"What is one's country? A flowing river.The shores change, and the waves are incessantly renewed.""I know, Dorion," replied the Prefect of the Fleet, "that you care little for the civic virtues, and you think that the sage ought to hold himself aloof from all affairs.I think, on the contrary, that an honest man should desire nothing better than to fill a responsible post in the State.The State is a noble thing."Hermodorus, the High Priest of Serapis, spoke next--"Dorion has asked, 'What is one's country?' I will reply that the altars of the gods and the tombs of ancestors make one's country.Aman is a fellow-citizen by association of memories and hopes."Young Aristobulus interrupted Hermodorus.
"By Castor! I saw a splendid horse to-day.It belonged to Demophoon.
It has a fine head, small jaw, and strong forelegs.It carries its neck high and proud, like a cock."But young Chereas shook his head.
"It is not such a good horse as you say, Aristobulus.Its hoofs are thin, and the pasterns are too low; the animal will soon go lame."They were continuing their dispute, when Drosea uttered a piercing shriek.
"Oh! I nearly swallowed a fish-bone, as long and much sharper than a style.Luckily, I was able to get it out of my throat in time! The gods love me!""Did you say, Drosea, that the gods loved you?" asked Nicias, smiling.
"Then they must share the same infirmities as men.Love presupposes unhappiness on the part of whoever suffers from it, and is a proof of weakness.The affection they feel for Drosea is a great proof of the imperfection of the gods."At these words Drosea flew into a great rage.
"Nicias, your remarks are foolish and not to the point.But that is your character--you never understand what is said, and reply in words devoid of sense."Nicias smiled again.
"Talk away, talk away, Drosea.Whatever you say, we are glad every time you open your mouth.Your teeth are so pretty!"At that moment, a grave-looking old man, negligently dressed, walking slowly, with his head high, entered the room, and gazed at the guests quietly.Cotta made a sign to him to take a place by his side, on the same couch.
"Eucrites," he said, "you are welcome.Have you composed a new treatise on philosophy this month? That would make, if I calculate correctly, the ninety-second that has proceeded from the Nile reed you direct with an Attic hand."Eucrites replied, stroking his silver beard--"The nightingale was created to sing, and I was created to praise the immortal gods."DORION.Let us respectfully salute, in Eucrites, the last of the stoics.Grave and white, he stands in the midst of us like the image of an ancestor.He is solitary amidst a crowd of men, and the words he utters are not heard.
EUCRITES.You deceive yourself, Dorion.The philosophy of virtue is not dead.I have numerous disciples in Alexandria, Rome, and Constantinople.Many of the slaves, and some of the nephews of Caesar, now know how to govern themselves, to live independently, and being unconcerned with all affairs, they enjoy boundless happiness.Many of them have revived, in their own person, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius.
But if it were true that virtue were for ever extinguished upon the earth, in what way would the loss of it affect my happiness, since it did not depend on me whether it existed or perished? Only fools, Dorion, place their happiness out of their own power.I desire nothing that the gods do not wish, and I desire all that they do wish.By that means I render myself like unto them, and share their infallible content.If virtue perishes, I consent that it should perish, and that consent fills me with joy, as the supreme effort of my reason or my courage.In all things my wisdom will copy the divine wisdom, and the copy will be more valuable than the model; it will have cost greater care and more work.
NICIAS.I understand.You put yourself on the same level as divine providence.But if virtue consists only in effort, Eucrites, and in that intense application by which the disciples of Zeno pretend to render themselves equal to the gods, the frog, which swelled itself out to try and become as big as the ox, accomplished a masterpiece of stoicism.
EUCRITES.You jest, Nicias, and, as usual, you excel in ridicule.But if the ox of which you speak is really a god, like Apis, or like that subterranean ox whose high priest I see here, and if the frog, being wisely inspired, succeed in equalling it, would it not be, in fact, more virtuous than the ox, and could you refrain from admiring such a courageous little animal!
Four servants placed on the table a wild pig, still covered with its bristles.Little pigs, made of pastry, surrounded the animal, as though they would suckle, to show that it was a sow.
Zenothemis, turning towards the monk, said--"Friends, a guest has come hither to join us.The illustrious Paphnutius, who leads such an extraordinary life of solitude, is our unexpected guest."COTTA.You may even add, Zenothemis, that the place of honour is due to him, because he came without being invited.
ZENOTHEMIS.Therefore, we ought, my dear Lucius, to make him the more welcome, and strive to do that which would be most agreeable to him.
Now it is certain that such a man cares less for the perfumes of meat than for the perfumes of fine thoughts.We shall, doubtless, please him by discussing the doctrine he professes, which is that of Jesus crucified.For my own part, I shall the more willingly discuss this doctrine, because it keenly interests me, on account of the number and the diversity of the allegories it contains.If one may guess at the spirit by the letter, it is filled with truths, and I consider that the Christian books abound in divine revelations.But I should not, Paphnutius, grant equal merit to the Jewish books.They were inspired not, as it was said, by the Spirit of God, but by an evil genius.
