“Euergetes—­the well-doer—­I was named at my birth; but if men choose to call me Kakergetes—­the evil-doer—­I do not mind it, since what you call good I call narrow and petty, and what you call evil is the free and unbridled exercise of power.  I would be anything rather than lazy and idle, for everything in nature is active and busy; and as, with Aristippus, I hold pleasure to be the highest good, I would fain earn the name of having enjoyed more than all other men; in the first place in my mind, but no less in my body which I admire and cherish.”

During this speech many signs of disagreement had found expression, and Publius, who for the first time in his life heard such vicious sentiments spoken, followed the words of the headstrong youth with consternation and surprise.  He felt himself no match for this overbearing spirit, trained too in all the arts of argument and eloquence; but he could not leave all he had heard uncontroverted, and so, as Euergetes paused in order to empty his refilled cup, he began: 

“If we were all to act on your principles, in a few centuries, it seems to me, there would be no one left to subscribe to them; for the earth would be depopulated; and the manuscripts, in which you are so careful to substitute ‘siu’ for ‘iu’, would be used by strong-handed mothers, if any were left, to boil the pot for their children—­in this country of yours where there is no wood to burn.  Just now you were boasting of your resemblance to Alcibiades, but that very gift which distinguished him, and made him dear to the Athenians—­I mean his beauty—­is hardly possible in connection with your doctrines, which would turn men into ravening beasts.  He who would be beautiful must before all things be able to control himself and to be moderate—­as I learnt in Rome before I ever saw Athens, and have remembered well.  A Titan may perhaps have thought and talked as you do, but an Alcibiades—­hardly!”

At these words the blood flew to Euergetes’ face; but he suppressed the keen and insulting reply that rose to his lips, and this little victory over his wrathful impulse was made the more easy as Lysias, at this moment, rejoined the feasters; he excused himself for his long absence, and then laid before Cleopatra and her husband the gems belonging to Publius.

They were warmly admired; even Euergetes was not grudging of his praise, and each of the company admitted that he had rarely seen anything more beautiful and graceful than the bashful Hebe with downcast eyes, and the goddess of persuasion with her hand resting on the bride’s arm.

“Yes, I will take the part of Peitho,” said Cleopatra with decision.

“And I that of Heracles,” cried Euergetes.

“But who is the fair one,” asked King Philometor of Lysias, whom you have in your eye, as fulfilling this incomparably lovely conception of Hebe?  While you were away I recalled to memory the aspect of every woman and girl who frequents our festivals, but only to reject them all, one after the other.”