No, it was not true that Timon was dead, and buried on the sea-shore.
So the first party discovered that hastened to his cave at the tidings,
thinking to seize his treasure, and had their heads broken for their
pains. But the second party fared better; for these were robbers,
captained by Alcibiades, who had taken to the road, as many a man of
spirit, has done before and since. They took Timon’s gold, and left him
bound in his chair. But on the way home the lesser thieves mysteriously
disappeared, and the gold became the sole property of Alcibiades. As it
is written, “The tools to him that can handle them.”
Timon sat many hours in an uncomfortable position, and though, in a
general way, he abhorred the face of man, he was not displeased when a
gentleman of bland appearance entered the cavern, and made him a low
obeisance. And perceiving that Timon was bound, the bland man exclaimed
with horror, and severed his bonds, ere one could say Themistocles. And
in an instant the cavern was filled with Athenian senators.
“Hail,” they cried, “to Timon the munificent! Hail to Timon the
compassionate! Hail to Timon the lover of his kind!”
“I am none of these things,” said Timon. “I am Timon the misanthrope.”
“This must be my Lord’s wit and playfulness,” said the bland man, “for
how else should the Senate and the people have passed a decree, indited
by myself, ordering an altar to be raised to Timon the Benefactor, and
appointing him chief archon? But come, hand over thy treasure, that thy
installation may take effect with due observance.”
“I have been deprived of my treasure,” said Timon.
But the ambassadors gave him no credit until they had searched every
chink and crevice in the cavern, and dug up all the earth round the
entrance. They then regarded each other with blank consternation.
“Let us leave him as we found him,” said one.
“Let us hang him up,” said another.
“Let us sell him into captivity,” said a third.
“Nay, friends,” said the bland gentleman, “such confession of error
would impeach our credit as statesmen. Moreover, should the people
learn that Timon has lost his money, they will naturally conclude that
we have taken it. Let us, therefore, keep this misfortune from their
knowledge, and trust for relief to the chapter of accidents, as usual
in State affairs.”
They therefore robed Timon in a dress of honour, and conducted him to
Athens, where half the inhabitants were awaiting him. Two triumphal
arches spanned the principal street, and on one was inscribed “Timon
the Benefactor,” and on the other “Timon the Friend of Humanity.” And
all along, far as the eye could reach, stood those whom his bounty, as
was stated, had rescued from perdition, the poor he had relieved, the
sick he had medicined, the orphans he had fathered, the poets and
painters he had patronised, all lauding and thanking him, and
soliciting a continuance of his liberality. And the rabble cried
“Largesse, largesse!” and horsemen galloped forth, casting among them
nuts enveloped in silver-leaf and apples and comfits and trinkets and
brass farthings in incredible quantities. At which the people murmured
somewhat, and spoke amiss respecting Timon and the senators who
escorted him, and the bland gentleman strove to keep Timon between
himself and the populace. While Timon was pondering what the end of
these things should be, his mob encountered another cheering for
Alcibiades, and playing pitch and toss with drachmas and didrachmas and
tetradrachmas, yea, even with staters and darics.
“Long live Alcibiades,” cried Timon’s followers, as they attacked
Alcibiades’s supporters to get their share.
“Long live Timon,” cried Alcibiades’s party, as they defended
themselves.
Timon and Alcibiades extricated themselves from the scuffle, and walked
away arm in arm.
“My dear friend,” said Timon, “how inexpressibly beholden I am to you
for taking the burden of my wealth upon yourself! There is nothing I
would not do to evince my gratitude.”
“Nothing?” queried Alcibiades.
“Nothing,” persisted Timon.
“Then,” said Alcibiades, “I will thank thee to relieve me of Timandra,
who is as tired of me as I am of her.”
Timon winced horribly, but his word was his bond, and Timandra
accompanied him to his cavern, where at first she suffered much
inconvenience from the roughness of the accommodation. But Timon,
though a misanthrope, was not a brute; and when in process of time
Timandra’s health required special care, rugs and pillows were provided
for her, and also for Timon; for he saw that he could no longer pass
for a churl if he made his wife more comfortable than himself. And,
though he counted gold as dross, yet was he not dissatisfied that
Timandra had saved the gold he had given her formerly against a rainy
day. And when a child was born, Timon was at his wits’ end, and blessed
the old woman who came to nurse it. And she admonished him of his duty
to the Gods, which meant sacrifice, which meant merry-making. And the
child grew, and craved food and drink, and Timon possessed himself of
three acres and a cow. And not being able to doubt his child’s
affection for him, he came to believe in Timandra’s also. And when the
tax-gatherer oppressed his neighbours, he pleaded their cause, which
was also his own, in the courts of Athens, and gained it by the
interest of Alcibiades. And his neighbours made him demarch, and he
feasted them. And Apemantus came to deride him, and Timon bore with
him; but he was impertinent to Timandra, and Timon beat him.
And in fine, Timon became very like any other Attic country gentleman,
save that he always maintained that a young man did well to be a
misanthrope until he got a loving and sensible wife, which, as he
observed, could but seldom happen. And the Gods looked down upon him
with complacency, and deferred the ruin of Athens until he should be no
more.