Protagoras

Where have you been now, Socrates? Ah, but of course you have been in chase of Alcibiades and his youthful beauty! Well, only the other day, as I looked at him, I thought him still handsome as a man—for a man he is, Socrates, between you and me, and with quite a growth of beard.

And what of that? Do you mean to say you do not approve of Homer, who said that youth has highest grace in him whose beard is appearing, as now in the case of Alcibiades?

Then how is the affair at present? Have you been with him just now? And how is the young man treating you?

Quite well, I considered, and especially so today: for he spoke a good deal on my side, supporting me in a discussion—in fact I have only just left him. However, there is a strange thing I have to tell you: although he was present, I not merely paid him no attention, but at times forgot him altogether.

Why, what can have happened between you and him? Something serious! For surely you did not find anyone else of greater beauty there,—no, not in our city.

Yes, of far greater.

What do you say? One of our people, or a foreigner?

A foreigner.

Of what city?

Abdera.

And you found this foreigner so beautiful that he appeared to you of greater beauty than the son of Cleinias?

Why, my good sir, must not the wisest appear more beautiful?

Do you mean it was some wise man that you met just now?

Nay, rather the wisest of our generation, I may tell you, if wisest is what you agree to call Protagoras.

Ah, what a piece of news! Protagoras come to town!

Yes, two days ago.

And it was his company that you left just now?

Yes, and a great deal I said to him, and he to me.

Then do let us hear your account of the conversation at once, if you are disengaged take my boy’s place, and sit here.

Very good indeed, I shall be obliged to you, if you will listen.

And we also to you, I assure you, if you will tell us.