wretch! Are you not ashamed to be on intimate terms with him?”
“He is a man; he has great faults and great merits, and he is my friend. I do not wish to be on intimate terms with my enemies.” Alcibiades knocked at the door, and rushed in. “Papaia! The pair are philosophising together, and talking of yesterday’s comedy! This Aristophanes is an ass! If one wishes to kill an enemy, one must hit him; but Aristophanes aims at the clouds. Hit, yes! Do you know that Cleon is defeated?”
“What a pity!” exclaimed Socrates.
“Is it a pity that the dog is unmasked?”
“I think Alcibiades is misinformed,” broke in Xantippe.
“No, by Zeus, but I wish I was!”
“Hush! here is Anytos coming,” said Socrates.
“The second tanner! It is strange that the destiny of Athens is guided by tanners.”
“The destiny of Athens! Who knows it?”
“I, Alcibiades, am the destiny of Athens.”
“[Greek: Hubris]! Beware of the gods!”
“I come after Cleon; Cleon is no more; therefore it is my turn.”
“Here is Anytos!”
Anytos entered: “I seek Alcibiades.”
“Here I am.”
“Must I prepare you....’
“No, I know.”
“Prepare you for the honour....”
“Have I waited long enough.”
“To go at the head....”
“That is what I was born for.”
“To take the lead....”
“That is my place.”
“And conduct the triumphal procession?”
“What procession?”
“Ah! you did not know. Cleon’s triumphal procession from the harbour.”
Alcibiades passed his hand downwards over his face, as though he wished to changed his mask, and it was done in a moment.
“Yes, certainly, certainly, certainly. I have in fact just come here to—announce his victory.”
“He lies,” broke in Xantippe.
“I jested with the pair. There will be a triumphal procession, then, for Cleon! How fine!”
“Socrates,” continued Anytos, “are you not glad?”
“I am glad that the enemy is beaten.”
“But not that Cleon has won a victory?”
“Yes, it is nearly the same thing.”
Xantippe seized the opportunity and struck in: “He is not glad, and he does not believe in Cleon.”
“I know you,” concluded Anytos. “I know you philosophers and quibblers! But take care!—And now, Alcibiades, come and receive the despised Cleon, who has saved the fatherland!”
Alcibiades took Socrates by the hand, and whispered in his ear. “What a cursed mischance! Well, not yet!—but the next time!”
ALCIBIADES
Kartaphalos, the shoemaker, sat in his shop by the Acarnanian Gate, and repaired cothurns for the Dionysian theatre, which was about to make a last attempt to revive the tragic drama, which had been eclipsed by the farces of Aristophanes. The Roman Lucillus lounged at the window-sill, and, since philosophy had been brought into fashion by Socrates and the Sophists, the shoemaker and the exiled Decemvir philosophised as well as they could.
“Roman!” said Kartaphalos, “you are a stranger in the city, as I am: what do think of the state and the Government?”
“They are exactly like the Roman. One may sum up the whole past history of Rome in two words—Patricians and Plebeians.”
“Just as it is here.”
“With the difference that Rome has a future. Hellas only a past.”
“What is known of Rome’s future?”
“The Cumaean Sibyl has prophesied that Rome will possess the earth.”
“What do you say? Rome? No, Israel will possess it; Israel has the promise.”
“I do not venture to deny that, but Rome has also the promise.”
“There is only one promise, and one God.”
“Perhaps it is the same promise, and the same God.”
“Perhaps Israel will conquer through Rome.”
“Israel will conquer through the promised Messiah.”
“When will Messiah come, then?”
“When the time is fulfilled, when Zeus is dead.”
“May we live to see it. I wait, for Zeus has gone to Rome, and is called there Jupiter Capitolinus.”
Aristophanes, who was easily recognised by his crane-like neck and open mouth, looked in through the window.
“Have you a pair of low shoes, Kartaphalos? A pair of ‘socks’? [Footnote: a low-heeled shoe worn by comic actors.] You have plenty of cothurns, I see, but the ‘sock’ has won the day.”
“At your service, sir.”
“We want them for the theatre, you understand.... Ah! there is Lucillus! … and of raw leather, not tanned.”
“What are you going to play in the theatre, then?”
“We are going to bring on Cleon, and make him dance, and fancy! since no one dares to represent the low-born tanner, I must do it. I will play Cleon.”
“Where is the great general, Cleon, now?”
“In a new campaign against Brasidas. When the commander Demosthenes won the battle of Sphacteria, Cleon claimed the honour of the victory and received a triumph. Then, since he regarded himself as a great warrior, he marched against Brasidas. The pitcher goes so often to the well....”
“Till it is broken,” interrupted a new arrival. It was Alcibiades. “Papaia!” he exclaimed, “Cleon is beaten! Cleon has fled! Now it is my turn! Come to the Pnyx.” And he went on.
“Very well—to the Pnyx,” said Aristophanes, “and I will obtain matter for a new comedy, to be called Alcibiades.”
“You are right, perhaps,” answered Lucillus. “The whole matter is not worth weeping for. Therefore let us laugh!”
Alcibiades stood again on the orator’s platform in the Pnyx. He felt at home there, and he always had the ear of the people, for he was not tedious. They all spoilt him, and his grotesque impudence had an enlivening effect upon them.
Before the orator’s platform, among others, was to be seen the wise, rich, and aristocratic Nicias, who had always sought to mediate between Sparta and Athens, but through his over-deliberation had done more harm than good.
Alcibiades, who knew Nicias and his political views, and feared his opposition, resolved on a master-stroke. He would not speak of Sparta and Athens as Nicias expected, but determined to make a diversion, and speak of something quite different. The people loved novelties, and to-day they should have something quite new.
“Athenians!” he began, “Cleon is defeated and dead, and I place my undoubted talents at the service of the State. You know my small failings, but now you will know my great merits. Listen, Athenians. There was a time when Hellas possessed Asia Minor and extended its wings eastward. The Persian King took these settlements from us one after the other, and he is now in Thrace. Since we cannot go farther eastward, we must go westward, towards the sunset. You have heard more or less vaguely of the Roman Republic, which is growing and growing. Our countrymen have