Lyc. Ay, verily it is, Hermotimus. That would of all things be best worth striving for, even if we had to give up all besides. Nor, though this present land in which we live should seek to hold us back, ought we to regard it; nor, though children or parents, if we have them, should seek with tears to detain us here, ought we to be moved by them, but rather, if we may, urge them to follow us on the same path, and if they cannot or will not, then shake ourselves free from them, and make straight for that blessed city—casting off our very garment, if they cling to that to retain us,—eager only to get there: for there is no fear, believe me, that even the naked should be denied admittance if they reach the gate. There was an old man, I remember, once on a time, who discoursed to me of how matters went in that city, and exhorted me to follow him thither: he would lead the way, he said, and when I came, would enrol me in his own tribe, and let me share his privileges, and so I should live happy there with them all. But I, in my youthful folly (I was scarce fifteen), would not listen to him, or I might now be in the suburbs of that city, or even at its gates.[1] Many things he told me of it, as I seem to remember, and among them this,—that all there were strangers and immigrants, and that many
- ↑ We shall never know Lucian's full meaning here. Is this but another version of "The Dream," and does he imply that he had failed to carry out the nobler ideal of his choice, and had sunk into the mere hired pleader? Or had he some higher "dream" still in his youth, whose invitation he was conscious of having disobeyed?
