Book 13
4
But what I should like you to tell me is how you bear the thought of the great happiness you left on the earth above, when you came here—your bodyguards, crack regiments and satraps, all that gold, the nations bowing down before you, and Babylon and Bactra, and those enormous beasts, and the honour and the glory, and your distinction, when you rode forth with a white ribbon on your head, and wearing a purple robe fastened with brooches. Don’t you feel sad that these things are passing beyond your memory? Why do you cry, you fool? Didn’t the wise Aristotle even teach you to realise the insecurity of the gifts of fortune?
5
Wise Aristotle! Why, he’s the arch-knave of all flatterers. Let me be the sole authority on him, with all his requests for gifts and his instructions, and the way he took advantage of my zeal for education by flattering and praising me, sometimes for my beauty (as though even that were part of the “Good”), or again for my achievements and my wealth. For that was yet another thing he counted as good, so that he need have no shame in accepting some for himself too. The fellow’s an impostor, Diogenes, and a master at the game. But I did at least get one thing from his wisdom—grief for those things you’ve just enumerated, for I think them the greatest of goods.
6
Well, here’s what to do. I’ll prescribe a cure for your grief. As there’s no hellebore Cf. note on p. 39. growing here, you’d better take a stiff drink of the water of Lethe, and repeat the dose frequently, and then you’ll stop sorrowing for Aristotle’s “goods”. Do so, for I see Clitus over there and Callisthenes Cf. note on p. 63. and many others bearing down on you, to tear you to pieces and get even with you for the things you did to them. So you’d better take this other path here, and take frequent doses as I’ve just said.
