Dialogues of the Dead

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 494 sections

23.1.3
Did you expect to be unopposed and to overcome us all without a struggle?
23.1.4
Yes, under the circumstances. The armour belonged to me by natural right, as it was my cousin’s, and the rest of you, though far superior to him, wouldn’t compete, but left the prize for me; the son of Laertes, however, whom I’d often saved when in danger of being cut to pieces by the Phrygians, claimed he was my superior and more deserving of the arms.
23.2.1
Blame Thetis, then, my good man. She ought to have left you the arms as a legacy to a kinsman, but she brought them and delivered them up to the community.
23.2.2
No, Odysseus is to blame, as the only one to make a rival claim.
23.2.3
There’s some excuse for him, Ajax, as he’s only a man, and was eager for glory, the sweetest thing of all, the thing for which each of us faced danger, especially as he was judged your better—and, what’s more, by Trojans.
23.2.4
I know who voted against me, but it’s not right to discuss the gods. However, as far as Odysseus is concerned, I couldn’t stop myself from hating him, even if Athena herself ordered me to do so.
24.1.1
Let this pirate, Sostratus, be cast into Pyriphlegethon, the temple-robber be torn apart by Chimera, and the tyrant he stretched alongside Tityus, Hermes, and have his liver too torn by the vultures; but you good ones go off with all speed to the Elysian Fields, and live in the Isles of the Blest, as a reward for your just dealings in life.
24.1.2
Listen, Minos, and see if what I say is just.
24.1.3
Listen again now? Haven’t you already been found guilty of wickedness, Sostratus, and of committing all these murders?
24.1.4
I admit I have, but consider whether it will be just for me to be punished.
24.1.5
Of course it will, if it is just to pay the proper penalty.
24.1.6
But answer me this, Minos. My question will be a short one.
24.1.7
Speak on, then, only be brief, so that we can settle the other cases at once.
24.2.1
Were my actions in life carried out by me of my own will, or already spun for me by Fate?
24.2.2
Already spun by Fate, of course.
24.2.3
Then all of us, whether we are thought good or bad, acted as we did as the servants of Fate?
24.2.4
Yes, as servants of Clotho, who has ordained for each of us at birth what he must do.
24.2.5
If, then, a man is forced by another man to kill, and is unable to gainsay the compulsion he brings to bear, if, for instance, he is a public executioner, or a mercenary, obeying, in one case, a judge, and, in the other, a tyrant, whom will you hold responsible for the killing?
24.2.6
Clearly the judge or the tyrant, since the actual sword can’t be blamed; for it merely serves as a tool to serve the passion of the person who is responsible in the first instance.
24.2.7
Many thanks, Minos, for your generous elaboration of my example. And, if some one brings with his own hands gold or silver sent by his master, whom must we thank and record as the benefactor?
24.2.8
The sender, Sostratus; the bringer was merely a servant.
24.3.1
Don’t you see then how wrong it is for you to punish us, who have been the servants of the commands of Clotho, and to have shown honour to those who ministered to the good deeds of others? No one can say that it was possible for us to gainsay ordinances that are all-compelling.
24.3.2
These are not the only illogicalities you could find, Sostratus, by examining things carefully. However, you shall have your reward for your persistent questions, as I can see you’re not merely a pirate but also something of a master in the art of argument. Set him free, Hermes, and have his punishment stopped. But take care, fellow, that you don’t teach the other shades to ask questions like that.
25.1.1
I should be preferred to you, Libyan; I’m the better man.
25.1.2
No, I should.
25.1.3
Let Minos decide, then.
25.1.4
Who are you?
25.1.5
This is Hannibal of Carthage, and I am Alexander, son of Philip.
25.1.6
Both famous indeed. But what are you disputing?
25.1.7
The first place. He says he was a better General than I was, but I say, as is known to all, that in the arts of war I was superior not only to him, but to pretty well every one who went before me.
25.1.8
Then let each of you speak in turn; you start, Libyan.
25.2.1
I’ve one thing to be thankful for, Minos, for, while I’ve been here, I’ve added Greek to my other accomplishments; he won’t, as a result, have the advantage of me even in that. I maintain that those are most deserving of praise who began from nothing, and yet advanced to greatness by their own efforts, by winning power for themselves and being thought worthy of command. Thus it was that I, setting out for Spain with a few followers, served at first as my brother’s lieutenant, and then was thought worthy of the highest command, because I was judged to be the best man, and conquered the Celtiberians, mastered the Gauls of the West, crossed the mighty mountains, overran the whole Po Valley, devastated all those cities, subdued the plains of Italy, reached the outskirts of the greatest city of all, and killed so many in one day, that I measured their rings by the bushel, and bridged rivers with the dead. Moreover, I did all this without being called the son of Ammon, or pretending to be a god, or recounting dreams of my mother, but I admitted I was a man, I matched myself against the most accomplished Generals, and locked myself in battle with the finest of soldiers. My opponents were no Medes or Armenians who flee before they are pursued and yield immediate victory to anyone who shows a bold front.
25.3.1
But Alexander inherited his kingdom from his father, and was helped in enlarging it and extending it so far by the impetus of fortune. In any case, when he was victorious, and had defeated that contemptible Darius at Issus and Arbela, he renounced the traditions of his fathers; he demanded the worship of men; he changed over to the Median way of life; at his banquets he murdered his friends or arrested them to have them killed. But I led my country as her equal, and, when she sent for me, after the enemy had invaded Africa with a great force, I promptly obeyed, gave myself up as a private citizen, and, when tried and condemned, accepted it without rancour. All this did I do, although I was a barbarian without the advantage of a Greek education, and unable to declaim Homer like him. I had no education under Professor Aristotle, but relied solely on my natural gifts. These are the things in which I claim to excel Alexander. If he is more handsome because he wore a diadem on his head—well, perhaps Macedonians respect such things, but he cannot be thought better for that reason than a noble and skilful General who depended more on his own intellect than on fortune.
25.3.2
This is no mean speech that he’s made on his own behalf, and not at all what one would have expected from a Libyan. What have you to say to this, Alexander?
25.4.1
A man so impudent, Minos, deserves no answer. Common report suffices to show you what a king I was and what a brigand he was. But consider whether I was not greatly superior to him. I was still young when I came to power, put an end to the disorders of my kingdom, and punished my father’s murderers. Then I struck fear into Hellas by the destruction of the Thebans, and was elected her leader, but I was not content to govern Macedonia, and rule only the domain left to me by my father, but, thinking in terms of the whole world, and considering it a disgrace not to conquer it all, I invaded Asia with a few men, was victorious in a great battle at the Granicus, took over Lydia, and, subduing Ionia, Phrygia, and, in short, whatever lay before me, reached Issus, where Darius awaited me at the head of countless thousands of men.
25.5.1
The result you all know, Minos, and the numbers of dead I sent down to you in a single day. The ferryman certainly says that his boat could not cope with them on that occasion, but that the majority of them made their own rafts and crossed over in that way. Moveover, while doing this, I faced danger at the head of my men, and did not object to wounds. Not to speak of what happened at Tyre and Arbela, I marched as far as India, making the Ocean the boundary of my empire. I kept their elephants and overcame Porus; I crossed the Tanais, and defeated the Scythians, formidable foes, in a mighty cavalry battle; I treated my friends well, and wrought vengeance on my enemies. Even if men did think me a god, they had some excuse for such beliefs about me in view of the greatness of my achievements.
25.6.1
Last of all, I died a king, whereas he died an exile, at the court of Prusias of Bithynia—a proper end for so exceedingly wicked and cruel a man. Take for instance his conquests in Italy. I won’t mention that these were achieved not by might, but by knavery and treachery and deceit, but of open legitimate warfare there was nothing at all; but when he reproaches me with luxurious living, I think the distinguished gentleman has forgotten how he behaved in Capua, consorting with loose women, and wasting in debauchery his opportunities for victory in the war. But suppose I hadn’t despised the west, and preferred to march against the east, what great feat would I have accomplished by a bloodless conquest of Italy and the subjection of Libya and everything as far as Gades? But I didn’t think it worth fighting against peoples who were already cowering before me, and ready to admit me their master, I have had my say. Do you, Minos, make you decision. Though I could have said much, this is enough.
25.7.1
Do not do so yet, but hear what I have to say.
25.7.2
Who are you, my good man? Where do you come from, that you wish to speak?
25.7.3
From Italy. I am Scipio, the General who destroyed Carthage, and overcame the Libyans in mighty battle.
25.7.4
Well, what have you to say?
25.7.5
That I am a lesser man than Alexander, but superior to Hannibal, for I drove him before me, after defeating him, and forcing him to flee ignominiously. Is he not shameless, then, in posing as the rival of Alexander, with whom even I, Scipio, the conqueror of Hannibal, do not presume to compare myself?
25.7.6
By heaven, what you say, Scipio, is reasonable! So let Alexander be adjudged first, and after him you, and then, if you don’t mind, Hannibal third, though even he is of no little account.
26.1.1
I was surprised at what you had to say the other day, Achilles, to Odysseus on the subject of death. What ignoble words! What little credit they reflected on both of your teachers, Chiron and Phoenix! I was listening, you know, when you said you would gladly “if but on earth above” be thrall to any man “whose lot is poverty, whose substance small”, rather than be king of all the dead. To speak thus might perhaps have been right for some mean cowardly Phrygian, who loves life regardless of honour, but for the son of Peleus, who surpassed all the heroes in his love of danger, to have such mean ideas for himself is utterly shameful, and opposed to the way you acted in life; for, though you could have had a long and obscure reign in the land of Phthia, you gladly preferred death with glory.
26.2.1
But in those days, son of Nestor, I still had no experience of this place, and, not knowing which existence was preferable, I preferred that miserable empty shadow of glory to life itself; but now I realise that glory is useless, however much men above hymn its praises, that among the dead all have but equal honour, and neither the beauty nor the strength we had remain with us, but we lie buried in the same darkness, all of us quite alike, and no better one than the other, and I am neither feared by the Trojan dead nor respected by the Greeks, but there is complete equality of speech and one dead man is like another, “be he mean or be he great”. That’s why I’m distressed and annoyed at not being a thrall alive on earth.
26.3.1
But what can one do about it, Achilles? Nature has decreed that, come what may, all men must die; we must, therefore, abide by her law, and not be distressed at the way she orders things. In any case you can see such of us, your old companions, as are present here, and assuredly, Odysseus too will join us down here before very long. It’s a comfort that all share in this, and that one doesn’t suffer this alone and by oneself. You can see Heracles and Meleager and other great men, who would, I think, refuse a return to earth, if they were sent up to be thralls to poor men without substance.
26.4.1
You give your advice out of friendship; but somehow I am distressed by my memory of life above, just as I think each of you is. If you won’t admit it, you show yourselves my inferiors, by submitting to it without protest.
26.4.2
No, but your betters, Achilles. We see the uselessness of speaking. We’ve resolved to say nothing, and to bear and endure it all, for fear that we too become a laughing-stock, as you have by indulging in wishes of that sort.
27.1.1
Why do you dash at Helen, and choke her, Protesilaus?
27.1.2
It was because of her that I was killed, Aeacus, and left my house half-built, and my newly-wed wife a widow.
27.1.3
Then blame Menelaus, for taking you to Troy to fight for a woman like that.
27.1.4
Quite right. I should blame him.
27.1.5
Don’t blame me, my good man; it would be fairer to blame Paris. Though I was his host, he carried off my wife with him, contrary to all justice. Paris ought to be strangled, and not by you only, but by all the soldiers on both sides, for bringing death to so many.
27.1.6
A better idea; then you, accursed Paris, are the one I’ll keep forever in my grip.
27.1.7
That would be unjust too, Protesilaus, for I practise the same craft as you; I’m a lover too, and subject to the same god; you know how it’s none of our wishing, but some divine power leads us wherever it chooses, and it’s impossible to resist him.
27.2.1
True enough. Well, I wish I could catch Eros here.
27.2.2
I will answer you in defence of Eros. He will say that he may have been the cause of the love of Paris, but that you, Protesilaus, were the sole cause of your own death; for, when your fleet was approaching the land of Troy, you forgot your new-wed wife, and made that mad adventurous leap ashore before any of the others; you were in love with glory, and because of her were the first to die at the landing of the army.
27.2.3
Then, Aeacus, I shall retort with an even stronger argument in my defence; the responsibility lies not with me, but with Fate and the way the thread was spun from the start.
27.2.4
Quite right; why, then, blame the present company?
28.1.1
O master and king, and Zeus of our world, and you, daughter of Demeter, scorn not a lover’s prayer.
28.1.2
What do you ask of us? Who are you?
28.1.3
I am Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, from Phylace, one who served with the Achaean army, and first man to die at Troy. I beg to be released and restored to life for a little.
28.1.4
That’s a love that’s common to all the dead, but will come to pass for none of them.
28.1.5
My love, Aidoneus, is not for life, but for my wife, whom, while still but newly wed, I left in her bower and sailed away; and then, by evil fortune, I was slain by Hector, while I was landing; and so my love for my wife is eating my heart out, my lord; could I be restored to her sight even for a short while, I would gladly return here again.
28.2.1
Have you not drunk, Protesilaus, from the waters of Lethe?
28.2.2
Deeply have I drunk, my lord, but my affliction was too strong.
28.2.3
Then be patient; in time, she will join you here; you won’t have to go up there.
28.2.4
I can’t bear to wait, Pluto. You’ve been in love yourself, before now, Pluto, and know what it’s like.
28.2.5
What good will it do you to return to life for a single day, if shortly afterwards you must bewail the same misfortune?
28.2.6
I think I’ll be able to persuade her to follow me here, so that soon you’ll have two of us dead instead of one.
28.2.7
All this would be wrong, and has never happened before.
28.3.1
Let me refresh your memory, Pluto. You gave up Eurydice to Orpheus for this very reason, and sent back my kinswoman, Alcestis, 1 as a favour to Heracles.
28.3.2
Do you want that fair bride of yours to see you as you are now—a bare unsightly skull? What sort of a welcome will she give you, if she can’t even recognise you? She’ll be frightened, I’m sure, and run away from you, and you’ll find your long journey up to earth to have been a waste of time.
28.3.3
Then, dear husband, you must put matters right, and instruct Hermes to touch Protesilaus with his wand the moment he’s in the light, and make him the handsome youth he was when he left the bridal chamber.
28.3.4
Well, Hermes, since Persephone agrees, take him up and make him into a bridegroom again. And you, sir, remember you’ve only been given one day.
29.1.1
Why, Carian, are you so proud, and expect to be honoured above all of us?
29.1.2
Firstly, Sinopean, because of my royal position. I was king of all Caria, ruler also of part of Lydia, subdued some islands, too, and advanced as far as Miletus, subjugating most of Ionia. Moreover, I was handsome and tall and mighty in war. But, most important of all, I have lying over me in Halicarnassus a vast memorial, outdoing that of any other of the dead not only in size but also in its finished beauty, with horses and men reproduced most perfectly in the fairest marble, so that it would be difficult to find even a temple like it. Don’t you think I’ve a right to be proud of these things?
29.2.1
Of your royal position, you say, and your beauty, and the weight of your tomb?
29.2.2
Good heavens, yes.
29.2.3
But, my handsome Mausolus, the strength and the beauty you mention aren’t still with you here. If we chose a judge of beauty, I can’t see why your skull should be thought better than mine. Both of them are bald and bare, both of us show our teeth in the same way, and have lost our eyes, and have snub noses now. Perhaps your tomb and all that costly marble may give the people of Halicarnassus something to show off, and they can boast to strangers of the magnificent building they have, but I can’t see what good it is to you, my good fellow, unless you’re claiming that, with all that marble pressing down on you, you have a heavier burden to bear than any of us.
29.3.1
Will all that, then, be of no good to me? Will Mausolus and Diogenes be on an equal footing?
29.3.2
No indeed, your excellency; we shan’t be on an equal footing. Mausolus will groan when he remembers the things on earth above, which he thought brought him happiness, while Diogenes will be able to laugh at him. Mausolus will talk of the tomb erected to him at Halicarnassus by his wife and sister, Artemisia, whereas Diogenes has no idea whether he even has a tomb for his body, for he didn’t care about that, but he has left for the best of those who come after the report that he has lived the life of a man, a life, most servile of Carians, that towers above your memorial, and is built on surer foundations.
30.1.1
Look, here’s Menippus, who will decide which of us is more handsome. Tell us, Menippus, don’t you think I am?
30.1.2
Whoever are you both? I ought to know that first, I suppose.
30.1.3
NIreus and Thersites.
30.1.4
Well, which is NIreus, and which Thersites? That’s still not clear.
30.1.5
That’s already one point in my favour, if I’m like you, and you don’t have the great superiority for which Homer the blind praised you, when he called you the most handsome of them all; I, with my sugarloaf head, and thin hair, seemed just as good-looking as you to Minos; but you, Menippus, take a good look to see which you think more handsome.
30.1.6
Me, son of Charops and Aglaea, “handsomest man of all who came to Troy”.
30.2.1
But not, methinks, the handsomest that has come to the lower world; your bones are no different here, and your skull can only be told from that of Thersites, by its brittleness. Your skull is fragile and unmanly.
30.2.2
But just ask Homer what I was like when I was fighting in the Greek army.
30.2.3
You talk of dreams; I of what I see, and of your present state; your past is only known to the men of that time.
30.2.4
Then, Menippus, I’m not handsomer here than he is?
30.2.5
Neither you nor anyone else is handsome here. In Hades all are equal, and all alike.
30.2.6
That’s good enough for me.

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