Sec. I. Philosophy finds talkativeness a disease very difficult and hard to
cure. For its remedy, conversation, requires hearers: but talkative
people hear nobody, for they are ever prating. And the first evil this
inability to keep silence produces is an inability to listen. It is a
self-chosen deafness of people who, I take it, blame nature for giving
us one tongue and two ears. If then the following advice of Euripides to
a foolish hearer was good,
"I cannot fill one that can nought retain,
Pumping up wise words for an unwise man;"
one might more justly say to a talkative man, or rather about a
talkative man,
"I cannot fill one that will nothing take,
Pumping up wise words for an unwise man;"
or rather deluging with words one that talks to those who don't listen,
and listens not to those who talk. Even if he does listen for a short
time, talkativeness hurries off what is said like the retiring sea, and
anon brings it up again multiplied with the approaching tide. The
portico at Olympia that returns many echoes to one utterance is called
seven-voiced,[542] and if the slightest utterance catches the ear of
talkativeness, it at once echoes it all round,
"Moving the mind's chords all unmoved before."[543]
For their ears can certainly have no passages leading to the brain but
only to the tongue. And so while other people retain what they hear,
talkative people lose it altogether, and, being empty-headed, they
resemble empty vessels, and go about making much noise.[544]
Sec. II. If however it seems that no attempt at cure has been left untried,
let us say to the talkative person,
"Be silent, boy; silence has great advantages;"
two of the first and foremost of which are hearing and being heard,
neither of which can happen to talkative people, for however they desire
either so unhappy are they that they must desist from it. For in all
other diseases of the soul, as love of money, love of glory, or love of
pleasure, people at any rate attain the desired object: but it is the
cruel fate of talkative people to desire hearers but not to get them,
for everyone flees from them with headlong speed; and if people are
sitting or walking about in any public place,[545] and see one coming
they quickly pass the word to one another to shift quarters. And as when
there is dead silence in any assembly they say Hermes has joined the
company, so when any prater joins some drinking party or social
gathering of friends, all are silent, not wishing to give him a chance
to break in, and if he uninvited begin to open his mouth, they all,
"like before a storm at sea, when Boreas is blowing a gale round some
headland," foreseeing tossing about and nausea, disperse. And so it is
their destiny to find neither willing table-companions, nor messmates
when they are travelling by land or by sea, but only such as cannot help
themselves; for such a fellow is always at you, plucking hold of your
clothes or chin, or giving you a dig in the ribs with his elbow. "Most
valuable are the feet in such a conjuncture," according to Archilochus,
nay according to the wise Aristotle himself. For he being bothered with
a talkative fellow, and wearied out with his absurd tales, and his
frequent question, "Is not this wonderful, Aristotle?" "Not at all,"
said he, "but it is wonderful that anyone with a pair of legs stops here
to listen to you." And to another such fellow, who said after a long
rigmarole, "Did I weary you, philosopher, by my chatter?" "Not you, by
Zeus," said he, "for I paid no attention to you." For even if talkative
people force you to listen,[546] the mind can give them only its outward
ears to deluge, while it unfolds and pursues some other thoughts within;
so they find neither hearers to attend to them, nor credit them. They
say those that are prone to Venus are commonly barren: so the prating of
talkative people is ineffectual and fruitless.
Sec. III. And yet nature has fenced and barricaded in us nothing so much as
the tongue, having put the teeth before it as a barrier, so that if,
when reason holds tight her "glossy reins,"[547] it hearken not, nor
keep within bounds, we may check its intemperance, biting it till the
blood comes. For Euripides tells us that, not from unbolted houses or
store-rooms, but "from unbridled mouths the end is misfortune."[548] But
those persons who think that houses without doors and open purses are no
good to their possessors, and yet keep their mouths open and unshut, and
allow their speech to flow continually like the waves of the
Euxine,[549] seem to regard speech as of less value than anything. And
so they never get believed, though credit is the aim of every speech;
for to inspire belief in one's hearers is the proper end of speech, but
praters are disbelieved even when they tell the truth. For as corn
stowed away in a granary is found to be larger in quantity but inferior
in quality, so the speech of a talkative man is increased by a large
addition of falsehood, which destroys his credit.
Sec. IV. Then again every man of modesty and propriety would avoid
drunkenness, for anger is next door neighbour to madness as some
think,[550] but drunkenness lives in the same house: or rather
drunkenness is madness, more short-lived indeed, but more potent also
through volition, for it is self-chosen. Nor is drunkenness censured for
anything so much as its intemperate and endless talk.
"Wine makes a prudent man begin to sing,
And gently laugh, and even makes him dance."[551]
And yet there is no harm in all this, in singing and laughing and
dancing. But the poet adds--
"And it compels to say what's best unsaid."[552]
This is indeed dreadful and dangerous. And perhaps the poet in this
passage has solved that problem of the philosophers, and stated the
difference between being under the influence of wine and being drunk,
mirth being the condition of the former, foolish talk of the latter. For
as the proverb tells us, "What is in the heart of the sober is on the
tongue of the drunken."[553] And so Bias, being silent at a drinking
bout, and jeered at by some young man in the company as stupid, replied,
"What fool could hold his tongue in liquor?" And at Athens a certain
person gave an entertainment to the king's ambassadors, and at their
desire contrived to get the philosophers there too, and as they were all
talking together and comparing ideas, and Zeno alone was silent, the
strangers greeted him and pledged him, and said, "What are we to tell
the king about you, Zeno?" And he replied, "Nothing, but that there is
an old man at Athens that can hold his tongue at a drinking bout." So
profound and mysterious and sober is silence, while drunkenness is
talkative: for it is void of sense and understanding, and so is
loquacious. And so the philosophers define drunkenness to be silly talk
in wine. Drinking therefore is not censured, if silence go with it, but
foolish prating turns being under the influence of wine into
drunkenness. And the drunken man prates only in his cups; but the
talkative man prates everywhere, in the market-place, in the theatre,
out walking, by night and by day. If he is your doctor, he is more
trouble to you than your disease: if he is on board ship with you, he
disgusts you more than sea-sickness; if he praises you, he is more
fulsome than blame. It is more pleasure associating with bad men who
have tact than with good men who prate. Nestor indeed in Sophocles'
Play, trying by his words to soothe exasperated Ajax, said to him
mildly,
"I blame you not, for though your words are bad,
Your acts are good:"
but we cannot feel so to the talkative man, for his want of tact in
words destroys and undoes all the grace of his actions.
Sec. V. Lysias wrote a defence for some accused person, and gave it him,
and he read it several times, and came to Lysias in great dejection and
said, "When I first perused this defence, it seemed to me wonderful, but
when I read it a second and third time, it seemed altogether dull and
ineffective. Then Lysias laughed, and said, "What then? Are you going to
read it more than once to the jury?" And yet do but consider the
persuasiveness and grace of Lysias' style;[554] for he "I say was a
great favourite with the dark-haired Muses."[555] And of the things
which have been said of Homer the truest is that he alone of all poets
has survived the fastidiousness of mankind, as being ever new and still
at his acme as regards giving pleasure, and yet saying and proclaiming
about himself, "I hate to spin out a plain tale over and over
again,"[556] he avoids and fears that satiety which lies in ambush for
every narrative, and takes the hearer from one subject to another, and
relieves by novelty the possibility of being surfeited. But the
talkative worry one's ears to death with their tautologies, as people
scribble the same things over and over again on palimpsests.[557]
Sec. VI. Let us remind them then first of this, that just as in the case of
wine, which was intended for pleasure and mirth, those who compel people
to drink it neat and in large quantities bring some into a disgusting
condition of drunkenness, so with speech, which is the pleasantest
social tie amongst mankind, those who make a bad and ill-advised use of
it render it unpleasing and unfit for company, paining those whom they
think to gratify, and become a laughing-stock to those who they think
admire them, and objectionable to those who they think love them. As
then he cannot be a favourite of the goddess who with Aphrodite's
charmed girdle[558] repels and drives away those who associate with him,
so he who with his speech bores and disgusts one is without either taste
or refinement.
Sec. VII. Of all other passions and disorders some are dangerous, some
hateful, some ridiculous, but in talkativeness all these elements are
combined. For praters are jeered at for their commonplaces, and hated
when they bring bad news, and run into danger when they reveal secrets.
And so Anacharsis, when he was feasted by Solon and lay down to sleep,
and was observed with his left hand on his private parts, and his right
hand on his mouth, for he thought his tongue needed the stronger
restraint, was right in his opinion. For it would be difficult to find
as many men who have been ruined by venereal excesses as cities and
leading states that have been undone by the utterance of a secret. When
Sulla was besieging Athens, and had no time to waste there, "for he had
other fish to fry,"[559] as Mithridates was ravaging Asia, and the party
of Marius was again in power at Rome, some old men in a barber's shop
happened to observe to one another that the Heptachalcon was not well
guarded, and that their city ran a great risk of being captured at that
point, and some spies who overheard this conversation reported it to
Sulla. And he at once marched up his forces, and about midnight entered
the city with his army, and all but rased it to the ground, and filled
it with slaughter and dead bodies, insomuch that the Ceramicus ran with
blood: and he was thus savage against the Athenians for their words
rather than their deeds, for they had spoken ill of him and his wife
Metella, jumping on to the walls and calling out in a jeering way,
"Sulla is a mulberry bestrewn with barley meal,"
and much similar banter. Thus they drew down upon themselves for words,
which, as Plato[560] says, are a very small matter, a very heavy
punishment.[561] The prating of one man also prevented Rome from
becoming free by the removal of Nero. For it was only the night before
the tyrant was to be murdered, and all preparations had been made, when
he that was to do the deed going to the theatre, and seeing someone in
chains near the doors who was about to be taken before Nero, and was
bewailing his sad fortune, went up close to him and whispered, "Pray
only, good sir, that to-day may pass by, to-morrow you will owe me many
thanks." He guessing the meaning of the riddle, and thinking, I take it,
"he is a fool who gives up what is in his hand for a remote
contingency,"[562] preferred certain to honourable safety. For he
informed Nero of what the man had said, and he was immediately arrested,
and torture, and fire, and scourging were applied to him, who denied now
in his necessity what before he had divulged without necessity.
Sec. VIII. Zeno the philosopher,[563] that he might not against his will
divulge any secrets when put to the torture, bit off his tongue, and
spit it at the tyrant. Famous also was the reward which Leaena had for
her taciturnity.[564] She was the mistress of Harmodius and Aristogiton,
and, although a woman, participated in their hopes of success in the
conspiracy against the tyrants: for she had revelled in the glorious cup
of love, and had been initiated in their secrets through the god. When
then they had failed in their attempt and been put to death, and she was
examined and bidden to reveal the names of the other conspirators, she
refused to do so, and held out to the end, showing that those famous men
in loving such a one as her had done nothing unworthy of them. And the
Athenians erected to her memory a bronze lioness without a tongue, and
placed it near the entrance to the Acropolis, signifying her dauntless
courage by the nobleness of that animal, and by its being without a
tongue her silence and fidelity. For no spoken word has done as much
good as many unspoken ones. For at some future day we can give utterance
if we like to what has been not said, but a word once spoken cannot be
recalled, but flies about and runs all round the world. And this is the
reason, I take it, why men teach us to speak, but the gods teach us to
be silent, silence being enjoined on us in the mysteries and in all
religious rites. Thus Homer has described the most eloquent Odysseus,
and Telemachus, and Penelope, and the nurse, as all remarkable for their
taciturnity. You remember the nurse saying,
"I'll keep it close as heart of oak or steel."[565]
And Odysseus sitting by Penelope,
"Though in his heart he pitied her sad grief,
His eyes like horn or steel impassive stood
Within their lids, and craft his tears repressed."[566]
So great control had he over all his body, and so much were all his
members under the sway and rule of reason, that he commanded his eyes
not to weep, his tongue not to speak, and his heart not to tremble or
quake.[567]
"So calm and passive did his heart remain,"[568]
reason penetrating even to the irrational instincts, and making spirit
and blood obedient and docile to it. Such also were most of his
companions, for though they were dashed to the ground and dragged along
by the Cyclops, they said not a word about Odysseus, nor did they show
the stake of wood that had been put into the fire and prepared to put
out Polyphemus' eye, but they would rather have been eaten alive than
divulge secrets, such wonderful self-control and fidelity had they.[569]
And so it was not amiss of Pittacus, when the king of Egypt sent him a
victim, and bade him take from it the best and worst piece of it, to
pull out the tongue and send that to the king, as being the instrument
of the greatest blessings and withal the greatest mischiefs.
Sec. IX. So Ino in Euripides, speaking plainly about herself, says she
knows "how to be silent when she should, and to speak when speech is
safe."[570] For those who have enjoyed a truly noble and royal education
learn first to be silent and then to speak. So the famous king
Antigonus, when his son asked him, "When are we going to shift our
quarters?" answered, "Are you afraid that you only will not hear the
trumpet?" Was he afraid then to entrust a secret to him, to whom he
intended one day to leave his kingdom? Nay rather, it was to teach him
to be close and guarded on such matters. Metellus[571] also, the
well-known veteran, when questioned somewhat similarly about an
expedition, said, "If I thought my coat knew the secret, I would strip
it off and throw it into the fire." And Eumenes, when he heard that
Craterus was marching against him, told none of his friends, but
pretended that it was Neoptolemus; for his soldiers despised
Neoptolemus, but they admired the glory and loved the virtue of
Craterus; and no one but Eumenes knew the truth, and they engaged and
were victorious, and unwittingly killed Craterus, and only recognized
his dead body. So great a part did silence play in the battle,
concealing the name of the enemy's general: so that Eumenes' friends
marvelled more than found fault at his not having told them the truth.
And if anyone should receive blame in such a case, it is better to be
censured when one has done well by keeping one's counsel, rather than to
have to accuse others through having come to grief by trusting them.
Sec. X. But, generally speaking, who has the right to blame the person who
has not kept his secret? For if it was not to be known, it was not well
to tell another person of it at all, and if you divulged your secret
yourself and expected another person to keep it, you had more faith in
another than in yourself. And so should he be such another as yourself
you are deservedly undone, and should he be a better man than yourself,
your safety is more than you could have reckoned on, as it involved
finding a man more to be trusted than yourself. But you will say, He is
my friend. Yes, but he has another friend, whom he reposes confidence in
as much as you do in your friend, and that other friend has one of his
own, and so on, so that the secret spreads in many quarters from
inability to keep it close in one. For as the unit never deviates from
its orbit, but (as its name signifies) always remains one, but the
number two contains within it the seeds of infinity, for when it departs
from itself it becomes plurality at once by doubling, so speech confined
in one person's breast is truly secret, but if it be communicated to
another it soon gets noised abroad. And so Homer calls words "winged,"
for as he that lets a bird go from his hands cannot easily get it back
again, so he that lets a word go from his mouth cannot catch or stop it,
but it is borne along "whirling on swift wings," and dispersed from one
person to another. When a ship scuds before the gale the mariners can
stop it, or at least check its course with cables and anchors, but when
the spoken word once sails out of harbour, so to speak, there is no
roadstead or anchorage for it, but borne along with much noise and echo
it dashes its utterer on the rocks, and brings him into imminent danger
of shipwreck,
"As one might set on fire Ida's woods
With a small torch, so what one tells one person
Is soon the property of all the citizens."[572]
Sec. XI. The Roman Senate had been discussing for several days a secret
matter, and there was much doubt and suspicion about it. And one of the
senator's wives, discreet in other matters but a very woman in
curiosity, pressed her husband close, and entreated him to tell her what
the secret was; she vowed and swore she would not divulge it, and did
not refrain from shedding tears at her not being trusted. And he,
nothing loth to convince her of her folly, said, "Your importunity,
wife, has prevailed, listen to a dreadful and portentous matter. It has
been told us by the priests that a lark has been seen flying in the air
with a golden helmet and spear: it is this portent that we are
considering and discussing with the augurs, as to whether it be a good
or bad omen. But say nothing about it." Having said these words he went
into the Forum. But his wife seized on the very first of her maids that
entered the room, and smote her breast, and tore her hair, and said,
"Alas! for my husband and country! What will become of us?" wishing and
teaching her maid to say, "Whatever's up?" So when she inquired she told
her all about it, adding that refrain common to all praters, "Tell no
one a word about it." The maid however had scarce left her mistress when
she told one of her fellow-servants who was doing little or nothing, and
she told her lover who happened to call at that moment. So the news
spread to the Forum so quickly that it got the start of its original
author, and one of his friends meeting him said, "Have you only just
left your house?" "Only just," he replied. "Didn't you hear the news?"
said his friend. "What news?" said he. "Why, that a lark has been seen
flying in the air with a golden helmet and spear, and the Senate are met
to discuss the portent." And he smiled and said to himself, "You are
quick, wife, for the tale to get before me to the Forum!" Then meeting
some of the Senators he disabused them of their panic. But to punish his
wife, he said when he got home, "You have undone me, wife: for the
secret has got abroad from my house, so that I must be an exile from my
country for your inability to keep a secret." And on her trying to deny
it, and saying, "Were there not three hundred Senators that heard of it
as well as you? Might not one of them have divulged it?" he replied,
"Stuff o' your three hundred! It was at your importunity that I invented
the story, to put you to the test!" This fellow tested his wife warily
and cunningly, as one pours water, and not wine or oil, into a leaky
vessel. And Fabius,[573] the friend of Augustus, hearing the Emperor in
his old age mourning over the extinction of his family, how two of his
daughter Julia's sons were dead, and how Posthumus Agrippa, the only
remaining one, was in exile through false accusation,[574] and how he
was compelled to put his wife's son[575] into the succession to the
Empire, though he pitied Agrippa and had half a mind to recall him from
banishment, repeated the Emperor's words to his wife, and she to
Livia.[576] And Livia bitterly upbraided Augustus, if he meant recalling
his grandson, for not having done so long ago, instead of bringing her
into hatred and hostility with the heir to the Empire. When Fabius came
in the morning as usual into the Emperor's presence, and said, "Hail,
Caesar!" the Emperor replied, "Farewell,[577] Fabius." And he
understanding the meaning of this straightway went home, and sent for
his wife, and said, "The Emperor knows that I have not kept his secret,
so I shall kill myself." And his wife replied, "You have deserved your
fate, since having been married to me so long you did not remember and
guard against my incontinence of speech, but suffer me to kill myself
first." So saying she took his sword, and slew herself first.
Sec. XII. That was a good answer therefore that the comic poet Philippides
made to king Lysimachus, who greeted him kindly, and said to him,[578]
"What shall I give you of all my possessions?" "Whatever you like, O
king, except your secrets." And talkativeness has another plague
attached to it, even curiosity: for praters wish to hear much that they
may have much to say, and most of all do they gad about to investigate
and pry into secrets and hidden things, providing as it were an
antiquated stock of rubbish[579] for their twaddle, in fine like
children who cannot[580] hold ice in their hands, and yet are unwilling
to let it go,[581] or rather taking secrets to their bosoms and
embracing them as if they were so many serpents, that they cannot
control, but are sure to be gnawed to death by. They say that garfish
and vipers burst in giving life to their young, so secrets by coming out
ruin and destroy those who cannot keep them. Seleucus Callinicus having
lost his army and all his forces in a battle against the Galati, threw
off his diadem, and fled on a swift horse with an escort of three or
four of his men a long day's journey by bypaths and out-of-the-way
tracks, till faint and famishing for want of food he drew rein at a
small farmhouse, where by chance he found the master at home, and asked
for some bread and water. And he supplied him liberally and courteously
not only with what he asked for but with whatever else was on the farm,
and recognized the king, and being very joyful at this opportunity of
ministering to the king's necessities, he could not contain himself, nor
dissemble like the king who wished to be incognito, but he accompanied
him to the road, and on parting from him, said, "Farewell, king
Seleucus." And he stretching out his right hand, and drawing the man to
him as if he was going to kiss him, gave a sign to one of his escort to
draw his sword and cut the man's head off;
"And at his word the head roll'd in the dust."[582]
Whereas if he had been silent then, and kept his counsel for a time, as
the king afterwards became prosperous and great, he would have received,
I take it, greater favour for his silence than for his hospitality. And
yet he had I admit some excuse for his want of reticence, namely hope
and joy.
Sec. XIII. But most talkative people have no excuse for ruining themselves.
As for example in a barber's shop one day there was some conversation
about the tyranny of Dionysius, that it was as hard as adamant and
invincible, and the barber laughed and said, "Fancy your saying this to
me, who have my razor at his throat most days!" And Dionysius hearing
this had him crucified. Barbers indeed are generally a talkative race,
for people fond of prating flock to them and sit in their shops, so that
they pick up the habit from their customers. It was a witty answer
therefore of king Archelaus,[583] when a talkative barber put the towel
round his neck, and asked him, "How shall I shave you, O king?"
"Silently," said the monarch. It was a barber that first spread the news
of the great reverse of the Athenians in Sicily, having heard of it at
the Piraeus from a slave that had escaped from the island. He at once
left his shop, and ran into the city at full speed, "that no one else
should reap the fame, and he come in the second,"[584] of carrying the
news into the town. And an uproar arising, as was only to be expected,
the people assembled in the ecclesia, and began to investigate the
origin of the rumour. So the barber was dragged up and questioned, but
knew not the person's name who had told him, so was obliged to refer its
origin to an anonymous and unknown person. Then anger filled the
theatre, and the multitude cried out, "Torture the cursed fellow, put
him to the rack: he has fabricated and concocted this news: who else
heard it? who credits it?" The wheel was brought, the poor fellow
stretched on it. Meantime those came up who had brought the news, who
had escaped from the carnage in Sicily. Then all the multitude dispersed
to weep over their private sorrows, and abandoned the poor barber, who
remained fastened to the wheel. And when released late in the evening he
actually asked the executioner, if they had heard how Nicias the General
was slain. So invincible and incorrigible a vice does habit make
talkativeness to be.
Sec. XIV. And yet, as those that drink bitter and strong-smelling physic
are disgusted even with the cups they drink it out of, so those that
bring evil tidings are disliked and hated by their hearers. Wittily
therefore has Sophocles described the conversation between Creon and the
guard.
"_G._ Is't in your ears or in your mind you're grieved?
_C._ Why do you thus define the seat of grief?
_G._ The doer pains your mind, but I your ears."[585]
However those that tell the tale grieve us as well as those that did the
deed: and yet there is no means of checking or controlling the running
tongue. At Lacedaemon the temple of Athene Chalcioecus[586] was broken
into, and an empty flagon was observed lying on the ground inside, and a
great concourse of people came up and discussed the matter. And one of
the company said, "If you will allow me, I will tell you what I think
about this flagon. I cannot help being of opinion that these
sacrilegious wretches drank hemlock, and brought wine with them, before
commencing their nefarious and dangerous work: that so, if they should
fail to be detected, they might depart in safety, drinking the wine neat
as an antidote to the hemlock: whereas should they be caught in the act,
before they were put to the torture they would die of the poison easily
and painlessly." When he had uttered these words, the idea seemed so
ingenious and farfetched that it looked as if it could not emanate from
fancy, but only from knowledge of the real facts. So the crowd
surrounded this man, and asked him one after the other, "Who are you?
Who knows you? How come you to know all this?" And at last he was
convicted in this way, and confessed that he was one of those that had
committed the sacrilege. And were not the murderers of Ibycus similarly
captured? They were sitting in the theatre, and some cranes flew over
their heads, and they laughed and whispered to one another, "Behold the
avengers of Ibycus." And this being overheard by some who sat near, as
Ibycus had now been some time missing and inquired after, they laid hold
of this remark, and reported it to the magistrates. And so they were
convicted and dragged off to punishment, being brought to justice not by
the cranes but by their own inability to hold their tongues, being
compelled by some Fury or Vengeance as it were to divulge the
murder.[587] For as in the body there is an attraction to sore and
suffering parts from neighbouring parts, so the tongue of talkative
persons, ever suffering from inflammation and a throbbing pulse,
attracts and draws to it secret and hidden things. And so the tongue
ought to be fenced in, and have reason ever before it, as a bulwark, to
prevent its tripping: that we may not seem to be more silly than geese,
of whom it is said that, when they fly from Cilicia over Mt. Taurus
which swarms with eagles, they carry in their mouths a large stone,
which they employ as a gag or bridle for their scream, and so they cross
over by night unobserved.
Sec. XV. Now if anyone were to ask who is the worst and most abandoned man,
no one would pass over the traitor, or mention anyone else. It was as
the reward of treason that Euthycrates roofed his house with Macedonian
wood, as Demosthenes tells us; and that Philocrates got a large sum of
money, and spent it on women and fish; and it was for betraying Eretria
that Euphorbus and Philagrus got an estate from king Philip. But the
talkative man is an unhired and officious traitor, not of horses[588] or
walls, but of secrets which he divulges in the law courts, in factions,
in party-strife, no one thanking him for his pains; but should anyone
listen to him he thinks he is the obliged party. So that what was said
to a man who rashly and indiscriminately squandered away all his means
and bestowed them on others,
"It is not kindness in you but disease,
This itch for giving,"[589]
is appropriate also to the prater, "You don't communicate to us all this
out of friendship or goodwill, but it is a disease in you, this itch for
talking and prating."
Sec. XVI. But all this must not be looked upon merely as an indictment
against talkativeness, but an attempt to cure it: for we overcome the
passions by judgement and practice, but judgement is the first step. For
no one is wont to shun, and eradicate from his soul, what he does not
dislike. And we dislike the passions only when we discern by reason the
harm and shame that results to us by indulging them. As we see every day
in the case of talkative people: if they wish to be loved, they are
hated; if they desire to please, they bore; when they think they are
admired, they are really laughed at; they spend, and get no gain from so
doing; they injure their friends, benefit their enemies, and ruin
themselves. So that the first cure and remedy of this disorder will be
to reckon up the shame and trouble that results from it.
Sec. XVII. In the next place we must consider the opposite virtue to
talkativeness, always listening to and having on our lips the encomiums
passed upon reserve, and remembering the decorum sanctity and mysterious
power of silence, and ever bearing in mind that terse and brief
speakers, who put the maximum of matter into the minimum of words, are
more admired and esteemed and thought wiser[590] than unbridled
windbags. And so Plato[591] praises, and compares to clever javelin-men,
such as speak tersely, compressedly, and concisely. And Lycurgus by
using his citizens from boyhood to silence taught them to perfection
their brevity and terseness. For as the Celtiberians make steel of iron
only after digging down deep in the soil, and carefully separating the
iron ore, so Laconian oratory has no rind,[592] but by the removal of
all superfluous matter goes home straight to the point like steel. For
its sententiousness,[593] and pointed suppleness in repartee, comes from
the habit of silence. And we ought to quote such pointed sayings
especially to talkative people, such neatness and vigour have they, as,
for example, what the Lacedaemonians said to Philip, "[Remember]
Dionysius at Corinth."[594] And again, when Philip wrote to them, "If I
invade Laconia, I will drive you all out of house and home," they only
wrote back, "If." And when king Demetrius was indignant and cried out,
"The Lacedaemonians have only sent me one ambassador," the ambassador was
not frightened but said, "Yes, one to one man." Certainly among the
ancients men of few words were admired. So the Amphictyones did not
write extracts from the Iliad or Odyssey, or the Paeans of Pindar, in the
temple of Pythian Apollo at Delphi, but "Know thyself," "Not too much of
anything,"[595] and "Be a surety, trouble is near;"[596] so much did
they admire compactness and simplicity of speech, combining brevity with
shrewdness of mind. And is not the god himself short and concise in his
oracles? Is he not called Loxias,[597] because he prefers ambiguity to
longwindedness? And are not those who express their meaning by signs
without words wonderfully praised and admired? As Heraclitus, when some
of the citizens asked him to give them his opinion about concord, got on
the platform, and took a cup of cold water, and put some barley-meal in
it, and stirred it up with penny-royal, thus showing them that it is
being content with anything, and not needing costly dainties, that keeps
cities in peace and concord. Scilurus, the king of the Scythians, left
eighty sons, and on his death-bed asked for a bundle of sticks, and bade
his sons break it when it was tied together, and when they could not, he
took the sticks one by one and easily broke them all up: thus showing
them that their harmony and concord would make them strong and hard to
overthrow, while dissension would make them feeble and insecure.
Sec. XVIII. If then anyone were continually to recollect and repeat these
or similar terse sayings, he would probably cease to be pleased with
idle talk. As for myself, when I consider of what importance it is to
attend to reason, and to keep to one's purpose, I confess I am quite put
out of countenance by the example of the slave of Pupius Piso the
orator. He, not wishing to be annoyed by their prating, ordered his
slaves merely to answer his questions, and not say a word more. On one
occasion wishing to pay honour to Clodius who was then in power, he
ordered him to be invited to his house, and provided for him no doubt a
sumptuous entertainment. At the time fixed all the guests were present
except Clodius, for whom they waited, and the host frequently sent the
slave who used to invite guests to see if he was coming, but when
evening came, and he was now quite despaired of, he said to his slave,
"Did you not invite him?" "Certainly," said the slave. "Why then has he
not come?" said the master. "Because he declined," said the slave. "Why
then did you not tell me of it at once?" said the master. "Because you
never asked me," said the slave. This was a Roman slave. But an Athenian
slave "while digging will tell his master on what terms peace was made."
So great is the force of habit in all matters. And of it we will now
speak.
Sec. XIX. For it is not by applying bit or bridle that we can restrain the
talkative person, we must master the disease by habit. In the first
place then, when you are in company and questions are going round,
accustom yourself not to speak till all the rest have declined giving an
answer. For as Sophocles says, "counsel is not like a race;" no more are
question and answer. For in a race the victory belongs to him who gets
in first, but in company, if anyone has given a satisfactory answer, it
is sufficient by assenting and agreeing to his view to get the
reputation of being a pleasant fellow; and if no satisfactory answer is
given, then to enlighten ignorance and supply the necessary information
is well-timed and does not excite envy. But let us be especially on our
guard that, if anyone else is asked a question, we do not ourselves
anticipate and intercept him in giving an answer. It is indeed perhaps
nowhere good form, if another is asked a favour, to push him aside and
undertake to grant it ourselves; for we shall seem so to upbraid two
people at once, the one who was asked as not able to grant the favour,
and the other as not knowing how to ask in the right quarter. But
especially insulting is such forwardness and impetuosity in answering
questions. For he that anticipates by his own answer the person that was
asked the question seems to say, "What is the good of asking him? What
does he know about it? In my presence nobody else ought to be asked
about these matters." And yet we often put questions to people, not so
much because we want an answer, as to elicit from them conversation and
friendly feeling, and from a wish to fit them for company, as Socrates
drew out Theaetetus and Charmides. For it is all one to run up and kiss
one who wishes to be kissed by another, or to divert to oneself the
attention that he was bestowing on another, as to intercept another
person's answers, and to transfer people's ears, and force their
attention, and fix them on oneself; when, even if he that was asked
declines to give an answer, it will be well to hold oneself in reserve,
and only to meet the question modestly when one's turn comes, so framing
one's answer as to seem to oblige the person who asked the question, and
as if one had been appealed to for an answer by the other. For if people
are asked questions and cannot give a satisfactory answer they are with
justice excused; but he who without being asked undertakes to answer a
question, and anticipates another, is disagreeable even if he succeeds,
while, if his answer is unsatisfactory, he is ridiculed by all the
company, and his failure is a source of the liveliest satisfaction to
them.
Sec. XX. The next thing to practise oneself to in answering the questions
put to one,--a point to which the talkative person ought to pay the
greatest attention,--is not through inadvertence to give serious answers
to people who only challenge you to talk in fun and sport. For some
people concoct questions not for real information, but simply for
amusement and to pass the time away, and propound them to talkative
people, just to have them on. Against this we must be on our guard, and
not rush into conversation too hastily, or as if we were obliged for the
chance, but we must consider the character of the inquirer and his
purpose. When it seems that he really desires information, we should
accustom ourselves to pause, and interpose some interval between the
question and answer; during which time the questioner can add anything
if he chooses, and the other can reflect on his answer, and not be in
too great a hurry about it, nor bury it in obscurity, nor, as is
frequently the case in too great haste, answer some other question than
that which was asked. The Pythian Priestess indeed was accustomed to
utter some of her oracles at the very moment before the question was
put: for the god whom she serves "understands the dumb, and hears the
mute."[598] But he that wishes to give an appropriate answer must
carefully consider both the question and the mind of the questioner,
lest it be as the proverb expresses it,
"I asked for shovels, they denied me pails."[599]
Besides we ought to check this greediness and hunger for words, that it
may not seem as if we had a flood on our tongue which was dammed up, but
which we were only too glad to discharge[600] on a question being put.
Socrates indeed so repressed his thirst, that he would not allow himself
to drink after exercise in the gymnasium, till he had first drawn from
the well one bucket of water and poured it on to the ground, that he
might accustom his irrational part to wait upon reason.
Sec. XXI. There are moreover three kinds of answers to questions, the
necessary, the polite, and the superfluous. For instance, if anyone
asked, "Is Socrates at home?" one, as if backward and disinclined to
answer, might say, "Not at home;" or, if he wished to speak with Laconic
brevity, might cut off "at home," and simply say "No;" as, when Philip
wrote to the Lacedaemonians to ask if they would receive him in their
city, they sent him back merely a large "No." But another would answer
more politely, "He is not at home, but with the bankers," and if he
wished to add a little more, "he expects to see some strangers there."
But the superfluous prater, if he has read Antimachus of Colophon,[601]
says, "He is not at home, but with the bankers, waiting for some Ionian
strangers, about whom he has had a letter from Alcibiades who is in the
neighbourhood of Miletus, staying with Tissaphernes the satrap of the
great king, who used long ago to favour the Lacedaemonian party, but now
attaches himself to the Athenians for Alcibiades' sake, for Alcibiades
desires to return to his country, and so has succeeded in changing the
views of Tissaphernes." And then he will go over the whole of the Eighth
Book of Thucydides, and deluge the man, till before he is aware Miletus
is captured, and Alcibiades is in exile the second time. In such a case
most of all ought we to curtail talkativeness, by following the track of
a question closely, and tracing out our answer according to the need of
the questioner with the same accuracy as we describe a circle. When
Carneades was disputing in the gymnasium before the days of his great
fame, the superintendent of the gymnasium sent to him a message to bid
him modulate his voice (for it was of the loudest), and when he asked
him to fix a standard, the superintendent replied not amiss, "The
standard of the person talking with you." So the meaning of the
questioner ought to be the standard for the answer.
Sec. XXII. Moreover as Socrates urged his disciples to abstain from such
food as tempted them to eat when they were not hungry, and from such
drinks as tempted them to drink when they were not thirsty, so the
talkative person ought to be afraid most of such subjects of
conversation as he most delights in and repeats _ad nauseam_, and to try
and resist their influence. For example, soldiers are fond of
descriptions about war, and thus Homer introduces Nestor frequently
narrating his prowess and glorious deeds. And generally speaking those
who have been successful in the law courts, or beyond their hopes been
favourites of kings and princes, are possessed, as it were by some
disease, with the itch for frequently recalling and narrating, how they
got on and were advanced, what struggles they underwent, how they argued
on some famous occasion, how they won the day either as plaintiffs or
defendants, what panegyrics were showered upon them. For joy is much
more inclined to prate than the well-known sleeplessness represented in
comedies, frequently rousing itself, and finding something fresh to
relate. And so at any excuse they slip into such narratives. For not
only,
"Where anyone does itch, there goes his hand,"[602]
but also delight has a voice of its own, and leads about the tongue in
its train, ever wishing to fortify it with memory. Thus lovers spend
most of their time in conversations that revive the memory of their
loves; and if they cannot talk to human beings about them, they talk
about them to inanimate objects, as, "O dearest bed," and,
"O happy lamp, Bacchis deems you a god,
And if she thinks so, then you are indeed
The greatest of the gods."
The talkative person therefore is merely as regards words a white
line,[603] but he that is especially inclined to certain subjects should
be especially on his guard against talking about them, and should avoid
such topics, since from the pleasure they give him they may entice him
to be very prolix and tedious. The same is the case with people in
regard to such subjects as they think they are more experienced in and
acquainted with than others. For such a one, being self-appreciative and
fond of fame, "spends most of the day in that particular branch of study
in which he chances to be proficient."[604] Thus he that is fond of
reading will give his time to research; the grammarian his to syntax;
and the traveller, who has wandered over many countries, his to
geography. We must therefore be on our guard against our favourite
topics, for they are an enticement to talkativeness, as its wonted
haunts are to an animal. Admirable therefore was the behaviour of Cyrus
in challenging his companions, not to those contests in which he was
superior to them, but to those in which he was inferior, partly that he
might not give them pain through his superiority, partly for his own
benefit by learning from them. But the talkative person acts just
contrary, for if any subject is introduced from which he might learn
something he did not know, this he rejects and refuses, not being able
to earn a good deal by a short silence,[605] but he rambles round the
subject and babbles out stale and commonplace rhapsodies. As one amongst
us, who by chance had read two or three of the books of Ephorus,[606]
bored everybody, and dispersed every social party, by always narrating
the particulars of the battle of Leuctra and its consequences, so that
he got nicknamed Epaminondas.
Sec. XXIII. Nevertheless this is one of the least of the evils of
talkativeness, and we ought even to try and divert it into such channels
as these, for prating is less of a nuisance when it is on some literary
subject. We ought also to try and get some persons to write on some
topic, and so discuss it by themselves. For Antipater the Stoic
philosopher,[607] not being able or willing it seems to dispute with
Carneades, who inveighed vehemently against the Stoic philosophy,
writing and filling many books of controversy against him, got the
nickname of _Noisy-with-the-pen_; and perhaps the exercise and
excitement of writing, keeping him very much apart from the community,
might make the talkative man by degrees better company to those he
associated with; as dogs, bestowing their rage on sticks and stones, are
less savage to men. It will also be very advantageous for such to mix
with people better and older than themselves, for they will accustom
themselves to be silent by standing in awe of their reputation. And
withal it will be well, when we are going to say something, and the
words are on our lips, to reflect and consider, "What is this word that
is so eager for utterance? To what is this tongue marching? What good
will come of speaking now, or what harm of silence?" For we ought not to
drop words as we should a burden that pressed upon us, for the word
remains still after it has been spoken just the same; but men speak
either on their own behalf if they want something, or to benefit those
that hear them, or, to gratify one another, they season everyday life
with speech, as one seasons food with salt. But if words are neither
useful to the speaker, nor necessary for the hearer, nor contain any
pleasure or charm, why are they spoken? For words may be idle and
useless as well as deeds. And besides all this we must ever remember as
most important the dictum of Simonides, that he had often repented he
had spoken, but never that he had been silent: while as to the power and
strength of practice consider how men by much toil and painstaking will
get rid even of a cough or hiccough. And silence is not only never
thirsty, as Hippocrates says, but also never brings pain or sorrow.
[541] Or _Garrulity_, _Chattering_, _Prating_. It is
Talkativeness in a bad sense.
[542] Or _Heptaphonos_. See Pausanias, v. 21.
[543] Some unknown poet's words. I suppose they mean
driving one mad, making one "Like sweet bells jangled,
out of tune and harsh."
[544] So our English proverb, "Empty vessels make the
greatest sound."
[545] Literally in a semi-circular place. It is not
quite clear whether the front seats of the theatre are
meant, or, as I have taken it, more generally, of some
public place for entertainment or meeting, some
promenade or piazza.
[546] Reading [Greek: akouein], which seems far the best
reading.
[547] Homer, "Iliad," v. 226; "Odyssey," vi. 81.
[548] "Bacchae," 385-387.
[549] See Ovid, "Tristia," iv. 4, 55-58.
[550] For example, Horace, "Epistles," i. 2, 62: "Ira
furor brevis est" I read [Greek: homotoichos] with Mez.
[551] Homer, "Odyssey," xiv. 463-465.
[552] Ibid. 466.
[553] Compare the German proverb, "Thought when sober,
said when drunk"--"Nuchtern gedacht, voll gesagt."
[554] Cf. Quintilian, x. 1, 78: "His aetate Lysias major,
subtilis atque elegans et quo nihil, si oratori satis
est docere, quaeras perfectius. Nihil enim est inane,
nihil arcessitum; puro tamen fonti quam magno flumini
propior." Cf. ix. 4, 17.
[555] Somewhat like Pindar, "Pyth." i. 1. 1, 2.
[556] "Odyssey," xii. 452, 453.
[557] See Cicero, "Ad Fam." vii. 18; Catullus, xxii. 5,
6.
[558] See "Iliad," xiv. 214-217.
[559] "Allusio ad Homericum [Greek: epei ponos allos
epeigei.]"--_Xylander._
[560] "Laws," xi. p. 935 A.
[561] So true are the words of AEschylus, [Greek: glosse
mataia zemia prostribetai].--"Prom." 329.
[562] Our "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."
[563] "Non Citticus, sed Eleates. v. Cic. Tuscul. ii.
22, et Nat. Deor. 3, 33."--_Reiske._
[564] See Pausanias, i. 23. Leaena means "lioness." On
the conspiracy see Thucydides, vi. 54-59.
[565] Homer, "Odyssey," xix. 494. Plutarch quotes from
memory. The nurse's name was Euryclea.
[566] Odyssey," xix. 210-212. Quoted again "On Moral
Virtue," Sec. iv.
[567] Literally _bark_. See "Odyssey," xx. 13, 16.
[568] "Odyssey," xx. 23.
[569] See "Odyssey," ix. [Greek: Kyklopeia].
[570] Euripides, "Ino." Fragment, 416.
[571] "Significat Q. Caecilium Metellum, de quo Liv. xl.
45, 46."--_Reiske._
[572] Euripides, "Ino." Fragm. 415. Compare St. James,
iii. 5, 6.
[573] Fabius Maximus. So Tacitus, "Annals," i. 5, who
relates this story somewhat differently.
[574] See Tacitus, "Annals," i. 3. As to his fate, see
"Annals," i. 6.
[575] Tiberius Nero, who actually did succeed Augustus.
[576] The Emperor's wife.
[577] So it is in Sec. xii. But perhaps here it means, "I
wish you had more sense, Fabius!"
[578] Adopting the reading of Reiske.
[579] Reading [Greek: phorutou] or [Greek: phoryton], as
Wyttenbach.
[580] Reading [Greek: katechein dynantai] with Reiske.
[581] See Sophocles, Fragm. 162.
[582] Homer, "Iliad," x. 457.
[583] Compare "Moralia," p. 177 A; Horace, "Satires," i.
7. 3: "Omnibus et lippis notum et tonsoribus."
[584] Homer, "Iliad," xxii. 207.
[585] Sophocles, "Antigone," 317-319.
[586] See Pausanias, iii. 17; iv. 15; x. 5.
[587] Compare the idea of the people of Melita, Acts
xxviii. 4.
[588] An Allusion to Dolon in Homer, "Iliad," x., 374,
sq. according to Xylander.
[589] Quoted again by our author in his "Publicola," p.
105 B., and assigned to Epicharmus.
[590] So Shakspere has taught us, "Brevity is the soul
of wit."--_Hamlet_, Act ii Sc. 2.
[591] "In Protagora."--_Xylander._
[592] That is, is all kernel. See passim our author's
"Apophthegmata Laconica."
[593] Or, _apophthegmatic nature_.
[594] Dionysius the younger, tyrant of Syracuse, was
expelled, and afterwards kept a school at Corinth. That
is the allusion. It would be like saying "Remember
Napoleon at St. Helena."
[595] See Pausanias, x. 24.
[596] See Plato, "Charmides," 165 A.
[597] A title applied to Apollo first by Herodotus, i.
91, from his ambiguous ([Greek: loxa]) oracles.
[598] Part of the words of an oracle of the Pythian
Priestess, slightly changed. The whole oracle may be
seen in Herodotus, i. 47.
[599] Proverb of cross purposes.
[600] Reading [Greek: exerasthai] with Duebner.
[601] Catullus calls him "tumidus," _i.e._ long-winded,
95, 10. See also Propertius, iii. 34-32. He was a Greek
poet, a contemporary of Socrates and Plato, and author
of a Thebaid. Pausanias mentions him, viii. 25; ix. 35.
[602] The mediaeval proverb, _Ubi dolor ibi digitus_.
[603] A proverbial expression for having no judgment.
See Sophocles, Fragm. 307; Plato, "Charmides," 154 B;
Erasmus, "Adagia." So we say a person's mind is a blank
sheet on a subject he knows nothing about.
[604] Euripides, Fragm. 202. Quoted also by Plato,
"Gorgias," 484 E.
[605] Reading with Reiske, [Greek: misthon auto dounai
to mikron siopesai me dynamenos].
[606] A celebrated Greek historian, and pupil of
Isocrates. See Cicero, "De Oratore," ii. 13.
[607] Of Tarsus. See Cicero, "De Officiis," iii. 12.