TOXARIS Did the men lose their lives, Mnesippus, or were they unaccountably saved, somehow? I am very concerned about them.

MNESIPPUS Never fear, Toxaris; they were saved and are now at Athens, both of them, studying philosophy. Simylus, to be sure, could only tell this tale about what he had once seen in the night—the one falling overboard, the other leaping after him, and both swimming as long as he could distinguish them in the darkness. But the sequel was told by Euthydicus himself. In the beginning they came upon some corks on which they supported themselves and kept afloat uncomfortably, but afterwards, seeing the gang plank at last, towards daybreak, they swam to it and then, after climbing upon it, easily drifted to Zacynthos.

After these friends, who were by no means despicable, I should say, let me tell you now of a third who was not a bit inferior to them.

Eudamidas of Corinth had formed friendships with Aretaeus of Corinth and Charixenus of Sicyon, who were both rich, while he was extremely poor. When he died, he left a will which very likely appeared ridiculous to everyone else, but I hardly think it will seem so to you, since you are a good man, a worshipper of friendship, and a competitor for the first prize in it. It was set down in the will: “I leave to Aretaeus my mother to support and cherish in her old age, and to Charixenus my daughter to bestow in marriage with the largest dowry that he can give her out of his own means” (besides an aged mother he had also a daughter, already marriageable); “and if anything should befall either of these men in the meantime, his interest is to go to the other.” When this will was read, all who knew of the poverty of Eudamidas but were unaware of the friendship which he had with the men considered the thing a joke, and every one of them went away laughing. ‘ What a fine fortune Aretaeus and Charixenus, the lucky fellows, are coming into,” said they, “if they must pay out money to Eudamidas and have the dead man inherit from them while they themselves are still alive!”

The heirs to whom these legacies had been left, on hearing of it, came at once to administer the will. Charixenus, to be sure, outlived his friend only five days; but Aretaeus proved himself the best of legatees. Assuming both his own interest and the other’s, he supported Eudamidas’ mother and also not long ago portioned his daughter off, giving, out of five talents that he had, dowries of two talents to his own daughter and two to his friend’s; moreover, he thought fit that they should both be married on the same day.

What is your opinion, Toxaris, of this man Aretaeus? Has he set a bad example of friendship in accepting such legacies and not playing false to his his friend’s last will? Or shall we put him down among those definitely elected as one of the five?

TOXARIS Yes, he too is noble; but to me Eudamidas is far more wonderful for the confidence he had in his friends. He made it plain that he himself would have done likewise for them; indeed, he would not have hung back if it had not been set down in a will, but would have presented himself before all the rest as an heir to such bequests by intestate succession.

MNESIPPUS You are quite right.—As the fourth I shall tell you of Zenothemis, son of Charmolaus, of Massilia.

He was pointed out to me in Italy when I was there as an ambassador of my country, a handsome, tall man, and a wealthy one, it seemed. His wife sat beside him as he passed through the street on a chariot ; not only was she repulsive in general, but her right side was shrivelled and the eye wanting— a hideously disfigured, unapproachable nightmare. Then, when I expressed my surprise that he, a handsome and attractive man, could endure to have such a woman riding at his side, the person who had pointed him out told me what had made the marriage obligatory. He was accurately informed about it all, for he too was a Massaliote.

“Menecrates,” he said, “the father of the misshapen woman yonder, had a friend, Zenothemis, who, like himself, was wealthy and distinguished. In course of time Menecrates had his property confiscated by judicial sentence, when he was disfranchised by the Six Hundred for presenting an unconstitutional measure. That,’ said he, “is the punishment we Massaliotes inflict whenever anyone proposes an unconstitutional enactment. Menecrates was distressed, of course, by the condemnation itself, since in a moment he had become poor instead of rich and dishonoured instead of honoured; but most of all he was worried about this daughter, who was then marriageable, and eighteen; but even with all the wealth which her father had possessed before his condemnation, no well-born man, though poor, would readily have agreed to accept her, so unfortunate was she in her appearance. It was said, too, that she had attacks of the falling sickness when the moon was waxing.

“When he was lamenting these misfortunes to Zenothemis, the latter said: ‘ Never fear, Menecrates; you shall not lack what you need, and your daughter will find a husband worthy of her lineage.’ As he spoke, he grasped him by the hand, took him home, and shared his great wealth with him. Also, he ordered a dinner prepared and invited his friends, including Menecrates, to a wedding-feast, pretending to have persuaded one of his comrades to promise to marry the girl. When their dinner was over and they had poured the libation to the gods, at that moment Zenothemis held out to him his cup, full of wine, and said: ‘ Accept, Menecrates, the lovingcup from your son-in-law, for I shall this day wed your daughter Cydimache; her dowry I received long ago, amounting to twenty-five talents.’ The other said: ‘No, no, Zenothemis, do not! May I never be so mad as to suffer you, who are young and handsome, to make a match with an ugly, disfigured girl!’ But while he was saying this, Zenothemis picked up the girl bodily and went into his chamber, from which he returned presently, after having made her his wife.

“From that time on he has lived with her, cherishing her beyond measure and taking her about with him everywhere, as you see.

Not only is he unashamed of his marriage, but indeed seems to be proud of it, offering it as proof that he thinks little of physical beauty or ugliness and of wealth and glory, but has. high regard for his friend, for Menecrates, and does not believe that the latter’s worth, as regards friendship, was lessened by the vote of the Six Hundred.

Already, however, Fortune has requited him for this conduct. He has had a beautiful boy by this ugly woman; and besides, only recently, when the father took the child in his arms and brought him into the Senate-house wreathed with leaves of olive and dressed in black, in order that he might excite greater pity on behalf of his grandfather, the baby burst into laughter before the senators and clapped his two hands, whereupon the senate, softened by him, set the condemnation aside in favour of Menecrates, so that he is now in full possession of his rights and privileges through employing so tiny an. advocate to present his case to the members in session.”

Such are the deeds which, according to the Massaliote, Zenothemis performed for his friend ; as you see, they are not trivial, or likely to have been done by many Scythians, who even in the matter of concubines are said to be careful to select the most beautiful.

We have the fifth remaining, and I do not purpose to forget Demetrius of Sunium and tell of anyone else. Demetrius sailed to Egypt with Antiphilus of Alopece, his friend from boyhood and comrade in their military training. There they lived and studied together; he himself followed the Cynic school of philosophy under that sophist from Rhodes,

It has been suggested that this may have been Agathobulus (cf. p. 19, n. 3), but with little to go on except that Agathobulus must have been teaching Cynicism in Alexandria at about the time which this tale presupposes for the Rhodian sophist. It is hardly safe to assume that he cannot have had any rivals.

In the meantime the latter met with a calamity which required a very staunch friend. His slave, Syrus by name and Syrian by nationality, joined certain temple-robbers, and entered the temple of Anubis with them. They robbed the god of two golden libation-bowls, a caduceus, also of gold, some dog-headed figures of silver, and other such matters, all of which they left in trust with Syrus. Then, after their imprisonment (for they were taken when they tried to sell something), they at once told everything when they were broken on the wheel, came under escort to the house of Antiphilus, and fetched out the stolen goods, which were lying under a bed in a dark corner. Consequently Syrus was confined at once, and with him his master, Antiphilus, who was actually seized while he listened to a lecture by his teacher. Nobody came to his assistance; on the contrary, even his erstwhile friends turned their backs upon him on the ground that he had robbed the Anubideum and considered it an act of impiety on their own part if they had ever drunk or eaten with him. Moreover, the two remaining servants bundled up everything in the house and made off.

Poor Antiphilus therefore remained in confinement for a long time, regarded as the most villainous of all the malefactors that there were in the prison, and the Egyptian keeper, a superstitious fellow, thought to gratify and avenge his god by exercising his authority over Antiphilus with a heavy hand. Whenever he defended himself, saying that he had not done anything of the sort, he was thought brazen-faced, and was detested much more for it. Consequently, he sickened at length and was ill, as might be expected in view of the fact that he slept on the ground and at night could not even stretch out his legs, which were confined in the stocks. By day, to be sure, the collar was sufficient, together with manacles upon one hand ; but for the night he had to be fully secured by his bonds. Moreover, the stench of the room and its stifling air (since many were confined in the same place, cramped for room, and scarcely able to draw breath), the clash of iron, the scanty sleep—all these conditions were difficult and intolerable for such a man, unwonted to them and unschooled to a life so rigorous.

He was giving up the struggle and refusing even to take food when Demetrius came back, knowing nothing of what had happened until then. As soon as he found out, he set off, just as he was, straight for the prison at arun. At that time, however, he was not admitted, for it was evening and the keeper had long ago locked the door and gone to sleep, after directing his servants to keep watch; but in the morning he obtained admission by vehement entreaty. After entering he made a long search for Antiphilus, who had become unrecognisable through his miseries. He went about examining each of the prisoners just as people do who seek out their own dead amon the altered bodies on battle-fields. Indeed, had he not called his name aloud, ‘ Antiphilus, son of Deinomenes,” he would not for a long time have known which was he, so greatly had he been changed by his dire straits. But Antiphilus, hearing his voice, cried out; and, as Demetrius approached, he parted his long hair, all unkempt and matted, drew it away from his face, and so disclosed his identity. At once both fell in a faint at the unexpected sight.

After a time Demetrius brought both himself and Antiphilus to their senses, and ascertained from him definitely how everything stood. Then he bade him have no fear, and tearing his short cloak in two, put on one of the halves himself and gave the remainder to Antiphilus, after stripping from him the filthy, worn-out rags that he was wearing.

From that time forth, too, he shared his life in every way, attending and cherishing him; for by hiring himself out to the shipmen in the harbour from early morning until noon, he earned a good deal of money as a stevedore. Then, on returning from his work, he would give part of his pay to the keeper, thus rendering him tractable and peaceful, and the rest sufficed well enough for the maintenance of his friend. Each afternoon he remained with Antiphilus, keeping him in heart; and when night overtook him, he ‘sept just in front of the prison door, where he had made a place to lie and had put down some leaves.

For some time they carried on in this way, Demetrius coming in without hindrance and Antiphilus bearing his misfortune more lightly.

But later, after a certain brigand had died in the prison (by poison, it was thought) a close guard was instituted, and not one of those who sought admission could enter the gaol any longer. Perplexed and distressed over this situation, as he had no other way to be with his comrade, he went to the governor and incriminated himself, alleging that he had been an accomplice in the attempt upon Anubis.

When he had made that statement, he was haled straight to prison, and on being brought in with Antiphilus, he managed with difficulty, by dint of urgent entreaties addressed to the warden, to obtain from him one concession, at least—that of being confined near Antiphilus and in the same set of irons. Then indeed, more than any other time, he displayed the affection which he had for him, neglecting his own adversities (though he himself had fallen ill) but taking care that Antiphilus should sleep as well as possible and should suffer less distress. So they bore their discomforts more easily by sharing them with each other.

In time an accident occurred which relieved them from further misfortune. One of the men in irons, having somehow obtained possession of a file and enlisted many of the prisoners in a plot, cut the chain to which they were all attached in a row, with their fetters strung upon it, and so set them allfree ; whereupon they easily killed the guards, who were few, and escaped together. Well, those others scattered at once, going wherever each one of them could, and afterwards were arrested, most of them. Demetrius and Antiphilus, however, remained where they were, and seized Syrus just as he was about to go. When daylight came, as soon as the prefect of Egypt learned what had happened, hesent men tohunt down the others, but summoned Demetrius and his friend and freed them from imprisonment, praising them because they alone did not run away.

They were not the men, however, to be content with being released in that way. Demetrius cried out and made a great stir, saying that grave injustice was being done them, since it would be thought that they were criminals, and were being released by way of mercy or commendation because they had not run away; and at length they forced the magistrate to undertake an accurate investigation of the affair. When he discovered that they were not guilty, he commended them, expressing very great admiration for Demetrius, and in dismissing them condoled with them over the punishment which they had undergone through their unjust imprisonment and presented each of them with a gift out of his own pocket, Antiphilus with ten thousand drachmas and Demetrius with twice as much.

Antiphilus is still in Egypt, but Demetrius left his own twenty thousand to his friend and went away to India, to join the Brahmans, merely saying to Antiphilus that he might fairly be held excusable for leaving him now; for he himself would not want the money as long as he remained what he was, able to content himself with little, and Antiphilus would not need a friend any longer, since his circumstances had become easy.

That, Toxaris, is what Greek friends are like. If you had not previously calumniated us as priding ourselves greatly upon words, I should have repeated for you the very speech, a long one and a good one, that Demetrius made in the court-room, not defending himself at all but only Antiphilus; weeping, moreover, and imploring, and taking the whole thing upon himself until Syrus under the lash exonerated both of them.

I have told you these few instances out of a greater number (the first that my memory supplied), of friends that were good and true; and now, dismounting from my steed, I yield the word henceforth to you. How you are to make out that your Scythians are not worse, but much better than these men, will be your own look-out, if you are at all concerned about your right hand, for fear of having it cut off. But you must show yourself a man of prowess, for you would put yourself in a laughable position if, after your very expert laudation of Orestes and Pylades, you should reveal yourself a poor spokesman on behalf of Scythia.

TOXARIS Well done, Mnesippus! You are giving me - encouragement for my speech, as if it did not matter at all to you whether you get the worst of it in our dispute and have your tongue docked. However, I shall begin at once, without any display of fine words such as you have made; for that is not a Scythian habit, especially when the deeds speak louder than the words. And do not expect from us anything like what you told of when you commended a man if he married an ugly wife without a dowry, or if he gave money to the amount of two talents to the daughter of 'a friend on her marriage, or even, by Zeus, if he allowed himself to be imprisoned when it was obvious that he would soon be released; for those are very paltry matters, and there is nothing of greatness or bravery in them.

I shall tell you of many deeds of blood and battles and deaths for the sake of friends, that you may know the achievements of your people to be child’s play in comparison with those of the Scythians.

Yet it is not unaccountable that this is so with you Greeks, but natural for you to praise these trivial matters; for you lack, you entirely lack momentous occasions for the display, of friendship, living as you do in profound peace. Just so in calm weather a man cannot tell whether his sailing-master is good ; hé will need a storm to determine that. With us, however, wars are continuous, and we are always either invading the territory of others, or withdrawing before invaders, or meeting in battle over pasturage or stolen cattle, where need for good friends is greatest; and for that reason we cement our friendships as strongly as we can, thinking this to be the only irresistible and unconquerable weapon of war.

First of all, I wish to tell you how we make our friends. Not through boon-companionship, as you do, nor because a man has been a comrade of ours in military training or a neighbour. No, when we see a brave man, capable of great achievements, we all make after him, and we think fit to behave in forming friendships as you do in seeking brides, paying them protracted court and doing everything in their company to the end that we may not fall short of attaining their friendship or be thought to deserve rejection. And whena man has been singled out and is at last a friend, there ensue formal compacts and the most solemn of oaths that we will not only live with one another but die, if need be, for each other; and we do just that. For, once we have cut our fingers, let the blood drip into a cup, dipped our sword-points into it, and then, both at once, have set it to our lips and drunk, there is nothing thereafter that can dissolve the bond between us.

Cf. Herodotus, IV, 70, who, however, makes no reference to the point that both drink from the same cup at the same time, which is proved by a gold plaque from the tomb of Kul-Oba near Kertch (often reproduced; e.g., Minns, Scythians and Greeks, p. 203), where a drinking horn is used.

I shall begin with the affair of Dandamis, which happened recently. In our engagement with the Sauromatae, when Amizoces had been taken prisoner, his friend Dandamis—but stay! first let me take my oath for you in our way, since that also was part of the agreement that I made with you in the beginning. I swear by Wind and Glaive that I shall tell you no falsehood, Mnesippus, about Scythian friends.

MNESIPPUS I scarcely felt the need of your swearing, but you did well to avoid taking oath by any god!

TOXARIS What is that you say? Do you not think Wind and Glaive are gods? Were you really so unaware that there is nothing more important to mankind than life and death? Well then, when we swear by Wind and Glaive, we do so because the wind is the source of life, and the glaive the cause of death.

Herodotus alludes to Scythian sword-worship (IV, 62), but says nothing of their worshipping the wind, which Rostovtzeff takes to be an invention of Lucian’s.

TOXARIS Don’t you see how it smacks of sophists bickering and lawyers in court for you to act this way, interrupting and spoiling my story? I kept still while you were talking. MNESIPPUS I won’t do it again, anyhow, Toxaris, for you were quite right in your reproof. Therefore, you may proceed confidently, as if I were not even here while you are talking, so silent shall I be for you.

TOXARIS The friendship of Dandamis and Amizoces was three days old, counting from the time when they drank each other’s blood, when the Sauromatae descended upon our country with ten thousand horse ; and the foot came over the border, it was said, in thrice that number. As our people had not foreseen their attack, they not only routed us completely when they fell upon us, but slew many of the fighting men and took the rest prisoners, except one or another who succeeded in swimming over to the other side of the river, where we had half our encampment and part of the wagons; for that was the way in which we had pitched our tents at the time, since for some reason unknown to me it had seemed good to the leaders of our horde—on both banks of the Tanais.

This dates the tale’s origin at a time when the Scythians and the Sauromatae, or Sarmatians, faced each other on opposite’sides of the Don, as Rostovtzeff has pointed out.

At once they began to round up the cattle, secure the prisoners, plunder the tents, and seize the wagons, taking most of them with all their occupants and offering violence to our concubines and wives before our very eyes; and we were distressed over the situation.

But as Amizoces was being dragged away—for he had been taken—he called upon his friend by name because of his disgraceful captivity and reminded him of the cup and the blood. When Dandamis heard that, without an instant’s hesitation, under the eyes of everyone he swam over to the enemy. The Sauromatae rushed at him with brandished javelins, intending to spear him to death, but he called out “Zirin.”” If anyone says that, he is not killed by them, but is received as coming to offer ransom.

It is clear from the use of the word Zirin below that it does not mean “ransom” or “‘ransomer,” and cannot be connected with late Persian Zer, “gold,” as Vasmer suggests (Iranier in Siidrussland, p. 39). It must denote something like “brother,” “friend,” “envoy.”