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Updated: June 18, 2025
The more Glaucon besought, the more she turned away. Fear possessed him. “Woe is me,” he trembled, “I have enraged a terrible immortal.” Then suddenly the woman’s countenance was changed. The ægis, the serpent, the Victory, all vanished; he saw Hermione before him, beautiful as on the day she ran to greet him at Eleusis, yet sad as was his last sight of her the moment he fled from Colonus.
It was a young man leaning against a tree trunk. On his arm he held a baby. "It is a model of the great marble Hermes in the temple of Hera, my little master," said the image maker. "Great Praxiteles made that one, poor Philo made this one." "It is beautiful," said Charmides and turned away, holding it tenderly in his hand. Glaucon waited a moment to pay for the figure.
And they and their children will feast, drinking of the wine which they have made, wearing garlands on their heads, and hymning the praises of the gods, in happy converse with one another. And they will take care that their families do not exceed their means; having an eye to poverty or war. But, said Glaucon, interposing, you have not given them a relish to their meal.
A fat passenger staggered from his cabin, a huge money-bag bound to his belt,—as if gold were the safest spar to cling to in that boiling deep. Others, less frantic, gave commissions one to another, in case one perished and another escaped. “You alone have no messages, pray no prayers, show no fear!” spoke a grave, elderly man to Glaucon, as both clutched the swaying bulwark.
Consider, I said, Glaucon, that even the badness of food, whether staleness, decomposition, or any other bad quality, when confined to the actual food, is not supposed to destroy the body; although, if the badness of food communicates corruption to the body, then we should say that the body has been destroyed by a corruption of itself, which is disease, brought on by this; but that the body, being one thing, can be destroyed by the badness of food, which is another, and which does not engender any natural infection this we shall absolutely deny?
Daily Glaucon felt the Persian influence stealing upon him. He grew even accustomed to think of himself under his new name. Greeks were about him: Demaratus, the outlawed “half-king” of Sparta, and the sons of Hippias, late tyrant of Athens. He scorned the company of these renegades.
Glaucon in turn saw Cimon sink into his seat. “He wakes!” was the appeased mutter passing from the son of Miltiades and running along every tier of Athenians. And silence deeper than ever held the stadium; for now, with Lycon victor twice, the literal turning of a finger in the next event might win or lose the parsley crown. The Spartan came first.
Some jealous god has devised this guile, seeing we were too happy!” She shook with sobs, and Glaucon, roused to manhood by her grief, uprose and faced the stern face of Democrates, the blenching faces of the rest. “I am the victim of a conspiracy of all the fiends in Tartarus,”—he strove hard to speak steadily; “I did not write that second letter. It is a forgery.”
It swung in the mælstrom by its stays and the halyards of the sail. Tossing to and fro like a bubble, it was a fearful hope, but a louder rumbling from the hold warned how other hope had fled. The Barbarian recoiled as he looked on it. “It can never float through this storm,” Glaucon heard him crying between the blasts, but the Athenian beckoned him onward.
We acknowledged did we not? that different natures ought to have different pursuits, and that men's and women's natures are different. And now what are we saying? that different natures ought to have the same pursuits, this is the inconsistency which is charged upon us. Precisely. Verily, Glaucon, I said, glorious is the power of the art of contradiction! Why do you say so?
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