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Section 1 of Phydras by Plato. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.
Recording by Martin Gieson. Phydras by Plato. Translated by Benjamin Jowett. Section 1.
Persons of the Dialogue. Socrates. Phydras. Seen under a plain tree by the banks of the Ilyssus.
My dear Phydras, whence come you, and whither are you going? I come from Lysias, the son of Cephalus, and I am going to take a walk outside the wall, for I have been sitting with him the whole morning, and our common friend Acumenus tells me that it is much more refreshing to walk in the open air than to be shut up in a cloister. There he is right. Lysias, then, I suppose, was in the town.
Yes, he was staying with Epikrates, here, at the house of Molechus, that house which is near the temple of Olympian Zeus. Ah, and how did he entertain you? Could I be wrong in supposing that Lysias gave you a feast of discourse? You shall hear, if you can spare time to accompany me.
Oh, and should I not deem the conversation of you and Lysias a thing of higher import, as I may say in the words of Pindar, than any business? Will you go on, and will you go on with the narration? My tale, Socrates, is one of your sort, for love was the theme which occupied us. Love, after a fashion.
Lysias has been writing about a fair youth who was being tempted, but not by a lover. And this was the point. He ingeniously proved that the non-lover should be accepted rather than the lover. Oh, that is noble of him.
I wish that he would say the poor man rather than the rich, and the old man rather than the young one. Then he would meet the case of me and many a man. His works would be quite refreshing, and he would be a public benefactor. For my part I do so long to hear his speech, that if you walk all the way to Megara, and when you have reached the wall, come back, as Herodicus recommends, without going in.
I will keep you company. What do you mean, my good Socrates? How can you imagine that my unpractised memory can do justice to such an elaborate work, which the greatest returition of the age, spend a long time in composing? Indeed, I cannot.
I would give a great deal if I could. I believe that I know Phaedrus about as well as I know myself, and I am very sure that the speech of Lysias was repeated to him, not once only, but again and again. He insisted on hearing it many times over, and Lysias was very willing to gratify him. At last, when nothing else would do, he got hold of the book, and looked at what he most wanted to see.
This occupied him during the whole morning, and then, when he was tired with sitting, he went out to take a walk. Not until, by the dog, as I believe, he had simply learned by heart the entire discourse, unless it was unusually long, and he went to a place outside the wall that he might practice his lesson. There he saw a certain lover of discourse who had a similar weakness. He saw and rejoiced.
Now, thought he, I shall have a partner in my revels, and he invited him to come and walk with him. But when the lover of discourse begged that he would repeat the tale, he gave himself airs, and said, No, I cannot, as if he were indisposed. Although, if the hearer had refused, he would sooner or later have been compelled by him to listen, whether he would or no. Therefore, Phytrus, bid him do at once what he soon will do, either bidden or not.
I see that you will not let me off until I speak in some fashion or other. Verily, therefore, my best plan is to speak as I best can. A very true remark, that of yours. I will do as I say, but believe me, Socrates, I did not learn the very words.
No, nevertheless, I have a general notion of what he said, and will give you a summary of the points in which the lover differed from the non-lover. Let me begin at the beginning. Yes, my sweet one, but you must first of all show what you have in your left hand, under your cloak, for that role, as I suspect, is the actual discourse. Now, much as I love you, I would not have you suppose that I am going to have your memory exercised at my expense, if you have Lysias himself here.
Enough! I see that I have no hope of practising my art upon you, but if I am to read, where would you please to sit? Let us turn aside and go by the Lysias. We will sit down at some quiet spot.
I am fortunate in not having my sandals, and as you never have any, I think that we may go along the brook and cool our feet in the water. This will be the easiest way, and at midday and in the summer is far from being unpleasant. Lead on, and look out for a place in which we can sit down. Do you see the tallest plane tree in the distance?
Yes. There are shade and gentle breezes, and grass on which we may either sit or lie down. Move forward. I should like to know, Socrates, whether the place is not somewhere here at which Boreas is said to have carried off Odyssea from the banks of the Ilyssus.
Such is the tradition. And is this the exact spot? The little stream is delightfully clear and bright. I can fancy that there might be maidens playing near.
I believe that the spot is not exactly here, but about a quarter of a mile lower down, where you cross to the temple of Artemis, and there is, I think, some sort of an altar of Boreas at the place. Ah, I have never noticed it. But I beseech you to tell me, Socrates, do you believe this tale? Well, the wise are doubtful, and I should not be singular, if like them I too doubted.
I might have a rational explanation that Odyssea was playing with Pharmacia when a northern dust carried her over the neighbouring rocks, and this being the manner of her death, she was said to have been carried away by Boreas. There is a discrepancy, however, about the locality. According to another version of the story, she was taken from Areopagus, and not from this place. Now I quite acknowledge that these allegories are very nice, but he is not to be envied who has to invent them.
Much labour and ingenuity will be required of him. And when he has once begun, he must go on and rehabilitate hippocentours and chimeras dire. Borgans and winged steeds flow in apace, and numberless other inconceivable and portentous natures. And if he is sceptical about them, I would fain reduce them one after another to the rules of probability.
This sort of crude philosophy will take up a great deal of time. Now I have no leisure for such inquiries. Shall I tell you why? I must first know myself, as the Delphian inscription says.
To be curious about that which is not my concern, while I am still in ignorance of my own self, would be ridiculous. And therefore I bid farewell to all this. The common opinion is enough for me. For as I was saying, I want to know not about this, but about myself.
Am I a monster, more complicated and swollen with passion than the serpent Titho, or a creature of a gentler and simpler sort, to whom nature has given a diviner and lowlier destiny? But let me ask you, friend, have we not reached the plane tree to which you were conducting us? Yes, this is the tree. By here, a fair resting place, full of summer sounds and scents.
Here is this lofty and spreading plane tree, and the agnus castus, high and clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest fragrance. And the stream which flows beneath the plane tree is deliciously coals to the feet. Judging from the ornaments and images, this must be a spot sacred to Akeloas and the nymphs. Oh, how delightful is the breeze, so very sweet.
And there is a sound in the air, shrill and summer-like, which makes answer to the chorus of the cicadae. But the greatest charm of all is the grass, like a pillow gently slooping to the head. My dear Phaedrus, you have been an admirable guide. End of section one.