“Yes,” said Charmides, “it was wise; but it is difficult to feel it so at the time.  I wonder!  I think perhaps I have made the mistake of being too fastidious.  But it seemed so fine a goal that one had in sight, to chasten and temper all one’s thoughts to what was beautiful—­to judge and distinguish, to choose the right tones and harmonies, to be always rejecting and refining.  It had its sorrows, of course.  How often in the old days one came in contact with some gracious and beautiful personality, and flung oneself into close relations; and then one began to see this and that flaw.  There were lapses in tact, petulances, littlenesses; one’s friend did not rightly use his beautiful mind; he was jealous, suspicious, trivial, petty; it ended in disillusionment.  Instead of taking him as a passenger on one’s vessel, and determining to live at peace, to overlook, to accommodate, one began to watch for an opportunity of putting him down courteously at some stopping-place; and instead of being grateful for his friendship, one was vexed with him for disappointing one.  We must speak more of these things.  I seem to feel the want of something commoner and broader in my thoughts; but in this place it is hard to change.”

“Will you forgive me then,” I said, “if I ask you plainly what this place is?  It seems very strange to me, and yet I think I have been here before.”

Charmides looked at me with a smile.  “It has been called,” he said, “by many ugly names, and men have been unreasonably afraid of it.  It is the place of satisfied desire, and, as you see, it is a comfortable place enough.  The theologians in their coarse way call it Hell, though that is a word which is forbidden here; it is indeed a sort of treason to use the word, because of its unfortunate association—­and you can see with your own eyes that I have done wrong even to speak of it.”

I looked round, and saw indeed that a visible tremor had fallen on the groups about us; it was as though a cold cloud, full of hail and darkness, had floated over a sunny sky.  People were hurrying out of the garden, and some were regarding us askance and with frowns of disapproval.  In a moment or two we were left alone.

“I have been indiscreet,” said Charmides, “but I feel somehow in a rebellious mood; and indeed it has long seemed absurd to me that you should be unaware of the fact, and so obviously guileless!  But I will speak no more of this to-day.  People come and go here very strangely, and I have sometimes wondered if it would not soon be time for me to go; but it would be idle to pretend that I have not been happy here.”

XI