses. IHe saw the Epicurean forswearing himself for a thousand drachnlas, th'e Stoic quarrel



THE   SE TV ICA R US.               133
ling with his pupils about fees, and the Cynic in very
bad companly.  For the rest, the world was going on
nmuch as ble supposed; the Egyptians were busy cultivating their fields, the Phoenicians miaking their merchaxit
voyages, the Spartans whipping their children, and the
Athenians, as usual, in the law-courts.'  6"Such," says
the traveller, " is the confused j lnible of this world. It
is,as though one should hire a multitude of singers,
or rather bands of singers, and then bid each performer
choose his own tune, caring nothing for the harmony;
each singing his loudest, and goillg on with his OWnl
song, and trying to drown his neighbour's voice-you
Inay judge what music that would mlake.  Even such,
my friend, are the performers on earth, and such is
the confused discord which msakes up hullan life; they
not only sound different notes, but move in inharmonlioens time and figure, with no common idea or purpose;
until the choir-master drives them all front the stage,
and says he has no mlore need of them."   He wondelred, too, and  could  not forbear smiling, at the
quarrels which arise between men about their little
strips of territory, when to his eyes, as he looked
down, " all Greece was but four fingers' breadth."  It
reminded him of " a swarm of ants running round and
round and in and out of their city,-one turning over
a bit of dung, anotller seizing a bean-shell, or half a' A reminiscence of Aristophalles, who is never weary of
satirising the passion of his fellow-citizens for law. In his
" Clouds " (1. 280), where Strepsiades is shown Athens on
the wr.at, he erclaims"Athens! go to! I see no law-courts sitting."




1 34                   L UCIA N.
grain of wheat, and running away with it.  Probably
among them  too, conformably to the requirements of
ant-life, they have their architects, and their popular
leaders, and publlic officers, and musicians, and philoso.phers."  [If Ihis friend disapproves of the comparison,
he bids hibln relmellmber the old ThessalianL fable of the
Myrmidons.]
-He was just taking flight again, lie says, when tlle
3'Loon —in a soft and pleasant:temale voice-begged
him to carry somlething for hller up to Jupiter.  "  ly
all mneans,' s.id I,' if it's not very heavy.'     Only a
message,' said she-' just a smlall petition to him.   1'il
quite out of patielce, Alenippus, at bei;ng talked about
in such a shameful way by those philosophers, wiho
seem to have  otllillng else to do but sl)eculate about me
-What I am, and hlcw I)ig I all, and why I aim somnetimes h1alved and somietillecs rounld.  Some of thlem say
I'm inhabited, and othllelrs, that I hang over the sea like
a looking-glass; in short, allny fancy tllat comes into their
heads, they apply to lle.   Anll, as if tllat were not
enough, they say mIy very lighlIt is not ly own, but as
it were of a bastard sort, borrowed fromn tile sun; tryingo
to make mischief between  me adtl hlim-n-my  own
brother-ion purpose to set us at variance; as it' it was
not enoulgh for tlheni to say what they: have about hiuii,
— that he is a stone, and notlilng btt a mass of fire.
Hfow  imany stories I could tell of thenm,  and  tllheir
goings-on o' niohts, for all tlle st,    e fices alnd severe
looks they wear by day I  I see it all, thor gh I ho'ld
my tonguei-it seelms to me scarcely decent to brin r all
their proceedings to light.  So, when I s e any of




THE  NE W  ICA R US.               135
thom  misbehaving, I just wrap myself in a cloud,
not to ex]pose thlem.  Yet they do notlling but discuss
ile in their talk, and insult me ill every way.  So
that I swear I have often  had thoughts of going
away altogether as far as possil)le, to escape their
troublesome tongues.  Be sure you tell Jupiter this,
and say besidles, that I can't possibly stay where I
aml, unless hle c ruslhes those physical science men,
gagc the Dialecticians, pulls clown the Porch, burns
the icaclenly, and puts a stop to those Peripatetics'
so that I may have a little peace, illstead of beinl
mem,,sure(l and examined  by them  every day.''It
sh,,ll be (ione,' said I, and so took mny leave."
So lhe Aet;t on, and reached the abtode of Jupiter,
w!j ere he hoped at first to get in witliout notice, beilng
a)i liost half an eagle-tlhat bird beillg ulnder Jupiter's
piotectioll; but, renmembering that, after all, lie was
a.so half a vulture, lie thought it best to knock at the
door, which was opelled by Mercury. 0   Jupiter comipliimented   hi   I iigllly upon his crourage in making
the jourlley, t.llouglL  the  other  gods were rather
alarmed, thinlking  it a bad  prece(denlt for mortals.
The monarch of Olympus asked hint a good many
questions as to the goinllgs-onl below, about which he
appeared somewhat curious;-' What the price of
wheat was now.l  WVhat sort of a winter they had
last year."  Especially lie was anxious to know what
mortals really thought about him.   MIenippus was
very diplomatic in iris answers.  "C What can they
* Lucian evidently llas in nlind Trygaus's reception by Mlercury, in the "' Peace" of Aristoplh;nes, i. 180, &c.




136                 L UCIA N.
think, your majesty,' said I,'but what they are
in duty bound to think,-that you are the sovereign
of the gods.''Nonsense,' replied his majesty;' I
know very well how fond they are all of something
new.  There was a time when I was thought good
enough to give them  oracles, and heal their diseases,
-when Dodona and Pisa were in all their glory, and
looked up to by everybody, and so full of sacrifices
that I could hardly see for the smoke.  But ever
since Apollo set up his oracle at )Delphi, and Alsculapius his surgery at Pergamus, and Bendis has had
her worship in Thrace, and Anubis in Egypt, and
I)iana at EphesuS, they all run there to hold their
festivals and offer their hecatombs, and look upon
ine as old-fashioned and decrepit, and think it quite
elnough to  sacrifice to me once in six  years at
Olympia.'"  They had a good deal more chat together, says Menippus, after which  Jupiter took
him  to see the place where the prayers came upthrough holes with covers to them.  Their purport
was various and contradictory:  one sailor praying for
a north wind, another for a south; the farmer for
rain, and the fuller for sunshine.  Jupiter only let
the reasonable prayers come through the hole, and
blew the foolish ones back again; but was sadly
puzzled by the contradictory petitions,-especially
when both petitioners promised him a hecatomb.
This business over, they went to supper; and Menippus was highly delighted with Apollo's performance
on the harp, with Silenus's dancing, and with the recitation of some of Hesiod's and Pindar's poetry by the




TRiE  NYETV ICARUS.             137
Muses. A general council of the gods was afterwards
called, in wllich Jupiter announced his intention of
making very short work with the philosophers of
whom the MAoon had complained.  Then Mellippus
was dismissed, under the charge of Mercury, who
had orders, however, to take off his wings, that he
mnight not come that way again; and lie is now
hurrying, he tells his friend, with some malicious
enjoyment, to warn the gentlemen of the Schools of
what they may very soon expect from Jupiter.




CHAPTER V.
SATIRES ON  SOCIETY e
THE PARASITE-UPON  -ITRED COMPANIONS.
IT needs but a slight acquaintance with Greek and
Roman literature, and with social life at Athens in
its later days, and at Rome in the times of the emperors, to know  that the men of rank and wealth
filled their tables not only with their private friends,
but also with guests who stood lower in the social
scale, and were invited because tlley contributed in
some way either to the amusement of the company
or to the glorification of the host.  A rich man, if he
had any pretence to a good position in society, kept
almost open house: and there was a class of men
who, by means of sponging and toadying, and all
those kindred arts which are practised, only under
somewhat finer disguises, in modern society, contrived
seldom  either to go without a dinller or to dine at
home~  This disreputable fraternity of diners-out" Parasites,"  as the Greek term  was — supplied aln
inexhaustible subject for the satirist and the playwriter, as has been already noticed in these volumes,




SA TIRES OON SOCIETY.              139
in examining the comedies of Plautus and Terence.
Lucian has not omitted to handle, in his own style,
a charac ter so well known, and which presented such
fair game to the writer who set himself to hunt downl
the follies of the tilmes.  Yet the little dialogue calletl
" TE PARASITE," il which le introduces one of these
mendicants of society arguing stoutly in defence of lhis
vocation, is one of the most good-humoured of all.
Perhaps there was an amount of bonhonzie about a
man who could not afford to be disagreeable which disrmedcl the satirist, together with a serio-comic " poordevil" misery inevitable to his position which excited
pity as well as contempt.  Few readers can lay down
the   Pllhormio " of Terence without a kindly feeling
towards its unabashed and ingenious hero.
Simo, the Parasite of Lucian's Dialogue, makes open
profession of his vocation, like Phormnio.  The friend
with whom  the conversation is carried on, knowing
that Simeo's private means are small, is curious to know
by what trade or einployment he gains his living, since
he cannot make out that he follows any. Simo assures
him that there is a school of art in whichll he is a perfect master, and which never allows him  to be in
want.  It is the art of Parasitism.  And he proceeds
ton prove, by an arguilelt in the catlechetical'style of
Socrates and Plato, that it is an art of the highest and
nmost perfect kindcl.  It falls quite within the definition
of art ais given by the philosophers-" a system  r.f
approved rules co-operating to a certain end, useful to
society."  As to the usefulness of the end, nothing is
so use:'ul-nay, so absolutely needful-as eating and




140                  L U C [A IV.
drinking.  It is not a gift of nature, but acquired,
therefore an art, if the schoollen be right in their
technical distinctions.  It is also most practical, which
is the essence of a perfect art: other arts may exist
in their possessor in posse, yet be seldom  or never in
operation; whereas this must be always at work-for
whenl the parasite ceases to get his dinners, there is
an end, not only of the art, but of the artificer.  It
excels all other arts also in this, —that whereas most
arts require toil and discipline, and even threats an(l
stripes, in order to be learnt thoroughly —which things
are manifestly contrary to our nature-this art can be
studied pleasantly and cheerfully without any of these
disagreeable accompaniments.   "Who ever yet returned in tears from a feast, as many scholars do oftom
their masters?  Who that is going to a good dinner
ever looks pale and melancholy, as tlhose do who
frequent the Schools?"  Other arts we pay to learn,
this we are paid for learninig; others require a master,
this may be learnt without.  O Lher systems seeml
vague; all give different definitions of wisdom  and
happiness-and that which is so indefinite can have
no real existence at all; whereas the end and object
of Parasitism  is distinct and obvious.  And in this
alone of all systems the practice of the school agrees
wvith its professions.  And whereas no parasite was
ever known to desert his art and turn philosopher,
many philosophers have turned parasites, and do so to
this day.  Euripides became the dependant of Archelaus of Macedon; ar.nd even Plato was content to sit
at the table of the tyrant Dionysius. If the testimony




SATIRES ON SOCIETY.                141
of the wise men of old is to be taken in evidence of
the value and antiquity of the art, look only at HI-Iomer,
a witness whom, the spleaker hopes, every one will
admit.  He makes some of his greatest heroes parasites-old Nestor, always a guest at the table of the
lKing of Men, and Patrocllls, who was nothing more or
less than the parasite of Achilles, and whlom it took
the combined powoer of two mortal warriors and a god
to kill,j whereas I'aris alone proved a match for his
master Achilles, as Achilles had for Hector. Listen,
he sa ys, to the poet's own words touching this great,
school of the table:
"Find me a joy to human heart more ldear
Than is a people's gladness, when good cheer
Reigns,.and all listening pause in deep delight,
When in mid feast the bard his song doth rear,
What time the board with all good things is diglt."
And, as if this were not praise enough, he adds
again" Methinks that nothing can more lovely be!" t
By such ingenious arguments, not at all an unfair
burlesque upon the style of Plato and Aristotle, Siimo
succeeds in convincing his friend of the superiority in
every way of the art which he hlimself follows with so
niuch success.  Htis listener determines to come to
him for instruction, and hopes, as he is his first pupil,
that he will teaclh him gratis.
But besides this lower class of parasites, who sotught
E Euphorbus, Hector, and Apollo. See Iliad, xvi
t Odyss., ix. 5, &c.




142            -      LUCIA N.
a precarious dinner from day to day by making theme
selves agreeable or useful to their entertainerts, the
great men of the day were in the habit of receiving at
their tables as daily guests, or even of entertaining
altogether as members of their household,-often in
the really or professed capacity of tutors to their sons,
— guests of a different stamp.  rThe man of wealth and
position hardly thought his establishment complete,
ti!iless it comprised some of the representatives of literathre and science —a pllilosopher or two, a poet, a rhetO{lician, or a historian.   There was not necessarily
anything dlegrading in the arrangement to The recipient
of such hospitality.  He might consider himself as the
rightful successor of the bard of olden times, whose
divine song was more than payment for his place at
the feast, and to whom, by prerogative of genius, the
highest seat at the king's boardt, and the best portion
from  the king's table, was by all willingly accorded.
On such terms we may suppose that Plato, in spite of
Simeo's sarcasm, lived at the court of Dionysius; and
with a scarcely less independent feeling, Horace would
tell us that he accepted the gracious welcome of MAlecenas.  But guests of the calibre of Plato and Horace
rwere few; and men who had neither the munificence
of Dionysius nor the taste of MTecenas yet wanted to
have the Muses represented at their banquets.  If
one was not a philosopher or a poet or play-writer
one's self, at least it was well, since such things were the
fashion, to be in the fashion so far as to have them in
the house.  If it was as troublesome for the rich man
to do his own thinking for himself as the oriental




SA TJtRE  ONV SOCIETY.             143
would consider it to do his own dancing, it was desirable to have, it done for him.  A  swarm  of small
sciolists, and worse than mne(liocre poets, and litteratezurs
of all varieties, rose to meet the demand, and sought
places at great men's tables.  Conscious that their
services were scarcely worth the wages, they learnt to
be not too fastidious as to the circumstances under
whllich they were paid: while the patron, feeling that
after all he had not got the genuine article, was not
always careful to make the paylnent in the most
gracious manner.
With this in his mind, Lucian writes his bitter essay
"UPON HIRIuEoD COMIPANIONs," cast in the forml of a letter
to a friend who is supposed to be under some tenmptatiou to adopt that line of life.  He draws a vivid picture of the humiliations and indignities to which the
Greek scholar is likely to be subjected who enters the
faimily of a wealthy nobleman at Rome, in the capacity
either of tutor to his children or humble literary coimpanion. to the master himself.  They are curiously
similar in character to those which, if we trust our
own satirists, existed in English society a century
ago.  First, there is the difficulty of securing a proper
introduction to the patron.  The candidate must be
early at the great man's door, and wait his leisure,
and fee the porter well; must dress more expensively
than his purse can well afford, to make a good figure
in his eyes; must dance attendance at his levee perhaps for days, and at last, when he suddenly condescends to notice and address his humnble servant,
nervousness and embarrassment will so overcome the




144                   LUC1AN.
unfortunate man, that he makes an absolute fool of
himself in the interview  which he has so anxiously
desired, and leaves an impression of nothing but awkwardiness and ignorance.
IBut, pursues the letter-writer, supposing that your
introduction is successful: supposing that the great
man's friends do not set him against you, that the lady
of the house does not take a violent dislike to vou,
that the stewardt aidl the housekeeper are graciously
-leased  to approve of you on the whole,-still, what
an ordeal you have to go through at your very first
dinner!
"My lord's gentleman, a suave personage, brings
you the invitation.   You mlust win his goodwill, to
b)egin witl: so, not to seem waullting in good man'lers,
you slip five dracl;limal into lis hland, at tile least.  He
affects to refuse it.' From  3011, sirl  Oh clear, no!
on no account —I couldn't thilnk of it.'  But he is
persuaded at last, and smiles vwith his white teeth as
he takes hlis leave.  WVell,.yout put on your best suit,
anlld  et yourself up as correctly as you can, and reach
the door —very much  afraid of arrivinll  befbre the
other guests, which is as awkward as comlil  last is
rude.  So you take careful pains to hit thle happy
rmedium, are grla ciouslv received, and are placed  within
a few seats of the host,-just below two or three old
friends of the house.  You stare at everytlling as if
you had been introduced all at once into the palace of
Jupiter, and watch every detail anxiously-all is so
lnewv and strange; whille the whole fimnily have their
eyes on you, and are vwatching what you will do next.




,SA I'RIIES5  ON S30CIE7T}.          145
rIndeed the great man has even given orders to some of
the attendants to take notice whether you seem  to
admire his wife and children sufficiently.  Even the
servants of the other guests wlho are present notice your
evident embarrassment, and laugh at your igllorance of
the ways of society, guessing that you ]have never beer
to a regular dinner-pvarty before. alnd that even the
napkin laid for you is something quite new to you.
No wonder that you are actually in a cold snweat froml
emlbarrasslment, and neither venture to ask for drink
when you Nwant it, for fear tley sliould think you a
la.rd drinker, or know which to take first and which
last of the various dishes which are arrangled before
yVoul evidenltly in some kind of recognised sequence and
order.  So that you are obligedl furtively to wvatch and
iinitate what your next neighbotut does, arndI so mlake
yourself acquainted with the ceremlonial of dillner."
"Such," says the letter-writer, after a little more
description  of the sapiine kind, —" such is your first
dinner in a great man's house: I had rather, for lmy
ipart, have an onion an(i soime salt, anld be allowed to
ea.t it wheli and how I please."  Tlhen come the delicate arrangements al)out salary.   When  one reads
Lucian's description of this, it is almnost difficult to
believe that lie had not before him  one of tllose
mllodern advertisemlets for a governess, who is expected
to possess all the virtues ai(-  all the accomplislments,
an d to whoml  "a very s,.mall salary is offered, as s1he
xvill be treated as one of the famnily."  "We are quite
plain people here, as you see," says the pompous Romman
to the new  tutor; " but you will consider yourself
A. C. vol. xviii                             x




i -4 1L UCIA iN.
quite at home with us, I hope.  I know you are a
sensible man: I know you have that happy disposition which is its own best reward. and auite understand that you do not enter my house from  any mercenary motives, but for other reasons,-because you
know the regard I have for you, and the good position
it will give you in the eyes of the world.  Still, some
definite sum  should be fixed, perhaps;  I leave it to
you to name your own terms; remnelmbering, of course,
that you will have a good many presents made you in
the course of the year: but you scholars, as becomes
your profession, are above mere money considerations,
I know."  At last it is agreed to leave the amount
of the tutor's salary to a friend of the famnily; and
the referee, a mlere creature and toady hlimself, after
reminding  the poor sclholar of his extreme  good
fortune in having made "such a valuable connection,"  names a sulm  which is quite ridiculously inadequate.
This is not the worst.  The unhappy dependant
will soon find his treatment in the house very different
from his first introduction.  "6You must not expect to
have the same fare as strangers and others have: that
would be considered insufferable. presumption.  The
disll placed before you will not be the same as the
others.  Their fowl will be plump and well fed: yours
will be half a skinny chicken, or a dry tough pigeon;
a direct slight and insult.  Nay, often, if the bill of
fare is scanty, and an additional guest comes in, the
servant will actually take the dish from  before you
an1ld give it to hlim; whisperinlg famnliliarly in your ear




SATIRES ONL  SOCITTY.                147
-- you're one of the family, you know.'        T While they
are drinking good old wine, you will be expected to
swallow  some muddy vapid stuff: and you will do
well to drink it out of gold or silver goblets, that it.
may not be plain to all, from the colour of the liquor,
how little respect is paid to you in the household.
Even of this poor stuff you will not be allowed your
fill; for often, when you call for it, the servant will
pretend not to hear."
He warns him, also, that in such a household the
preceptor or the poet will be held of less account than
the flutist, or the (lancing-master, or the Egyptian boy
who can sing love-songs.'And after all, do what he
will, he will hardly please.  If he preserves a grave
an(l dignified  behaviour, he will be called churlish
and morose; if lie tries to be gay, and  puts on a
smiling face, the company will only stare and laugh
at him.
If the town life of the unfortunate dependant is
full of such mortifications, matters do not mnend muchl
when he accompanies his patron into  the counltry.
"Amonlgst other things, if it rains ever so hard, you
must come last (that is your recognised place), nald
wait for a conveyance; and, if there is no room, be
* Lucian is not very original here.  He hlad probably read
the fifth Satire of'Juvenal, where, amolng other indignities
offeredl to the poor dependant, even the bread set before him is
of very inferior quality" Black Imouldly fragments vh'ch defy the saw,
The mere despair of every aching jaw,
While nmanchets of the finest flour are sat
Before your lord." —Giffolrd.




148                  L L'TCIA N.
crallned into the litter with the cook and my lady's
woman, with scarce straw enough to keep you warm."
And the writer goes on to relate a veritable anecdote,
told him, as he declares, by a Stoic philosopher who
had been so unfortunate as thus to hire himlself out
into the service of a rich Roman lady.  The story
reads almost like a bit out of Swift.  Travelling one
day into the country in the suite of his patroness,
he found a seat allotted him  next a perlfumed and
smooth-shaven  gentleman who  held  an  equivocal
position in the lady's household, and whose bearing
might answer to that of the French dancing-mlaster
of modern satirists; not a very suitable companion
for the grave philosopher, who rather prided hiimself
on a venerable beard and dignified deportment.  Just
as they were starting, the lady, with tears in her eyes,
appealed to his known kindness of heart to do her a
personal favour.  Even a philosopher could not refuse
a request couched ilt such terms.  " Will you then so
far oblige me," said she, 6Cas just to take my cear little
dog M[nyrrhina with you in the carriage, and nurse her
carefully. She is not at all well, poor dear-in fact,
very near her accouchement; and those abominable
careless servants of mine will give themselves no
trouble about me, —much less about her."  So, during
the whole journey, there was the little beast peeping
out of the grave philosopher's cloak, yelping at intervals, and now and then licking his face, and making
herself disagreeable in divers ways; giving occasion to
his companion to remlark, with a mincing wit, that he
had become a Cynic philosoper instead of a Stoic for




SATIRES OY  SOCE'LTY.                  149
the present." - Those who liked to make a good story
complete, declared afterwards to the present narrator
that the philosopher, before they reached their journey's
end, found  himself nurse  to  a litter of puppies  as
well as to their interesting moother.
Scarcely less distasteful is the duty which belongs
to the literary companion of listening to his patron's
compositions, if he is a dabbler, as so many are, in poetry,
or history, or the drama, since one mulst not only listen
but loudly applaud his wretched attemllpts as an author.
Or, where thle companioul is expected himself to give
readings of his ownll to amuse the leisure of his patron,
the mortification may be even greater-especially if, as
in the case just mentioned, the patron be of the softer
sex.  "It will often happen that iwhile the phlilosopller
is reading', the maidl will bring  in a billet from  a, lover.
Straigltway the lecture upon wisdon and chastity is
brought to a standl-still, until the lady has read an'd
answered  the mlissive, after whi:ch they return to it
with all convenient speed." f
* It is hardly necessary to repeat that the term " Cynic " is
derived from the Greek for " dog."
~ Some readers will remlemt)er the anecdote told of Dr —-,
one of Queen Anne's challils.  IHis dluty was to read the
Church pravyers in the anteroom, while the queen was at her
toilet within.  Occasionally the dioor was shut, "while her
inajesty was shifting herself," cdling - whlich interval the doctor
left off, and resumed when the door was reopened.  The other
chaplains had not been so fastidionus' and the doctor waas asked
by one of her majesty's womlen, why he did not go straig(ht onl
with his reading: upon which he rep]lied that he "would never
whistle the Word of God throtnlg  a key-lhole."




150                    LU CIA N.
The writer entreats his friend to have too much
self-respect to adopt a line of life so utterly distasteful
to any man of independent spirit.  " Is there no pulse
still growing," he asks indignantly, —' no wholesome
herbs on which a man may sustain life, no streams of
pure water left, that you slhould  be driven to this
direst strait for existellce'!"  If a man will deliberately
choose such a life, he bids him  not rail at his fate
hereafter, as mlany do, but remenlber those words of
Plato, -" Heaven  is blameless —the fault lies in
our own choice."
It must be borne in mind that we here are reading
satire, and not social history, and that it would be unfair to judge of the common position of literary men in
the houses of the great from this highly coloured sketch
of Lucian's.  No doubt there were still to be found hosts
like MAicellas wherever there were companions like
Horace.  Few readers can have followed these extracts
from  Lucian's description of the literary dependant of
his own day, witllout having forcibly recalled to them
Macaulay's well-known picture of the domestic cllaplain of the days of the Stuarts.  There is abundcant
material for that brilliant caricature to be found, of
course, in the satirists and the comedy-writers of those
tinles,-the Lucians of thle day; antid they no doubt
could have pointed to the original of every feature in
their portraits.  It does not f'ollow that such portraits
are to be taken as fair replresclltatives of a class.
]But we must remember that the lively author we have
now before us di(d not profess to be writing history;
and it is well nlot to forget in reading the English




SA TIRES ON SOClETYTI              151
historian's pages that we are following Oldharn and
Swift.
THE MARVEL-MONGERS.
We have seen the bitter and unspIaring ridicule which,
not without a puropose, Lucian lrings to bear against
the fables whichi passed under tle name of religion in
his day.  IBut, if he laughed at Greek mythology, he
hated the strange and outlandish superstitions whichll
he saw creeping in at Athens and at Rome.  He threw
something of his own feeling into thle remonstrance of
the "old families" of Olvmpus, wllen they saw dogheadled monsters like Anubis, and apes and bulls froln
MlIemphis, introduced into the sacred circle.  WVe have
no need to depend  upon satil'ists like Horace, or
Juvenal, or Lucian-we need only go to the pages of
the historian Tacitus —to learn how the superstitions
of Egypt and Asia were gaining favour with the aristocracy of Rome.  "Never," says Wieland, "was thle
propensity to stlpernatural prodligies and the eagerness
to credit them  more vehement thanl in this very enlightened age.  The priestcraft of Upper Egypt, the
different branches of nlagic, divination, and oracles of
all kinds, the so-called occult sciences, which associated mankind with a fabulous world of spirits, andl
pretended to give them the control over the powers of
nature, were almost universally respected. Persons of
all ranks and descriptions  great lords and ladies,
statesmen, scholars, the recognised and paid professors
of the Pythagorean, the Platonic, the Stoic, and even
the Aristotelian school, thought on these topics exactly




152                  L U CIA Mo
as did the simplest of the people.           Men believed everything-and nothing."
It is in derision of this passion for the marvellous
that Lucian  composed this Dialogue between two
friends, Tychiades and Philocles, of wvhonl the former
lmay be taken to represent the author himself.  Tychiades wants to know why so many people prefer lies
to truthf e  Well, replies his frielld, in some cases
men are almost obliged to tell lies for the sake of
their own interest; and in war, lies to deceive all
enemy are allowable.  But somle people, rejoins the
other, seem to take a pleasure in lying for its own
sake; and this is what puzzles hinl.  Herodotus and
Homer, so far as he can make out, nere notorious liars;
and lied withal in such a charming way, that their lies,
unlike most others, have had immense vitality.
Philocles thinks something may be said in their
defence: they were obliged, in orler to be popular,
to consult the universal taste for the marvellous.
Besides, if all the old Greek fables are to be set
aside, what is to become of thle unfortunate peoplle
who get their living by showing the antiquities and
curiosities?
Be this as it nmay, Tychiacles has been quite shocked
and astonished at what he has heard at a party lately
given by hisfiiendEucrates-a grey-heacled philosopher,
who at least ought to have known better.  He was laid
up with gout; and the lying absurdities which his
friends and physicians were prescribing for him  by
wav of remedies were atrocious.  A weasel's tooth
wralpled in a lion's skin -though the doctors gravely




SATIRES ON SOCIETY.                153
squabbled whether it should not rather be a deer-skin
-did any one ever hear the like? And then the guests
had all set to work to tell the most marvellous stories
— stories which go a long way to show  how  little
novelty there is in the inventions of superstition; of
magic rings malade out of gibbet - irons; of haunted
houses in which ghosts appeared and showed the way
to their unburied bones; of a statue which at night
stepped down from its pedestal and walked about the
house, and even took a bath —you might hear him
splashing in the water; of a slave who, having stolen
his master's goods, was every nigilt flogged by an invisible hand-you could count the wheals upon his back
in the morning; of a little bronze figure of Hippocrates,
only two spans high (this is the doctor's story), who
is also given to nocturnal perambulations, and, small
as he is, makes a great clatter in the surgery, upsetting
the pill-boxes and clanilng the places of the bottles,
if he has not had proper honour paid to him  in
the way of sacrifice during the year; of a colossal
figure terminating in a serpent  Eucrates has seen it
himself-before whose feet the infernal regions opened.
Eucrates' own wife, again, whom  he had burnt and
buried handsomely, with all her favourite dresses too,
in order to make her as comnfortable as possible in her
new state of existence," had appeared to himn seven
months afterwards-"66 while I was lying on my couch,
* Probably founded on the story of iSelissa's comnplainit to
hler husband Periander, that she was cold in tihe Shades be0o-w,
because her clothes had only been buried, amnd not burnt,,with
her. —Herodotus, v. 92.




154                  LUCIA N.
just as I am now, and reading Plato on the inllortality of the soul "-and frighlltened  him  terribly.
She had missed an article of her wardrobe - one
o~f a pair of golden slippers to which she was partiularly attaclled, and there was no rest for her per-;urbed spirit without it.  Happily  the slipper was
found next morning in the very place which the
lady had indicated, behind a cllest, and was duly
burned; a;nd both husband and household had peace
afterwards.
Eucrates hlad another story to tell also, of something
whlich had happened to hinmself-a story with which
we are tolerably familiar in mnore than one modern
form,  but which it may be amusillg to read here in an
older version.  The narrator had the good fortune,
on a voyage up the Nile, to makle the acquaintance
of a certain Pancrates, one of the holy scribes of
3Memphis, who had learnt na.gic from  the goddess
Isis herself:   They became so intimate that they
agreed to continue their travels together, Pancrates
assuring his friend that they should have no need
of servants.
"; When we got to an inn, this remarkable man
would take the bar of the door, or a broom, or a.
pestle, put some clotlles on it, mutter a charml over
it, anld make it walk, looking to every one else's eyes
for all the world like a man: it would go and draw
water, fetch provisions and set them  out, and make
an excellent servant and waiter in all respects.  Then,
when its office was done to our contentment, he would
mutter a counter-cllarm, and  iake thle broom becomne a




SATIRES ON SOCIETY.              155
broom again, and the pestle a pestle.  Now this charm
I never could get him to disclose to me, with all my
entreaties; he was jealous on this one point, though
ill everything else he was nlost obliging.  But one
day, standing in a dark corner, I overheard the spell
-it was but three syllables —without his knowing it.
lie went off to market after giving the pestle its
orders.  So next day, when he was gone out on
business, I took the pestle, dressed it up, and bid it
go and draw water.  When it had filled the pitcher
and brought it back, " Stop I" said I; "draw no more
water; be a pestle again."  But it paid no attention
to me, but went on drawing water till the whole house
was full.  Not knowing what on earth to do (for
Palicrates was sutre to be in a terrible way when he
came back, as indeed fell out), I laid hold on a
hatchet, and split the pestle in two.  At once both
halves took up a pitcher apiece, and began drawing
water.  So instead of one water-carrier, I had two.
In the middle of it all, in came Pancrates, and understanding how matters stood, challed them back into
wood again as they were before.  But he went off and
left me without a word, and I never knew what became of himl."
They afterwardlls Uwent on to tell so many horrible
*stories, that Tychiades left them  in disgust; and
he declares to his friend  that even now  he has
nothing  but goblins and  spectres before his eyes
ever since, and would give somlething to forget the
conversation.
A passage occurs in this Dialogue worthy of remark,




156                  LUCIA 1.
as containing, in the opinion of some, one of the few
notices of Christianity which occur in contemporary
heathen writers.  One of the party at which the narrator was present speaks of having been an eyewitness
of certain cures worked upon "' demoniacs " by a person
of whom  he speaks as "that Syrian from Palestine,
whom all men know."  "l -e would stand over those
possessed, and ask the spirits from  whence they had
entered into the bodyv  and  the sick man himself
would'be silent, but the devil would reply, either in
Greek or some barbarous tongue of his own cou ntry,
how and frotm whence he had entered into the man.
Then the exorcist, using adjurLations, and, if these
had no effect, even threats, would expel the spirit."'It has been thought that here we have a record
of healing wrought by some one of the successors
of the Christian apostles.   It must be observed,
however, that the cure is here expressly said to have
been performed " for a large'fee," and that we have
distinct mention in the Acts of the Apostles of
professed exorcists who were not Christians.
The'SATURNALIA," and tile piece called "NIGRNUSs,"
may also be classed with the preceding.  In the first.
the author takes occasion of the well-known annual
festival, kept in remembrance of the " good old tinies,"
at which so much general licence was allowed even to
slaves, to deal some good-humoured blows at the fbllies
of the day; and at the same time to introduce Saturn' "The Marvel-Mongers " (PIhilopseudes), 16.




SA TRES ON SOCIETY.r              157
hirrself as a poor gouty decrepit old( deity, quite out of
date, and to remaik upon Jupiter's unfilial conduct in
turning hlim out of his kingdom.  I1 tile latter Dialogue, a Platonic philosopher namedl Nigrinus (whether
a real or imaginary personage is not certainly known)
contrasts the pomp and luxury of Roman city life with
the simpler habits of the Athenians.




CHAPTER VL
LUCIAN AS A RO0MANCE-.WRITEM
WE can readily see, from  the spirit and vivEcity of
Lucian's Dialogues, what an admirable novelist he
would have been; especially if he had chosen the style
which has of late become deservedtly popular, where
nice delineation of character, and conversation of that
clever and yet apparently natural and easy kind in
which " the art conceals the art," form  the attraction
to the reader, rather than exciting incidents or elaborate plot.  l llt tthis kind of literature had yet to be
born. Lucian has left us, however, two short romlances,
if they may l)e so called, which it would be hardly fair
to comlpare with modern works of fiction, but which
show that he possessed powers of imagination admitting of large and successful development if his own
age had afforded scope and encouragement to literary
efforts of that kind.  It must be remembered that the
modern novel, in all its various types, is the special
product of nmodern society; the love -tales which
so largely form  its staple, and the nice distinctions of
character on which so much of its interest depends,
spring entirely out of the circumstances of modern




LUCIAN AS A RllOMA.'CE -1WRITER.              159
clvilisation, and  could have no  place in Greek or
Roman life in the dalys of Lucian.  Yet he may fairly
claim  to have furnished hints, at least, of which later
workers in the same field have taken advantage.
One of these tales Lucian has entitled " The Veracious History."  Even here he preserves his favourite
character of satirist; for he glances slyly, both ill the
opening of his story and throughout it, at the stories
told by the old poets and historians, which he would
have us ucderstand are often about as " veracious'" as
his ow(n.  His old quarrel with  the  pretenlers to
philosophy breaks out also froln time to time in the
same pages.  lHe introduces his story (which is the
account of an ilmagillLry voyage made into certain undiscovered regions) by a kind of preface, of which the
following is a portion.
" Ctesias, sonl of Ctesiochus, of Cniclus, has written
an account of India, and of the things there which he
never either saw himself or heard from any one else.
So also lanllbulus has told us a great many incredible
stories about things in the great ocean, which everybody knew  to  be false, but whichll he  as put together in a form  by no means unentertainiiig.": So
many others besides, with the same end in view, have
related what purported to be their own travels and
adventures, cldesribing marvellously large beasts and
savage men, and strange modes of life.  IBut tlle ring* Ctesias's'Indica,' of which Photius gives an abridlgment,
tholgh to some extent fabulous, is not so contemlptible as lnclan represents.  Iambulus, whose account of In(lia Dicdorus
Sictulus adlopts, seems to have indulged in pure fiction.




160                    L UCi A N.
leader and first introducer of this extravagant style
is that Ulysses of Holner's, telling his stories at the
court of Alcinitus, about the  imnprisonlnent of the
wnilds, and the one-eyed Cyclops, and the man-eaters,'amd suchlike savage tribes; and about creatures with
IlnAlay lheads, and thle trallsformlnation of his comrades
bmag nic potions, and all the rest of it, with whltichll he
astonished the simpnle Phicacians.  When 1 read all
these, I do not blaiime  the writers so much for thier Aies,
because I find tihe custolm  conlmon even with those
whlo pretend to be philosophers,   All I wonder at is,
tihat they should ever have stupposed that people would
not find out that they were telling, what was not true.
irherefore, beingo myself inc(ited (by an absurd vanity,
I alidmit) to leave soel legacy to posterity, that I may
not be the only mlall  ithout my slhare in this open
field of story-telling, and havigll nothinig true to tell
(for I never nlet with any very mlleorable adventures),
I have turnedl 1my thougqhts to lying; ill mucl  I1more excusable fashion, however, tllan tlie othlers.  For I shall
certainly speak the truthll on one point,-whenl  I tell
you that I lie; and so it seems to mle I ought to escape
cellsure friom the public, since I freely conmlfess there is
not a word of truth ill my story.  I amI going to write,
then, about things which I never saw, adventures
I never went thlrough,   or heard from  any one else
thinlgs, moreover,  which never were, nor ever can be.
So mIy readers must on no account believe thelll."
Thle adventures of' the voyagers "from  the Pillars of
tHercules into the  Western Ocean" are indeed of the
most extravagant kind.  They have all the wild iam



LUCIAN AS A ROMIANCGE-WRlTER.              161
possibilities without muhll   of tile picturesqueness of
al Eastern tale.  A burlesque resemblance is kept up
throughout to tile kind of incident which, in the!.louths of the old bards, hacl p;asse dl for history.  We
read how they came to a brass pillar with an almost
illegible inscription, marking tlle limlit of the travels of. lrctules and lIacchus,     and found near it on a rock
the prints of two footsteps, one "measuring about an
acre'-plainly that of Hercules; the smaller one, of
course, belonged to ilacchus: how they found rivers
of native wine,-a manifest confirmation of the visit
of. the latter god to those parts: and how  a whirlwind. carried them, ship and all, up into the moon,
where thley made acquaintance with Endymion, and
saw the earth below  looking like a imoon to themnl,
which shows that Lucian  was not so far wrong
in his astronomy.  How  their ship was swallowed
by a sea-monster, and they lived insidle him  a year
and eight mnonths, carrying on a small -war against
a previous  colony  whom  they  found  established
there: and effected tlleir escape at last by lighting an
enormous fire, so that the monster (lied of' internal
inflammation.  After this they made their way to that
hitherto  undiscovered country, the' Islacnd of the
Blest,' when they were bound in fetters of roses, alcd
led before Rhadamlanthus, the king.  We have a. glowing description of the city, with its streets of gold and
walls of emerald, temples of beryl and altars of amethyst; where there was no day or night, but a perpetual luminous twilight; where it was always spring,
and none but the south wind blew; and where the vines
A. c. vol. xviii.                          L




162                    L  CIA Ni.
ripened their fruit every month.'`  There they foncd
mlost of the heroes of Grecian legend and-l of later
history.  Philosophers, too —genuine  philosopherswere there in good number.  And lhere the satirist
quite  gets the mastery over the story-teller.  Plato
was remarkecd as absenlt; he preferredl living " in his
own Republic, under li[s own laws," to any Elysium
that could be offered him.  The Stoics had not yet
arrived, when these voyagers reached the island, though
they were expected; Hesiod's' Hill of Viltue,'+ which
they all had to climb, was such a very long one. Neither
A-,ere the Sceptics of the Acadelmy to be seen there;
they were thinking of coming, but hlad " doubts " about
it —doubts whe.tllher there were any such place at all;
and perhaps, thinks Lucian, they were shy of encountering the judgment of Rhadamnanthus, having a profound dislike to any decisive judgment upon any subject whatever.
The travellers would gladly hlave remained in. the
Happy Island altogether,  ht)it this was nlot allowed.
They were promised, however, by Rhadamlanthus, that if
during their furthler voyage they comlplied with certain
rules, which remiAnd us of the old burlesque oath for* It has been thouglit thait the writer must either have seen
or heard of the description of tlhe New Jerusalem in the Revelation.  But figurative dictionl las always somne features in
common; and in this passage reminiscences of the Greek poets
are very evident.  The infgenuity of some commelntators has
discovered, not only here, but throughllout this " Veracious
History," an intentioial triavesty of Sclripture.  But suchl an
idea is surely fanciful.
+ See p. 121.




LUCIAX.  AS A1 RIO0JiANVOE-WRITER.              163
mIrl]y sworn by travellers at Highgate-such as " never
to stir the fire with a sword, and never to kiss any
woman above two-and-twenty"'-they should iin good
time find their way there again.  Just as the \riter is
taking his leave, "' Ulysses, unklnowvl  to Penelope,
slipped into his hand a note to C(alypso, directed  to
the island of Ogygia."   The note, in the course of their
subsequent wan(lerinllgs, was dully dclelivered, and Calypso
entertained the bearers very handsonmely in her island;
asking, not without tears, miany questions about her old
lover; and also-whether Penelope was really so very
lovely and so virtuous? to whichl, very prudclently, says
Lucian, " we mnade such a reply as we thought would
please her best."
They meet with some other adventulres, tedious to
our ears, sated  as they are with fiction  in all shapes,
but probably not so to the hearers or readers to whoml
Lucian addressed them.  But either he grew tired of
story - telling, or th;e conclusion  of this "Veracious
History" has been lost;. for it breaks off abruptly,
* This latter caltion bears a cnurious similarity to one of
the parting injunctions which Perceval (or Peredir), whenr
setting out from home in quest of adventures, receives from his
mother, and which apyears with little variation in the Welsh,
Breton, and Norman legends-to kiss every demoiselle lie mneets,
withonut waiting for her permission; it is, she assures hlim, a
point of chivalry.  He carries out his instructions, acco —cling to
one raconteur, by kissing the first lady he falls in with " vingt
bfis," in spite of her rIesistance, pleading hIis filial obligation:
" Ma nllre ll'enseina et dlit
Que les puclles salnasse
En quel lieu que e i les trovasse."
-Chrestien de Troyes.




64                    L UCIA N.
leaving some promises made in the early portion unfulfilled.
De Bergerae, in  his'Voyage to the Moon' and'History of thle Emlpire of the Sun,' Swift, in his' Gulliver's Travels.' Quevedo, in his'Visions,' and
Rabelais, in his'History of Gargantua and Pantagruel,'
are all said to have borr-owed from this imaginary voyage oi Lucian's.  But they can have taken from  hiln
little more than crude hints, and Swift at least owes
a much larger debt to I)e B-ererac than to Lucian.
LucIuJs, or THE Ass, is another short essay in fiction,
compiete in itself, and approxim.tating mnore closely to
our modern idea of a story.  It relates the transformation of the hero into an ass, through the accidental
operation of the charm of a sorceress, and his restoration, after a variety of adventures in his quadruped
form, into his own proper shape by feeding onl some
roses.  It is not certain whether the story is original,
or mlerely an abridgment in our author's own style
from a tale by one Lucius of Patrre.  The " Golden
Ass " of Apuleius (written probably at about the satme
date) seems to be founded either on this piece of
Lucian's oi on the common original, but Apuleius
extends the tale to greater length.  The experiences
of Lucius in the person of the ass, while retaining all
his human faculties, are fairly amusing, but not tempting either for extract or abridgment.  The piece is
chiefly interesting as one of the few surviving specimens of an ancient novelette.
Shorter, but much more amusing, is the pleasant




LUCIA N AS A ROMANrCE-WRITER.             165
little sketch, cast in Lucian's favourite form of a
Dialogue —" THE COCK AND THE COBBLER."
The Cobbler is our ol0l friend  Mlicyllus, who is
awakened one morning, much earlier than he likes by
the crowing of his cock, whom  he declares he would
kill if it were not too dark to catch him.  The Cock
remonstrates: he is only doing his duty; and if his
master will nlot get up and make a shoe before breakfast, he is very likely to go without.  Micyllus is very
much startled at the prodigy of a cock's filnding a
human voice; upon which the bird remarks thlat if
Aechilles's horse Xanthus could make a long speech,
and in verse too, and the half-roasted oxen in the
Odyssey could low  even on the spit-and there is
Homer's excellent authority for both'  -  surely he
may say a few words in humble prose.  Besides, if
his master wants to know, he has not always beaen a
bird —he was a man, once upon a time: Micyllus has
surely heard of the great philosopher Pythagoras, and
his transformations.  Yes, Micyllus has heard all
about it —and a great impostor he was.  " Pray, don't
use violent language," replies  the Cock; "I am
Pythagoras-or rather, I was."  Hie proceeds to explain how many and various tranlsmigrations he has
already gone through  he has been a king, a beggar,
* It will be observed that Lucian is continually jesting upon
the marvels related by Homer, and affecting to be shocked at
them as palpable lies. But his very familiarity with the poet
is proof sufficient of his real aplIreciation of him. Like the old'
antler, he puts him on his hook, but still " handles himn ten.
derly, as though he lov-e.1d himh."




166                   L UCIA NV.
a woman, a horse, and a jackdaw; and never more
miserable than in the character of a king.  lMicyllus
expresses great surprise at this statement: for his own
part, riches are the one thing he has always longed
for; and the reason for his having been so angry
now at being awakened was that he was in the nlidst
of a most charming and interesting dreaml-it was, that
lihe had inherited all the great wealth of his rich
neighbour Eucrates, and was giving a grand supper
on the occasioni   He had thought he should now
be able to repay the insolence of his former acquaintantce Simlo, who froml  a cobbler like himlself had become suddenly a riclh man, and would no longer recognise his old associate.  Thle Cock. assures his master
that in his present p)oor estate he is really haplier than
many of the wealthy alld great; and he will give him
proof positive of his assertionl.  One of the two long
feathers inl his (the cock's) tail-the righlt-hand onehas the miraculous power of openiing locks, and even
making a passage thlrough wNalls: lihe bids Micyllus pull
it out.  The cobbler pulls out both, to make sure, at
which the Cock is very angry, until assured by his master
that with one feather lie would have looked very lopsided. Armed with this talisman (tlle same which Le
Sage has borrowed for his' I)iable Boiteux'), the pair
fly through the sleeling city froml house to house. They
visit amongst others Sillno anld Euerates: they find the
former hiding his nioneey, unable to sleep, in an agony
for fear of thieves; alid the latter cheated and betrayed by his Nwife and his servants.  And the cobbler
goes back home a wiser and more contented man.




CIHAPTER VII.
LUCIAN  AND  CHRISTIANITY.
TRE notices of Christianity to be found in heathen
autlhors wllo were either contemporary with its great
Founder, or who wrote during tile early ages of the
Christian Church, are so few, that even the slightest
has an illterest beyond what would otherwise be its
listoiicll i;lportaince.  The rarity of suchl notices, and
thleir geleral brevity and iidistinctness, is apt to surprise
us, uiitil iw\e recollect that Christianity did not for some
time mlakle that inmplression upon the heathen world
whlicll froml our own point of view we mlight naturally
expect.  The Christianls were long regarded as merely a
sect within a sect, and that an insigificant and despised
one: even hlistoria.!S  like Tacitus andc Suetonius saw ill
the' Christus " NwNhom thle(y botll mention little more
tllan a ringleader of turbulent Jews.  Superstitions;
of all kinds ancd from all quarters were crowding in, as
we may see even fromll Ilclian's own pages, upon tlhe
ground  which  tlie pliesthlood of pagan Rome were
striving to lhold b-y making  the national religion so' catholic " as to inte.int le tie godls of as many other
creeds as tihey could.  Aien believed, as Wieland says,




168                  LUCIAN.
" everything, and nothing."   A new  god or a new
superstition imore or less made not much impression on
the popular mind.  The very feeling to which St Paul
appeals at Athens, their readiness to adopt even an
c" unknown God," is evidence of a latitudinarianism
in such matters which at once gave hope of toleration,
and opened a dreary prospect of indifference.  And
indifference was, no doubt, the feeling' with which
the Christians were widely regarded, unless when by
some misrepresentation of their doctrines they were
denounced as plotters agailst the throne or the life of
the reigning emperor, and the populace was hounded
on against theml, as in more loldern times against the
Jews, as atheists, sorcerers, and enemlies of the state.
The attitude of Lucian towards Christianity has
been the subject of more discussion than that of any
other heathen writer.  Hle has written an account of
tlle self-immolation of one I'eregrinus or Proteus, about
whose character and antecedents the learned are not
quite agreed.  If Lucian's history of him  is to be
truste(l, he was a HIellespontine Greek, who, after a
youth of great profligacy, had, either from conviction
or more probably for selfish ends, become a Christian,
had held high office in the Chu(rrh, and attained a
position of great infuence in the body, combining the
pretensions of a Cynic philosopher with those of a
Christian priest.  He had even suffered for his professed faith, and been imprisoned by the governor of
Syria.  But this inmprisolnment Lucian thinks he purp)osely sought in order to obtain notoriety, which object
the governor was aware of, and disappointed him  by




L UCIAN AND  CCIIISTIA N1 TYY           169
setting him free.  He afterwards travelled, suppolrted,
according to apostolic precedent, by his fellow-believers;
but being detected in some profanation (apparently) of
the Eucharist,' he tlirew off his profession, and ieturned
to his old profligate life.  Explelled from Romle by tihe
authorities for his scandalous conduct there, he endleavoured without success to excite the people of Elis to
revolt aguailst the Plomanrt Government; and at length,
finding his popularity and influence on the wane, sought
to restore it by giving out publicly that he would bturn
himself solemnly at the forthcoming Olyrm pic games.
This intention, strange to say, he actually carried inlto
execution; whether from an insane desire for posthumous notoriety, or whether, hopillg to be rescued at
the last moment by his friends, he had gone too far to
recede, is not at all clear from any version of the story.
Lucian was an eyewitness of this very remarkable
spectacle, of which he gives an account in the shape
of a letter to a fiiend, prefacing it with a short biographical sketch, touched in very dark colours, of a
tman whom lhe considers to have been, both in his life
and death, a consummate impostor.   These are the
passages in rwh-iich he speaks of the Cllristianis:
"About this tinme, Peregrinus became a disciple of
that extraordinary philosophy of thle Christians, having
met with some of their priests and scribes in Palestine.
He soon convinced them that they wetre all mere chil* Lucian's words are, "I believe it was (eating certain food forbidden among them." This may have reference to the " mleats
offered to idols:" or he may very probably here, as elsehilere,
confound Cihistians with Jesws.




170                   LUCIA X.
dren to him, becoming their prophet and choir-leader
and chief of their synagogue, and, in short, everything
to them.  Several of their sacred books he annotated
and interpreted, and some he wrote himself.   They
held hlim almost as a god, and made him their lawgiver
allnd president.~  You know they still reverence that
great man, Him  that was crucified in Palestine for'
introduccin  these new  doctrines into the world.  On
this account Proteus was apprehellclec and thrown into
lrison, which very thing brounght him no smllall renown
for the future, and thle admiration ani notoriety which
lie was so fond of.  For, during the time that he was
in prison, the Christians, looking upon it as a general
inisfortuine, tried every means to get him  released.
lThen, when this was found impossible, their attention
to him in all other ways was zealous andi unlremitting.
]Froml- early dawn you might see widows and orphans
waiting at tlle prison-doors; and the men of rank
am-lllong them  even bribed the jailors to allow them to
pass the night w-ith him  inside the walls.  Then tlley
brought in to him there suniptuous meals, and read
their sacred books togetller; and this good Peregrinus
(for he was then called so) was termed by them a second
Socrates.   There came certain Christians, too, fi'oml
sonme of the cities in Asia, deputed by their community
to, bring him  aid, and to counsel and encourage hin.
For they are wonderfully ready whenever their public
interest is concerned —in short, they grudge nothing;
and so muchl Illoney came in to Peregrinus at that' The Greek wolrd here used (rpoo-aTIrs) possibly meains
bislap.  St Cyril calls St Paul and St Peter by tlhat lname.




LUCIA.A AND CHRISTIANITYl.             171
time, by reason of his imprisonment, that he made a
considerable income by it.  For these poor wretches
persuade themselves that they shall be immortal, and
live for everlastillg; so that they despise death, and
soeie of theml offer themselves to it voluntarily. Again,
their first lawgiver tauglht thenl that they were all
brothers, when once they had comnmitted themselves
so far as to renounce the gods of the Greeks, and worship that crucified sophist, and live according to his
laws.  So they hold all things alike in contempt, and
consider all property commlllonll, trusting each other in
such niatters without any valid security. If, therefore,
any clever inmpostor came among them, who knew how
to nlanaxge   matters, he very soon made himself a rich
man, by practising on the credulity of these simple
people."
We have in this passage a not very unfair account
of the discipline and practice of the early Christians,
taking into consideration that it is given by a cynical
observer, who saw in this new phase of religion only
one superstition the mlore.  There is an evident and
not unnatural confusion here and there between Christians and Jews; and it is not clear whether the "first
lawgiver" is a vague idea of Moses, or of St Paul,
or of Christ himself. But in the " widows" we plainly
see those deaconesses, or wrhatever we may term them,
of whom Phloee at Cenchrea was one; the "sumptuous meals" are almost certainly the "love-feasts" of
the Church; while in the readinl  of the sacred books
we have one of the most striking' features of their
public worship.  In the account of the prison-life. of




172                    L UCIA N.
Peregrinus, impostor if he were, we seem to be reading
but another version of that of St Paul-of the, "prayer
that was made of the Church" for lil —of the good
Philemon and Onesi)phorus, who "ministered to him
in his bonds," and those of "the chief of Asia who
were his friends."  The whole passage, brief as it is,
bears token of havilii  been peiined by a writer who,
if not acquainted wit,h the tenets a-nd practices of thle
Christians of those  cys froiof tse    s  solnal observation a(nd
experience, had at least gainedl his inforlmation from
some fairly accurate source.
Such a passlge wa:-vs sure to exercise the crIiticism
of Christian  scholars, and very conflicting theories
have been set up as to its interplretation, as bearing
upon the author's own relations and feelings towards
Clhristianity.  Some over-ingenious speculators, reading it side by side with his bitter satire on the accepted
theology of Paganisnm, have fancied that they saw in it
evidence that  llcian hlimself was a Clhristian-in disguise.  That after boldly and openly attacking Polytheism, and exlhibiting it in the most grotesque caricature, he cautiously, as one treading  on lperilous
ground, and still in a tone of half-banter, openes to
his readers a half-view of the new  philoso)phy whose
ideal republic is a grander schemle than Plato's-the
"simple people," the leadlinig features of whose polity are "universal brotherhood " and " community of
goods."
Such  a view was tempting, no doubt, to a clever
schlolar, from  the very para(lox whllich  it involved.
But, except as a paradlcox, it is hard to conceive its




LUCIAN AND  C'lRISTIANI'Y'.             173
having been propounded.  It was much nlore natural
to take, as many honest theologians did take and
hotly maintain, quite the opposite view  of Lucian's
feelings towards the new religion.  And these could
certainly produce better evidence in support of their
opinion.   They traced in the sceptical tone. of his
writings the voice of an enemy to all forms of religion, true as well as false.  They called him  loudly
"atheist " and  " blasphenmer."   Some of them  invented, and probably told until tlhey believed it, a
story of his having  met his deatlh  by being torn
in  pieces by dogs  as such  impiety well deserved.
And one-Suidas —went so far as to express the
charitable hope and belief that his punishment did
not end there, but is still proceeding."~  In  thle
passage which  has  been  ]here quoted, thley saw  a
siieer  at the  holiest mysteries.   Yet  siurely  llo
such  interpretation  is self-evident to  any  can(dlid
reader.  It is a cold, unimpassioned statement; h]alf
serious and  half satiric, as is Lucian's wont; but
usmither prejudiced nor malicious.  We have notlilng
lhere like the bitterness of Fronto or Celsus, or tlle
stern  anathema which Tacitus, ranking Christianity
among other hated introductions from the East, hurls
agtlinst it as an "execrable superstition."  The tenets
of this obscure sect did seem to Lucian —the man of the
* Suidas shall express himself in his own Latin, and if any
English reader does nlot understand him, lie will have no great
loss: "Quare et rabiei istius panas sufficientes in prnesenti
vita dedit, et in futurum   hieres oeterini ignis una cum Satans2
erit."-Life of Lucian, prefixecl to Zuinger's edit., 1602.




1'74                L. U CIA Nr.
Nworld-"l extraordinary 1" notling more or less, whatever irony sonme may find in the word.  Even the termn
"crucified sophist," however offensive to our ears,
had  nothing  necessarily  offensive as used by the
writer.  The clever Greelk has no special sympathy
with the " simple people " who were content with bad
security for their money, andcl proved such an easy
prey to any designing adventurer; but all his contempt and wrath is reserved for the impostor who
cheated them.  On him, and not on the Christians,
he pours it out unsparingIy.  Here is his account
of Peregrinus's last moments.  The great games were
over, but the crowd still lingered at Olympia to see
the promised spectacle.  It -was deferred from  night
to night, but at last an hour was appointed.  Attended by a troop of friends and admirers (a criminal
going to execution, says the merciless narrator, has
usually a long train), Peregrinus approached the pile,
which had been prepared near the Hippodronme.
"Then the more foolish among the crowd shouted,'Live, for the sake of the Greels I'  But the more
hard-hearted cried,'Fulfil your promise!'  At this
the old man was not a little put out, for he had(
expected  that they would  surely all llty hol(l on
him, and not let him  get into the fir,,, but force
him. to live ag'iinst his will.  But this exhortatioln
to' keep  his promise' fell on hinm  quite  unexpectedly, and made himn paler than ever, though his
colour looked like death before.  He tremnbled, and
became  silent....   When the moon rose  (for
she, too, must needs look upon this grand sight)




LUCIAN  AN\'D CIIRIl'IA N7ITY.           1 75
he came forward, clad in his usual dress, and followed
by his train of Cynics, and specially the notorious
Theagenes of Puatrl, well fitted  to  play second  itl
such a performance.  Peregrlinus, too, carried a torclih
and approaching  tile pile —a very large  one, mlla~!e
up of pitch-pine and brushwood-they lighllted it att
either end.  Then the hero  (mnarlk what I say) laitl
down his scrip  and  his cloak, and  the Herculeall
club he used to carry, and stood  in his under garment-and  very dirty it was.  H-e' lext asked  for
frankincense to cast.on the fire; and Nwhen some one
brought it, he threw  it on, and turninig his face towards the south (this turning towards the southl is
an important point in the pel rformance) lihe exclaimed,
cShades of my father and mnry motller, hle propitiols,
and receive me!'  When he had said this, he leapedl
into the burning pile al( was seen li), mIore, the flames
rising high and enveloping himn at once."
Lucian goes on to say, that Nwhen the followers of
Peregrinus stood  round weeping and lamenting, lie
could not resist sollOe jokes at their expense, whicl
very nearly cost him  a beating.   O)n his way honime
he met several  persons who were too late for thle
sight; andt when they begged hiln to give then  anr
account of it, he added  to the story a few  touches
of his own: how the earth shook, and how a vulture'
was seen soaring out of the fi-lnes, and crying, " I
have left earth, acnd  mount to  Olynpus!"  These
* The vulture among birds was the general scavenger, as tile
dog among beasts; andl Lucian perhaps imagines the solll of
he Cynic naturally taking that form.




176                    L UGJIA iN.
little embellislnhments of the fact were, as he assures
]lis friend, repeated afterwards as integral parts of the
story.   Somne time afterwards he had met " a greylairlc   old a11a1!1, whose bleard  and venerable aspect
ighlt have seemed to bespeak a trustworthy witness,"
wlho solemnly declared that he had seen Proteus after
]is burninl, " all in white, wearinlg a crown of olive;"
nlay, that lie had not long ago left him  " alive and
clleerful, walking in the Hall of the Seven Echoes."
This portion of the narrative has also given rise
to considerable discussion.  Those who could see in
Lucian nothing but a scoffer, asserted that the whole
story was fictitious, and that his sole intention was to
ridicule andc caricature the deaths of Christian martyrs.'l'hey noted in this account of the last moments of
Peregrinus many circumstances apparently borrowed
flrom the deatlhs of the famous martyrs of the times.
Th'lle previous attempts at rescue and the bribing of the
j;Lilors have their exact parallels in the case of Ignatius, and  the Christians in  their dreamns saw  him
wavlkingi about in a glorified shape; the " olive-crown"
llligllt be an embodim ent of that "crown of victory"
of wlhich he sl)oke at his death, or " the crowni of
illlltortality" which Polycarp saw  before himl; the
strip)lping and(l " standing in the under garment only" is
related of Cyprian at his martyrdonm;  and Lucian's
vulture seems but a parody of the dove which the
imaginative p)iety of Christian legend saw risinl fr'on
the funeral-pile of Polycarp."  The very year (A.o.  165)
* The (love is omitted ill the account given by Eusebius.




LUCrIAN AND CIHRISTIANV1TY.            177
of Polycarp's death, which we are distinctly told "was
discussed everywhere among the heathen," seems possibly to correspond. Bishop Pearson appears to have
considered the whole account as nothing more than
a kind of travesty of the martyrdom  of Ignatius, and
in this idea he has been followed by many German
scholars. It has been conjectured that possibly Lucian
mnay have intended to satirise the contempt of death
which he speaks of as a characteristic of the Christian
sect, and that positive desire for martyrdom which we
know from other authorities to have prevailed among
some of them to a morbid degree, as a new development
of cynicism.
But there seems no good reason to doubt the main
accuracy of the account given by Lucian, or to attribute
to him any sinister motive in telling the story as he does.
The extraordinary fact of this self-inmmolation of Peregrinus is related, though briefly, by Christian writers
-by Tatian, Tertullian, and Eusebius. Aulus Gellius,
indeed, speaks of having known himn in his earlier
life, as living in a cottage in the suburbs of Athens,
"' a grave and earnest man," to whose wise discourse he
had often listened with much pleasure. But a consummate impostor such as Lucian describes may well have
succeeded in imposing upon the Roman antiquarian
as upon the officers of the Christian Church."  He had
* See Noct. Att., xii. 11. Wieland, all whose remarks on
Lucian deserve respect, thought his portrait of Peregrinus manifestly unfaiir, andl wrote a kind of novelette, cast in the fornm
of a Dialogue between Lucian and Peregrinus in Elysium, in
which the latter gives a very different account of his life from:A. c. vol. xviii. i




178                   L U CIA N.
probably, as Eusebius relates of him, joined that community for a time, most likely for his own ends, though
lie may not have held the high position among them
which is here ascribed to himi.  On the motives which
led him to the extraordinary act which closed his life,
Lucian must have had better opportunities of judging
than are open to us; and he plainly considers that he
wxas actuated at first by a fanatical desire for notoriety,:tld possibly forced at the last to carry out his announceIllent against his will.  It might have required more
courage to draw back, in the face of public iidicule and
certain expo-.ure, than to brave death amidst the applause of the crowd.
The abuse showered upon  Lucian  by Christian
writers as a "blasphemer" and an " Antichrist" is
dlue partly to his having had ascribed to him  a Dialogue called " Philopatris," in which the Christians are
maliciously accused of prophesying misfortunes to the
state, and which bears internal evidence of having
been written by one who had been at some period a
member of a Christian Church.  As the author of this,
they charged him with worse than infidelity -aapostasy
from  the faith, and treason to his fo)rlmer associates.
But it has been pretty clearly proved that this work is
of much later date, and could not possibly have coILme
fronm the hand of Lucian.  It is true that in his account of the pseudo-prophet Alexander, the only other
occ-Sion-Qn which he mentions the Christians by name,
the version here presented to us. There is a good notice of this
little work of Wieland's in W. Taylor's'Historic Survey of
Gelman Poetry,' ii. 482.




LUCIAV  AvND CHRISTIANVITY.              1 79
he has classed them with " atheists and Epicureans;"'
but this is only so far as to show that they were all
equally incredulous of the pretended miracles of that
imnpostor.
Of the new Killn, om wrhich had risen Lucian had
in fact no contception.  What opportunities he may
have hadl, or nlay have missed, of' lnckiig acquaintanlce
witll it, we canot tell.  Its.sillnt growth seenms to
h wve been little noted by Iiimi.  The contempt for
death and indifference to riches professed by this new
secr would seeni to him  only echoes of wliat he had
long heard from the lips of those Stoic and Cynic pretendlers whomn he had mclde it his special business to
u:nmask; the vagrant preachers of this new fulith, supported by contributions, were confounded by hlim with
the half-mendicant professors of philosophy whom he
had known too well.  Hle did rnot care eniou-gh about
the Christians to hate them  much.  Their refusal to
sacrifice to the national idols-the great testing-point
of their martyrs under the reigning enperors-could.
have been no great criime in the eyes of the author of
the " Dialoglues of the, Gods."  Fanaticism  in that
direction was no Nworse than fatnaticislm in the other.
His  chief attentionl  seemis  to  lihave been  conceh~
trated on that remarkable revival of paganismn which
l),egan  under Hadrian  and  the  Antonines,  against
which  he  protests with  all the force of a keen
intellect and a bitillg wit.  But, far from  being the
enemy of Christianity, lie was, however unintentionally
* "Alexander," 38.




180                  LUCIAN.
and unconsciously, one of its most active allies.  He
fought its battle on a totally different ground from  its
own apologists, and would have been astonished to
know that he was fighting it at all; but he was weakening the common enemy.  He did the same service
to the advancing forces of Christianlity as the explosion of a mine does to the stormig party who are
walitilng in the trenches: he:   leNw inlto ruins the fortifications of pagan  s~uperstition, already  grievously
shlaken.  He did not know  who was to enter in at
the lbreach; but he had a stroiig conviction that the
old stronghold of falselhood oLught at any cost not to
stand.
ND9 OF LUC OAt,