The only
resigned
and cheerful countenances yet.
Lucian
Why, we
may find it's the other way round, that you are Heracles, and the
phantom is in Heaven, married to Hebe!
_Her_. Prating knave, no more of thy gibes; else thou shalt presently
learn how great a God calls me phantom.
_Diog_. H'm. That bow looks as if it meant business. And yet,--what
have I to fear now? A man can die but once. Tell me, phantom,--by
your great Substance I adjure you--did you serve him in your present
capacity in the upper world? Perhaps you were one individual during
your lives, the separation taking place only at your deaths, when he,
the God, soared heavenwards, and you, the phantom, very properly made
your appearance here?
_Her_. Thy ribald questions were best unanswered. Yet thus much thou
shalt know. --All that was Amphitryon in Heracles, is dead; I am that
mortal part. The Zeus in him lives, and is with the Gods in Heaven.
_Diog_. Ah, now I see! Alcmena had twins, you mean,--Heracles the son
of Zeus, and Heracles the son of Amphitryon? You were really
half-bothers all the time?
_Her_. Fool! not so. We twain were one Heracles.
_Diog_. It's a little difficult to grasp, the two Heracleses packed
into one. I suppose you must have been like a sort of Centaur, man and
God all mixed together?
_Her_. And are not all thus composed of two elements,--the body and
the soul? What then should hinder the soul from being in Heaven, with
Zeus who gave it, and the mortal part--myself--among the dead?
_Diog_. Yes, yes, my esteemed son of Amphitryon,--that would be all
very well if you were a body; but you see you are a phantom, you have
no body. At this rate we shall get three Heracleses.
_Her_. _Three_?
_Diog_. Yes; look here. One in Heaven: one in Hades, that's you, the
phantom: and lastly the body, which by this time has returned to dust.
That makes three. Can you think of a good father for number Three?
_Her_. Impudent quibbler! And who art _thou_?
_Diog_. I am Diogenes's phantom, late of Sinope. But my original, I
assure you, is not 'among th' immortal Gods,' but here among dead men;
where he enjoys the best of company, and snaps my ringers at Homer and
all hair-splitting.
F.
XVII
_Menippus. Tantalus_
_Me_. What are you crying out about, Tantalus? standing at the edge
and whining like that!
_Tan_. Ah, Menippus, I thirst, I perish!
_Me_. What, not enterprise enough to bend down to it, or scoop up some
in your palm?
_Tan_. It is no use bending down; the water shrinks away as soon as it
sees me coming. And if I do scoop it up and get it to my mouth, the
outside of my lips is hardly moist before it has managed to run
through my fingers, and my hand is as dry as ever.
_Me_. A very odd experience, that. But by the way, why do you want to
drink? you have no body--the part of you that was liable to hunger and
thirst is buried in Lydia somewhere; how can you, the spirit, hunger
or thirst any more?
_Tan_. Therein lies my punishment--soul thirsts as if it were body.
_Me_. Well, let that pass, as you say thirst is your punishment. But
why do you mind it? are you afraid of _dying_, for want of drink? I do
not know of any second Hades; can you die to this one, and go further?
_Tan_. No, that is quite true. But you see this is part of the
sentence: I must long for drink, though I have no need of it.
_Me_. There is no meaning in that. There _is_ a draught you need,
though; some neat hellebore is what _you_ want; you are suffering from
a converse hydrophobia; you are not afraid of water, but you are of
thirst.
_Tan_. I would as life drink hellebore as anything, if I could but
drink.
_Me_. Never fear, Tantalus; neither you nor any other ghost will ever
do that; it is impossible, you see; just as well we have not all got a
penal thirst like you, with the water running away from us.
H.
XVIII
_Menippus. Hermes_
_Me_. Where are all the beauties, Hermes? Show me round; I am a
new-comer.
_Her_. I am busy, Menippus. But look over there to your right, and you
will see Hyacinth, Narcissus, Nireus, Achilles, Tyro, Helen, Leda,--
all the beauties of old.
_Me_. I can only see bones, and bare skulls; most of them are exactly
alike.
_Her_. Those bones, of which you seem to think so lightly, have been
the theme of admiring poets.
_Me_. Well, but show me Helen; I shall never be able to make her out
by myself.
_Her_. This skull is Helen.
_Me_. And for this a thousand ships carried warriors from every part
of Greece; Greeks and barbarians were slain, and cities made desolate.
_Her_. Ah, Menippus, you never saw the living Helen; or you would have
said with Homer,
Well might they suffer grievous years of toil
Who strove for such a prize.
We look at withered flowers, whose dye is gone from them, and what can
we call them but unlovely things? Yet in the hour of their bloom these
unlovely things were things of beauty.
_Me_. Strange, that the Greeks could not realize what it was for which
they laboured; how short-lived, how soon to fade.
_Her_. I have no time for moralizing. Choose your spot, where you
will, and lie down. I must go to fetch new dead.
F.
XIX
_Aeacus. Protesilaus. Menelaus. Paris_
_Aea_. Now then, Protesilaus, what do you mean by assaulting and
throttling Helen?
_Pro_. Why, it was all her fault that I died, leaving my house half
built, and my bride a widow.
_Aea_. You should blame Menelaus, for taking you all to Troy after
such a light-o'-love.
_Pro_. That is true; he shall answer it.
_Me_. No, no, my dear sir; Paris surely is the man; he outraged all
rights in carrying off his host's wife with him. _He_ deserves
throttling, if you like, and not from you only, but from Greeks and
barbarians as well, for all the deaths he brought upon them.
_Pro_. Ah, now I have it. Here, you--you _Paris! you_ shall not escape
my clutches.
_Pa_. Oh, come, sir, you will never wrong one of the same gentle craft
as yourself. Am I not a lover too, and a subject of your deity?
against love you know (with the best will in the world) how vain it is
to strive; 'tis a spirit that draws us whither it will.
_Pro_. There is reason in that. Oh, would that I had Love himself here
in these hands!
_Aea_. Permit me to charge myself with his defence. He does not
absolutely deny his responsibility for Paris's love; but that for your
death he refers to yourself, Protesilaus. You forgot all about your
bride, fell in love with fame, and, directly the fleet touched the
Troad, took that rash senseless leap, which brought you first to shore
and to death.
_Pro_. Now it is my turn to correct, Aeacus. The blame does not rest
with me, but with Fate; so was my thread spun from the beginning.
_Aea_. Exactly so; then why blame our good friends here?
H.
XX
_Menippus. Aeacus. Various Shades_
_Me_. In Pluto's name, Aeacus, show me all the sights of Hades.
_Aea_. That would be rather an undertaking, Menippus. However, you
shall see the principal things. Cerberus here you know already, and
the ferryman who brought you over. And you saw the Styx on your way,
and Pyriphlegethon.
_Me_. Yes, and you are the gate-keeper; I know all that; and I have
seen the King and the Furies. But show me the men of ancient days,
especially the celebrities.
_Aea_. This is Agamemnon; this is Achilles; near him, Idomeneus; next
comes Odysseus; then Ajax, Diomede, and all the great Greeks.
_Me_. Why, Homer, Homer, what is this? All your great heroes flung
down upon the earth, shapeless, undistinguishable; mere meaningless
dust; 'strengthless heads,' and no mistake. --Who is this one, Aeacus?
_Aea_. That is Cyrus; and here is Croesus; beyond him Sardanapalus,
and beyond him again Midas. And yonder is Xerxes.
_Me_. Ha! and it was before this creature that Greece trembled? this
is our yoker of Hellesponts, our designer of Athos-canals? --Croesus
too! a sad spectacle! As to Sardanapalus, I will lend him a box on the
ear, with your permission.
_Aea_. And crack his skull, poor dear! Certainly not.
_Me_. Then I must content myself with spitting in his ladyship's face.
_Aea_. Would you like to see the philosophers?
_Me_. I should like it of all things.
_Aea_. First comes Pythagoras.
_Me_. Good-day, Euphorbus, _alias_ Apollo, _alias_ what you will.
_Py_. Good-day, Menippus.
_Me_. What, no golden thigh nowadays?
_Py_. Why, no. I wonder if there is anything to eat in that wallet of
yours?
_Me_. Beans, friend; you don't like beans.
_Py_. Try me. My principles have changed with my quarters. I find that
down here our parents' heads are in no way connected with beans.
_Aea_. Here is Solon, the son of Execestides, and there is Thales. By
them are Pittacus, and the rest of the sages, seven in all, as you
see. _Me_.
The only resigned and cheerful countenances yet. Who is the
one covered with ashes, like a loaf baked in the embers? He is all
over blisters.
_Aea_. That is Empedocles. He was half-roasted when he got here from
Etna.
_Me_. Tell me, my brazen-slippered friend, what induced you to jump
into the crater?
_Em_. I did it in a fit of melancholy.
_Me_. Not you. Vanity, pride, folly; these were what burnt you up,
slippers and all; and serve you right. All that ingenuity was thrown
away, too: your death was detected. --Aeacus, where is Socrates?
_Aea_. He is generally talking nonsense with Nestor and Palamedes.
_Me_. But I should like to see him, if he is anywhere about.
_Aea_. You see the bald one? _Me_. They are all bald; that is a
distinction without a difference.
_Aea_. The snub-nosed one.
_Me_. There again: they are all snub-nosed.
_Soc_. Do you want me, Menippus?
_Me_. The very man I am looking for.
_Soc_. How goes it in Athens?
_Me_. There are a great many young men there professing philosophy;
and to judge from their dress and their walk, they should be perfect
in it.
_Soc_. I have seen many such.
_Me_. For that matter, I suppose you saw Aristippus arrive, reeking
with scent; and Plato, the polished flatterer from Sicilian courts?
_Soc_. And what do they think about _me_ in Athens?
_Me_. Ah, you are fortunate in that respect. You pass for a most
remarkable man, omniscient in fact. And all the time--if the truth
must out--you know absolutely nothing.
_Soc_. I told them that myself: but they would have it that that was
my irony.
_Me_. And who are your friends?
_Soc_. Charmides; Phaedrus; the son of Clinias.
_Me_. Ha, ha! still at your old trade; still an admirer of beauty.
_Soc_. How could I be better occupied? Will you join us?
_Me_. No, thank you; I am off, to take up my quarters by Croesus and
Sardanapalus. I expect huge entertainment from their outcries.
_Aea_. I must be off, too; or some one may escape. You shall see the
rest another day, Menippus.
_Me_. I need not detain you. I have seen enough.
F.
XXI
_Menippus. Cerberus_
_Me_. My dear coz--for Cerberus and Cynic are surely related through
the dog--I adjure you by the Styx, tell me how Socrates behaved during
the descent. A God like you can doubtless articulate instead of
barking, if he chooses.
_Cer_. Well, while he was some way off, he seemed quite unshaken; and
I thought he was bent on letting the people outside realize the fact
too. Then he passed into the opening and saw the gloom; I at the same
time gave him a touch of the hemlock, and a pull by the leg, as he was
rather slow. Then he squalled like a baby, whimpered about his
children, and, oh, I don't know what he didn't do.
_Me_. So _he_ was one of the theorists, was he? His indifference was a
sham?
_Cer_. Yes; it was only that he accepted the inevitable, and put a
bold face on it, pretending to welcome the universal fate, by way of
impressing the bystanders. All that sort are the same, I tell you--
bold resolute fellows as far as the entrance; it is inside that the
real test comes.
_Me_. What did you think of _my_ performance?
_Cer_. Ah, Menippus, you were the exception; you are a credit to the
breed, and so was Diogenes before you. You two came in without any
compulsion or pushing, of your own free will, with a laugh for
yourselves and a curse for the rest.
F.
XXII
_Charon. Menippus. Hermes_
_Ch_. Your fare, you rascal.
_Me_. Bawl away, Charon, if it gives you any pleasure.
_Ch_. I brought you across: give me my fare.
_Me_. I can't, if I haven't got it.
_Ch_. And who is so poor that he has not got a penny?
_Me_. I for one; I don't know who else.
_Ch_. Pay: or, by Pluto, I'll strangle you.
_Me_. And I'll crack your skull with this stick.
_Ch_. So you are to come all that way for nothing?
_Me_. Let Hermes pay for me: he put me on board.
_Her_. I dare say! A fine time I shall have of it, if I am to pay for
the shades.
_Ch_. I'm not going to let you off.
_Me_. You can haul up your ship and wait, for all I care. If I have
not got the money, I can't pay you, can I?
_Ch_. You knew you ought to bring it?
_Me_. I knew that: but I hadn't got it. What would you have? I ought
not to have died, I suppose?
_Ch_. So you are to have the distinction of being the only passenger
that ever crossed gratis?
_Me_. Oh, come now: gratis! I took an oar, and I baled; and I didn't
cry, which is more than can be said for any of the others.
_Ch_. That's neither here nor there. I must have my penny; it's only
right.
_Me_. Well, you had better take me back again to life.
_Ch_. Yes, and get a thrashing from Aeacus for my pains! I like that.
_Me_. Well, don't bother me.
_Ch_. Let me see what you have got in that wallet.
_Me_. Beans: have some? --and a Hecate's supper.
_Ch_. Where did you pick up this Cynic, Hermes? The noise he made on
the crossing, too! laughing and jeering at all the rest, and singing,
when every one else was at his lamentations.
_Her_. Ah, Charon, you little know your passenger! Independence, every
inch of him: he cares for no one. 'Tis Menippus.
_Ch_. Wait till I catch you---
_Me_. Precisely; I'll wait--till you catch me again.
F.
XXIII
_Protesilaus. Pluto. Persephone_
_Pro_. Lord, King, our Zeus! and thou, daughter of Demeter! Grant a
lover's boon!
_Pl_. What do you want? who are you?
_Pro_. Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, of Phylace, one of the Achaean
host, the first that died at Troy. And the boon I ask is release and
one day's life.
_Pl_. Ah, friend, that is the love that all these dead men love, and
none shall ever win.
_Pro_. Nay, dread lord, 'tis not life I love, but the bride that I
left new wedded in my chamber that day I sailed away--ah me, to be
slain by Hector as my foot touched land! My lord, that yearning gives
me no peace. I return content, if she might look on me but for an
hour.
_Pl_. Did you miss your dose of Lethe, man?
_Pro_. Nay, lord; but this prevailed against it.
_Pl_. Oh, well, wait a little; she will come to you one day; it is so
simple; no need for you to be going up.
_Pro_. My heart is sick with hope deferred; thou too, O Pluto, hast
loved; thou knowest what love is.
_Pl_. What good will it do you to come to life for a day, and then
renew your pains?
_Pro_. I think to win her to come with me, and bring two dead for one.
_Pl_. It may not be; it never has been.
_Pro_. Bethink thee, Pluto. 'Twas for this same cause that ye gave
Orpheus his Eurydice; and Heracles had interest enough to be granted
Alcestis; she was of my kin.
_Pl_. Would you like to present that bare ugly skull to your fair
bride? will she admit you, when she cannot tell you from another man?
I know well enough; she will be frightened and run from you, and you
will have gone all that way for nothing.
_Per_. Husband, doctor that disease yourself: tell Hermes, as soon as
Protesilaus reaches the light, to touch him with his wand, and make
him young and fair as when he left the bridal chamber.
_Pl_. Well, I cannot refuse a lady. Hermes, take him up and turn him
into a bridegroom. But mind, you sir, a strictly temporary one.
H.
may find it's the other way round, that you are Heracles, and the
phantom is in Heaven, married to Hebe!
_Her_. Prating knave, no more of thy gibes; else thou shalt presently
learn how great a God calls me phantom.
_Diog_. H'm. That bow looks as if it meant business. And yet,--what
have I to fear now? A man can die but once. Tell me, phantom,--by
your great Substance I adjure you--did you serve him in your present
capacity in the upper world? Perhaps you were one individual during
your lives, the separation taking place only at your deaths, when he,
the God, soared heavenwards, and you, the phantom, very properly made
your appearance here?
_Her_. Thy ribald questions were best unanswered. Yet thus much thou
shalt know. --All that was Amphitryon in Heracles, is dead; I am that
mortal part. The Zeus in him lives, and is with the Gods in Heaven.
_Diog_. Ah, now I see! Alcmena had twins, you mean,--Heracles the son
of Zeus, and Heracles the son of Amphitryon? You were really
half-bothers all the time?
_Her_. Fool! not so. We twain were one Heracles.
_Diog_. It's a little difficult to grasp, the two Heracleses packed
into one. I suppose you must have been like a sort of Centaur, man and
God all mixed together?
_Her_. And are not all thus composed of two elements,--the body and
the soul? What then should hinder the soul from being in Heaven, with
Zeus who gave it, and the mortal part--myself--among the dead?
_Diog_. Yes, yes, my esteemed son of Amphitryon,--that would be all
very well if you were a body; but you see you are a phantom, you have
no body. At this rate we shall get three Heracleses.
_Her_. _Three_?
_Diog_. Yes; look here. One in Heaven: one in Hades, that's you, the
phantom: and lastly the body, which by this time has returned to dust.
That makes three. Can you think of a good father for number Three?
_Her_. Impudent quibbler! And who art _thou_?
_Diog_. I am Diogenes's phantom, late of Sinope. But my original, I
assure you, is not 'among th' immortal Gods,' but here among dead men;
where he enjoys the best of company, and snaps my ringers at Homer and
all hair-splitting.
F.
XVII
_Menippus. Tantalus_
_Me_. What are you crying out about, Tantalus? standing at the edge
and whining like that!
_Tan_. Ah, Menippus, I thirst, I perish!
_Me_. What, not enterprise enough to bend down to it, or scoop up some
in your palm?
_Tan_. It is no use bending down; the water shrinks away as soon as it
sees me coming. And if I do scoop it up and get it to my mouth, the
outside of my lips is hardly moist before it has managed to run
through my fingers, and my hand is as dry as ever.
_Me_. A very odd experience, that. But by the way, why do you want to
drink? you have no body--the part of you that was liable to hunger and
thirst is buried in Lydia somewhere; how can you, the spirit, hunger
or thirst any more?
_Tan_. Therein lies my punishment--soul thirsts as if it were body.
_Me_. Well, let that pass, as you say thirst is your punishment. But
why do you mind it? are you afraid of _dying_, for want of drink? I do
not know of any second Hades; can you die to this one, and go further?
_Tan_. No, that is quite true. But you see this is part of the
sentence: I must long for drink, though I have no need of it.
_Me_. There is no meaning in that. There _is_ a draught you need,
though; some neat hellebore is what _you_ want; you are suffering from
a converse hydrophobia; you are not afraid of water, but you are of
thirst.
_Tan_. I would as life drink hellebore as anything, if I could but
drink.
_Me_. Never fear, Tantalus; neither you nor any other ghost will ever
do that; it is impossible, you see; just as well we have not all got a
penal thirst like you, with the water running away from us.
H.
XVIII
_Menippus. Hermes_
_Me_. Where are all the beauties, Hermes? Show me round; I am a
new-comer.
_Her_. I am busy, Menippus. But look over there to your right, and you
will see Hyacinth, Narcissus, Nireus, Achilles, Tyro, Helen, Leda,--
all the beauties of old.
_Me_. I can only see bones, and bare skulls; most of them are exactly
alike.
_Her_. Those bones, of which you seem to think so lightly, have been
the theme of admiring poets.
_Me_. Well, but show me Helen; I shall never be able to make her out
by myself.
_Her_. This skull is Helen.
_Me_. And for this a thousand ships carried warriors from every part
of Greece; Greeks and barbarians were slain, and cities made desolate.
_Her_. Ah, Menippus, you never saw the living Helen; or you would have
said with Homer,
Well might they suffer grievous years of toil
Who strove for such a prize.
We look at withered flowers, whose dye is gone from them, and what can
we call them but unlovely things? Yet in the hour of their bloom these
unlovely things were things of beauty.
_Me_. Strange, that the Greeks could not realize what it was for which
they laboured; how short-lived, how soon to fade.
_Her_. I have no time for moralizing. Choose your spot, where you
will, and lie down. I must go to fetch new dead.
F.
XIX
_Aeacus. Protesilaus. Menelaus. Paris_
_Aea_. Now then, Protesilaus, what do you mean by assaulting and
throttling Helen?
_Pro_. Why, it was all her fault that I died, leaving my house half
built, and my bride a widow.
_Aea_. You should blame Menelaus, for taking you all to Troy after
such a light-o'-love.
_Pro_. That is true; he shall answer it.
_Me_. No, no, my dear sir; Paris surely is the man; he outraged all
rights in carrying off his host's wife with him. _He_ deserves
throttling, if you like, and not from you only, but from Greeks and
barbarians as well, for all the deaths he brought upon them.
_Pro_. Ah, now I have it. Here, you--you _Paris! you_ shall not escape
my clutches.
_Pa_. Oh, come, sir, you will never wrong one of the same gentle craft
as yourself. Am I not a lover too, and a subject of your deity?
against love you know (with the best will in the world) how vain it is
to strive; 'tis a spirit that draws us whither it will.
_Pro_. There is reason in that. Oh, would that I had Love himself here
in these hands!
_Aea_. Permit me to charge myself with his defence. He does not
absolutely deny his responsibility for Paris's love; but that for your
death he refers to yourself, Protesilaus. You forgot all about your
bride, fell in love with fame, and, directly the fleet touched the
Troad, took that rash senseless leap, which brought you first to shore
and to death.
_Pro_. Now it is my turn to correct, Aeacus. The blame does not rest
with me, but with Fate; so was my thread spun from the beginning.
_Aea_. Exactly so; then why blame our good friends here?
H.
XX
_Menippus. Aeacus. Various Shades_
_Me_. In Pluto's name, Aeacus, show me all the sights of Hades.
_Aea_. That would be rather an undertaking, Menippus. However, you
shall see the principal things. Cerberus here you know already, and
the ferryman who brought you over. And you saw the Styx on your way,
and Pyriphlegethon.
_Me_. Yes, and you are the gate-keeper; I know all that; and I have
seen the King and the Furies. But show me the men of ancient days,
especially the celebrities.
_Aea_. This is Agamemnon; this is Achilles; near him, Idomeneus; next
comes Odysseus; then Ajax, Diomede, and all the great Greeks.
_Me_. Why, Homer, Homer, what is this? All your great heroes flung
down upon the earth, shapeless, undistinguishable; mere meaningless
dust; 'strengthless heads,' and no mistake. --Who is this one, Aeacus?
_Aea_. That is Cyrus; and here is Croesus; beyond him Sardanapalus,
and beyond him again Midas. And yonder is Xerxes.
_Me_. Ha! and it was before this creature that Greece trembled? this
is our yoker of Hellesponts, our designer of Athos-canals? --Croesus
too! a sad spectacle! As to Sardanapalus, I will lend him a box on the
ear, with your permission.
_Aea_. And crack his skull, poor dear! Certainly not.
_Me_. Then I must content myself with spitting in his ladyship's face.
_Aea_. Would you like to see the philosophers?
_Me_. I should like it of all things.
_Aea_. First comes Pythagoras.
_Me_. Good-day, Euphorbus, _alias_ Apollo, _alias_ what you will.
_Py_. Good-day, Menippus.
_Me_. What, no golden thigh nowadays?
_Py_. Why, no. I wonder if there is anything to eat in that wallet of
yours?
_Me_. Beans, friend; you don't like beans.
_Py_. Try me. My principles have changed with my quarters. I find that
down here our parents' heads are in no way connected with beans.
_Aea_. Here is Solon, the son of Execestides, and there is Thales. By
them are Pittacus, and the rest of the sages, seven in all, as you
see. _Me_.
The only resigned and cheerful countenances yet. Who is the
one covered with ashes, like a loaf baked in the embers? He is all
over blisters.
_Aea_. That is Empedocles. He was half-roasted when he got here from
Etna.
_Me_. Tell me, my brazen-slippered friend, what induced you to jump
into the crater?
_Em_. I did it in a fit of melancholy.
_Me_. Not you. Vanity, pride, folly; these were what burnt you up,
slippers and all; and serve you right. All that ingenuity was thrown
away, too: your death was detected. --Aeacus, where is Socrates?
_Aea_. He is generally talking nonsense with Nestor and Palamedes.
_Me_. But I should like to see him, if he is anywhere about.
_Aea_. You see the bald one? _Me_. They are all bald; that is a
distinction without a difference.
_Aea_. The snub-nosed one.
_Me_. There again: they are all snub-nosed.
_Soc_. Do you want me, Menippus?
_Me_. The very man I am looking for.
_Soc_. How goes it in Athens?
_Me_. There are a great many young men there professing philosophy;
and to judge from their dress and their walk, they should be perfect
in it.
_Soc_. I have seen many such.
_Me_. For that matter, I suppose you saw Aristippus arrive, reeking
with scent; and Plato, the polished flatterer from Sicilian courts?
_Soc_. And what do they think about _me_ in Athens?
_Me_. Ah, you are fortunate in that respect. You pass for a most
remarkable man, omniscient in fact. And all the time--if the truth
must out--you know absolutely nothing.
_Soc_. I told them that myself: but they would have it that that was
my irony.
_Me_. And who are your friends?
_Soc_. Charmides; Phaedrus; the son of Clinias.
_Me_. Ha, ha! still at your old trade; still an admirer of beauty.
_Soc_. How could I be better occupied? Will you join us?
_Me_. No, thank you; I am off, to take up my quarters by Croesus and
Sardanapalus. I expect huge entertainment from their outcries.
_Aea_. I must be off, too; or some one may escape. You shall see the
rest another day, Menippus.
_Me_. I need not detain you. I have seen enough.
F.
XXI
_Menippus. Cerberus_
_Me_. My dear coz--for Cerberus and Cynic are surely related through
the dog--I adjure you by the Styx, tell me how Socrates behaved during
the descent. A God like you can doubtless articulate instead of
barking, if he chooses.
_Cer_. Well, while he was some way off, he seemed quite unshaken; and
I thought he was bent on letting the people outside realize the fact
too. Then he passed into the opening and saw the gloom; I at the same
time gave him a touch of the hemlock, and a pull by the leg, as he was
rather slow. Then he squalled like a baby, whimpered about his
children, and, oh, I don't know what he didn't do.
_Me_. So _he_ was one of the theorists, was he? His indifference was a
sham?
_Cer_. Yes; it was only that he accepted the inevitable, and put a
bold face on it, pretending to welcome the universal fate, by way of
impressing the bystanders. All that sort are the same, I tell you--
bold resolute fellows as far as the entrance; it is inside that the
real test comes.
_Me_. What did you think of _my_ performance?
_Cer_. Ah, Menippus, you were the exception; you are a credit to the
breed, and so was Diogenes before you. You two came in without any
compulsion or pushing, of your own free will, with a laugh for
yourselves and a curse for the rest.
F.
XXII
_Charon. Menippus. Hermes_
_Ch_. Your fare, you rascal.
_Me_. Bawl away, Charon, if it gives you any pleasure.
_Ch_. I brought you across: give me my fare.
_Me_. I can't, if I haven't got it.
_Ch_. And who is so poor that he has not got a penny?
_Me_. I for one; I don't know who else.
_Ch_. Pay: or, by Pluto, I'll strangle you.
_Me_. And I'll crack your skull with this stick.
_Ch_. So you are to come all that way for nothing?
_Me_. Let Hermes pay for me: he put me on board.
_Her_. I dare say! A fine time I shall have of it, if I am to pay for
the shades.
_Ch_. I'm not going to let you off.
_Me_. You can haul up your ship and wait, for all I care. If I have
not got the money, I can't pay you, can I?
_Ch_. You knew you ought to bring it?
_Me_. I knew that: but I hadn't got it. What would you have? I ought
not to have died, I suppose?
_Ch_. So you are to have the distinction of being the only passenger
that ever crossed gratis?
_Me_. Oh, come now: gratis! I took an oar, and I baled; and I didn't
cry, which is more than can be said for any of the others.
_Ch_. That's neither here nor there. I must have my penny; it's only
right.
_Me_. Well, you had better take me back again to life.
_Ch_. Yes, and get a thrashing from Aeacus for my pains! I like that.
_Me_. Well, don't bother me.
_Ch_. Let me see what you have got in that wallet.
_Me_. Beans: have some? --and a Hecate's supper.
_Ch_. Where did you pick up this Cynic, Hermes? The noise he made on
the crossing, too! laughing and jeering at all the rest, and singing,
when every one else was at his lamentations.
_Her_. Ah, Charon, you little know your passenger! Independence, every
inch of him: he cares for no one. 'Tis Menippus.
_Ch_. Wait till I catch you---
_Me_. Precisely; I'll wait--till you catch me again.
F.
XXIII
_Protesilaus. Pluto. Persephone_
_Pro_. Lord, King, our Zeus! and thou, daughter of Demeter! Grant a
lover's boon!
_Pl_. What do you want? who are you?
_Pro_. Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, of Phylace, one of the Achaean
host, the first that died at Troy. And the boon I ask is release and
one day's life.
_Pl_. Ah, friend, that is the love that all these dead men love, and
none shall ever win.
_Pro_. Nay, dread lord, 'tis not life I love, but the bride that I
left new wedded in my chamber that day I sailed away--ah me, to be
slain by Hector as my foot touched land! My lord, that yearning gives
me no peace. I return content, if she might look on me but for an
hour.
_Pl_. Did you miss your dose of Lethe, man?
_Pro_. Nay, lord; but this prevailed against it.
_Pl_. Oh, well, wait a little; she will come to you one day; it is so
simple; no need for you to be going up.
_Pro_. My heart is sick with hope deferred; thou too, O Pluto, hast
loved; thou knowest what love is.
_Pl_. What good will it do you to come to life for a day, and then
renew your pains?
_Pro_. I think to win her to come with me, and bring two dead for one.
_Pl_. It may not be; it never has been.
_Pro_. Bethink thee, Pluto. 'Twas for this same cause that ye gave
Orpheus his Eurydice; and Heracles had interest enough to be granted
Alcestis; she was of my kin.
_Pl_. Would you like to present that bare ugly skull to your fair
bride? will she admit you, when she cannot tell you from another man?
I know well enough; she will be frightened and run from you, and you
will have gone all that way for nothing.
_Per_. Husband, doctor that disease yourself: tell Hermes, as soon as
Protesilaus reaches the light, to touch him with his wand, and make
him young and fair as when he left the bridal chamber.
_Pl_. Well, I cannot refuse a lady. Hermes, take him up and turn him
into a bridegroom. But mind, you sir, a strictly temporary one.
H.
