In a book, named the _Symposium_, Plato tells us that Socrates and his friends met at a banquet one day and spoke to each other in praise of love. When it came to Alcibiades’ turn to speak, he was eager to tell of the love he had for Socrates. He began by begging the others not to laugh if he said first of all that Socrates was like the images of the god Silenus, which they had often seen in the shops of Athens. Now Silenus was a satyr, a strange figure that was half man, half goat. In his mouth were pipes and flutes upon which he played, while his images were made to open, and within each might be seen the figure of a god. As the gay company thought of the uncouth figure of the satyr, at which they had often stared in shop windows, they could not but laugh at Alcibiades for comparing his master to such an image. But when the young nobleman went on to speak of the god that was hidden in Socrates, just as the image of one was concealed in the body of the satyr, it may be that the laughter of the gay company was hushed. For in truth the disciple could say no greater thing about the master he loved than this, that within him he bore the likeness of a god. But Silenus was not the only satyr that reminded Alcibiades of his master. Marsyas, a wonderful flute-player also made him think of Socrates. For, said Alcibiades, ‘Are you not a flute-player, Socrates? That you are, and a far more wonderful performer than Marsyas. He indeed with instruments used to charm the souls of men by the power of his breath. But you produce the same effect with your voice only, and do not require the flute; that is the difference between you and him.’ Pericles, and other great Athenian orators, Alcibiades had heard, he said, unmoved, while Socrates’ words, ‘even at second hand and however imperfectly repeated, amaze and possess the souls of every man, woman and child who comes within hearing of them.’ Alcibiades then told his astonished listeners how his master’s eloquence held him as with chains of gold. ‘This Marsyas,’ he says, ‘has often brought me to such a pass that I have felt as if I could hardly endure the life which I am leading ... and I am conscious that if I did not shut my ears against him, and fly from the voice of the siren, he would detain me until I grew old, sitting at his feet. For he makes me confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of my own soul, and busying myself with the concerns of the Athenians; therefore I hold my ears and tear myself away from him.’ So greatly did the words of Socrates disturb Alcibiades that sometimes he even wished that his master were dead and could trouble him no more, and ‘yet I know,’ he adds quickly, ‘that I should be much more sorry than glad if he were to die; so that I am at my wit’s end.’ But it was not only his master’s eloquence that Alcibiades praised before the gay company of revellers, it was his deeds as well.