11
I do not know at all what they mean and_I do not understand their wisdom, for I am a mountaineer and I have not studied those clever, citified, technical terms, Justice. How could a literary man or a philosopher possibly come from Arcadia? My wisdom does not go beyond the flute and the pipes; for the rest I am a goatherd, a dancer, and if need bea fighter. However, I hear them bawling continually and talking about “virtue” (whatever that means) and “ideas” and “nature” and “things incorporeal,” terms that are to me unknown and outlandish. They begin their discussions peaceably, but as the conference proceeds they raise their voices to a high falsetto, so that, what with their excessive straining and their endeavour to talk at the same time, their faces get red, their necks get swollen, and their veins stand out like those of flute-players when they try to blow into a closed flute. In fact, they spoil their arguments, confuse the original subject of inquiry, and then, after abusing one another, most of them, they go away wiping the sweat off their foreheads with their bent fingers; and the man that is most loud-mouthed and impudent and leaves last when they break up is considered to have the best of it. However, the common people admire them, especially those who have nothing more pressing to do, and stand there enchanted by their impudence and their shouting. For my part, I considered them impostors in consequence of all this, and was annoyed at the resemblance in beard. But perhaps there was something beneficial to the common weal in their shouting and some good sprang from those technical terms of theirs—I can’t say. However, if I am to tell the truth without any reserve—for I dwell on a look-out, as you see—I have often seen many of them in the dark of the evening—
12
Hush, Pan; didn’t it seem to you that Hermes is making a proclamation?
12
Why, yes.
