he conversed with her, in consequence of which he was more frequently
absent from home. That she loved him less now than when he had a body
appeared to him a very culpable inconstancy; and while he was
considering what could be the reason of it, he was told that Cleon had
been seen to enter his house many times lately. This Cleon had been his
rival for the affections of Cleopatra when he was first endeavouring to
obtain her as his wife, and at one period of the conflict had seemed to
have a chance of being preferred. Aristus, therefore, was greatly
troubled by hearing of his visits, and was conscious that Cleon having
the advantage of a body they should no longer contend upon equal terms.
He resolved, therefore, in order to discover the real purpose, and
danger of this rival's visits, that he would watch the house, and be
present at the next interview unperceived, for which undertaking he was
effectually concealed. The being so admirably qualified to observe the
conduct of his wife was the first advantage that he had been able to
discover in the absence of a body. But before he had an opportunity of
putting this design in execution he gained by other means the
information that he wanted. One day on entering his wife's apartment he
found her in company with her sister, and hearing his own name
mentioned, he remained in ambush to listen to their conversation; from
which he learned that Cleon had been endeavouring to convince Cleopatra
that by her husband's disappearing she had been separated from him as
lawfully as if he had died in the usual way, and, therefore, since she
was at liberty to contract a new marriage, he had urged her to accept of
himself, who had suffered no such abolition, but was actually a human
being. It appeared that Cleopatra had scrupled to consider her husband
deceased; and at the moment when he entered the room the sister was
urging her to comply with the entreaties of Cleon, and endeavouring to
satisfy her that Aristus was virtually dead. "My dearest Cleopatra,"
said the sister, "let me persuade you not to refuse the comfort of this
marriage; you are certainly authorised to be a widow."
"Not while Aristus is alive."
"Alive! if he is so let him show himself, and claim you as his wife."
"He cannot show himself, as you know."
"He is not dead then, but merely obliterated to such a degree that we
cannot see him. But can he do any thing like other human beings."
"Yes, he can think."
"An excellent husband!"
"The noblest part of him remains, his reason, his memory, his
imagination."
"But when you married, you were not contracted to a reason, a memory, or
an imagination, but to a human being in possession of two arms, two
legs, and altogether a competence of body; this person is gone. I am
surprised that Aristus, after being expunged as he has been, should
still pretend to be a married man. His absconding in this strange manner
is certainly equivalent to death; for as to the voice which is left to
personate him, it is ridiculous to profess fidelity to a sound. How can
a noise be entitled to a wife and children? It seems to me you might
with as much advantage be married to the creaking of a door."
"I greatly lament the change."
"It is impossible you can have any affection for him as he now is, and
I am sure you have never been happy since he first dwindled away."
"I have indeed suffered much vexation. Aristus tells me I should be
better satisfied if I were like him; and he is constantly urging me to
surrender my body."
"I would not give up my little finger to please him. I am sure you
cannot be persuaded to any thing so extravagant."
"I certainly shall not; I am very easy in my body, and shall remain
there."
"But I wish to convince you that Aristus is intrinsically dead."
"I can hardly think it: this concealment of him is something very
different from the dying in his bed, and my closing his eyes, and
weeping, and having a funeral."
"He has not, indeed, passed through all the formal dying, which would
have been satisfactory; but, nevertheless, every rational person must
think that he is so far dead as to empower you to be a widow. Therefore
pray resolve at once to disclaim any farther connection with this
reason, or intellect, or whatever else your sound may choose to style
itself. I am sure Cleon will be a good husband; and he has wealth, a
kind disposition, and a body."
"Still I cannot help preserving a reverence for Aristus."
"You may still revere your late husband and lament his death; that does
not prevent your marrying again: but to revere a sound as being Aristus
is ridiculous. You might as well, if he had died in the usual way,
consider yourself married to his ashes."
"But if I were to become the wife of Cleon, I could not bear the
reproaches of Aristus. He would pursue me every where, and inveigh
against my infidelity. And I should have no means of shutting him out,
for he walks through a wall without feeling it. He would certainly haunt
me like a ghost!"
"He will probably be troublesome at first; but if you act with spirit he
will soon find the folly of his clamours, and I think you may easily
bear a little invisible scolding. I am sure you must despise him for
lurking about you in this dishonourable manner. I could not bear a
husband that came walking to me through a wall. Cleon will pass through
a door in the natural way."
Aristus had stood by during this conversation, and heard with great
resentment the arguments for his being dead: he was about to speak, when
he was prevented by this censure on the meanness of his concealment; and
he began to consider, that if he affirmed himself to be there, his
petulant sister-in-law would probably have the confidence to persist in
his death, and might defy him to appear and prove himself to be real,
his inability to do which would confirm her reasoning. He therefore
remained hid to hear the sequel of the conversation, in which his wife
became more inclined to believe that he was in justice dead, and at last
she promised her sister that she would consider the matter, and
endeavour to satisfy her scruples. The sister then departed, saying,
"When this voice of yours comes home, pray tell him openly that you look
upon him as an imposture, and do not listen to any casuistry by which he
would pretend to be a human being, but tell him you will believe it when
you see him."
Aristus, in greater distress than ever, resolved, as a last hope, to try
once more the indulgence of the household god, and entreat him to
restore the body, being convinced that by appearing in it he should
instantly revive all Cleopatra's affection, and suppress any thoughts
which she might have admitted in favour of Cleon.
He therefore repaired again to the hearth; where, with the most pitiful
entreaties, he conjured the image to hear his prayers. To his great joy
it opened its mouth, and asked what was his request. With great humility
he acknowledged his error, described the misery of his present
banishment, and prayed for permission to live again in his body. On
hearing this the god animadverted on his folly in having ever wished to
leave it, representing to him the impiety of discontent, with the duty
of acquiescing in the nature assigned to man, and living in perfect
resignation to the gods.
Aristus listened very humbly to these admonitions, and assured the image
that he was now fully sensible of his fault, and eager to resume his
body that he might acquiesce in it, and show his resignation for the
rest of his life.
The image then taught him certain magical words, by pronouncing which he
was to regain his body. The restoration was not to take place at once,
but one part of the body to be recalled after another, each word having
authority over a particular limb.
Aristus having made himself master of these words earnestly expressed
his gratitude to the image, and returned home without making trial
whether any of his limbs were within call, designing to astonish his
wife by coming to light in her presence. Having entered her apartment,
where she was alone, he thus addressed her:--
"As I find, Cleopatra, that you cannot reconcile yourself to my present
condition, I am willing, if possible, to sacrifice for your sake all the
happiness that I enjoy in it, and again to undergo my body. I have
therefore been entreating the household god to contrive this for me. His
answer was so ambiguous that I know not whether he intends to comply
with my prayer or not, but from some hints that he gave I think it not
improbable that you may see me gradually coming back."
Cleopatra seemed to give little belief to this; but Aristus, speaking
that word which had command over the beard, it instantly began to grow,
and by degrees fell down in full beauty, and there being yet no chin for
it to be associated with, Cleopatra was astonished by the unusual
spectacle of an independent beard supporting itself in the air. Her eyes
sparkled with hope at the sight; but Aristus, to amuse himself with her
suspense, delayed for some time to resume any other part of himself. He
was delighted to see, by the eagerness of his wife for his return, that
when finished he should have nothing to fear from Cleon.
In great anxiety she watched his beard, expecting a chin to ensue from
it, and at last exclaimed in alarm, "My dearest Aristus, how slowly you
grow! I hope the god means to bring you back entire: surely he will not
limit you to a beard."
"It is impossible to say," answered Aristus, "whether he will think
proper to suppress any of my limbs or not, but you must endeavour to be
content with as much of me as he may choose to give you."
He then spoke another of the supernatural words, and a chin was annexed
to the beard: this soon spread into a face, which gradually advanced to
an entire head. Cleopatra was in raptures at seeing once more the
countenance of her husband. She kissed the lips again and again, till
quite assured that they were real. The coming so strangely out of the
air made it seem as if the whole appearance were an artifice; but by
examination she was convinced that what she saw was not only a true
head, but the very same which Aristus had worn. He continued these
additions to himself, repeating from time to time one of the magical
words, each of which produced its corresponding part. Every new
appearance delighted Cleopatra, and with the greatest emotion she
watched him coming back limb by limb, till at length he stood before her
quite completed.
* * * * *
ALCIBIADES.
_Translated from a Greek Manuscript lately discovered._
ALCIBIADES.
Fly! Praxinoe, fly! I hear the voice of Socrates, and it frightens me as
much as the voice of Cerberus. Pick up your girdle and run. Leander,
here! remove the wine and fruit. Now my apartment looks more austere
than before. Here he comes. I wish he were at the pillars of Hercules.
Ah! Socrates, welcome.
SOCRATES.
Alcibiades, we expected you at the house of Agatho. You had promised to
be present at our conversation, and perhaps you might have benefited by
it as much as by lying on that couch.
ALCIBIADES.
I should have come, Socrates; but I was seized by a sudden sickness,
which made me quite unfit for philosophy.
SOCRATES.
I am grieved to hear it; but the colour in your cheeks makes me hope for
a speedy recovery.
ALCIBIADES.
I begin to think, indeed, that the disorder has left me.
SOCRATES.
I am sure it has, for I met it at the door. But was that beautiful
creature a disease? I imagined, as it glided by me, that it must be Hebe
herself who had been visiting you. I never before saw so blooming an
illness.
ALCIBIADES.
Ah! Socrates, I never succeed in deceiving you. I think I have heard you
boast that you have brought philosophy down from the stars to live
amongst men.
SOCRATES.
Is she not likely to do more good to men than to the stars?
ALCIBIADES.
Why, I was going to advise that you should release her and let her fly
up again, for she would be much less troublesome amongst the stars than
at Athens. The truth is, I cannot enjoy my pleasures while she is
observing them, but she might observe the Pleiades as long as she
pleased without giving me the least disturbance. But now, since I have
lost your conversation to-day, I would willingly hear you explain a
difficulty that I can propose. Perhaps one cause of my zeal for
instruction at this moment is a wish to divert the reproof that I see
coming.
SOCRATES.
I think you have justly interpreted your love of knowledge. However, let
me hear the difficulty. But stay, here are more friends; Cleocrates and
Hiero.
ALCIBIADES.
Welcome, my friends! but you shall not interrupt our conversation.
Therefore, without taking farther notice of you, I proceed to ask
Socrates why it is that I, being one man, discover within myself so many
different characters? I find a philosopher who would always be engaged
in study, a reveller that would make life but one debauch, and a
politician who loves to be busy with the state, a prudent man who
foresees every danger, and a rash fool who never avoids one, all
collected together and called Alcibiades. Nor do these different persons
prevail in turn, but all together; I wish to be wise and foolish at the
same instant, and frequently cannot decide which I desire the most. So a
few hours ago I wished to be both with you at the house of Agatho, and
here with a Rhodian girl. So violent was the contest that I expected to
be torn into two parts by it, and that one half of me would go to hear
you talk, while the other remained here with the Rhodian.
SOCRATES.
I should have been content with a smaller share of you than half; if you
had only sent your head by a servant, the fair Rhodian might have kept
the remainder, and I imagine you would not have been the less fit to
entertain her from wanting merely a head.
ALCIBIADES.
Not at all; but my whole head would not have consented to go, one part
of it only being inclined to philosophy. I am the same divided person
that Cerberus must be if he has a disposition to each head. Now pray let
me hear the explanation of this.
SOCRATES.
I transfer the duty to Cleocrates, who three days ago was about to tell
me something that he brought out of Egypt on this very subject. You
know that a man cannot be wise without having been in Egypt.
CLEOCRATES.
You shall hear my tale; but Hiero too can tell one to account for these
contending inclinations, and he having been not only in Egypt, but in
every other country, is entitled to be far wiser than I am. Let him,
therefore, speak first.
ALCIBIADES.
Begin, Hiero; and I charge you to omit all apology, preface, and
modesty.
HIERO.
Rejecting then all such impediments, I begin by telling you that amongst
every people which I have visited in my travels, I have found a great
curiosity to know the origin and first condition of mankind, and to
learn the changes which have made men what they now are. Accordingly in
every country some person has undertaken to gratify this desire, and
disclose the first beginning of man, and his progress to the present
condition; so that there is not a race to be found, however savage and
destitute of literature, which has not some legend of the early
circumstances of the world. Fortunately none are so inquisitive as to
ask how these things became known to the historian who first divulged
them; men think they have nothing to do with the story, but to believe
it.
The general opinion seems to be, that since it is absolutely necessary
for the peace of our minds that some origin of things should be current
amongst us, it would be very unwise to undermine the one we have now,
because it might not be easy to find another. The best course is to let
things begin as they have been used to do.
Thus the world has as many origins as it has races of men; all are
believed with the same resolution, and good men are ready to defend
their own beginning of things at the hazard of their lives. Though these
histories of unknown times are very different from each other, yet in
one particular they all agree, which is in supposing that man is now, by
his own vice and folly, in a very inferior condition to that which he
once enjoyed.
I shall now give you my narrative of the early state of mankind, being
assured that I have as ample information on the subject as any previous
author; and I claim the advantage allowed to all historians of this
kind, which is, that I shall not be suspected of fiction merely because
I relate events of which there is neither remembrance nor history.
The first generation of men was much more powerful and happy than the
present. The human race was not divided into two sexes, as now; but the
two sexes were united in every single person. Each human being was
composed of male and female, so joined together as to make one person.
Each, therefore, was supplied with four arms, four legs, two faces, and
two bodies. The two were separate in every part except the head, which
was the point that united them: the heads grew together without any
partition of skull between them, so that the two brains were joined, and
thus the two bodies were governed by one will and understanding. The
male was always on the right side, and the female on the left. Every
man, therefore, was naturally married, and without any choice of his
own.
This combination of the two sexes prevented a great part of the miseries
by which life is now infested; for it is manifest that the world is
unhappy chiefly by the quarrels, jealousies, and contending wishes of
man and woman. Hence most of the great wars which have depopulated the
earth. If Helen had been fastened to Menelaus by the head, it is plain
that she could not have eloped from him, and involved Greece and Asia in
misfortune; nor is it probable that Clytemnestra would have divided the
head of Agamemnon with an axe if her own head must have shared the blow.
Amongst this double race there was nothing to interrupt domestic peace.
It is evident there could be no such passion as jealousy, for when a
man's wife was part of himself he could not suspect her of infidelity.
There being only one mind in the double body, the male half never was
enamoured of the female half of another person, nor did the female side
love any but the male to which she was annexed. A man, therefore, was
then as unlikely to charge his female side with disobedience as he would
be now to accuse his own arm or leg of a mutiny. It is well known too
that the present conjugal love, however vehement at first, is very apt
to fall out of the heart after a certain time, which accident could not
occur in the double condition, the love of one half for the other being
a kind of self-love; so that any one who considers the fidelity with
which he adheres to himself in our present circumstances, will know with
how much greater constancy the man and woman then lived together than
they do now. That forgiveness with which a man now regards his own
faults and that patience with which he waits for his own reformation
were then practised between the two sexes, to the great peace and
concord of every family. All sensations felt by one side were imparted
equally to the other, so that the husband could not pursue his pleasures
apart from his wife. Besides this, when people were born married, as I
describe, they avoided all doubt and perplexity of choice; there were no
fears and anxieties in love, no vain pursuits, nor affections without
return. The male part was no more doubtful of the female's kindness than
a man is now apprehensive of losing his own esteem.
But it pleased the gods that this happy condition should cease. The
reason of their displeasure I cannot assign with any certainty. It has
been thought that these double men having much greater strength and
dexterity than the present race, had made Jupiter apprehend that they
might at some time revolt from heaven, and become dangerous enemies. And
it is observable that in all countries, however religions may vary,
there is some obscure tradition of the gods having once imagined their
supremacy to be in danger, which I think argues a remarkable cowardice
in the divine nature; for when we consider the distance from earth to
heaven, we can hardly meditate an attack from this quarter with any
reasonable hope of victory. But I am rather inclined to think that in
this case Jupiter was not moved by the power of men, but by their
happiness. An excess of good is contrary to our nature, and certainly
the gods have always shown a very provident care in supplying us with
sufficient misfortunes. But whatever reasons may have decided the King
of the Gods, it is certain that he resolved to divide man from woman,
and make them live as two separate beings. Having therefore counted the
number of mortals on the earth, he took the same number of thunderbolts
in his hand, and hurled them with such certainty as to cleave every
human being into two parts. I think that a god capable of such dexterity
needed not to have feared the human race, though every man had had a
hundred arms instead of four. All mankind, therefore, having fallen
asunder at the same instant, each half was seized with consternation;
but yet was so stupified by the blow that it knew not what had happened,
and began to wander about by itself in an ignorant terror. After some
time, however, these halves became sensible of their condition; and each
perceiving that in its amazement it had wandered away from its partner,
was seized with a violent desire to be reunited. The earth was covered
with these imperfect creatures, running about in search of their
associates. When two halves which had been one were so fortunate as to
meet they threw their arms round each other, and with passionate
embraces declared that they never would be separated. But most of those
who did not speedily find their true partners, in horror at being alone,
betook themselves to some other half. The male and female sides being
equally terrified and forlorn in their sudden solitude, these wrong
associations were readily and eagerly formed. When two halves happened
to meet, each despairing of its former colleague, they joined themselves
together after a short negotiation, with mutual caresses and vows of
inseparable union. But it was soon found that a pair could not be thus
joined at pleasure with any success. When the two halves which before
the thunderbolt had formed one person were restored to each other, they
lived together in great harmony and happiness, endeavouring by a perfect
unanimity to forget that they were no longer one; but those who had been
casually united soon found cause of disagreement, and passed their lives
in hatred and dispute. And when one of this unfortunate confederacy
happened to meet with its true partner, involved also in a foreign
compact, the desire of reunion was incontrollable; and each deserting
its provisional associate, returned with delight to the former alliance.
It is easy to discover a secret memory of these events in human nature
as it now is, what I have related being the true origin of love and
marriage. Each man and each woman of these times is singly but half a
creature, and is naturally sensible of its imperfection. In childhood we
do not suspect our mutilation; but as soon as the feelings are mature,
every person becomes eager to discover the other half of himself, and be
reunited to it. Unfortunately, the whole human race has been so
dispersed and confused together, that very few have the good fortune to
find their authentic halves; but both sexes being conscious of the
division they have suffered, are so impatient of solitude, that the
generality of persons after a very short search are content to choose
partners with which they have no affinity. Hence, a great part of the
two sexes are erroneously joined, which explains the number of unhappy
marriages; for the law is still in force, that two halves, not belonging
to each other, cannot be prosperously united, but to be happy together
they must be descendants of the same double person. When any two are
once made known to each other as being halves of the same person,
nothing can prevent their immediate union, and any former confederacy is
instantly abandoned. Thus, when a married woman, to the great
astonishment of her friends, deserts her husband and her children for a
stranger, the truth is that she has found her corresponding half. Thus,
also, we may understand why it is that a man has so often a violent
passion for some particular woman, whose charms are so far from being
obvious that he is the only person who has sagacity enough to discover
them. She is the half which it is the business of his life to find.