The Celts call Heracles Ogmios in their native tongue, and they portray the god in a very peculiar way. To their notion, he is extremely old, baldheaded, except for a few lingering hairs which are quite gray, his skin is wrinkled, and he is burned as black as can be, like an old sea-dog. You would think him a Charon. or a sub-Tartarean IapetusChief of the Titans, who warred on Zeus and after their defeat were buried for ever in the bowels of the earth, below Tartarus.— anything but Heracles! Yet, in spite of his looks, he has the equipment of Heracles: he is dressed in the lion’s skin, has the club in his right hand, carries - the quiver at his side, displays the bent bow in his left, and is Heracles from head to heel as far as that goes.

I thought, therefore, that the Celts had committed this offence against the good-looks of Heracles to spite the Greek gods, and that they were punishing him by means of the picture for having once visited their country on a cattle-lifting foray, at the time when he raided most of the western nations in his quest-of the herds of Geryon.

But I have not yet mentioned the most surprising thing in the picture. That old Heracles of theirs drags after him a great crowd of men who are all tethered by the ears! His leashes are delicate chains fashioned of gold and amber, resembling the prettiest of necklaces. Yet, though led by bonds so weak, the men do.not think of escaping, as they easily could, and they do not pull back at all or brace their feet and lean in the opposite direction to that in which he is leading them. In fact, they follow cheerfully and joyously, applauding their leader and ’ all pressing him close and keeping the leashes slack in their desire to overtake him; apparently they would be offended if they were let loose! But let me tell you without delay what seemed to me the strangest thing of all. Since the painter had no place to which he could attach the ends of the chains, as the god’s right hand already held the club and his left the bow, he pierced the tip of his tongue and represented him drawing the men by that means! Moreover, he has his face turned toward his captives, and is smiling.

I had stood for a long time, looking, wondering, puzzling and fuming, when a Celt at my elbow, not unversed in Greek lore, as he showed by his excellent use of our language, and who had, apparently, studied local traditions, said: “I will read you the riddle of the picture, stranger, as you seem to be very much disturbed about it. We Celts do not agree with you Greeks in thinking that Hermes is Eloquence: we identify Heracles with it, because heis far more powerful than Hermes. And don’t be surprised: that he is represented as an old man, for eloquence and eloquence alone is wont to show its full vigour in old age, if your poets are right in saying A young man hath a wandering witHom. Il. 3.108. and Old age has wiser words to say than youth.Eur. Phoen. 530 That is why your Nestor’s tongue distils honey,Iliad 1, 249. and why the Trojan counsellors have a voice like flowersIliad 3, 152. (the flowers mentioned are lilies, if my memory serves).

This being so, if old Heracles here drags men after him who are tethered by the ears to his tongue, don’t be surprised at that, either: you know the kinship between ears and tongue. Nor is it a slight upon him that his tongue is pierced. Indeed,” said he, “I call to mind a line or two of comedy which I learned in your country: the talkative Have, one and all, their tongues pierced at the tip.Source unknown (Kock, Com. Att. Fragm., adesp. 398).

In general, we consider that the real Heracles was a wise man who achieved everything by eloquence and applied persuasion as his principal force. His arrows represent words, I suppose, keen, sure and swift, which make their wounds in souls. In fact, you yourselves admit that words are winged.” Homer, passim.

Thus far the Celt. And when I was debating with myself on the question of appearing here, considering whether it was proper for a man of my age, who had long ago given up lecturing in public, once more to subject himself to the verdict of so large a jury, it chanced in the nick of time that I remembered the picture. Until then I had been afraid that some of you might think I was doing an altogether boyish thing and at my age shewing the rashness of youth ; and that then some young fellow full of Homer might rebuke me by saying “Your strength is gone” and “Bitter old age has you in his clutch” and “Your squire is feeble and your steeds are slow,”Iliad 8, 108 f. (spoken to Nestor). aiming the last quip at my feet. But when I remember that old Heracles, I am moved to undertake anything, and am not ashamed to be so bold, since I am no older than the picture.

Goodbye, then, to strength, speed, beauty and all manner of physical excellence! Let your god of love, O Tean poet, Anacreon (frg. 23 Bergk): the poem is lost. glance at my grizzled chin and flit by me if he will on his gold-gleaming pinions: Hippoclides will not mind! Hippoclides of Athens, one of many suitors for the hand of the daughter of Clisthenes, tyrant of Sicyon, was preferred above them all. But at the feast which was to have announced his engagement he danced so well and so unwisely that Clisthenes was disgusted and said ‘Son of Tisander, you have danced yourself out of the match!” “Hippoclides does not mind !” was the answer he received. “Hence the proverb,” as Herodotus says (6, 126-131). Now should certainly be the time for eloquence to flourish and flower and reach its fulness, to drag as many as it can by the ears and to let fly many arrows. At least there is no fear that its quiver will unexpectedly run short! You see what encouragement I apply to my age and my infirmities. This it is which gave me the heart to drag my pinnace, long ago laid up, to the water, provision her as best I could and set sail on the high seas once more. Be it your part, ye gods, to blow me fair, for now if ever do I need a breeze that fills the sail, a good companion.Odyss. 11,7; 12, 149. If anyone thinks me worthy, I would have him apply to me the words of Homer: How stout a thigh the old man’s rags reveal !Odyss. 18, 74