37
Again, sweet sir, you smile over the conclusion of my tragedy. As for me, I saw nothing much in his appealing to his mother’s Gods, but when he included his father’s in the invocation, I laughed outright; it reminded me of the parricide story. The Cynics stood dry-eyed about the pyre, gazing upon the flames in silent manifestation of their grief. At last, when I was half dead with suppressed laughter, I addressed them. ‘Intelligent sirs,’ I said, ‘let us go away. No pleasure is to be derived from seeing an old man roasted, and there is a horrible smell of burning. Are you waiting for some painter to come along and take a sketch of you, to match the pictures of Socrates in prison, with his companions at his side?’ They were very angry and abusive at first, and some took to their sticks: but when I threatened to pick a few of them up and throw them on to the fire to keep their master company, they quieted down and peace was restored.
38
Curious reflections were running in my mind, Cronius, as I made my way back. ‘How strange a thing is this same ambition!’ I said to myself; '‘tis the one irresistible passion; irresistible to the noblest of mankind, as we account them,— how much more to such as Proteus, whose wild, foolish life may well end upon the pyre!’
