Philostratus, the biographer and fervent admirer of the sophists, remarks concerning one among them (the only one to whom he accords the praise) that he was always modest, and never spoke boastingly of himself. The vanity of many of them was simply ludicrous. Philagrius, newly arrived in Athens, was indignant because a young man had ventured to ask his name, and shuddered at the idea of meeting an individual unacquainted with Philagrius. In an assembly he let fall an expression that shocked the ear of a purist. "Who authorizes the use of that word?" asked the critic. "Philagrius," was the haughty answer. Words sufficed that day to express his sentiments, but it was not always so. One day an auditor presumed to fall asleep, an act of irreverence soon detected by the orator. He paused, stupefied to perceive that the audience were not all ears to hear him. Then, eager to avenge the wound inflicted on literature in his person, he descended from the stage, approached the unhappy sleeper, and roused him with a vigorous cuff. This severe but merited reproof was not without a certain eloquence; and we imagine that never again was anyone caught napping during the discourses of the irascible Philagrius. [Footnote 88]
[Footnote 88: Philostratus, Life of Soph. II. viii. 1; xxvii. 3.]
A Phoenician rhetorician arrived in Attica. "With me," he explained to his audience, "literature comes to you a second time from Phoenicia." Polemon, the Carian, speaking for the first time in Athens, opened his address thus: "Athenians, you are said to be good judges. I shall ascertain the truth of the report by your manner of receiving my discourse." Forewarned is forearmed. The audience were to applaud Polemon under pain of appearing dull in Polemon's eyes. His genius, according to his own estimate, placed him above the rank of kingdoms, on a level with kings and even with gods. And as a great man must die after a fashion of his own, he had himself buried alive, in his old age, lest years should impair his success. Hie weeping friends delayed to seal the stone over the cavern. "Close the tomb," he called out from below—"Close the tomb. Let it not be said that the sun beheld Polemon silent." [Footnote 89]
[Footnote 89: Philostratus, Life of the Sophists, I. xxv, 9, 27; II. x. 4.]
VI.
Did worshippers so convinced of their own merit recognize and honor the gifts of others? We shall see that they could mutually esteem and praise each other. Herodius Atticus had been declaiming at the Olympic games: "You are a second Demosthenes," he was told. "I would rather be a second Polemon," was the reply. An odd desire, and one that showed the bad taste of that day; but it expressed homage to a rival. Herodius in his turn saw his superiority recognized in the exclamation of another rhetor: "We are small change (menue monnaie) beside you." [Footnote 90] But these instances of modesty are rare. They were usually indisposed to yield the palm of eloquence so generously. Jealous one of another, they regarded all praise not personal to themselves as so much stolen from them. Their self-esteem was equalled only by their disdain of all rivals. Lucian gives a recipe of a method often employed to injure a rival. "Ridicule every other orator. Has he talent? Affect to believe that the sentiments are not his own; that he decks himself in borrowed spoils. Is he commonplace? Think him odious. Come late to his exhibitions. It will make you conspicuous. Choose a moment of silence to utter a eulogium in singular language, calculated to distract and startle the audience. Your exaggerated praises will disgust them with the object of your praise and make them stop their ears. Almost invariably smile scornfully, and never appear pleased with what is said." [Footnote 91]
[Footnote 90: Ibid. I. xxv. 17; II. v.8.]
[Footnote 91: Lucian, Master of Rhetoric, 22.]
Meantime the orator, seeing his success threatened, was wont to meet the skilful attack with a defence no less skilful. He managed his resources prudently, gathering about him devoted friends to assist in the manoeuvres. Under all circumstances he must count upon these faithful satellites. Marcus Aurelius was to attend the exercises of Aristides. "Will you let me bring my disciples?" asked the prudent rhetor. "Certainly," said the emperor, "if it is customary." "And will you allow them to shout and applaud with all their might?" added Aristides ingenuously. "Oh! certainly," replied Marcus Aurelius, laughing, "that depends entirely upon yourself." When the master spoke, the scholars must stamp enthusiastically. If he were about to fail, they must reach out a helping hand, and give him by applause the time to recover his self-possession.
Happy he who could count among his admirers some high and puissant celebrity; for who can fail to discern the grandeur of an oration stamped with the approbation of an imposing authority? When Heliodorus declaimed, the emperor, holding him in great affection (who was that emperor, by the way? The historian does not tell us, but no matter!), regarded with an air of irritation anyone disinclined to applaud the speaker. And the laggards took the hint, we may be sure, and adapted their impressions thenceforth to the emotions of royalty. [Footnote 92]