Dialogues of Plato - MobileReference [376]
But tell me whose son he is, I said.
He is the eldest son of Democrates, of the deme of Aexone.
Ah, Hippothales, I said; what a noble and really perfect love you havefound! I wish that you would favour me with the exhibition which you havebeen making to the rest of the company, and then I shall be able to judgewhether you know what a lover ought to say about his love, either to theyouth himself, or to others.
Nay, Socrates, he said; you surely do not attach any importance to what heis saying.
Do you mean, I said, that you disown the love of the person whom he saysthat you love?
No; but I deny that I make verses or address compositions to him.
He is not in his right mind, said Ctesippus; he is talking nonsense, and isstark mad.
O Hippothales, I said, if you have ever made any verses or songs in honourof your favourite, I do not want to hear them; but I want to know thepurport of them, that I may be able to judge of your mode of approachingyour fair one.
Ctesippus will be able to tell you, he said; for if, as he avers, the soundof my words is always dinning in his ears, he must have a very accurateknowledge and recollection of them.
Yes, indeed, said Ctesippus; I know only too well; and very ridiculous thetale is: for although he is a lover, and very devotedly in love, he hasnothing particular to talk about to his beloved which a child might notsay. Now is not that ridiculous? He can only speak of the wealth ofDemocrates, which the whole city celebrates, and grandfather Lysis, and theother ancestors of the youth, and their stud of horses, and their victoryat the Pythian games, and at the Isthmus, and at Nemea with four horses andsingle horses--these are the tales which he composes and repeats. Andthere is greater twaddle still. Only the day before yesterday he made apoem in which he described the entertainment of Heracles, who was aconnexion of the family, setting forth how in virtue of this relationshiphe was hospitably received by an ancestor of Lysis; this ancestor washimself begotten of Zeus by the daughter of the founder of the deme. Andthese are the sort of old wives' tales which he sings and recites to us,and we are obliged to listen to him.
When I heard this, I said: O ridiculous Hippothales! how can you be makingand singing hymns in honour of yourself before you have won?
But my songs and verses, he said, are not in honour of myself, Socrates.
You think not? I said.
Nay, but what do you think? he replied.
Most assuredly, I said, those songs are all in your own honour; for if youwin your beautiful love, your discourses and songs will be a glory to you,and may be truly regarded as hymns of praise composed in honour of you whohave conquered and won such a love; but if he slips away from you, the moreyou have praised him, the more ridiculous you will look at having lost thisfairest and best of blessings; and therefore the wise lover does not praisehis beloved until he has won him, because he is afraid of accidents. Thereis also another danger; the fair, when any one praises or magnifies them,are filled with the spirit of pride and vain-glory. Do you not agree withme?
Yes, he said.
And the more vain-glorious they are, the more difficult is the capture ofthem?
I believe you.
What should you say of a hunter who frightened away his prey, and made thecapture of the animals which he is hunting more difficult?
He would be a bad hunter, undoubtedly.
Yes; and if, instead of soothing them, he were to infuriate them with wordsand songs, that would show a great want of wit: do you not agree.
Yes.
And now reflect, Hippothales, and see whether you are not guilty of allthese errors in writing poetry. For I can hardly suppose that you willaffirm a man to be a good poet who injures himself by his poetry.
Assuredly not, he said; such a poet would be a fool. And this is thereason why I take you into my counsels, Socrates,