“Begin at the beginning, then, and let us see.”
“I suppose you'll say, then, that the Egyptian and Babylonian empires were better than the little Jewish republic.”
“Republic! well, let that pass. But I never heard that the Jews elected Moses, or any of the judges.”
“Well, never mind the Jews; they're an exceptional case; you can't argue from them.”
“I don't admit that. I believe just the contrary. But go on.”
“Well, then, what do you say to the glorious Greek republics, with Athens at the head of them?”
“I say that no nation ever treated their best men so badly. I see I must put on a lecture in Aristophanes for your special benefit. Vain, irritable, shallow, suspicious old Demus, with his two oboli in his cheek, and doubting only between Cleon and the sausage-seller, which he shall choose for his wisest man—not to govern, but to serve his whims and caprices. You must call another witness, I think.”
“But that's a caricature.”
“Take the picture, then, out of Thucydides, Plato, Xenophon, how you will—you won't mend the matter much. You shouldn't go so fast, Brown; you won't mind my saying so, I know. You don't get clear in your own mind before you pitch into everyone who comes across you, and so do your own side (which I admit is mostly the right one) more harm than good.”
Tom couldn't stand being put down so summarily, and fought over the ground from one country to another, from Rome to the United States, with all the arguments he could muster, but with little success. That unfortunate first admission of his, he felt it throughout, like a millstone round his neck, and could not help admitting to himself, when he left, that there was a good deal in Hardy's concluding remark,—“You'll find it rather a tough business to get your 'universal democracy' and 'government by the wisest' to pull together in one coach.”