Philo. Lycinus

Phi. Ah, Lycinus, I hear you had a very varied entertainment dining with Aristaenetus last night; a philosophic debate followed by a sharp difference of opinion, I understand; if Charinus’s information was correct, it went as far as blows, and the conference had a bloody end.

Ly. Charinus? he was not there; what can he know about it?

Phi. Dionicus the doctor had told him, he said; he was one of you, was he not?

Ly. Yes, but only later on; he came when the fray was already a promising one, though no blows had yet been struck. I doubt whether he could have any intelligible account to give, as he had not followed the beginning of the rivalry that was to end in bloodshed.

Phi. Just so; Charinus told me to apply to you, if I wanted a true description of all the details. Dionicus had mentioned that he had not been there all through, but said you knew the whole of the facts, and would remember the arguments too, as you are a real student and take more than an outside interest in that sort of thing. So no more ceremony, please, but spread me this most tempting of banquets; its attractions are enhanced by the fact that we shall enjoy it soberly, quietly, without bloodshed or danger, whatever regrettable words or deeds the old men’s weak heads or the young men’s vinous exaltation may have led them into.

Ly. What an indiscreet demand, Philo! What, make the story public? give a full description of what men do in their cups? A veil should be drawn over such things; they should be ascribed to Dionysus; I am not at all sure that he will pardon the man who holds aloof from his mystic influence. I should like to be sure that it does not betray an evil nature if you dwell too curiously on what you should forget as you leave the dining-room. ‘Babble wet, But dry forget,’ goes the rhyme. It was not right of Dionicus to blab to Charinus, bespattering great philosophers with stale wine-rinsings. No, get thee behind me; my lips are sealed.

Phi. Coquette! and you have mistaken your man too; I am quite aware that you are more eager to tell than I to hear: I believe, if you had no one to listen, you would find a pillar or statue and out with the whole tale to it in one torrent. If I try to make off now, you will never let me go till I have done my listening; you will hold on to me and pursue me and solicit me. Then it will be my turn to coquet. Oh, very well; do not trouble to tell me; good-bye; I will get it out of some one else.

Ly. Oh, you needn’t be so hasty. I will tell you, if you are so set upon it; only don’t repeat it to everybody.

Phi. If I know anything whatever of you, you will take good care of that; you will not leave me many to repeat it to.

Now begin with telling me what Aristaenetus was giving the banquet for; was it his boy Zeno’s wedding?

Ly. No, his girl Cleanthis’s — to the son of Eucritus the banker, a student of philosophy.

Phi. I know; a fine lad; only a lad, though; old enough to marry?

Ly. Well, he was the most suitable to be had, I suppose. He is a well-behaved youngster, has taken up philosophy, and is sole heir to a rich father; so he was the selected bridegroom.

Phi. Ah, no doubt Eucritus’s money is a consideration. Well, and who were the guests?

Ly. Why, I need not give you the whole list; what you want is the philosophers and men of letters. There was the old Stoic Zenothemis, and with him ‘Labyrinth’ Diphilus; Aristaenetus’s son Zeno is his pupil. The Peripatetics were represented by Cleodemus — the ready, argumentative person — you know him; ‘Sword,’ and ‘Cleaver,’ his disciples call him. And then there was Hermon the Epicurean; directly he came in, there were queer looks and edgings away in the Stoic contingent; he might have been a parricide or an outlaw, by the way they treated him. These had been asked as Aristaenetus’s personal friends and intimates, under which head come also Histiaeus the literary man and Dionysodorus the rhetorician.

Then Chaereas (that is the bridegroom’s name) was responsible for his tutor Ion the Platonic — a grave reverend man remarkable for the composure of his expression. He is generally spoken of as ‘The Standard,’ so infallible is his judgement. As he walked up the room, everybody got out of his way and saluted him like some higher being; the great Ion’s presence is like an angel’s visit.

When nearly all the guests had arrived, and we were to take our places, the ladies occupied the whole of the table to the right of the entrance; there were a good many of them, surrounding the closely veiled bride. The table at the far end accommodated the general company, in due precedence.

At the one opposite the ladies, Eucritus had the first place, with Aristaenetus next him. Then a doubt arose whether the next was Zenothemis the Stoic’s, in virtue of his years, or Hermon the Epicurean’s, who is priest of the Twin Gods 1, and also of the noblest blood in the land. Zenothemis found the solution. ‘Aristaenetus,’ he said, ‘if you place me below this Epicurean (I need not use worse language than that), I at once leave the room’; and calling his servant he made as if to depart. ‘Have your way, Zenothemis,’ said Hermon, ‘though, whatever your contempt for Epicurus, etiquette would have suggested your giving way to my priesthood, if I had no other claims.’ ‘Priest and Epicurean! that is a good joke,’ retorted Zenothemis, and took the place, with Hermon next him, however. Then came Cleodemus the Peripatetic, Ion with the bridegroom, myself, Diphilus and his pupil Zeno, then Dionysodorus the rhetorician and Histiaeus the literary man.

Phi. Upon my word, a very temple of the Muses, peopled mainly with the learned! I congratulate Aristaenetus on choosing for his guests on so auspicious an occasion these patterns of wisdom; he skimmed the cream off every sect in a most catholic spirit.

Ly. Oh, yes, he is not one’s idea of the rich man at all; he cares for culture, and gives most of his time to those who have it.

Well, we fell to, quietly at first, on the ample and varied fare. But you do not want a catalogue of soups and pastry and sauces; there was plenty of everything. At this stage Cleodemus bent down to Ion, and said: ‘Do you see how the old man’ (this was Zenothemis; I could overhear their talk) ‘is stuffing down the good things — his dress gets a good deal of the gravy — and what a lot he hands back to his servant? he thinks we cannot see him, and does not care whether there will be enough to go round. Just call Lycinus’s attention to him.’ This was quite unnecessary, as I had had an excellent view of it for some time.

Just after Cleodemus had said this, in burst Alcidamas the cynic. He had not been asked, but put a good face upon it with the usual ‘No summons Menelaus waits.’ The general opinion clearly was that he was an impudent rogue, and various people struck in with what came to hand: ‘What, Menelaus, art distraught?’ or, ‘It liked not Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,’ and other neat tags suited to the occasion; but these were all asides; no one ventured to make them audible to him. Alcidamas is a man uncommonly ‘good at the war-cry’; he will bark you louder than any dog of them all, literal or metaphorical; my gentlemen all knew he was their better, and lay low.

Aristaenetus told him he was quite right to come; would he take a chair and sit behind Histiaeus and Dionysodorus? ‘Stuff!’ he said; ‘a soft womanish trick, to sit on a chair or a stool! one might as well loll at one’s food half on one’s back, like all of you on this soft couch with purple cushions under you. As for me, I will take my dinner standing and walking about the room. If I get tired, I will lay my old cloak on the ground and prop myself on my elbow like Heracles in the pictures.’ ‘Just as you please,’ said Aristaenetus; and after that Alcidamas fed walking round, shifting his quarters like the Scythians according to where pasturage was richest, and following the servants up as they carried the dishes.

However, he did not let feeding interrupt his energetic expositions of virtue and vice, and his scoffs at gold and silver. What was the good of this multitude of wonderful cups, he wanted to know, when earthenware would serve the purpose? Aristaenetus got rid of his obtrusiveness for the moment by signing to his servant to hand the cynic a huge goblet of potent liquor. It seemed a happy thought; but he little knew the woes that were to flow from that goblet. When Alcidamas got it, he was quiet for a while, throwing himself on the ground in dishabille as he had threatened, with his elbow planted vertically, just in the attitude of the painters’ Heracles with Pholus.

By this time the wine was flowing pretty freely everywhere; healths were drunk, conversation was general, and the lights had come in. I now noticed the boy standing near Cleodemus — a good-looking cup-bearer — to have an odd smile on. I suppose I am to give you all the by-play of the dinner, especially any tender incidents. Well, so I was trying to get at the reason for the smile. In a little while he came to take Cleodemus’s cup from him; he gave the boy’s fingers a pinch, and handed him up a couple of shillings, I think it was, with the cup. The smile appeared again in response to the pinch, but I imagine he failed to notice the coins; he did not get hold of them; they went ringing on the floor, and there were two blushing faces to be seen. Those round, however, could not tell whose the money was, the boy saying he had not dropped it, and Cleodemus, at whose place it had been heard to fall, not confessing to the loss. So the matter was soon done with; hardly any one had grasped the situation — only Aristaenetus, as far as I could gather. He shifted the boy soon after, effecting the transfer without any fuss, and assigned Cleodemus a strong grown-up fellow who might be a mule or horse groom. So much for that business; it would have seriously compromised Cleodemus if it had attracted general attention; but it was smothered forthwith by Aristaenetus’s tactful handling of the offence.

Alcidamas the cynic, who had now emptied his goblet, after finding out the bride’s name, called for silence; he then faced the ladies, and cried out in a loud voice: ‘Cleanthis, I drink to you in the name of my patron Heracles.’ There was a general laugh; upon which, ‘You vile scum,’ says he, ‘you laugh, do you, because I invoke our God Heracles as I toast the bride? Let me tell you that, if she will not pledge me, she shall never bear a son as brave of spirit, as free of judgement, as strong of body, as myself.’ And he proceeded to show us more of the said body, till it was scarcely decent. The company irritated him by laughing again; he stood there with a wandering wrathful eye, and looked as if he were going to make trouble. He would probably have brought down his stick on somebody’s head, but for the timely arrival of an enormous cake, the sight of which mollified him; he quieted down, and accompanied its progress, eating hard.

The rest were mostly flushed with wine by this time, and the room was full of clamour. Dionysodorus the rhetorician was alternately delivering speeches of his own composition and receiving the plaudits of the servants behind. Histiaeus, the literary man below him, was making an eclectic mixture of Pindar, Hesiod, and Anacreon, whose collaboration produced a most remarkable ode, some of it really prophetic of what was soon to come —‘Then hide met stubborn hide,’ for instance, and ‘Uprose the wailings and the prayers of men.’ Zenothemis too had taken a scroll in small writing from his servant, which he was reading aloud.

Now came one of the usual slight breaks in the procession of dishes; and Aristaenetus, to avoid the embarrassment of a blank, told his jester to come in and talk or perform, by way of putting the company still more at their ease. So in came an ugly fellow with a shaven head — just a few hairs standing upright on the crown. He danced with dislocations and contortions, which made him still more absurd, then improvised and delivered some anapaests in an Egyptian accent, and wound up with witticisms on the guests.

Most of them took these in good part; but when it came to Alcidamas’s turn, and he called him a Maltese poodle 1, Alcidamas, who had shown signs of jealousy for some time and did not at all like the way he was holding every one’s attention, lost his temper. He threw off his cloak and challenged the fellow to a bout of pancratium; otherwise he would let him feel his stick. So poor Satyrion, as the jester was called, had to accept the challenge and stand up. A charming spectacle — the philosopher sparring and exchanging blows with a buffoon! Some of us were scandalized and some amused, till Alcidamas found he had his bellyful, being no match for the tough little fellow. They gave us a good laugh.

It was now, not long after this match, that Dionicus the doctor came in. He had been detained, he said, by a brain-fever case; the patient was Polyprepon the piper, and thereby hung a tale. He had no sooner entered the room, not knowing how far gone the man was, when he jumped up, secured the door, drew a dagger, and handed him the pipes, with an order to play them; and when Dionicus could not, he took a strap and inflicted chastisement on the palms of his hands. To escape from this perilous position, Dionicus proposed a match, with a scale of forfeits to be exacted with the strap. He played first himself, and then handed over the pipes, receiving in exchange the strap and dagger. These he lost no time in sending out of window into the open court, after which it was safe to grapple with him and shout for help; the neighbours broke open the door and rescued him. He showed us his wealed hands and some scratches on his face. His story had as distinguished a success as the jester before; he then squeezed himself in by Histiaeus and dined on what was left. His coming was providential, and he most useful in the sequel.

There now appeared a messenger who said he brought a communication from Hetoemocles the Stoic, which his master had directed him to read publicly, and then return. With Aristaenetus’s permission he took it to the lamp, and began reading.

Phi. The usual thing, I suppose — a panegyric on the bride, or an epithalamium?

Ly. Just what we took it for; however, it was quite another story. Here are the contents:

Hetoemocles the Philosopher to Aristaenetus, greeting.

My views on dining are easily deducible from my whole past life; though daily importuned by far richer men than you to join them, I invariably refuse; I know too well the tumults and follies that attend the wine-cup. But if there is one whose neglect I may fairly resent, it is yourself; the fruit of my long and unremitting attentions to you is to find myself not on the roll of your friends; I, your next-door neighbour, am singled out for exclusion. The sting of it is in the personal ingratitude; happiness for me is not found in a plate of wild boar or hare or pastry; these I get in abundance at the houses of people who understand the proprieties; this very day I might have dined (and well, by all accounts) with my pupil Pammenes; but he pressed me to no purpose; I was reserving myself, poor fool, for you.

But you pass me by, and feast others. I ought not to be surprised; you have not acquired the power of distinguishing merit; you have no apprehensive imagination. I know whence the blow comes; it is from your precious philosophers, Zenothemis and The Labyrinth, whose mouths (though I would not boast) I could stop with a single syllogism. Let either of them tell me, What is Philosophy? or, not to go beyond the merest elements, how does condition differ from constitution? for I will not resort to real puzzles, as the Horns 1 the Sorites 1, or the Reaper 1. Well, I wish you joy of their company. As for me, holding as I do that nothing is good but what is right, I shall get over a slight like this.

You will be kind enough not to resort later............