The Memorabilia
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XI
There was once in the city a fair woman named Theodote.[1] She was not
only fair, but ready to consort with any suitor who might win her
favour. Now it chanced that some one of the company mentioned her,
saying that her beauty beggared description. "So fair is she," he
added, "that painters flock to draw her portrait, to whom, within the
limits of decorum, she displays the marvels of her beauty." "Then
there is nothing for it but to go and see her," answered Socrates,
"since to comprehend by hearsay what is beyond description is clearly
impossible." Then he who had introduced the matter replied: "Be quick
then to follow me"; and on this wise they set off to seek Theodote.
They found her "posing" to a certain painter; and they took their
stand as spectators. Presently the painter had ceased his work;
whereupon Socrates:
[1] For Theodote see Athen. v. 200 F, xiii. 574 F; Liban. i. 582. Some
say that it was Theodote who stood by Alcibiades to the last,
though there are apparently other better claimants to the honour.
Plut. "Alc." (Clough, ii. p. 50).
"Do you think, sirs, that we ought to thank Theodote for displaying
her beauty to us, or she us for coming to gaze at her? . . . It would
seem, would it not, that if the exhibition of her charms is the more
profitable to her, the debt is on her side; but if the spectacle of
her beauty confers the greater benefit on us, then we are her
debtors."
Some one answered that "was an equitable statement of the case."
Well then (he continued), as far as she is concerned, the praise we
bestow on her is an immediate gain; and presently, when we have spread
her fame abroad, she will be further benefited; but for ourselves the
immediate effect on us is a strong desire to touch what we have seen;
by and by, too, we shall go away with a sting inside us, and when we
are fairly gone we shall be consumed with longing. Consequently it
seems that we should do her service and she accept our court.
Whereupon Theodote: Oh dear! if that is how the matter stands, it is I
who am your debtor for the spectacle.[2]
[2] In reference to the remark of Socrates above; or, "have to thank
you for coming to look at me."
At this point, seeing that the lady herself was expensively attired,
and that she had with her her mother also, whose dress and style of
attendance[3] were out of the common, not to speak of the waiting-
women--many and fair to look upon, who presented anything but a
forlorn appearance; while in every respect the whole house itself was
sumptuously furnished--Socrates put a question:
[3] Or, "her mother there with her in a dress and general get-up
({therapeia}) which was out of the common." See Becker,
"Charicles," p. 247 (Eng. tr.)
Pray tell me, Theodote, have you an estate in the country?
Theod. Not I indeed.
Soc. Then perhaps you possess a house and large revenues along with
it?
Theod. No, nor yet a house.
Soc. You are not an employer of labour on a large scale?[4]
[4] Lit. "You have not (in your employ) a body of handicraftsmen of
any sort?"
Theod. No, nor yet an employer of labour.
Soc. From what source, then, do you get your means of subsistence?[5]
[5] Or, Anglice, "derive your income."
Theod. My friends are my life and fortune, when they care to be kind
to me.
Soc. By heaven, Theodote, a very fine property indeed, and far better
worth possessing than a multitude of sheep or goats or cattle. A flock
of friends! . . . But (he added) do you leave it to fortune whether a
friend lights like a fly on your hand at random, or do you use any
artifice[6] yourself to attract him?
[6] Or, "means and appliances," "machinery."
Theod. And how might I hit upon any artifice to attract him?
Soc. Bless me! far more naturally than any spider. You know how they
capture the creatures on which they live;[7] by weaving webs of
gossamer, is it not? and woe betide the fly that tumbles into their
toils! They eat him up.
[7] Lit. "the creatures on which they live."
Theod. So then you would consel me to weave myself some sort of net?
Soc. Why, surely you do not suppose you are going to ensnare that
noblest of all game--a lover, to wit--in so artless a fashion? Do you
not see (to speak of a much less noble sort of game) what a number of
devices are needed to bag a hare?[8] The creatures range for their
food at night; therefore the hunter must provide himself with night
dogs. At peep of dawn they are off as fast as they can run. He must
therefore have another pack of dogs to scent out and discover which
way they betake them from their grazing ground to their forms;[9] and
as they are so fleet of foot that they run and are out of sight in no
time, he must once again be provided with other fleet-footed dogs to
follow their tracks and overtake them;[10] and as some of them will
give even these the slip, he must, last of all, set up nets on the
paths at the points of escape, so that they may fall into the meshes
and be caught.
[8] See the author's own treatise on "Hunting," vi. 6 foll.
[9] Lit. "from pasture to bed."
[10] Or, "close at their heels and run them down." See "Hunting"; cf.
"Cyrop." I. vi. 40.
Theod. And by what like contrivance would you have me catch my lovers?
Soc. Well now! what if in place of a dog you can get a man who will
hunt up your wealthy lover of beauty and discover his lair, and having
found him, will plot and plan to throw him into your meshes?
Theod. Nay, what sort of meshes have I?
Soc. One you have, and a close-folding net it is,[11] I trow; to wit,
your own person; and inside it sits a soul that teaches you[12] with
what looks to please and with what words to cheer; how, too, with
smiles you are to welcome true devotion, but to exclude all wantons
from your presence.[13] It tells you, you are to visit your beloved in
sickness with solicitude, and when he has wrought some noble deed you
are greatly to rejoice with him; and to one who passionately cares for
you, you are to make surrender of yourself with heart and soul. The
secret of true love I am sure you know: not to love softly merely, but
devotedly.[14] And of this too I am sure: you can convince your lovers
of your fondness for them not by lip phrases, but by acts of love.
[11] Or, "right well woven."
[12] Lit. "by which you understand."
[13] Or, "with what smiles to lie in wait for (cf. 'Cyrop.' II. iv.
20; Herod. vi. 104) the devoted admirer, and how to banish from
your presence the voluptary."
[14] Or, "that it should be simply soft, but full of tender goodwill."
Theod. No, upon my word, I have none of these devices.
Soc. And yet it makes all the difference whether you approach a human
being in the natural and true way, since it is not by force certainly
that you can either catch or keep a friend. Kindness and pleasure are
the only means to capture this fearful wild-fowl man and keep him
constant.
Theod. You are right.
Soc. In the first place you must make such demands only of your well-
wisher as he can grant without repentance; and in the next place you
must make requital, dispensing your favours with a like economy. Thus
you will best make friends whose love shall last the longest and their
generosity know no stint.[15] And for your favours you will best win
your friends if you suit your largess to their penury; for, mark you,
the sweetest viands presented to a man before he wants them are apt to
prove insipid, or, to one already sated, even nauseous; but create
hunger, and even coarser stuff seems honey-sweet.
[15] Or, "This is the right road to friendship--permanent and open-
handed friendship."
Theod. How then shall I create this hunger in the heart of my friends?
Soc. In the first place you must not offer or make suggestion of your
dainties to jaded appetites until satiety has ceased and starvation
cries for alms. Even then shall you make but a faint suggestion to
their want, with modest converse--like one who would fain bestow a
kindness . . . and lo! the vision fades and she is gone--until the
very pinch of hunger; for the same gifts have then a value unknown
before the moment of supreme desire.
Then Theodote: Oh why, Socrates, why are you not by my side (like the
huntsman's assistant) to help me catch my friends and lovers?
Soc. That will I be in good sooth if only you can woo and win me.
Theod. How shall I woo and win you?
Soc. Seek and you will find means, if you truly need me.
Theod. Come then in hither and visit me often.
And Socrates, poking sly fun at his own lack of business occupation,
answered: Nay, Theodote, leisure is not a commodity in which I largely
deal. I have a hundred affairs of my own too, private or public, to
occupy me; and then there are my lady-loves, my dear friends, who will
not suffer me day or night to leave them, for ever studying to learn
love-charms and incantations at my lips.
Theod. Why, are you really versed in those things, Socrates?
Soc. Of course, or else how is it, do you suppose, that
Apollodorus[16] here and Antisthenes never leave me; or why have Cebes
and Simmias come all the way from Thebes to stay with me? Be assured
these things cannot happen without diverse love-charms and
incantations and magic wheels.
[16] For Apollodorus see "Apol." 28; Plat. "Symp." 172 A; "Phaed." 59
A, 117 D. For Antisthenes see above. For Cebes and Simmias see
above, I. ii. 48; Plat. "Crit." 45 B; "Phaed." passim.
Theod. I wish you would lend me your magic-wheel,[17] then, and I will
set it spinning first of all for you.
[17] Cf. Theocr. ii. 17; Schneider ad loc.
Soc. Ah! but I do not wish to be drawn to you. I wish you to come to
me.
Theod. Then I will come. Only, will you be "at home" to me?
Soc. Yes, I will welcome you, unless some one still dearer holds me
engaged, and I must needs be "not at home."
XII
Seeing one of those who were with him, a young man, but feeble of
body, named Epigenes,[1] he addressed him.
[1] Epigenes, possibly the son of Antiphon. See Plat. "Apol." 33 E;
"Phaed." 59 B.
Soc. You have not the athletic appearance of a youth in training,[2]
Epigenes.
[2] {idiotikos}, lit. of the person untrained in gymnastics. See A. R.
Cluer ad loc. Cf. Plat. "Laws," 839 E; I. ii. 4; III. v. 15;
"Symp." ii. 17.
And he: That may well be, seeing I am an amateur and not in training.
Soc. As little of an amateur, I take it, as any one who ever entered
the lists of Olympia, unless you are prepared to make light of that
contest for life and death against the public foe which the Athenians
will institute when the day comes.[3] And yet they are not a few who,
owing to a bad habit of body, either perish outright in the perils of
war, or are ignobly saved. Many are they who for the self-same cause
are taken prisoners, and being taken must, if it so betide, endure the
pains of slavery for the rest of their days; or, after falling into
dolorous straits,[4] when they have paid to the uttermost farthing of
all, or may be more than the worth of all, that they possess, must
drag on a miserable existence in want of the barest necessaries until
death release them. Many also are they who gain an evil repute through
infirmity of body, being thought to play the coward. Can it be that
you despise these penalties affixed to an evil habit? Do you think you
could lightly endure them? Far lighter, I imagine, nay, pleasant even
by comparison, are the toils which he will undergo who duly cultivates
a healthy bodily condition. Or do you maintain that the evil habit is
healthier, and in general more useful than the good? Do you pour
contempt upon those blessings which flow from the healthy state? And
yet the very opposite of that which befalls the ill attends the sound
condition. Does not the very soundness imply at once health and
strength?[5] Many a man with no other talisman than this has passed
safely through the ordeal of war; stepping, not without dignity,[6]
through all its horrors unscathed. Many with no other support than
this have come to the rescue of friends, or stood forth as benefactors
of their fatherland; whereby they were thought worthy of gratitude,
and obtained a great renown and received as a recompense the highest
honours of the State; to whom is also reserved a happier and brighter
passage through what is left to them of life, and at their death they
leave to their children the legacy of a fairer starting-point in the
race of life.
[3] Or, "should chance betide." Is the author thinking of a life-and-
death struggle with Thebes?
[4] e.g. the prisoners in the Latomiae. Thuc. vii. 87.
[5] It is almost a proverb--"Sound of body and limb is hale and
strong." "Qui valet praevalebit."
[6] e.g. Socrates himself, according to Alcibiades, ap. Plat. "Symp."
221 B; and for the word {euskhemonos} see Arist. "Wasps," 1210,
"like a gentleman"; L. and S.; "Cyr." I. iii. 8; Aristot. "Eth.
N." i. 10, 13, "gracefully."
Because our city does not practise military training in public,[7]
that is no reason for neglecting it in private, but rather a reason
for making it a foremost care. For be you assured that there is no
contest of any sort, nor any transaction, in which you will be the
worse off for being well prepared in body; and in fact there is
nothing which men do for which the body is not a help. In every
demand, therefore, which can be laid upon the body it is much better
that it should be in the best condition; since, even where you might
imagine the claims upon the body to be slightest--in the act of
reasoning--who does not know the terrible stumbles which are made
through being out of health? It suffices to say that forgetfulness,
and despondency, and moroseness, and madness take occasion often of
ill-health to visit the intellectual faculties so severely as to expel
all knowledge[8] from the brain. But he who is in good bodily plight
has large security. He runs no risk of incurring any such catastrophe
through ill-health at any rate; he has the expectation rather that a
good habit must procure consequences the opposite to those of an evil
habit;[9] and surely to this end there is nothing a man in his senses
would not undergo. . . . It is a base thing for a man to wax old in
careless self-neglect before he has lifted up his eyes and seen what
manner of man he was made to be, in the full perfection of bodily
strength and beauty. But these glories are withheld from him who is
guilty of self-neglect, for they are not wont to blaze forth
unbidden.[10]
[7] Cf. "Pol. Ath." i. 13; and above, III. v. 15.
[8] Or, "whole branches of knowledge" ({tas epistemas}).
[9] Or, "he may well hope to be insured by his good habit against the
evils attendant on its opposite."
[10] Or, "to present themselves spontaneously."
XII
Once when some one was in a fury of indignation because he had bidden
a passer-by good-day and the salutation was not returned, Socrates
said: "It is enough to make one laugh! If you met a man in a wretched
condition of body, you would not fall into a rage; but because you
stumble upon a poor soul somewhat boorishly disposed, you feel
annoyed."
To the remark of another who complained that he did not take his foot
with pleasure, he said: "Acumenus[1] has a good prescription for
that." And when the other asked: "And what may that be?" "To stop
eating," he said. "On the score of pleasure, economy, and health,
total abstinence has much in its favour."[2]
[1] A well-known physician. See Plat. "Phaedr." 227 A, 269 A; "Symp."
176 B. A similar story is told of Dr. Abernethy, I think.
[2] Lit. "he would live a happier, thriftier, and healthier life, if
he stopped eating."
And when some one else lamented that "the drinking-water in his house
was hot," he replied: "Then when you want a warm bath you will not
have to wait."
The Other. But for bathing purposes it is cold.
Soc. Do you find that your domestics seem to mind drinking it or
washing in it?
The Other. Quite the reverse; it is a constant marvel to me how
contentedly they use it for either purpose.
Soc. Which is hotter to the taste--the water in your house or the hot
spring in the temple of Asclepius?[3]
[3] In the Hieron at Epidauros probably. See Baedeker, "Greece," p.
240 foll.
The Other. The water in the temple of Asclepius.
Soc. And which is colder for bathing--yours or the cold spring in the
cave of Amphiaraus?[4]
[4] Possibly at Oropos. Cf. Paus. i. 34. 3.
The Other. The water in the cave of Amphiaraus.
Soc. Then please to observe: if you do not take care, they will set
you down as harder to please than a domestic servant or an invalid.[5]
[5] i.e. "the least and the most fastidious of men."
A man had administered a severe whipping to the slave in attendance on
him, and when Socrates asked: "Why he was so wroth with his own
serving-man?" excused himself on the ground that "the fellow was a
lazy, gourmandising, good-for-nothing dolt--fonder of money than of
work." To which Socrates: "Did it ever strike you to consider which of
the two in that case the more deserves a whipping--the master or the
man?"
When some one was apprehending the journey to Olympia, "Why are you
afraid of the long distance?" he asked. "Here at home you spend nearly
all your day in taking walks.[6] Well, on your road to Olympia you
will take a walk and breakfast, and then you will take another walk
and dine, and go to bed. Do you not see, if you take and tack together
five or six days' length of walks, and stretch them out in one long
line, it will soon reach from Athens to Olympia? I would recommend
you, however, to set off a day too soon rather than a day too late. To
be forced to lengthen the day's journey beyond a reasonable amount may
well be a nuisance; but to take one day's journey beyond what is
necessary is pure relaxation. Make haste to start, I say, and not
while on the road."[7]
[6] {peripateis}, "promenading up and down."
[7] "Festina lente"--that is your motto.
When some one else remarked "he was utterly prostrated after a long
journey," Socrates asked him: "Had he had any baggage to carry?"
"Not I," replied the complainer; "only my cloak."
Soc. Were you travelling alone, or was your man-servant with you?
He. Yes, I had my man.
Soc. Empty-handed, or had he something to carry?
He. Of course; carrying my rugs and other baggage.
Soc. And how did he come off on the journey?
He. Better than I did myself, I take it.
Soc. Well, but now suppose you had had to carry his baggage, what
would your condition have been like?
He. Sorry enough, I can tell you; or rather, I could not have carried
it at all.
Soc. What a confession! Fancy being capable of so much less toil than
a poor slave boy! Does that sound like the perfection of athletic
training?
XIV
On the occasion of a common dinner-party[1] where some of the company
would present themselves with a small, and others with a large supply
of viands, Socrates would bid the servants[2] throw the small supplies
into the general stock, or else to help each of the party to a share
all round. Thus the grand victuallers were ashamed in the one case not
to share in the common stock, and in the other not to throw in their
supplies also.[3] Accordingly in went the grand supplies into the
common stock. And now, being no better off than the small
contributors, they soon ceased to cater for expensive delicacies.
[1] For the type of entertainment see Becker, "Charicles," p. 315
(Eng. tr.)
[2] "The boy."
[3] Or, "were ashamed not to follow suit by sharing in the common
stock and contributing their own portion."
At a supper-party one member of the company, as Socrates chanced to
note, had put aside the plain fare and was devoting himself to certain
dainties.[4] A discussion was going on about names and definitions,
and the proper applications of terms to things.[5] Whereupon Socrates,
appealing to the company: "Can we explain why we call a man a 'dainty
fellow'? What is the particular action to which the term applies?[6]--
since every one adds some dainty to his food when he can get it.[7]
But we have not quite hit the definition yet, I think. Are we to be
called dainty eaters because we like our bread buttered?"[8]
[4] For the distinction between {sitos} and {opson} see Plat. "Rep."
372 C.
[5] Or, "The conversation had fallen upon names: what is the precise
thing denoted under such and such a term? Define the meaning of so
and so."
[6] {opsophagos} = {opson} (or relish) eater, and so a "gourmand" or
"epicure"; but how to define a gourmand?
[7] Lit. "takes some {opson} (relish) to his {sitos} (food)."
[8] Lit. "simply for that" (sc. the taking of some sort of {opson}.
For {epi touto} cf. Plat. "Soph." 218 C; "Parmen." 147 D.
No! hardly! (some member of the company replied).
Soc. Well, but now suppose a man confine himself to eating venison or
other dainty without any plain food at all, not as a matter of
training,[9] but for the pleasure of it: has such a man earned the
title? "The rest of the world would have a poor chance against
him,"[10] some one answered. "Or," interposed another, "what if the
dainty dishes he devours are out of all proportion to the rest of his
meal--what of him?"[11]
[9] Lit. "{opson} (relish) by itself, not for the sake of training,"
etc. The English reader wil bear in mind that a raw beefsteak or
other meat prescribed by the gymnastic trainer in preference to
farinaceous food ({sitos}) would be {opson}.
[10] Or, more lit. "Hardly any one could deserve the appellation
better."
[11] Lit. "and what of the man who eats much {opson} on the top of a
little ({sitos})?" {epesthion} = follows up one course by another,
like the man in a fragment of Euripides, "Incert." 98: {kreasi
boeiois khlora suk' epesthien}, who "followed up his beefsteak
with a garnish of green figs."
Soc. He has established a very fair title at any rate to the
appellation, and when the rest of the world pray to heaven for a fine
harvest: "May our corn and oil increase!" he may reasonably ejaculate,
"May my fleshpots multiply!"
At this last sally the young man, feeling that the conversation set
somewhat in his direction, did not desist indeed from his savoury
viands, but helped himself generously to a piece of bread. Socrates
was all-observant, and added: Keep an eye on our friend yonder, you
others next him, and see fair play between the sop and the sauce.[12]
[12] Lit. "see whether he will make a relish of the staple or a staple
of the relish" ("butter his bread or bread his butter").
Another time, seeing one of the company using but one sop of bread[13]
to test several savoury dishes, he remarked: Could there be a more
extravagant style of cookery, or more murderous to the dainty dishes
themselves, than this wholesale method of taking so many dishes
together?--why, bless me, twenty different sorts of seasoning at one
swoop![14] First of all he mixes up actually more ingredients than the
cook himself prescribes, which is extravagant; and secondly, he has
the audacity to commingle what the chef holds incongruous, whereby if
the cooks are right in their method he is wrong in his, and
consequently the destroyer of their art. Now is it not ridiculous
first to procure the greatest virtuosi to cook for us, and then
without any claim to their skill to take and alter their procedure?
But there is a worse thing in store for the bold man who habituates
himself to eat a dozen dishes at once: when there are but few dishes
served, out of pure habit he will feel himself half starved, whilst
his neighbour, accustomed to send his sop down by help of a single
relish, will feast merrily, be the dishes never so few.
[13] {psomos}, a sop or morsel of bread (cf. {psomion}, N. T., in mod.
Greek = "bread").
[14] Huckleberry Finn (p. 2 of that young person's "Adventures")
propounds the rationale of the system: "In a barrel of odds and
ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of
swaps around, and the things go better."
He had a saying that {euokheisthai}, to "make good cheer,"[15] was in
Attic parlance a synonym for "eating," and the affix {eu} (the
attributive "good") connoted the eating of such things as would not
trouble soul or body, and were not far to seek or hard to find. So
that to "make good cheer" in his vocabulary applied to a modest and
well-ordered style of living.[16]
[15] {euokheisthai}, cf. "Cyrop." IV. v. 7; "Pol. Ath." ii. 9; Kuhner
cf. Eustah. "ad Il." ii. p. 212, 37, {'Akhaioi ten trophen okhen
legousin oxutonos}. Athen. viii. 363 B. See "Hipparch," viii. 4,
of horses. Cf. Arist. "H. A." viii. 6.
[16] See "Symp." vi. 7; and for similar far-fetched etymologies, Plat.
"Crat." passim.
BOOK IV
I
Such was Socrates; so helpful under all circumstances and in every way
that no observer, gifted with ordinary sensibility, could fail to
appreciate the fact, that to be with Socrates, and to spend long time
in his society (no matter where or what the circumstances), was indeed
a priceless gain. Even the recollection of him, when he was no longer
present, was felt as no small benefit by those who had grown
accustomed to be with him, and who accepted him. Nor indeed was he
less helpful to his acquaintance in his lighter than in his graver
moods.
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