On the instant, then, you will be approached by a vigorous man with hard muscles and a manly stride, who shows heavy tan on his body, and is bold-eyed and alert. He is the guide of the rough road, and he will talk a lot of nonsense to you, the poor simpleton. In exhorting you to follow him, he will point out the footprints of Demosthenes and of Plato, and one or two more—great prints, I grant you, too great for men of nowadays, but for the most part dim and indistinct through lapse of time ; and he will say that you will have good fortune and will contract a lawful marriage with Rhetoric if you follow these footprints like a rope-dancer; but if you should make even a slight mis-step, or set your foot out of them, or let your weight sway you somewhat to one side, you will fall from the direct road that leads to the marriage. Then he will tell you to imitate those ancient worthies, and will set you fusty models for your speeches, far from easy to copy, resembling sculptures in the early manner such as those of Hegesias and of Critius and Nesiotes

Pre-Phidian sculptors, Hegesias famous for his Dioscuri, Critius and Nesiotes for their joint work, the Tyrant Slayers (Harmodius and Aristogeiton).

—wasp-waisted, sinewy, hard, meticulously definite in their contours. And he will say that hard work, scant sleep, abstention from wine, and untidiness are necessary and indispensable; it is impossible, says he, to get over the road without them. What is most vexatious of all, even the time which he will prescribe to you for the journey will be very long——many years, for he counts not by days and months, but by whole Olympic cycles,

i.e., of four years.

so that you will be foredone in advance as you listen and will forswear your project, bidding a fond farewell to the good fortune that you expected. Besides, he demands no small fee for all these hardships; in fact, he would not guide you unless he should get a huge sum in advance.

That is what this man will say, the impostor, the absolute old fogey, the antediluvian, who displays dead men of a bygone age to serve as patterns, and expects you to dig up long-buried speeches as if they were something tremendously helpful, wanting you to emulate the son of a sword-maker, and some other fellow, the son of a school-master named Atrometus,

The sword-maker’s son is Demosthenes, the schoolmaster’s Aeschines.

and that too in times of peace, when no Philip is making raids and no Alexander issuing orders—situations in which their speeches were perhaps considered useful. He does not know what a short, easy road, direct to Rhetoric, has recently been opened. But do not you believe or heed him for fear he may give you a neck-breaking tumble somewhere after he gets you in charge, or may in the end make you prematurely old with your labours. No, if you are unquestionably in love, and wish to marry Rhetoric forthwith, while you are still in your prime, so that she may be fond of you, do bid a long good-bye to that hairy, unduly masculine fellow, leaving him to climb up himself, all blown and dripping with sweat, and lead up what others he can delude.