s first inspiration, though 'twas
Attic Athens brought it to maturity, and, during the last six years,
my voice, speaking in either language, has been familiar to your ears.
Nay more, my books have no higher title to the universal praise that
is theirs, than the fact that you have passed a favourable judgement
upon them. All these great and varied allurements, appealing as they
do to you as well as to me, hamper and intimidate me just in
proportion as they attract you to the pleasure of hearing me. I should
find it far easier to sing your praises before the citizens of some
other city than to your face. To such an extent is it true that
modesty is a serious obstacle to one confronted by his fellow
citizens, while truth may speak unfettered in the presence of
strangers. But always and everywhere I praise you as my parents and
the first teachers of my youth, and do my best to repay my debt. But
the reward I offer you is not that which the sophist Protagoras
stipulated to receive and never got, but that which the wise Thales
got without ever stipulating for it. What is it you want? Ah! I
understand. I will tell you both stories.

Protagoras was a sophist with knowledge on an extraordinary number of
subjects, and one of the most eloquent among the first inventors of
the art of rhetoric. He was a fellow citizen and contemporary of the
physicist Democritus, and it was from Democritus he derived his
learning. The story runs that Protagoras made a rash bargain with his
pupil Euathlus, contracting for an exceptionally high fee on the
following conditions. The money was to be paid if Euathlus was
successful in the first suit he pleaded in court. The young man
therefore first learned all the methods employed to win the votes of
the jurors, all the tricks of opposing counsel, and all the artifices
of oratory. This he did with ease, for he was a very clever fellow
with a natural aptitude for strategy. When he had satisfied himself
that he had learned all he desired to know, he began to show
reluctance to perform his part of the contract. At first he baffled
his teacher's requests for payment by interposing various ingenious
delays, and for a considerable time refused either to plead in court
or to pay the stipulated fee. At last Protagoras called him into
court, set forth the conditions under which he had accepted him as a
pupil, and propounded the following dilemma. 'If I win,' he said, 'you
must pay the fee, for you will be conde