her without falling into a deep melancholy.
However, Timaessa inspired our younger brother with a criminal passion,
and this passion soon turned to a furious madness. The Carian woman
hated them both equally; but she loved a flute-player, and received him
at night in her chamber. One morning he left there the wreath which he
usually wore at feasts. My two brothers, having found this wreath, swore
to kill the flute-player, and the next day they caused him to perish
under the lash, in spite of his tears and prayers. My sister-in-law
felt such grief that she lost her reason, and these three poor wretches
became beasts rather than human beings, and wandered insane along the
shores of Cos, howling like wolves and foaming at the mouth, and hooted
at by the children, who threw shells and stones at them. They died, and
my father buried them with his own hands. A little later his stomach
refused all nourishment, and he died of hunger, though he was rich
enough to have bought all the meats and fruits in the markets of Asia.
He was deeply grieved at having to leave me his fortune. I used it in
travels. I visited Italy, Greece, and Africa without meeting a single
person who was either wise or happy. I studied philosophy at Athens and
Alexandria, and was deafened by noisy arguments. At last I wandered as
far as India, and I saw on the banks of the Ganges a naked man, who had
sat there motionless with his legs crossed for more than thirty years.
Climbing plants twined round his dried up body, and the birds built
their nests in his hair. Yet he lived. At the sight of him I called to
mind Timaessa, the flute-player, my two brothers, and my father, and
I realised that this Indian was a wise man. 'Men,' I said to myself,
'suffer because they are deprived of that which they believe to be good;
or because, possessing it they fear to lose it; or because they endure
that which they believe to be an evil. Put an end to all beliefs of this
kind, and the evils would disappear.' That is why I resolved henceforth
to deem nothing an advantage, to tear myself entirely from the good
things of this world, and to live silent and motionless, like the
Indian."

Paphnutius had listened attentively to the old man's story.

"Timocles of Cos," he replied, "I own that your discourse is not wholly
devoid of sense. It is, in truth, wise to despise the riches of this
world. But it would be absurd to despise also your eternal welfare, and
render yourself liabl