Dialogues of the Dead

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 494 sections

1.1.1
My dear Pollux, I have some instructions for you as soon as you go up top. It’s your turn for resurrection to-morrow, I believe. If you see Menippus, the Dog , anywhere (you’ll find him in Corinth at the Craneum or in the Lyceum at Athens, laughing at the Philosophers wrangling with each other), tell him this from me. “Diogenes bids you, Menippus, if you’ve laughed enough at the things on the earth above, come down here, if you want much more to laugh at; for on earth your laughter was fraught with uncertainty, and people often wondered whether anyone at all was quite sure about what follows death, but here you’ll be able to laugh endlessly without any doubts, as I do now—and particularly when you see rich men, satraps and tyrants so humble and insignificant, with nothing to distinguish them but their groans, and see them to be weak and contemptible when they recall their life above.” That’s the message you’ve to give him and one further thing—that he’s to come here with his wallet filled with lots of lupines and any meals dedicated to Hecate he finds at cross-roads, or eggs from sacrifices of purification, or anything of the sort.
1.2.1
I’ll deliver your message, Diogenes. But if I could have precise information about his appearance—
1.2.2
He’s old and bald, with a decrepit cloak full of windows and open to every wind, a motley of flapping rags; he’s always laughing and Generally mocking those hypocritical Philosophers.
1.2.3
If we judge from these details at any rate, he should be easy to find.
1.2.4
May I send a piece of advice to these Philosophers also?
1.2.5
Yes; no difficulty with that either.
1.2.6
Pass on a brief message to them to stop their foolish talk and their bickering about the universe, and making each other grow horns, and composing puzzles about crocodiles, and teaching the human mind to ask such insoluble riddles.
1.2.7
But they say I’m an uneducated ignoramus to cast aspersions on their wisdom.
1.2.8
You tell them from me to go to the devil.
1.2.9
I’ll give this message too, Diogenes.
1.3.1
And take this message to the rich men from us, my dearest Pollux. “Why do you guard your gold, you senseless fools? Why do you punish yourselves, counting interest, and piling talents on talents, when you must come here shortly with no more than a penny?”
1.3.2
They shall have this message too.
1.3.3
Yes, and say to the men who are handsome and strong like Megillus of Corinth and Damoxenus the wrestler, “Here with us are no golden locks or blue eyes or dark eyes, or rosy cheek, no well-strung sinews or sturdy shoulders—all with us, to quote the proverb, is one and the same dust, skulls bereft of good looks.”
1.3.4
Another easy message for me to give—to the handsome and strong.
1.4.1
And tell the poor, my Spartan friend, who are many, displeased with life and pitying themselves for their poverty, not to cry and moan; describe to them our equality here, telling them how they’ll see the rich on earth no better here than they are themselves. And tell your own Spartans off from me, if you will, for having become so slack.
1.4.2
Not a word to me about Spartans, Diogenes; I won’t tolerate that. But I’ll deliver your messages to all the others.
1.4.3
Let’s forget about the Spartans, since that’s your wish, but be sure to give my messages to the people I mentioned earlier on.
2.1.1
Pay the fare, curse you.
2.1.2
Shout away, Charon, if that’s what you prefer.
2.1.3
Pay me, I say, for taking you across.
2.1.4
You can’t get blood out of a stone.
2.1.5
Is there anyone who hasn’t a single penny?
2.1.6
I don’t know about anyone else, but I am without one.
2.1.7
But by Pluto, I’ll throttle you, you blackguard, if you don’t pay.
2.1.8
And I’ll smash your head with a blow from my stick.
2.1.9
Then you’ll have sailed all this long way for nothing.
2.1.10
Hermes delivered me to you; let him pay.
2.2.1
Heaven help me, if I’m going to pay for the dead too.
2.2.2
I won’t leave you alone.
2.2.3
Then you’d better beach your ferry, and stay put; but how will you get what I don’t have?
2.2.4
Didn’t you know you had to bring it with you?
2.2.5
Yes, but I didn’t have it. What of it? Did that make it wrong for me to die?
2.2.6
So you’ll be the only one to boast of a free passage?
2.2.7
Not free, my good fellow; I baled, I helped at the oar, I was the only passenger who wasn’t weeping.
2.2.8
That’s nothing to do with a ferryman; your penny must be paid. No alternative’s allowed.
2.3.1
Then take me back to life.
2.3.2
That’s a bright remark! Do you want me also to get a thrashing from Aeacus for my pains?
2.3.3
Then don’t bother me.
2.3.4
Show me what you have in your bag.
2.3.5
Lupines, if you want some, and a meal meant for Hecate.
2.3.6
Where did you find us this Dog, Hermes? How he chattered on the crossing too, mocking and jeering at all the passengers and singing on his own while they were lamenting!
2.3.7
Don’t you know, my dear Charon, what sort of man you’ve taken across? He is absolutely independent and cares for nobody. This is Menippus.
2.3.8
But if ever I get my hands on you—
2.3.9
If you get your hands on me, my good fellow! But you won’t get them on me a second time.
3.1.1
Pluto, we can’t stand having this Dog, Menippus, for our neighbour. So put him somewhere else, or we’ll move ourselves.
3.1.2
What harm does he do you as a fellow-shade?
3.1.3
Whenever we moan and groan at our memories of life above, Midas recalling his gold, Sardanapalus his great luxury, and I, Croesus, my treasures, he mocks and reviles us, calling us slaves and scum: sometimes he even disturbs our lamentations by singing. In short, he’s a pest.
3.1.4
What’s this they tell me, Menippus?
3.1.5
True enough, Pluto; I hate them; they’re low scoundrels, not content with having led bad lives, but even in death they remember their past and cling to it. That’s why I enjoy tormenting them.
3.1.6
You shouldn’t; they mourn great losses.
3.1.7
Are you a fool too, Pluto? Do you approve of their groanings?
3.1.8
Not at all, but I wouldn’t like you to be quarrelling.
3.2.1
Even so, you lowest of the low from Lydia, Phrygia and Assyria, I’d have you know that I’ll never stop. Wherever you go, I’ll follow, tormenting you with my songs and mockery.
3.2.2
Isn’t this outrageous?
3.2.3
No, the outrageous thing was your behaviour, when you expected people to worship you, treated free men with contempt, and forgot all about death. That’s why you’re going to lament the loss of all those things.
3.2.4
Oh, ye gods, many and great possessions they were!
3.2.5
All my gold!
3.2.6
All my luxury!
3.2.7
Bravo, go on. You keep up your whimperings, and I’ll accompany you with song, with a string of “Know-Thyself” s for my refrain. That’s the proper accompaniment for such lamentations.
4.1.1
My dear Cerberus—I’m a relation, being a Dog myself—I beg you, in the name of the Styx, to tell me what Socrates was like when he came down to you. Seeing that you’re a god, you can be expected not merely to bark, but also to talk like a human when you wish.
4.1.2
When he was at a distance, Menippus, his face seemed completely impassive as he approached, and he appeared to have not the slightest fear of death, and he wanted to impress this on those who stood outside the entrance, but when he had peeped into the chasm, and seen the darkness, and I had bitten him and dragged him by the foot, because he was still slowed down by the hemlock, he shrieked like an infant, and cried for his children and went frantic.
4.2.1
Then the fellow was just a sham, and didn’t really despise his plight?
4.2.2
No, but since he could see it was inescapable, he put on a bold front, pretending he would be glad to accept what was quite inevitable, all to win the admiration of the onlookers. I could Generalise about all such men: as far as the entrance, they are bold and brave, but what comes inside is the real test.
4.2.3
What did you think of me, when I came down?
4.2.4
You alone were a credit to your breed—you and Diogenes before you, because you came in without having to be forced or pushed, but of your own accord, laughing and cursing at everyone.
5.1.1
Tell me, Hermes, where are the beauties of both sexes? Show me round, as I’m a newcomer.
5.1.2
I have no time, Menippus. But just look over there to your right, where you’ll see Hyacinthus, Narcissus, NIreus, Achilles, Tyro, Helen, and Leda, and, in fact, all the beauties of old.
5.1.3
I can only see bones and bare skulls, most of them looking the same.
5.1.4
Yet those are what all the poets admire, those bones which you seem to despise.
5.1.5
But show me Helen. I can’t pick her out myself.
5.1.6
This skull is Helen.
5.1.7
Was it then for this that the thousand ships were manned from all Greece, for this that so many Greeks and barbarians fell, and so many cities were devastated?
5.2.1
Ah, but you never saw the woman alive, Menippus, or you would have said yourself that it was forgivable that they “for such a lady long should suffer woe”. For if one sees flowers that are dried up and faded, they will, of course, appear ugly; but when they are in bloom and have their colour, they are very beautiful.
5.2.2
Well, Hermes, what does surprise me is this: that the Achaeans didn’t know how short-lived a thing they strove for, and how soon it loses its bloom.
5.2.3
I have no time to moralise with you, Menippus. Choose a place to lie down in, wherever you like, and I’ll be off now to fetch the other shades.
6.1.1
I ask you, Aeacus, in the name of Pluto, to conduct me round every thing in Hades.
6.1.2
It’s not easy to do it all, Menippus, but I’ll show you the chief things. This is Cerberus, as you know, and on your way in you’ve already seen the ferryman here who brought you over, and the lake and Pyriphlegethon.
6.1.3
I know all that and that you are the gate-keeper, and I’ve seen the king and the Furies. But show me the men of old, and particularly the famous ones.
6.1.4
This is Agamemnon, and this Achilles, here is Idomeneus close by, and here Odysseus, then come Ajax, Diomede and the finest of the Greeks.
6.2.1
Dear me, Homer, how the central figures of your epics have been cast to the ground and lie unrecognisable and ugly, all so much dust and rubbish, “strengthless heads” in very truth! But who is this, Aeacus?
6.2.2
Cyrus, and this is Croesus, and the one beyond him Sardanapalus, and beyond them Midas, and that one is Xerxes.
6.2.3
Then you, you scum, were the terror of Hellas? You bridged the Hellespont, and wanted to sail through the mountains? And what a sight Croesus is! And, Aeacus, let me slap the face of Sardanapalus.
6.2.4
Don’t, you’re breaking his skull; it’s as weak as a woman’s.
6.2.5
Then at least I’ll have a good spit at him, since he’s as much woman as man.
6.3.1
Would you like me to show you the Philosophers?
6.3.2
Oh yes, please.
6.3.3
Here first you have Pythagoras.
6.3.4
Good day to you, Euphorbus or Apollo, or whatever name you prefer.
6.3.5
And a bad day to you, Menippus.
6.3.6
Don’t you still have your thigh of gold?
6.3.7
No; but let me see if there’s anything to eat in your wallet.
6.3.8
Beans, my good fellow—something you mustn’t eat.
6.3.9
Just give me some. Doctrines are different among the dead; I’ve learnt that beans and parents’ heads are not the same thing here.
6.4.1
This is Solon, the son of Execestides, and that is Thales, and past them is Pittacus, and the others; they are seven in all, as you see.
6.4.2
These are the only happy and cheerful ones, Aeacus. But who is this covered with cinders, like a loaf baked in the ashes, and with such a crop of blisters on his skin?
6.4.3
Empedocles; he came half-boiled from Etna.
6.4.4
O brazen-foot most excellent, what came over you that you jumped into the crater?
6.4.5
A fit of mad depression, Menippus.
6.4.6
No, but a fit of vanity and pride and a dose of drivelling folly; that was what burnt you to ashes, boots and all—and well you deserved it! But the trick didn’t do you any good; they found out that you were dead. But wherever, Aeacus, is Socrates?
6.4.7
Usually he’s talking nonsense with Nestor and Palamedes.

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