Crates, the celebrated Cynic philosopher, got such a box on the ear from Nicodromus, the musician, that his face swelled up and became black and blue; whereupon he put a label on his forehead, with the inscription, Nicodromus fecit, which brought much disgrace to the fluteplayer who had committed such a piece of brutality upon the man whom all Athens honored as a household god.[1] And in a letter to Melesippus, Diogenes of Sinope tells us that he got a beating from the drunken sons of the Athenians; but he adds that it was a matter of no importance.[2] And Seneca devotes the last few chapters of his De Constantia to a lengthy discussion on insult—­contumelia; in order to show that a wise man will take no notice of it.  In Chapter XIV, he says, What shall a wise man do, if he is given a blow?  What Cato did, when some one struck him on the mouth;—­not fire up or avenge the insult, or even return the blow, but simply ignore it.

[Footnote 1:  Diogenes Laertius, vi. 87, and Apul:  Flor:  p. 126.]

[Footnote 2:  Cf.  Casaubon’s Note, Diog.  Laert., vi. 33.]

Yes, you say, but these men were philosophers.—­And you are fools, eh?  Precisely.

It is clear that the whole code of knightly honor was utterly unknown to the ancients; for the simple reason that they always took a natural and unprejudiced view of human affairs, and did not allow themselves to be influenced by any such vicious and abominable folly.  A blow in the face was to them a blow and nothing more, a trivial physical injury; whereas the moderns make a catastrophe out of it, a theme for a tragedy; as, for instance, in the Cid of Corneille, or in a recent German comedy of middle-class life, called The Power of Circumstance, which should have been entitled The Power of Prejudice.  If a member of the National Assembly at Paris got a blow on the ear, it would resound from one end of Europe to the other.  The examples which I have given of the way in which such an occurrence would have been treated in classic times may not suit the ideas of honorable people; so let me recommend to their notice, as a kind of antidote, the story of Monsieur Desglands in Diderot’s masterpiece, Jacques le fataliste.  It is an excellent specimen of modern knightly honor, which, no doubt, they will find enjoyable and edifying.[1]

[Footnote:  1:  Translator’s Note.  The story to which Schopenhauer here refers is briefly as follows:  Two gentlemen, one of whom was named Desglands, were paying court to the same lady.  As they sat at table side by side, with the lady opposite, Desglands did his best to charm her with his conversation; but she pretended not to hear him, and kept looking at his rival.  In the agony of jealousy, Desglands, as he was holding a fresh egg in his hand, involuntarily crushed it; the shell broke, and its contents bespattered his rival’s face.  Seeing him raise his