Page 294

LUCIAN

Dio. I shall commence operations by stripping off your superfluities, putting you into fustian, and leaving you closeted with Necessity. Then I shall give you a course of hard labour. You will sleep on the ground, drink water, and fill your belly as best you can. Have you money ? Take my advice and throw it into the sea.. With wife and children and country you will not concern yourself ; there will be no more of that nonsense. You will exchange your present home for a sepulchre, a ruin, or a tub. What with lupines and close-written tomes, your knapsack will never be empty ; and you will vote yourself happier than any king. Nor will you esteem it any inconvenience, if a flogging or a turn of the rack should fall to your lot. Above all, be bold, be impudent ; distribute your abuse impartially to king and commoner. They will admire your spirit. You will talk the Cynic jargon with the true Cynic snarl, scowling as you walk, and walking as one should who scowls ; an epitome of brutality. Away with modesty, good nature, and forbearance. Wipe the blush from your cheek for ever. Your hunting-ground will be the crowded city. You will live alone in its midst, holding communion with none, admitting neither friend nor guest ; for such would undermine your power. Scruple not to perform the deeds of darkness in broad daylight : and finally, when the fancy takes you, swallow a raw cuttlefish,, and die. Such are the delights of Cynicism.
Second D. Oh, vile creed ! Monstrous creed ! Avaunt !
Dio. But look you, it is all so easy ; it is within every man's reach. No education is necessary, no nonsensical argumentation. I offer you a short cut to Glory. You may be the merest clown-cobbler, fishmonger, carpenter, money-changer ; yet there is nothing to prevent your becoming famous. Given brass and boldness, you have only to learn to wag your tongue with dexterity.
Second D. All this is of no use to me. But I might make a