was always intense, mutual hatred under the surface at times, but always ready, in case of accident, to rear its ugly head.
I desired complete freedom. What was there to do in life? Conform to the action of the puppets, dull one's perceptions and lead the existence of the majority, an existence which appeared to me to have no meaning, or . . . ? I sought advice from the philosophers. I began to read Plato and Pythagoras, Plotinus, Kant, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche . . . even Hans Vaihinger, but it was not until I stumbled upon Hippias, the old Greek, that I discovered any food to satisfy my natural craving. Have you ever heard of Hippias?
Campaspe shook her head.
Well, the philosophy of Hippias embraced all of life. He believed that one should cultivate everything inside oneself. He himself was an extraordinary mathematician; he practised poetry and he understood astronomy. Painting, mythology, ethnology, as well as music, held his interest. He designed and made his own garments; he fashioned his own jewelry. He also appears to have held an ideal looking forward to the establishment of a universal brotherhood, an obnoxious ideal which I did not take over. . . . There was also at hand the case of Leonardo da Vinci . . .
Of him I know.
Naturally. Well, Hippias was my salvation. I
