The Ignorant Book Collector (6-10)

Not long ago there was a rich man in Asia, both of whose feet had been amputated in consequence of an accident; they were frozen, I gather, when he had to make a journey through snow. Well, this of course was pitiable, and to remedy the mischance he had had wooden feet made for him, which he used to lace on, and in that way made shift to walk, leaning upon his servants as he did so, But he did one thing that was ridiculous: he used always to buy very handsome sandals of the latest cut and went to the utmost trouble in regard to them, in order that his timber toes might be adorned with the most beautiful footwear! Now are not you doing just the same thing? Is it not true that although you have a crippled, fig-wood[*] understanding, you are buying gilt buskins which even a normal man could hardly get about in?

As you have often bought Homer among your other books, have someone take the second book of his Iliad and read it to you. Do not bother about

I should like to tell you of an incident that took place at Delphi. A man of Tarentum, Evangelus by name, a person of some distinction in Tarentum, desired to obtain a victory in the Pythian games. As far as the athletic competition was concerned, at the very outset that seemed to him to be impossible, as

When the day of the competition at last came, there were three of them, and Evangelus drew second place on the programme. So, after Thespis _ of Thebes had made a good showing, he came in all ablaze with gold and emeralds and beryls and sapphires. The purple of his robe also became him well, gleaming beside the gold. With all this he bedazzled the audience in advance and filled his hearers with wonderful expectations; but when at Jength he had to sing and play whether he would or no, he struck up a discordant, jarring prelude, breaking three strings at once by coming down upon the lyre harder than he ought, and began to sing ‘in an unmusical, thin voice, so that a burst of laughter came from the whole audience, and the judges of the competition, indignant at his presumption, scourged him and turned him out of the theatre. Then indeed

After a moment’s delay, a man named Eumelus, from Elis, came on, who had an old lyre, fitted with wooden pegs, and a costume that, including the wreath, was hardly worth ten drachmas; but as he sang well and played skilfully, he had the best of it and was proclaimed victor, so that he could laugh at Evangelus for the empty display that he had made with his lyre and his gems. Indeed, the story goes that he said to him: “Evangelus, you wear golden laurel, being rich; but I am poor and I wear the laurel of Delphi! ‘However, you got at least this much by your outfit: you are going away not only unpitied for your defeat but hated into the bargain because of this inartistic lavishness of yours.” There you have your own living image in Evangelus, except that you are not at all put out by the laughter of the audience. 1