Thereupon some members of the party called on Critobulus to accept the meed of victory in kisses (due from boy and girl); others urged him first to bribe their master; whilst others bandied other jests. Amidst the general hilarity Hermogenes alone kept silence.
Whereat Socrates turned to the silent man, and thus accosted him: Hermogenes, what is a drunken brawl? Can you explain to us?
He answered: If you ask me what it is, I do not know, but I can tell you what it seems to me to be.
Soc. That seems as good. What does it seem?
Her. A drunken brawl, in my poor judgment, is annoyance caused to people over wine.
Soc. Are you aware that you at present are annoying us by silence?
Her. What, whilst you are talking?
Soc. No, when we pause a while.
Her. Then you have not observed that, as to any interval between your talk, a man would find it hard to insert a hair, much more one grain of sense.
Then Socrates: O Callias, to the rescue! help a man severely handled by his cross-examiner.
Call. With all my heart (and as he spoke he faced Hermogenes). Why, when the flute is talking, we are as silent as the grave.
Her. What, would you have me imitate Nicostratus the actor, reciting his tetrameters to the music of the fife? Must I discourse to you in answer to the flute?
Then Socrates: By all that's holy, I wish you would, Hermogenes. How delightful it would be. Just as a song sounds sweeter in concert with the flute, so would your talk be more mellifluous attuned to its soft pipings; and particularly if you would use gesticulation like the flute-girl, to suit the tenor of your speech.
Here Callias demanded: And when our friend (Antisthenes) essays to cross-examine people at a banquet, what kind of piping should he have?
Ant. The person in the witness-box would best be suited with a serpent-hissing theme.
Thus the stream of talk flowed on; until the Syracusan, who was painfully aware that while the company amused themselves, his "exhibition" was neglected, turned, in a fit of jealous spleen, at last on Socrates.
The Syr. They call you Socrates. Are you that person commonly nicknamed the thinker?
Soc. Which surely is a better fate than to be called a thoughtless person?
The Syr. Perhaps, if you were not thought to split your brains on things above us—transcendental stuff.
Soc. And is there anything more transcendental than the gods?
The Syr. By heaven! no, it is not the gods above us whom you care for, but for matters void of use and valueless.
Soc. It seems, then, by your showing I do care for them. How value less the gods, not more, if being above us they make the void of use to send us rain, and cause their light to shine on us? And now, sir, if you do not like this frigid argument, why do you cause me trouble? The fault is yours.
Well, let that be (the other answered); answer me one question: How many fleas' feet distance is it, pray, from you to me? They say you measure them by geometric scale.
How many scores a Flea will jump Of his own length from Head to Rump Which Socrates and Chaerephon In vain essayed so long agon.
But here Antisthenes, appealing to Philippus, interposed: You are a man full of comparisons. Does not this worthy person strike you as somewhat like a bully seeking to pick a quarrel?
Yes (replied the jester), he has a striking likeness to that person and a heap of others. He bristles with metaphors.
Soc. For all that, do not you be too eager to draw comparisons at his expense, or you will find yourself the image of a scold and brawler.
Phil. But what if I compare him to all the primest creatures of the world, to beauty's nonpareils, to nature's best—I might be justly likened to a flatterer but not a brawler.
Soc. Why now, you are like a person apt to pick a quarrel, since you imply they are all his betters.
Phil. What, would you have me then compare him to worse villains?
Soc. No, not even to worse villains.
Phil. What, then, to nothing, and to nobody?
Soc. To nought in aught. Let him remain his simple self—
Phil. Incomparable. But if my tongue is not to wag, whatever shall I do to earn my dinner?
Soc. Why, that you shall quite easily, if with your wagging tongue you do not try to utter things unutterable.
Here was a pretty quarrel over wine soon kindled and soon burnt.
Next: Chapter VII