True, but I did not understand that you possess the science of memory; and so I understand that the Lacedaemonians naturally enjoy you as one who knows many things, and they make use of you as children make use of old women, to tell stories agreeably.

And by Zeus, Socrates, I have just lately gained reputation there by telling about noble or beautiful pursuits, recounting what those of a young man should be. For I have a very beautiful discourse composed about them, well arranged in its words and also in other respects. And the plan of the discourse, and its beginning, is something like this: After the fall of Troy, the story goes that Neoptolemus asked Nestor what the noble and beautiful pursuits were, by following which a young man would become most famous; so after that we have Nestor speaking and suggesting to him very many lawful and most beautiful pursuits. That discourse, then, I delivered there and intend to deliver here the day after tomorrow in Pheidostratus’s schoolroom, with many other things worth hearing; for Eudicus, the son of Apemantus, asked me to do so. Now be sure to be there yourself and to bring others who are able to judge of discourses that they hear.

Well, that shall be done, God willing, Hippias. Now, however, give me a brief answer to a question about your discourse, for you reminded me of the beautiful just at the right moment. For recently, my most excellent friend, as I was finding fault with some things in certain speeches as ugly and praising other things as beautiful, a man threw me into confusion by questioning me very insolently somewhat after this fashion: How, if you please, do you know, Socrates, said he, what sort of things are beautiful and ugly? For, come now, could you tell me what the beautiful is? And I, being of no account, was at a loss and could not answer him properly; and so, as I was going away from the company, I was angry with myself and reproached myself, and threatened that the first time I met one of you wise men, I would hear and learn and practise and then go back to the man who questioned me to renew the wordy strife. So now, as I say, you have come at the right moment; just teach me satisfactorily what the absolute beautiful is, and try in replying to speak as accurately as possible, that I may not be confuted a second time and be made ridiculous again. For you doubtless know clearly, and this would doubtless be but a small example of your wide learning.

Yes, surely, by Zeus, a small one, Socrates, and, I may say, of no value.

Then I shall learn it easily, and nobody will confute me any more.

Nobody, surely; for in that case my profession would be worthless and ordinary.

That is good, by Hera, Hippias, if we are to worst the fellow. But may I without hindering you imitate him, and when you answer, take exception to what you say, in order that you may give me as much practice as possible? For I am more or less experienced in taking exceptions. So, if it is all the same to you, I wish to take exceptions, that I may learn more vigorously.

Oh yes, take exceptions. For, as I said just now, the question is no great matter, but I could teach you to answer much harder ones than this, so that nobody in the world could confute you.

Oh how good that is! But come, since you tell me to do so, now let me try to play that man’s part, so far as possible, and ask you questions. For if you were to deliver for him this discourse that you mention, the one about beautiful pursuits, when he had heard it, after you had stopped speaking, the very first thing he would ask about would be the beautiful; for he has that sort of habit, and he would say, Stranger from Elis, is it not by justice that the just are just? So answer, Hippias, as though he were asking the question.

I shall answer that it is by justice.

Then this—I mean justice—is something?

Certainly.

Then, too, by wisdom the wise are wise and by the good all things are good, are they not?

Of course.

And justice, wisdom, and so forth are something; for the just, wise, and so forth would not be such by them, if they were not something.

To be sure, they are something.

Then are not all beautiful things beautiful by the beautiful?

Beautifully answered, Hippias, by the dog, and notably! Then if I give this answer, I shall have answered the question that was asked, and shall have answered it correctly, and shall never be confuted?

Yes, for how could you, Socrates, be confuted, when you say what everybody thinks, and when all who hear it will bear witness that what you say is correct?

Very well; certainly. Come, then, Hippias, let me rehearse to myself what you say. The man will question me in some such fashion as this: Come Socrates, answer me. All these things which you say are beautiful, if the absolute beautiful is anything, would be beautiful? And I shall say that if a beautiful maiden is beautiful, there is something by reason of which these things would be beautiful.

What of that, then, Socrates? For he must perforce accept what is correct, or if he does not accept it, be ridiculous.

This reply, my most excellent friend, he not only will certainly not accept, but he will even jeer at me grossly and will say: You lunatic, do you think Pheidias is a bad craftsman? And I shall say, Not in the least.

And you will be right, Socrates.

Yes, to be sure. Consequently when I agree that Pheidias is a good craftsman, Well, then, he will say, do you imagine that Pheidias did not know this beautiful that you speak of? Why do you ask that? I shall say. Because, he will say, he did not make the eyes of his Athena of gold, nor the rest of her face, nor her hands and feet, if, that is, they were sure to appear most beautiful provided only they were made of gold, but he made them of ivory; evidently he made this mistake through ignorance, not knowing that it is gold which makes everything beautiful to which it is added. When he says that, what reply shall we make to him, Hippias?