Marius the Epicurean, Volume Two

A CONVERSATION

s therefore a rare thing for him. He was induced so to do on the occasion of a visit to Rome of the famous writer Lucian, whom he had been bidden to meet. The breakfast over, he walked away with the learned guest, having offered to be his guide [142] to the lecture-room of a well-known Greek rhetorician and expositor of the Stoic philosophy, a teacher then much in fashion among the studious youth of Rome. On reaching the place, however, they found the doors closed, with a slip of writing attached, which proclaimed "a holiday"; and the morning being a fine one, they walked further, along the Appian Way. Mortality, with which the Queen of Ways-in reality the favourite cemetery of Rome-was so clo

ter by the living. "While I live," such was the promise of a lover to his dead mistress, "you will receive this homage: after my death,-who can tell?"-post mortem nescio. "If ghosts, my sons, do feel anything after death, my sorrow will be lessened by your frequent coming to me here!" "This is a priv

ll reference to what might lie beyond its "flaming barriers." And at the age of sixty he had no misgivings. His elegant and self-complacent but far from unamiable scepticism, long since brought to perfection, never failed him. It surrounded him, as some are surrounded by a magic ring of fine aristocratic manners, with "a rampa

g briskly-a lad with gait and figure well enough expressive of the sane mind in the healthy body, though a little slim and worn of feature, and with a pair of eyes expressly designed, it might seem, for fine gl

e of foot-passengers at the roadside, from which they could overlook the grand, earnest prospect of the Campagna, and enjoy the air. Fancying that the lad's

ving your arms. Some fine speech you were pondering, some knotty question, some viewy doctrine-not to be idle for a moment, to be making progress in philosophy, even on

e, that was first said-a thing so much easier than divine philosophy, to which one can hardly attain in a lifetime, unless one be ever wakeful, ever on the watch

fter these months of toil, and with that scholarly pallor of yours. Unl

and steep and rough. I see myself still at the beginning of my journey; still [146] but at the mountai

er, let down to you, from that high place, a golden cord, to draw you up t

ended on him I should long ago have

rney's end, and that happiness there

t on the obstacles of the way. Only, those who endure to the end do come to the mountain's top, and thereafter live i

erd,' as we creep along, will not forget you in our prayers, when you are seated up there above the clou

shall be really on the summit.-A great while! you think.

ll as a philosopher? For I suppose you would not endure all this, upon a mere chance-toiling day and night, though it might

an! Were I to survive but for a day, I sh

h a single day, aft

essed moment

that happiness is to be had up there, at all-th

s me. Of a certainty he knows,

out it? Is it riches, or glory,

ose are nothing in compa

[148] end of this discipline-what excelle

em: stripped bare of all that, they mount up, even as Hercules, consumed in the fire, became a god. He too cast aside all that he had of his earthly mother, and bearing with him the divine element, pure

those whom they left below? Must they, when they be once come thither

tire are subject no longer to anger, fear, d

what way you first started on your philosophic journey? For, if I

time your advantage over all [149] other people. They will

ll me-Do you allow learners to contradict, if

, oppose your questions. In tha

e philosophy-your own way-the way of the Stoics: or is it tru

e who call themselves after Plato: there are the enthusiasts for Diog

again, is what they sa

diff

to philosophy, and seeing so many doors open to you, passed them all by and went in to the Stoics, as if there alone lay the way of truth? What token had yo

at majority went! 'Twas by that

Platonists, the Peripatetics? You, doubtless, counte

avaricious and quarrelsome, and Plato's followers puffed up with pride. But of the Stoics, not a few pronounced that they were t

Stoics: you would not have believed them-still le

f-to what I saw. I saw the Stoics going through the world after a seemly manner, neatly clad

s of art, which are rightly judged by their appearance to the eye. There is something in the comely form, the graceful drapery, which tells surely of the hand of Pheidias or Alca

f the blind I

ision more than all others. But can those who are not blind, be they as keen-sighted as you will, collect a single fact of mind from a man's attire, from anything outward?-Understand

sur

d are not wont so to reveal themselves. They are but hidden mysteries, hardly to be guessed at through the words and acts which [152] may in some sort be

In truth, it was with God's help I

ll me, to save me from peri

I can tell you

e, that true philosophy which would make me equal to you, I will try, if it may be, to find out for

something worth knowin

y come thence, as we suppose. All the virtues are theirs, and they are little less than gods. Those acts of violence which happen among us are not to be seen in their streets. They live together in one mind, very seemly; the things which beyond [153] everything

ity such as that, and take no account of the length and difficult

very gates, of the city. Well, this aged man told me, among other things, that all the citizens were wayfarers from afar. Among them were barbarians and slaves, poor [154] men-aye! and cripples-all indeed who truly desired that citizenship. For the only legal conditions of enrolment were-not wealth, nor bodily beauty, nor noble ancestry-things not named among them-but intelligence, and the desire for moral beauty, and earnest labour. The last comer, thus qualified, was made equal to the rest: master and slave, patrician, plebeian, were words they had not-in that blissful place. And believe me, if that blissful, that beautiful place, were set on a hill visible to all the world, I should long ago have journeyed thither. But, as you say, it is

guides than those. If you wish to get to Corinth, you will follo

und about me, and put me on my trial for my presumption, and say:-'In whom was it you confided when you preferred Zeno and Chrysippus to me?-and me?-masters of far more venerable age than those, who are but of yesterday; and though you have never held any discussion with us, nor made trial of our doctrine? It is not thus that the law would have judges do-listen to one party and refuse to let the other speak for himself. If judges act thus, there may be an appeal to another tribunal.' What should I answer? Would it [156] be enough to say:-'I trusted my friend Hermotimus?'-'We know not Hermotimus, nor he us,' they would tell me; adding, with a smile, 'your friend thinks he may beli

nd against them. Let us rather search out together if the truth of Ph

way. And now do you speak! You really look a

ceeding to inquire into all the various tenets of the others. Look at the question in this way. If one told you that twice two make four, would it be necessary for you to g

on

n their enunciation of what is true, should adhere to them, and seek after no others;

n questions to principles universally received. Have you ev

madman wou

hat it is they for whom twice two make four. But the Epicureans, or the Platonists, [158] might say that it is they, in truth, who make two and two equal four, while you make them five or seven. Is it not so, when you think virtue the only good, and the Epicureans pleasure; when you hold all things to be material, while the Platonists admit something immaterial? As

one of the sacred vessels is found to be missing. And the two men must be searched to see which of them has hidden it under his garment. For it is certainly in the possession of one or the other

So let

the Stoics, shall no longer have need to search other philosophers, [15

s of all persons who have entered the temple, if the lost vessel is to be recovered. And if you find a golden cup on the first of them, it will still be necessary to proceed in searching the garments of the others; for it is not certain that this cup really belonged to the temple. Might there not be many such golden vessels?-No! we must go on to every one of them, placing all that we find in the midst together, and then make our guess which of all those things may fairly be supposed to be the property of the god. For, again, this circumstance adds greatly to our difficulty, that without exception every one searched is

hing to rep

f philosophy-which of all philosophies one ought to follow-he alone who is acquainted with the dicta of every one of them can be such a guide: all others must be inadequate. I would give no credence to them if they lacked information as to one only. If somebody introduced a fair person and told us he was the fairest of all men, we should not believe that, unless we kne

began in early life. I know not how it is; but though you seem to me to speak reasonably, yet (I must confess it) you have distressed me not a little by this exact exposition of yours. I was unlucky in c

f, for giving us but seventy or eighty years instead of making us as long-li

t you have a grudge against philosophy; and it i

nter countenance. She, nevertheless, being conscious of no alloy within, discourses with boldness to all men, who therefore have little love for her. See how angry you are now because I have stated the truth about certain things of which we are both alike enamoured-that they are hard to come b

at you said, that we must renounce phi

to seek after philosophy, whereas there are many ways professi

were not possible to learn the whole by the part! They say that Pheidias, when he was shown one of the talons of a lion, computed the stature and age of the animal it belonged to, modelling a complete lion upon the standard of a single part of it. You too would recognis

e known that it was a lion's, if he had never seen the animal? Surely, the cause of his recognising the part was his knowledge of the whole. There is a way of choosing one's philosophy even le

th me. Tell me; did

ur

ound of [164] the wine-merchants,

no m

How if you had gone to each of the merchants in turn, and said, 'I wish to buy a cotylé of wine. Let me drink out the whole cask. Then I shall be able

om one's fingers! Still, you have given

ow

r even-but one and the same thing only to tell you, every day and all days, on a subject so manifold? Otherwise, how can you know the whole by the tasting of one part? The whole is not the same-Ah! and it may be that God has hidden the good wine of philosophy at the bottom of the cask. You must drain it to the end if you are to find those drops of divine sweetness you seem so much to thirst for! Yourself, after drinking so deeply, are still but at the beginning, as you said. But is not philosophy rather like this? Keep the figure of the merchant and the cask: but let it be filled, not w

I say that it may be with her as with some deadly poison, [166] hemlock or aconite. These too, though they cause de

hundred years: one must sustain all this l

rst, that Life is short and art is long. But now you take it hard that we are not to

jealousy of heart, I believe, because I have made some

nchanged. Reason still says, that without criticism, without a clear, exact, unbiassed intelligence to try them, all those theories-all things-will have been seen but in vain. 'To that end,' she tells us, 'much time is necessary, many delays of judgment, a

impossible, or possibl

s in the belief that we have found something:-like the fishermen! Again and again they let down the net. At last they

mean by the net. It is plain

und. You have twenty beans in your hand, and you bid ten persons guess how many: one says five, another fifteen; it is possible that one of them may tell the true number; but it is not impossible that all may be wrong. So it is with the philosophers. All alike are in se

e come round in a circle to the spot whence we started, and to our first incertitude. Ah! Lucian, what have y

ether; without previous thought whether what he desires is in itself attainable and within the compass of human nature. Even so, methinks, has it happened with you. As you dreamed, so largely, of those wonderful things, came Reason, and woke you up from sleep, a little roughly: and then you are angry with Reason, your eyes being still but half open, and find it hard to shake off sleep for the pleasure of what you saw therein. Only, [169] don't be angry with me, because, as a friend, I would not suffer you to pass you

e than anything else seduced you, and others like you, into that passion, for a vain idol of the fancy, is, that he who told you about that fair woman, from the very moment when you first believed that what he said was true, brought forward all the rest in consequent order. Upon her alone your eyes were fixed; by her he led you along, when once you ha

who poured water into a mortar, and ground it with all his might with a pestle of iron,

that terror of isolation, of being left alone in these places, of which the sepulchral inscriptions were so full. A blood-red sunset was dying angrily, and its wild glare upon the shadowy objects around helped to combine [171] the associations of this famous way, its deeply graven marks of immemorial travel, together with the earnest questions of the morning as to the true way of that other sort of travelling, around an image, almost ghastly in the traces of its great sorrows-bearing along for ever, on bleeding feet, the instrument of its punishment-which was all Marius could recall distinctly of a certain Christian legend he had heard. The legend told of an encounter at this very spot, of two wayfarer

: SUNT LACR

tinuously indeed, yet sometimes for lengthy intervals, during which it was no idle self-indulgence, but a necessity of his intellectual life, to "confess himself," with an intimacy, seemingly rare among the ancients; anci

re and trite. But I must needs take my petulance, contrasting it with my accustomed morning hopefulness, as a sign of the ageing of appetite, of a decay in the very capacity of enjoyment. We need some imaginative stimulus, some not impossible ideal such as may shape vague hope, and transform it into effective desire, to carry us year after year, without disgust, through the routine-work which is so large a part of life. "Then, how if appetite, be it for real or ideal, should itself fail one after awhile? Ah, yes! is it of cold always that men die; and on some of us it creeps very gradually. In truth, I can remember just such a lack-lustre condition of feeling once or twice before. But I note, that it was accompanied then by an odd

o those who passed him, as he went among the strangers to whom his former owner had committed him, to die, in his beauty and pride, for just that one mischance or fault; although the morning air was still so animating, and pleasant to snuff. I could have fancied a human soul in the creature, swelling against its luck. And I had come across the incident just when it would figure to me as the very symbol [175] of our poor humanity, in its capacities for p

of triumph, to show that they are all there. Their gay chatter has disturbed a little group of peasants; a young woman and her husband, who have brought the old mother, now past work and witless, to place her in a house provided for such afflicted people. They are fairly affectionate, but anxious how the thin

r last appeal to be taken home again; her proof that all is not yet up with

iting till his father comes-watching the labour, but with a sorrowful distaste for the din and dirt. He is regarding wistfully his own place in the world, there before him. His mind, a

a fall of brick-work, yet, with an effort, he rides boldly on his father's shoulders. It will be the way of natural affection to keep him alive as long as possible, though with that

the four hundred slaves in the reign of Nero, because one of their number was thought to have murdered his master. The reproach of that, together with the kind of facile apologies those who had no share in the deed may have made for it, as they went about quietly on their own affairs that day, seems to come very close to me, as I think upon it. And to how many of tho

bts were forgiven. He made a nice show of it: for once, the Romans entertained themselves with a good-natured spectacle, and the whole town came to see the great bonfire [178] in the Forum, into which all bonds and evidence of debt were thrown

eyond the Aurelian Gate. There, in a little wood of venerable trees, piously allowed their own way, age after age-ilex and cypress remaining where they fell at last, one over the other, and all caught, in that early May-time, under a riotous tangle of wild clematis-was to be found a magnificent sanctuary, in which the members of the Arval College assembled themselves on certain

ocessions backwards and forwards, and certain changes of vestments, of the identical earthen vessels-veritable relics of the old religion of Numa!-the vessels from which the ho

ffered to them expressed men's desire to give honour to a simpler age, before iron had found place

ich one must carefully distinguish from all preventible accidents. Death, and the little perpetual daily dyings, which have something of its sting, he must [180] necessarily leave untouched. And, methinks, that were all the rest of man's life framed entirely to his liking, he would straightway b

r young children, a fine appreciation, not only of their serviceable affection, but of their visible graces: and indeed, in this country, the children are almost always worth looking at. I see daily, in fine weather, a child like a delicate nosegay, running to meet the rudest of brick- [181] makers as he comes from work. She is not at all afraid to hang upon his rough hand: and through her, he reaches out to, he makes his own, something from that strange region, so distant from him yet so real, of the world's refinement. What is of finer soul, of finer stuff in things, and demands delicate touching-to him the delicacy of the little child represents that: it initiates him into that. There, surely, is a

, of loss and parting, of outraged attachments. Given faultless men and women, given a perfect state of society which should have no need to practise on men's susceptibilities for its own selfish ends, adding one turn more to the wheel of the great rack for its own interest or amusement, there would still be this evil in the world, of a certain necessary sorrow and desolation, felt, just in proportion to the moral, or nervous perfection men have attained to. And what we need in the world, over against that, is a certain permanent and general power of c

arly all of us, I suppose, have had our moments, in which any effective sympathy for us on the part of others has seemed impossible; in which our pain has seemed a stupid outrage upon us, like some overwhelming physical violence, from which we could take refuge, at best, only in some mere general sense of goodwill-somewhere in the world perhaps. And then, to one's surprise, the discovery of that goodwill, if it were only in a not unfriendly animal, may seem to have explained, to have actually justified to us, the fact of our pain. There have been occasions, certainly, when I have felt that if others cared for me as I cared for them, it would be, not so much a consolation, as an equivalent, for what one has lost

the best. Through the train of my thoughts, one against another, it was as if I became aware of the dominant power of another person in controversy, wrestling with me. I seem to be come round to the point at which I left off then. The antagonist has closed with me again. A protest comes, out of the very de

O