Delphi Complete Works of Lucian

by Lucian Samosata

  Her. I myself, father, have heard a great deal of dissatisfaction expressed on Earth, only I did not like to mention it to you. However, as you have introduced the subject yourself, I may say that the discontent is general: men do not venture to express their resentment openly, but there are mutterings in corners about the delay. It is high time they were all put out of their suspense, for better or for worse.

  Zeus. And what would you have me do, my boy? hold a session at once? or shall we say next year?

  Her. Oh, at once, by all means.

  Zeus. To work, then: fly down, and make proclamation in the following terms: All litigant parties to assemble this day on Areopagus: Justice to assign them their juries from the whole body of the Athenians, the number of the jury to be in proportion to the amount of damages claimed; any party doubting the justice of his sentence to have the right of appeal to me. And you, my daughter, take your seat by the side of the Dread Goddesses [Footnote: See Erinnyes in Notes.], cast lots for the order of the trials, and superintend the formation of juries.

  Just. You would have me return to Earth, once more to be driven thence in ignominious flight by the intolerable taunts of Injustice?

  Zeus. Hope for better things. The philosophers have quite convinced every one by this time of your superiority. The son of Sophroniscus was particularly strong on your merits: he laid it down that Justice was the highest Good.

  Just. Yes; and very serviceable his dissertations on Justice were to him, were they not, when he was handed over to the Eleven, and thrown into prison, and drank the hemlock? Poor man, he had not even time to sacrifice the cock he owed to Asclepius. His accusers were too much for him altogether, and their philosophy had Injustice for its object.

  Zeus. But in those days philosophy was not generally known, and had but few exponents; it is not surprising that the scale turned in favour of Anytus and Meletus. But now it is different: look at the number of cloaks and sticks and wallets that are about; everywhere philosophers, long-bearded, book in hand, maintain your cause; the public walks are filled with their contending hosts, and every man of them calls Virtue his nurse. Numbers have abandoned their former professions to pounce upon wallet and cloak; these ready-made philosophers, carpenters once or cobblers, now duly tanned to the true Ethiopian hue, are singing your praises high and low. ‘He that falls on shipboard strikes wood,’ says the proverb; and the eye, wheresoever it fall, will light on philosophers.

  Just. Yes, father, but they frighten me: they quarrel so among themselves; and when they talk about me, they only expose their own little minds. And, from what I hear, most of those who make so free with my name show no inclination at all to put my principles into practice. I may count upon finding their doors closed to me: Injustice has been beforehand with me.

  Zeus. Come, child, they are not all so bad, and if you can find a few honest men it will be something. Now, off with you both, and see if you can’t get a few cases settled up to-day.

  Her. Well, Justice: yonder is our road: straight in the line for Sunium, to the foot of Hymettus, taking Parnes on our right; you see those two hills? You have quite forgotten the way, I suppose, in all this time? Now, now: weeping? why so vexed? There is nothing to fear. Things are quite different in these days: the Scirons and Pityocampteses and Busirises and Phalarises who used to frighten you so are all dead: Wisdom, the Academy, the Porch, now hold sway everywhere. They are all your admirers; their talk is all of you; they yearn to see you descend to them once more.

  Just. Tell me, Hermes, — you if any one must know the truth; you are generally busy either in the Gymnasium or else in the Market, making proclamation to the Assembly, — what are the Athenians like now? shall I be able to live with them?

  Her. We are brother and sister, it is only right that I should tell you the truth. Well then, Philosophy has made a considerable change for the better in most of them; at the worst, their respect for the cloth is some check on their misdeeds. At the same time — not to conceal anything — you will find villains amongst them; and you will find some who are neither quite philosophers nor quite knaves. The fact is, Philosophy’s dyeing process is still going on. Some have absorbed the full quantity of dye; these are perfect specimens of her art, and show no admixture of other colours; with them you will find a ready reception. But others, owing to their original impurities, are not yet completely saturated; they are better than the generality of mankind, but they are not all they should be; they are piebald or spotted or dappled. Others again there are who have contented themselves with merely rubbing a fingertip in the soot on the outside of the cauldron, and smearing themselves with that; after which they consider the dyeing process complete. But you, of course, will only live with the best. Meanwhile, here we are, close to Attica; we must now leave Sunium on our right, and diverge towards the Acropolis. Good: terra firma. You had better sit down somewhere here on the Areopagus, in the direction of the Pnyx, and wait whilst I make Zeus’s proclamation. I shall go up into the Acropolis; that will be the easiest way of making every one hear the summons.

  Just. Before you go, Hermes, tell me who this is coming along; a man with horns and a pipe and shaggy legs.

  Her. Why, you must know Pan, most festive of all Dionysus’s followers? He used to live on Mount Parthenius: but at the time of the Persian expedition under Datis, when the barbarians landed at Marathon, he volunteered in the Athenian service; and ever since then he has had the cave yonder at the foot of the Acropolis, a little past the Pelasgicum, and pays his taxes like any other naturalized foreigner. Seeing us so near at hand, I suppose he is coming up to make his compliments.

  Pan. Hail, Justice and Hermes!

  Just. Hail, Pan; chief of Satyrs in dance and song, and most gallant of Athens’ soldiers!

  Pan. But what brings you here, Hermes?

  Her. Justice will explain; I must be off to the Acropolis on my errand.

  Just. Zeus has sent me down, Pan, to preside in the law- court. — And how do you like Athens?

  Pan. Well, the fact is, I am a good deal disappointed: they do not treat me with the consideration to which I am entitled, after repelling that tremendous barbarian invasion. All they do is to come up to my cave two or three times a year with a particularly high-scented goat, and sacrifice him: I am permitted to look on whilst they enjoy the feast, and am complimented with a perfunctory dance. However, there is some joking and merrymaking on the occasion, and that I find rather fun.

  Just. And, Pan, — have they become more virtuous under the hands of the philosophers?

  Pan. Philosophers? Oh! people with beards just like mine; sepulchral beings, who are always getting together and jabbering?

  Just. Those are they.

  Pan. I can’t understand a word they say; their philosophy is too much for me. I am mountain-bred; smart city-language is not in my line; sophists and philosophers are not known in Arcadia. I am a good hand at flute or pipe; I can mind goats, I can dance, I can fight at a pinch, and that is all. But I hear them all day long, bawling out a string of hard words about virtue, and nature, and ideas, and things incorporeal. They are good enough friends when the argument begins, but their voices mount higher and higher as they go on, and end in a scream; they get more and more excited, and all try to speak at once; they grow red in the face, their necks swell, and their veins stand out, for all the world like a flute-player on a high note. The argument is turned upside down, they forget what they are trying to prove, and finally go off abusing one another and brushing the sweat from their brows; victory rests with him who can show the boldest front and the loudest voice, and hold his ground the longest. The people, especially those who have nothing better to do, adore them, and stand spellbound under their confident bawlings. For all that I could see, they were no better than humbugs, and I was none too pleased at their copying my beard. If there were any use in their noise, if the talking did any good to the public, I should not have a word to say against them: but, to tell you the plain unvarnished truth, I have more tha
n once looked out from my peep-hole yonder and seen them —

  Just. Hush, Pan: was not that Hermes making the proclamation?

  Pan. I thought so.

  Her. Be it known to all men that we purpose on this seventh day of March to hold a court of justice, and Fortune defend the right! All litigant parties to assemble on Areopagus, where Justice will assign the juries and preside over the trials in person. The juries to be taken from the whole Athenian people; the pay to be sixpence for each case; the number of jurors to vary with the nature of the accusation. Any parties who had commenced legal proceedings and have died in the interim to be sent up by Aeacus. Any party doubting the justice of his sentence may appeal; the appeal to he heard by Zeus.

  Pan. Talk about noise! how they shout! And what a hurry they are in to get here! See how one hales another up the hill! Here comes Hermes himself. Well, I leave you to your juries and your evidence; you are accustomed to it. I will return to my cave, and there play over one of those amorous ditties with which I love to upbraid Echo. As to rhetoric and law-pleadings, I hear enough of those every day in this very court of Areopagus.

  Her. We had better summon the parties, Justice.

  Just. True. Only look at the crowd, bustling and buzzing about the hilltop like a swarm of wasps!

  First Ath. I’ve got you, curse you.

  Second Ath. Pooh! a trumped-up charge.

  Third Ath. At last! you shall get your deserts this time.

  Fourth Ath. Your villany shall be unmasked.

  Fifth Ath. My jury first, Hermes.

  Sixth Ath. Come along: into court with you, rascal.

  Seventh Ath. You needn’t throttle me.

  Just. Do you know what I think we had better do, Hermes? Put off all the other cases for to-morrow, and only take to-day the charges brought by Arts, Professions, and Philosophies. Pick me out all of that kind.

  Her. Drink v. the Academy, re Polemon, kidnapped.

  Just. Seven jurors.

  Her. Porch v. Pleasure. Defendant is charged with seducing Dionysius, plaintiff’s admirer.

  Just. Five will do for that.

  Her. Luxury v. Virtue, re Aristippus.

  Just. Five again.

  Her. Bank v. Diogenes, alleged to have run away from plaintiff’s service.

  Just. Three only.

  Her. Painting v. Pyrrho. Desertion from the ranks.

  Just. That will want nine.

  Her. What about these two charges just brought against a rhetorician?

  Just. No, those can stand over; we must work off the arrears first.

  Her. Well, these cases are of just the same kind. They are not old ones, it is true, but they are very like those you have taken, and might fairly be heard with them.

  Just. That looks rather like favouritism, Hermes. However, as you like; only these must be the last; we have got quite enough. What are they?

  Her. Rhetoric v. a Syrian [Footnote: i.e. Lucian. See Volume I, Introduction, Section I, Life.], for neglect; Dialogue v. the same, for assault.

  Just. And who is this Syrian? There is no name given.

  Her. That is all: the Syrian rhetorician; he can have a jury without having a name.

  Just. So! here on Areopagus I am to give juries to outsiders, who ought to be tried on the other side of the Euphrates? Well, give him eleven, and they can hear both cases.

  Her. That’s right; it will save a lot of expense.

  Just. First case: the Academy versus Drink. Let the jury take their seats. Mark the time,’ Hermes. Drink, open the case…. Not a word? can you do nothing but nod? — Hermes, go and see what is the matter with her.

  Her. She says she cannot plead, she would only be laughed at; wine has tied her tongue. As you see, she can hardly stand.

  Just. Well, there are plenty of able counsel present, ready to shout themselves hoarse for sixpence; let her employ one of them.

  Her. No one will have anything to do with such a client in open court. But she makes a very reasonable proposal.

  Just. Yes?

  Her. The Academy is always ready to take both sides; she makes a point of contradicting herself plausibly. ‘Let her speak first on my behalf,’ says Drink, ‘and then on her own.’

  Just. A novel form of procedure. However, go on, Academy; speak on both sides, if you find it so easy.

  Acad. First, gentlemen of the jury, let me state the case for 16 Drink, as her time is now being taken.

  My unfortunate client, gentlemen, has been cruelly wronged: I have torn from her the one slave on whose loyalty and affection she could rely, the only one who saw nothing censurable in her conduct. I allude to Polemon, whose days, from morning to night, were spent in revel; who in broad daylight sought the publicity of the Market in the company of music — girls and singers; ever drunk, ever headachy, ever garlanded. In support of my statements, I appeal to every man in Athens to say whether he had ever seen Polemon sober. But in an evil hour for him, his revels, which had brought him to so many other doors, brought him at length to my own. I laid hands on him, tore him away by brute force from the plaintiff, and made him my own; giving him water to drink, teaching him sobriety, and stripping him of his garlands. He, who should have been sitting over his wine, now became acquainted with the perverse, the harassing, the pernicious quibbles of philosophy. Alas! the ruddy glow has departed from his cheek; he is pale and wasted; his songs are all forgotten; there are times when he will sit far on into the night, tasting neither meat nor drink, while he reels out the meaningless platitudes with which I have so abundantly supplied him. I have even incited him to attack the character of my client, and to utter a thousand base insinuations against her good fame.