✦ Chapter 23 – Socrates (1) ✦
「Translator – Creator」
“Hee hee.”
Diana chuckled softly as she read the letter that had arrived not long ago.
Phantom’s well-being, the difficulties he was facing in his creative endeavors, and other such things filled the page.
She muttered to herself, tracing the lines of his cramped handwriting.
“He’s quite an endearing one, isn’t he?”
The letters, exchanged sporadically after their encounter at the cosplay competition, had started as a bit of fun, but Diana found herself genuinely enjoying their correspondence.
It had become a habit for her to eagerly anticipate his replies at the end of each day.
…Of course, there was another reason for her keen interest in Phantom’s letters.
“To think that a strapping young lord from a martial family could possess such delicate penmanship. Could this talent for beautiful writing be the secret to his playwriting?”
Diana narrowed her lime-green eyes, examining each word carefully. The playwright’s handwriting was rounded and meticulous.
Those who primarily trained in martial arts often neglected the finer points of penmanship. Even the knights of the Imperial Guard didn’t bother with calligraphy, as long as their handwriting was legible.
Considering this, the pool of candidates for the esteemed Phantom narrowed even further — first or second-year cadets students who were dedicated to their martial training, as evidenced by the calluses on their palms, yet possessed the refined penmanship to betray their identity.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Your Highness. That breaking news must have dampened your spirits.”
A close aide, who always delivered the letters, cautiously asked beside her.
She placed the letter on the table, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips.
“Dampened my spirits? You exaggerate, Franz. The appropriate expression would be ‘slightly irked.’’’
“Is that so? But you seemed rather displeased at the ti…”
“Silence.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Once again silencing her cheeky aide, Diana recalled the headline she had seen in the newspaper delivered by a subordinate not long ago.
It was a bold proclamation — Saintess Beatrice had nominated the playwright Phantom as a candidate for “Hero of the Pen.”
Of course, it was none of her business whom the Saintess chose to nominate. Choosing a Hero candidate was a privilege reserved for the highest echelons of the Holy See.
Nevertheless, the fact that it was Phantom, of all people, who had been nominated… To think that a man she hadn’t been able to completely claim as her own held such a special status… it irked her.
‘When have I ever felt this way?’
It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling, yet there was a hint of familiarity to it.
As she pondered for a long time, Diana finally recalled its origin.
“Hmm.”
It reminded her of a fleeting feeling from her childhood, when she handed over her favorite doll to her newborn younger brother.
It was a sense of deprivation she hadn’t felt since growing up, the peculiar feeling that comes when something she wanted was taken away right before her eyes.
“Hmph.”
Saintess Beatrice…
That day, for reasons unknown even to herself, Crown Princess Diana felt a surge of animosity towards the Saintess.
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“Yes! It’s finally done!”
I let out a sigh of relief as I set down the draft I had been painstakingly piecing together in my spare time for the past few days, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead.
The reason I chose Socrates for my Lesedrama was simple.
Weren’t the dialogues that Plato, Socrates’s student, had recorded about his teacher’s life and philosophical thoughts considered the origin of Lesedramas?
‘And it’s not like Socrates himself left any written works.’
He believed that relying on written records for memory weakened thinking and ingenuity. He held that the true meaning of words would be lost the moment they were put into writing, as it stripped them of their contextual nuance.
Therefore, Socrates’s actions and thoughts lived on solely through the words of his disciples, in what came to be known as the Dialogues (Dialoghi).
These dialogues meticulously documented the exchanges between Socrates and countless other figures of his time, in a format strikingly similar to dramatic literature.
“Take a look, Maurice. I’ll do more editing before we publish, though.”
“Oh? Another ancient story like Julius Caesar? An Athenian democracy, and primitive polytheism with spirits mistaken for gods…”
“Well, something like that.”
I tried to tone down elements that might make the people of this world uncomfortable, and anything I couldn’t quite work around, I simply attributed to “ancient customs.”
Socrates was a philosopher born and raised in Athens, a man who lived to reform his city. To truly capture his essence, it was essential to include the democratic and polytheistic backdrop of ancient Athens.
Take, for example, the opening scene of Dialogues.
“Whoa! The opening is pretty captivating, Balthazar.”
Maurice’ eyes sparkled as he flipped through the pages, then glanced at me with a curious glint in his eye.
“So, the main character, Socrates, goes to the Oracle of Delphi and is told there’s no one wiser than him in all of Athens? Heh heh, don’t tell me our protagonist this time is some kind of strategic genius who defeats his enemies with his intellect.”
“You could say that.”
I wasn’t particularly interested in philosophy, but I’d found myself drawn to the accounts of Socrates, reading them over and over again.
Unlike other stiff and dry philosophical texts, Plato’s writings had a certain flow to them, like a well-crafted play.
…Of course, that didn’t mean it was possible to faithfully recreate all twenty-five of Plato’s dialogues.
‘Philosophical treatises, by their nature, are imbued with a profound and subtle depth.’
I wasn’t Plato, Socrates’ student, nor was I a philosophy scholar.
So it would be ludicrous to claim that I could capture every single detail of his work, or even hope to revive it perfectly.
And that is why, instead of simply copying the Dialogues verbatim, I opted for a better alternative.
I decided to reimagine the figure of Socrates—the one I, Ha Eun-seong, remembered and admired—from a dramatic perspective.
“…Hey, are you sure this is going to work?”
My friend asked after a long silence, having finally looked up from the pages.
“Why? You don’t like it?”
“No, that’s not it… I don’t know how to put it…”
He fumbled for words, fiddling with his chin. Finally, he seemed to gather his thoughts.
“Isn’t it a bit… vague? It’s just a bunch of people talking, and the protagonist just keeps finding fault with everything. If all you do is nitpick, how can anyone ever claim to know anything?”
“Exactly. That’s the whole point.”
“Huh?”
<Dialogues>, as I had recreated it, was less of a play and more of an intellectual lecture. I had carefully selected the early dialogues that best illustrated Socrates’ personality and teachings, weaving them together into a single, cohesive narrative.
I had also made liberal use of narration, adding footnotes throughout the piece to explain his thoughts and character, making the work more accessible to the average reader.
The thing was, Socrates’ philosophy wasn’t about advocating for any specific doctrine.
If anything, it was closer to the idea of “making others philosophize for themselves.”
“Read it all the way through, and then really think about what he’s saying. You might notice something different.”
Socrates never claimed to have all the answers. He never claimed to possess knowledge or to be teaching anything, per se.
What he pursued was the wisdom of ignorance. The only truth Socrates consistently espoused was the idea that “the only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing.”
The goal was to guide the audience beyond the relative and subjective interpretation of ‘wisdom’, and towards a truer understanding of ‘knowledge’, after all.
“Tsk. Fine, fine.”
Maurice clicked his tongue, a disgruntled look on his face as he accepted my vague response.
“I’ll read it to the end. It’s not like it’s anyone else’s script but yours, Balthazar.”
And so, he continued, page after page.
He immersed himself in the text, quietly reading on.
As he delved deeper…
“Hmm…”
The initial dissatisfaction on his face gradually melted away.
Socrates’s debate with Protagoras, who asserted that “man is the measure of all things”;
his discourse with Gorgias, about the futility of all existence;
his exploration with Charmides, of the true meaning of temperance;
his inquiry with Laches, into the nature of courage;
his discussion with Euthyphro, on the real concept of piety…
…and finally, the trilogy — <The Apology of Socrates>, <Crito>, and <Phaedo>, depicting Socrates’ trial, death, and the philosophical discussions leading up to it.
Thud—!
“………….…”
At last, Maurice finished reading and closed the manuscript, propping his chin on his hand.
He assumed a pose reminiscent of Auguste Rodin’s sculpture “The Thinker,” deeply lost in contemplation.
I stretched, set down my pen, and collapsed onto the bed.
“Ugh… It’s late. Go to sleep if you’re done.”
Recalling everything I knew and translating it all onto paper… It was more mentally taxing than writing three full-fledged plays.
“Hey, I’m going to sleep, okay? Aren’t you coming, Maurice?”
“………..…”
He remained still as I set the alarm clock and turned off the light.
His uncharacteristic seriousness did give me pause, but I ultimately brushed it aside.
‘If he gets tired, he’ll fall asleep eventually.’
With that thought, I sank into my pillow and drifted off into a long, dreamless sleep.
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Ring-ring—!!
“Ugh… Sleepy…”
The insistent ringing of the alarm clock dragged me from my sleep.
I forced my eyes open, my gaze falling on the faint glow of dawn creeping through the window.
And then, I saw him.
Maurice, sitting exactly where he’d been last night, frozen in the same contemplative pose, as if he hadn’t moved an inch.
“Hey, Maurice? Did you stay up all night?”
“Ah, you’re awake. My dearest friend, Balthazar.”
I asked in utter disbelief.
And he slowly released his “The Thinker” pose and turned to face me.
“It suddenly occurred to me. Have I, a nobleman, the second son of Marquis de Lavalle, Julian’s lover, and above all, a man, truly lived a virtuous life?”
“What…?”
“My eyes have been newly opened. The true worth of a human being lies not in outward appearances or material wealth, but in the beauty of their soul! It is my calling to dedicate the rest of my youth to cultivating a more noble spirit.”
Dark circles ringed his eyes, yet they shone with the brightness of a morning star as he declared this with an expression one might expect from an enlightened sage.
“Thanks to you, I now understand how ignorant I have been. Thank you, Balthazar. My most exceptional, righteous, and above all, wisest friend.”
Maurice recited a line straight from Plato’s <Phaedo>.
Even though I didn’t fully understand it myself, it seemed that <Dialogues> had profoundly impacted his train of thought.
And as the author of the very work that had led him down this path, only one response came to mind.
“Did you eat something strange last night?”
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…Surprisingly, Maurice wasn’t the only one to go off the deep end.
Two days after leveraging his connections to meet with the publisher and successfully publishing the <Dialogues>, something unexpected happened.
Professor Prunel, the Imperial Political History professor known for his strict adherence to the clock and the curriculum, made a startling announcement as he began his lecture.
“Today, I, Prunel Ravize, have a confession to make to all of you.”
“A confession?”
“What’s gotten into him?”
The students murmured amongst themselves, unable to hide their astonishment. They’d never seen the strict and rigid Professor Prunel act this way.
However, unfazed, Prunel heaved a heavy sigh.
“All my life, I believed myself to be a wise and intelligent man. Therefore, I never hesitated to look down on others, nor did I ever doubt my own brilliance. I was, in essence, the very embodiment of an arrogant, self-proclaimed intellectual.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that.
Aside from his remarkable achievements in his field, Professor Prunel was notorious for being a rigid traditionalist at Bronde Academy.
But why was he bringing this up now?
“However, this one book… has broadened my narrow perspective and rebuked my foolishness, transforming me into a new man!”
And with that, he brandished the object of his revelation…
“Gah?!”
…A first edition copy of <Dialogues>, its cover adorned with the image of, who else, but our favorite bald philosopher.
— End of Chapter —
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