Now I think of it, it _would_ be a
satisfaction
if Charoeades
were to die before him.
were to die before him.
Lucian
Oh, but if I say anything against their wisdom, they will call
me an ignorant blockhead.
_Diog_. Then tell them from me to go to the devil.
_Pol_. Very well; rely upon me.
_Diog_. And then, my most obliging of Polluxes, there is this for the
rich:--O vain fools, why hoard gold? why all these pains over interest
sums and the adding of hundred to hundred, when you must shortly come
to us with nothing beyond the dead-penny?
_Pol_. They shall have their message too.
_Diog_. Ah, and a word to the handsome and strong; Megillus of
Corinth, and Damoxenus the wrestler will do. Inform them that auburn
locks, eyes bright or black, rosy cheeks, are as little in fashion
here as tense muscles or mighty shoulders; man and man are as like as
two peas, tell them, when it comes to bare skull and no beauty.
_Pol_. That is to the handsome and strong; yes, I can manage that.
_Diog_. Yes, my Spartan, and here is for the poor. There are a great
many of them, very sorry for themselves and resentful of their
helplessness. Tell them to dry their tears and cease their cries;
explain to them that here one man is as good as another, and they will
find those who were rich on earth no better than themselves. As for
your Spartans, you will not mind scolding them, from me, upon their
present degeneracy?
_Pol_. No, no, Diogenes; leave Sparta alone; that is going too far;
your other commissions I will execute.
_Diog_. Oh, well, let them off, if you care about it; but tell all the
others what I said.
H.
II
_Before Pluto: Croesus, Midas, and Sardanapalus v. Menippus_
_Cr_. Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our
neighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we
are going to migrate.
_Pl_. Why, what harm does he do to your ghostly community?
_Cr_. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry
over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be
laughing at us, and calling us rude names; 'slaves' and 'garbage,' he
says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out. --In short, he
is a nuisance.
_Pl_. Menippus, what's this I hear?
_Me_. All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not
content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on
talking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days.
I take a positive pleasure in annoying them.
_Pl_. Yes, but you mustn't. They have had terrible losses; they feel
it deeply.
_Me_. Pluto! you are not going to lend _your_ countenance to these
whimpering fools?
_Pl_. It isn't that: but I won't have you quarrelling.
_Me_. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no
misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there
shall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down.
_Cr_. Presumption!
_Me_. Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected
men to fall down before you, when you trampled on men's liberty, and
forgot there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and
gnashing of teeth: for all is lost!
_Cr_. Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps--
_Mid_. My gold--
_Sar_. My little comforts--
_Me_. That's right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I'll chime in
with a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments.
F.
III
_Menippus. Amphilochus. Trophonius_
_Me_. Now I wonder how it is that you two dead men have been honoured
with temples and taken for prophets; those silly mortals imagine you
are Gods.
_Amp_. How can we help it, if they are fools enough to have such
fancies about the dead?
_Me_. Ah, they would never have had them, though, if you had not been
charlatans in your lifetime, and pretended to know the future and be
able to foretell it to your clients.
_Tro_. Well, Menippus, Amphilochus can take his own line, if he likes;
as for me, I _am_ a Hero, and _do_ give oracles to any one who comes
down to me. It is pretty clear you were never at Lebadea, or you would
not be so incredulous.
_Me_. What do you mean? I must go to Lebadea, swaddle myself up in
absurd linen, take a cake in my hand, and crawl through a narrow
passage into a cave, before I could tell that you are a dead man, with
nothing but knavery to differentiate you from the rest of us? Now, on
your seer-ship, what _is_ a Hero? I am sure _I_ don't know.
_Tro_. He is half God, and half man.
_Me_. So what is neither man (as you imply) nor God, is both at once?
Well, at present what has become of your diviner half?
_Tro_. He gives oracles in Boeotia.
_Me_. What you may mean is quite beyond me; the one thing I know for
certain is that you are dead--the whole of you.
H.
IV
_Hermes. Charon_
_Her_. Ferryman, what do you say to settling up accounts? It will
prevent any unpleasantness later on.
_Ch_. Very good. It does save trouble to get these things
straight.
_Her_. One anchor, to your order, five shillings.
_Ch_. That is a lot of money.
_Her_. So help me Pluto, it is what I had to pay. One rowlock-strap,
fourpence.
_Ch_. Five and four; put that down.
_Her_. Then there was a needle, for mending the sail; ten-pence.
_Ch_. Down with it.
_Her_. Caulking-wax; nails; and cord for the brace. Two shillings the
lot.
_Ch_. They were worth the money.
_Her_. That's all; unless I have forgotten anything. When will you pay
it?
_Ch_. I can't just now, Hermes; we shall have a war or a plague
presently, and then the passengers will come shoaling in, and I shall
be able to make a little by jobbing the fares.
_Her_. So for the present I have nothing to do but sit down, and pray
for the worst, as my only chance of getting paid?
_Ch_. There is nothing else for it;--very little business doing just
now, as you see, owing to the peace.
_Her_. That is just as well, though it does keep me waiting for my
money. After all, though, Charon, in old days men were men; you
remember the state they used to come down in,--all blood and wounds
generally. Nowadays, a man is poisoned by his slave or his wife; or
gets dropsy from overfeeding; a pale, spiritless lot, nothing like the
men of old. Most of them seem to meet their end in some plot that has
money for its object.
_Ch_. Ah; money is in great request.
_Her_. Yes; you can't blame me if I am somewhat urgent for payment.
F.
V
_Pluto. Hermes_
_Pl_. You know that old, old fellow, Eucrates the millionaire--no
children, but a few thousand would-be heirs?
_Her_. Yes--lives at Sicyon. Well?
_Pl_. Well, Hermes, he is ninety now; let him live as much longer,
please; I should like it to be more still, if possible; and bring me
down his toadies one by one, that young Charinus, Damon, and the rest
of them.
_Her_. It would seem so strange, wouldn't it?
_Pl_. On the contrary, it would be ideal justice. What business have
they to pray for his death, or pretend to his money? they are no
relations. The most abominable thing about it is that they vary these
prayers with every public attention; when he is ill, every one knows
what they are after, and yet they vow offerings if he recovers; talk
of versatility! So let him be immortal, and bring them away before him
with their mouths still open for the fruit that never drops.
_Her_. Well, they _are_ rascals, and it would be a comic ending. He
leads them a pretty life too, on hope gruel; he always looks more dead
than alive, but he is tougher than a young man. They have divided up
the inheritance among them, and feed on imaginary bliss.
_Pl_. Just so; now he is to throw off his years like Iolaus, and
rejuvenate, while they in the middle of their hopes find themselves
here with their dream-wealth left behind them. Nothing like making the
punishment fit the crime.
_Her_. Say no more, Pluto; I will fetch you them one after another;
seven of them, is it?
_Pl_. Down with them; and he shall change from an old man to a
blooming youth, and attend their funerals.
H.
VI
_Terpsion. Pluto_
_Ter_. Now is this fair, Pluto,--that I should die at the age of
thirty, and that old Thucritus go on living past ninety?
_Pl_. Nothing could be fairer. Thucritus lives and is in no hurry for
his neighbours to die; whereas you always had some design against him;
you were waiting to step into his shoes.
_Ter_. Well, an old man like that is past getting any enjoyment out of
his money; he ought to die, and make room for younger men.
_Pl_. This is a novel principle: the man who can no longer derive
pleasure from his money is to die! --Fate and Nature have ordered it
otherwise.
_Ter_. Then they have ordered it wrongly. There ought to be a proper
sequence according to seniority. Things are turned upside down, if an
old man is to go on living with only three teeth in his head, half
blind, tottering about with a pair of slaves on each side to hold him
up, drivelling and rheumy-eyed, having no joy of life, a living tomb,
the derision of his juniors,--and young men are to die in the prime of
their strength and beauty. 'Tis contrary to nature. At any rate the
young men have a right to know when the old are going to die, so that
they may not throw away their attentions on them for nothing, as is
sometimes the case. The present arrangement is a putting of the cart
before the horse.
_Pl_. There is a great deal more sound sense in it than you suppose,
Terpsion. Besides, what right have you young fellows got to be prying
after other men's goods, and thrusting yourselves upon your childless
elders? You look rather foolish, when you get buried first; it tickles
people immensely; the more fervent your prayers for the death of your
aged friend, the greater is the general exultation when you precede
him. It has become quite a profession lately, this amorous devotion to
old men and women,--childless, of course; children destroy the
illusion. By the way though, some of the beloved objects see through
your dirty motives well enough by now; they have children, but they
pretend to hate them, and so have lovers all the same. When their
wills come to be read, their faithful bodyguard is not included:
nature asserts itself, the children get their rights, and the lovers
realize, with gnashings of teeth, that they have been taken in.
_Ter_. Too true! The luxuries that Thucritus has enjoyed at my
expense! He always looked as if he were at the point of death. I never
went to see him, but he would groan and squeak like a chicken barely
out of the shell: I considered that he might step into his coffin at
any moment, and heaped gift upon gift, for fear of being outdone in
generosity by my rivals; I passed anxious, sleepless nights, reckoning
and arranging all; 'twas this, the sleeplessness and the anxiety, that
brought me to my death. And he swallows my bait whole, and attends my
funeral chuckling.
_Pl_. Well done, Thucritus! Long may you live to enjoy your wealth,--
and your joke at the youngsters' expense; many a toady may you send
hither before your own time comes!
_Ter_.
Now I think of it, it _would_ be a satisfaction if Charoeades
were to die before him.
_Pl_. Charoeades! My dear Terpsion, Phido, Melanthus,--every one of
them will be here before Thucritus,--all victims of this same anxiety!
_Ter_. That is as it should be. Hold on, Thucritus!
F.
VII
_Zenophantus. Callidemides_
_Ze_. Ah, Callidemides, and how did _you_ come by your end? As for me,
I was free of Dinias's table, and there died of a surfeit; but that is
stale news; you were there, of course.
_Cal_. Yes, I was. Now there was an element of surprise about _my_
fate. I suppose you know that old Ptoeodorus?
_Ze_. The rich man with no children, to whom you gave most of your
company?
_Cal_. That is the man; he had promised to leave me his heir, and I
used to show my appreciation. However, it went on such a time;
Tithonus was a juvenile to him; so I found a short cut to my property.
I bought a potion, and agreed with the butler that next time his
master called for wine (he is a pretty stiff drinker) he should have
this ready in a cup and present it; and I was pledged to reward the
man with his freedom.
_Ze_. And what happened? this is interesting.
_Cal_. When we came from bath, the young fellow had two cups ready,
one with the poison for Ptoeodorus, and the other for me; but by some
blunder he handed me the poisoned cup, and Ptoeodorus the plain; and
behold, before he had done drinking, there was I sprawling on the
ground, a vicarious corpse! Why are you laughing so, Zenophantus? I am
your friend; such mirth is unseemly.
_Ze_. Well, it was such a humorous exit. And how did the old man
behave?
_Cal_. He was dreadfully distressed for the moment; then he saw, I
suppose, and laughed as much as you over the butler's trick.
_Ze_. Ah, short cuts are no better for you than for other people, you
see; the high road would have been safer, if not quite so quick.
H.
VIII
_Cnemon. Damnippus_
_Cne_. Why, 'tis the proverb fulfilled! The fawn hath taken the lion.
_Dam_. What's the matter, Cnemon?
_Cne_. The matter! I have been fooled, miserably fooled. I have passed
over all whom I should have liked to make my heirs, and left my money
to the wrong man.
_Dam_. How was that?
_Cne_. I had been speculating on the death of Hermolaus, the
millionaire. He had no children, and my attentions had been well
received by him. I thought it would be a good idea to let him know
that I had made my will in his favour, on the chance of its exciting
his emulation.
_Dam_. Yes; and Hermolaus?
_Cne_. What _his_ will was, I don't know. I died suddenly,--the roof
came down about my ears; and now Hermolaus is my heir. The pike has
swallowed hook and bait.
_Dam_. And your anglership into the bargain. The pit that you digged
for other. . . .
_Cue_. That's about the truth of the matter, confound it.
F.
IX
_Simylus. Polystratus_
_Si_. So here you are at last, Polystratus; you must be something very
like a centenarian.
_Pol_. Ninety-eight.
_Si_. And what sort of a life have you had of it, these thirty years?
you were about seventy when I died.
_Pol_. Delightful, though you may find it hard to believe.
_Si_. It is surprising that you could have any joy of your life--old,
weak, and childless, moreover.
_Pol_. In the first place, I could do just what I liked; there were
still plenty of handsome boys and dainty women; perfumes were sweet,
wine kept its bouquet, Sicilian feasts were nothing to mine.
_Si_. This _is_ a change, to be sure; you were very economical in my
day.
_Pol_. Ah, but, my simple friend, these good things were presents--
came in streams. From dawn my doors were thronged with visitors, and
in the day it was a procession of the fairest gifts of earth.
_Si_. Why, you must have seized the crown after my death.
_Pol_. Oh no, it was only that I inspired a number of tender passions.
_Si_. Tender passions, indeed! what, you, an old man with hardly a
tooth left in your head!
_Pol_. Certainly; the first of our townsmen were in love with me. Such
as you see me, old, bald, blear-eyed, rheumy, they delighted to do me
honour; happy was the man on whom my glance rested a moment.
_Si_. Well, then, you had some adventure like Phaon's, when he rowed
Aphrodite across from Chios; your God granted your prayer and made you
young and fair and lovely again.
_Pol_. No, no; I was as you see me, and I was the object of all
desire.
_Si_. Oh, I give it up.
_Pol_. Why, I should have thought you knew the violent passion for old
men who have plenty of money and no children.
_Si_. Ah, now I comprehend your beauty, old fellow; it was the
_Golden_ Aphrodite bestowed it.
_Pol_. I assure you, Simylus, I had a good deal of satisfaction out of
my lovers; they idolized me, almost. Often I would be coy and shut
some of them out. Such rivalries! such jealous emulations!
_Si_. And how did you dispose of your fortune in the end?
_Pol_. I gave each an express promise to make him my heir; he
believed, and treated me to more attentions than ever; meanwhile I had
another genuine will, which was the one I left, with a message to them
all to go hang.
_Si_. Who was the heir by this one? one of your relations, I suppose.
_Pol_. Not likely; it was a handsome young Phrygian I had lately
bought.
_Si_. Age?
_Pol_. About twenty.
_Si_. Ah, I can guess his office.
_Pol_. Well, you know, he deserved the inheritance much better than
they did; he was a barbarian and a rascal; but by this time he has the
best of society at his beck. So he inherited; and now he is one of the
aristocracy; his smooth chin and his foreign accent are no bars to his
being called nobler than Codrus, handsomer than Nireus, wiser than
Odysseus.
_Si_. Well, _I_ don't mind; let him be Emperor of Greece, if he likes,
so long as he keeps the property away from that other crew.
H.
X
_Charon. Hermes. Various Shades_
_Ch_. I'll tell you how things stand. Our craft, as you see, is small,
and leaky, and three-parts rotten; a single lurch, and she will
capsize without more ado. And here are all you passengers, each with
his luggage. If you come on board like that, I am afraid you may have
cause to repent it; especially those who have not learnt to swim.
_Her_. Then how are we to make a trip of it?
_Ch_. I'll tell you. They must leave all this nonsense behind them on
shore, and come aboard in their skins. As it is, there will be no room
to spare. And in future, Hermes, mind you admit no one till he has
cleared himself of encumbrances, as I say. Stand by the gangway, and
keep an eye on them, and make them strip before you let them pass.
_Her_. Very good. Well, Number One, who are you?
_Men_. Menippus. Here are my wallet and staff; overboard with them. I
had the sense not to bring my cloak.
_Her_. Pass on, Menippus; you're a good fellow; you shall have the
seat of honour, up by the pilot, where you can see every one. --Here is
a handsome person; who is he?
_Char_. Charmoleos of Megara; the irresistible, whose kiss was worth a
thousand pounds.
_Her_. That beauty must come off,--lips, kisses, and all; the flowing
locks, the blushing cheeks, the skin entire. That's right. Now we're
in better trim;--you may pass on. --And who is the stunning gentleman
in the purple and the diadem?
_Lam_. I am Lampichus, tyrant of Gela.
_Her_. And what is all this splendour doing here, Lampichus?
_Lam_. How! would you have a tyrant come hither stripped?
_Her_. A tyrant! That would be too much to expect. But with a shade we
must insist. Off with these things.
_Lam_. There, then: away goes my wealth.
_Her_. Pomp must go too, and pride; we shall be overfreighted else.
_Lam_. At least let me keep my diadem and robes.
_Her_. No, no; off they come!
_Lam_. Well? That is all, as you see for yourself.
_Her_. There is something more yet: cruelty, folly, insolence, hatred.
_Lam_. There then: I am bare.
_Her_. Pass on. --And who may you be, my bulky friend?
_Dam_. Damasias the athlete.
_Her_. To be sure; many is the time I have seen you in the gymnasium.
_Dam_. You have.
me an ignorant blockhead.
_Diog_. Then tell them from me to go to the devil.
_Pol_. Very well; rely upon me.
_Diog_. And then, my most obliging of Polluxes, there is this for the
rich:--O vain fools, why hoard gold? why all these pains over interest
sums and the adding of hundred to hundred, when you must shortly come
to us with nothing beyond the dead-penny?
_Pol_. They shall have their message too.
_Diog_. Ah, and a word to the handsome and strong; Megillus of
Corinth, and Damoxenus the wrestler will do. Inform them that auburn
locks, eyes bright or black, rosy cheeks, are as little in fashion
here as tense muscles or mighty shoulders; man and man are as like as
two peas, tell them, when it comes to bare skull and no beauty.
_Pol_. That is to the handsome and strong; yes, I can manage that.
_Diog_. Yes, my Spartan, and here is for the poor. There are a great
many of them, very sorry for themselves and resentful of their
helplessness. Tell them to dry their tears and cease their cries;
explain to them that here one man is as good as another, and they will
find those who were rich on earth no better than themselves. As for
your Spartans, you will not mind scolding them, from me, upon their
present degeneracy?
_Pol_. No, no, Diogenes; leave Sparta alone; that is going too far;
your other commissions I will execute.
_Diog_. Oh, well, let them off, if you care about it; but tell all the
others what I said.
H.
II
_Before Pluto: Croesus, Midas, and Sardanapalus v. Menippus_
_Cr_. Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our
neighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we
are going to migrate.
_Pl_. Why, what harm does he do to your ghostly community?
_Cr_. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry
over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be
laughing at us, and calling us rude names; 'slaves' and 'garbage,' he
says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out. --In short, he
is a nuisance.
_Pl_. Menippus, what's this I hear?
_Me_. All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not
content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on
talking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days.
I take a positive pleasure in annoying them.
_Pl_. Yes, but you mustn't. They have had terrible losses; they feel
it deeply.
_Me_. Pluto! you are not going to lend _your_ countenance to these
whimpering fools?
_Pl_. It isn't that: but I won't have you quarrelling.
_Me_. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no
misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there
shall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down.
_Cr_. Presumption!
_Me_. Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected
men to fall down before you, when you trampled on men's liberty, and
forgot there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and
gnashing of teeth: for all is lost!
_Cr_. Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps--
_Mid_. My gold--
_Sar_. My little comforts--
_Me_. That's right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I'll chime in
with a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments.
F.
III
_Menippus. Amphilochus. Trophonius_
_Me_. Now I wonder how it is that you two dead men have been honoured
with temples and taken for prophets; those silly mortals imagine you
are Gods.
_Amp_. How can we help it, if they are fools enough to have such
fancies about the dead?
_Me_. Ah, they would never have had them, though, if you had not been
charlatans in your lifetime, and pretended to know the future and be
able to foretell it to your clients.
_Tro_. Well, Menippus, Amphilochus can take his own line, if he likes;
as for me, I _am_ a Hero, and _do_ give oracles to any one who comes
down to me. It is pretty clear you were never at Lebadea, or you would
not be so incredulous.
_Me_. What do you mean? I must go to Lebadea, swaddle myself up in
absurd linen, take a cake in my hand, and crawl through a narrow
passage into a cave, before I could tell that you are a dead man, with
nothing but knavery to differentiate you from the rest of us? Now, on
your seer-ship, what _is_ a Hero? I am sure _I_ don't know.
_Tro_. He is half God, and half man.
_Me_. So what is neither man (as you imply) nor God, is both at once?
Well, at present what has become of your diviner half?
_Tro_. He gives oracles in Boeotia.
_Me_. What you may mean is quite beyond me; the one thing I know for
certain is that you are dead--the whole of you.
H.
IV
_Hermes. Charon_
_Her_. Ferryman, what do you say to settling up accounts? It will
prevent any unpleasantness later on.
_Ch_. Very good. It does save trouble to get these things
straight.
_Her_. One anchor, to your order, five shillings.
_Ch_. That is a lot of money.
_Her_. So help me Pluto, it is what I had to pay. One rowlock-strap,
fourpence.
_Ch_. Five and four; put that down.
_Her_. Then there was a needle, for mending the sail; ten-pence.
_Ch_. Down with it.
_Her_. Caulking-wax; nails; and cord for the brace. Two shillings the
lot.
_Ch_. They were worth the money.
_Her_. That's all; unless I have forgotten anything. When will you pay
it?
_Ch_. I can't just now, Hermes; we shall have a war or a plague
presently, and then the passengers will come shoaling in, and I shall
be able to make a little by jobbing the fares.
_Her_. So for the present I have nothing to do but sit down, and pray
for the worst, as my only chance of getting paid?
_Ch_. There is nothing else for it;--very little business doing just
now, as you see, owing to the peace.
_Her_. That is just as well, though it does keep me waiting for my
money. After all, though, Charon, in old days men were men; you
remember the state they used to come down in,--all blood and wounds
generally. Nowadays, a man is poisoned by his slave or his wife; or
gets dropsy from overfeeding; a pale, spiritless lot, nothing like the
men of old. Most of them seem to meet their end in some plot that has
money for its object.
_Ch_. Ah; money is in great request.
_Her_. Yes; you can't blame me if I am somewhat urgent for payment.
F.
V
_Pluto. Hermes_
_Pl_. You know that old, old fellow, Eucrates the millionaire--no
children, but a few thousand would-be heirs?
_Her_. Yes--lives at Sicyon. Well?
_Pl_. Well, Hermes, he is ninety now; let him live as much longer,
please; I should like it to be more still, if possible; and bring me
down his toadies one by one, that young Charinus, Damon, and the rest
of them.
_Her_. It would seem so strange, wouldn't it?
_Pl_. On the contrary, it would be ideal justice. What business have
they to pray for his death, or pretend to his money? they are no
relations. The most abominable thing about it is that they vary these
prayers with every public attention; when he is ill, every one knows
what they are after, and yet they vow offerings if he recovers; talk
of versatility! So let him be immortal, and bring them away before him
with their mouths still open for the fruit that never drops.
_Her_. Well, they _are_ rascals, and it would be a comic ending. He
leads them a pretty life too, on hope gruel; he always looks more dead
than alive, but he is tougher than a young man. They have divided up
the inheritance among them, and feed on imaginary bliss.
_Pl_. Just so; now he is to throw off his years like Iolaus, and
rejuvenate, while they in the middle of their hopes find themselves
here with their dream-wealth left behind them. Nothing like making the
punishment fit the crime.
_Her_. Say no more, Pluto; I will fetch you them one after another;
seven of them, is it?
_Pl_. Down with them; and he shall change from an old man to a
blooming youth, and attend their funerals.
H.
VI
_Terpsion. Pluto_
_Ter_. Now is this fair, Pluto,--that I should die at the age of
thirty, and that old Thucritus go on living past ninety?
_Pl_. Nothing could be fairer. Thucritus lives and is in no hurry for
his neighbours to die; whereas you always had some design against him;
you were waiting to step into his shoes.
_Ter_. Well, an old man like that is past getting any enjoyment out of
his money; he ought to die, and make room for younger men.
_Pl_. This is a novel principle: the man who can no longer derive
pleasure from his money is to die! --Fate and Nature have ordered it
otherwise.
_Ter_. Then they have ordered it wrongly. There ought to be a proper
sequence according to seniority. Things are turned upside down, if an
old man is to go on living with only three teeth in his head, half
blind, tottering about with a pair of slaves on each side to hold him
up, drivelling and rheumy-eyed, having no joy of life, a living tomb,
the derision of his juniors,--and young men are to die in the prime of
their strength and beauty. 'Tis contrary to nature. At any rate the
young men have a right to know when the old are going to die, so that
they may not throw away their attentions on them for nothing, as is
sometimes the case. The present arrangement is a putting of the cart
before the horse.
_Pl_. There is a great deal more sound sense in it than you suppose,
Terpsion. Besides, what right have you young fellows got to be prying
after other men's goods, and thrusting yourselves upon your childless
elders? You look rather foolish, when you get buried first; it tickles
people immensely; the more fervent your prayers for the death of your
aged friend, the greater is the general exultation when you precede
him. It has become quite a profession lately, this amorous devotion to
old men and women,--childless, of course; children destroy the
illusion. By the way though, some of the beloved objects see through
your dirty motives well enough by now; they have children, but they
pretend to hate them, and so have lovers all the same. When their
wills come to be read, their faithful bodyguard is not included:
nature asserts itself, the children get their rights, and the lovers
realize, with gnashings of teeth, that they have been taken in.
_Ter_. Too true! The luxuries that Thucritus has enjoyed at my
expense! He always looked as if he were at the point of death. I never
went to see him, but he would groan and squeak like a chicken barely
out of the shell: I considered that he might step into his coffin at
any moment, and heaped gift upon gift, for fear of being outdone in
generosity by my rivals; I passed anxious, sleepless nights, reckoning
and arranging all; 'twas this, the sleeplessness and the anxiety, that
brought me to my death. And he swallows my bait whole, and attends my
funeral chuckling.
_Pl_. Well done, Thucritus! Long may you live to enjoy your wealth,--
and your joke at the youngsters' expense; many a toady may you send
hither before your own time comes!
_Ter_.
Now I think of it, it _would_ be a satisfaction if Charoeades
were to die before him.
_Pl_. Charoeades! My dear Terpsion, Phido, Melanthus,--every one of
them will be here before Thucritus,--all victims of this same anxiety!
_Ter_. That is as it should be. Hold on, Thucritus!
F.
VII
_Zenophantus. Callidemides_
_Ze_. Ah, Callidemides, and how did _you_ come by your end? As for me,
I was free of Dinias's table, and there died of a surfeit; but that is
stale news; you were there, of course.
_Cal_. Yes, I was. Now there was an element of surprise about _my_
fate. I suppose you know that old Ptoeodorus?
_Ze_. The rich man with no children, to whom you gave most of your
company?
_Cal_. That is the man; he had promised to leave me his heir, and I
used to show my appreciation. However, it went on such a time;
Tithonus was a juvenile to him; so I found a short cut to my property.
I bought a potion, and agreed with the butler that next time his
master called for wine (he is a pretty stiff drinker) he should have
this ready in a cup and present it; and I was pledged to reward the
man with his freedom.
_Ze_. And what happened? this is interesting.
_Cal_. When we came from bath, the young fellow had two cups ready,
one with the poison for Ptoeodorus, and the other for me; but by some
blunder he handed me the poisoned cup, and Ptoeodorus the plain; and
behold, before he had done drinking, there was I sprawling on the
ground, a vicarious corpse! Why are you laughing so, Zenophantus? I am
your friend; such mirth is unseemly.
_Ze_. Well, it was such a humorous exit. And how did the old man
behave?
_Cal_. He was dreadfully distressed for the moment; then he saw, I
suppose, and laughed as much as you over the butler's trick.
_Ze_. Ah, short cuts are no better for you than for other people, you
see; the high road would have been safer, if not quite so quick.
H.
VIII
_Cnemon. Damnippus_
_Cne_. Why, 'tis the proverb fulfilled! The fawn hath taken the lion.
_Dam_. What's the matter, Cnemon?
_Cne_. The matter! I have been fooled, miserably fooled. I have passed
over all whom I should have liked to make my heirs, and left my money
to the wrong man.
_Dam_. How was that?
_Cne_. I had been speculating on the death of Hermolaus, the
millionaire. He had no children, and my attentions had been well
received by him. I thought it would be a good idea to let him know
that I had made my will in his favour, on the chance of its exciting
his emulation.
_Dam_. Yes; and Hermolaus?
_Cne_. What _his_ will was, I don't know. I died suddenly,--the roof
came down about my ears; and now Hermolaus is my heir. The pike has
swallowed hook and bait.
_Dam_. And your anglership into the bargain. The pit that you digged
for other. . . .
_Cue_. That's about the truth of the matter, confound it.
F.
IX
_Simylus. Polystratus_
_Si_. So here you are at last, Polystratus; you must be something very
like a centenarian.
_Pol_. Ninety-eight.
_Si_. And what sort of a life have you had of it, these thirty years?
you were about seventy when I died.
_Pol_. Delightful, though you may find it hard to believe.
_Si_. It is surprising that you could have any joy of your life--old,
weak, and childless, moreover.
_Pol_. In the first place, I could do just what I liked; there were
still plenty of handsome boys and dainty women; perfumes were sweet,
wine kept its bouquet, Sicilian feasts were nothing to mine.
_Si_. This _is_ a change, to be sure; you were very economical in my
day.
_Pol_. Ah, but, my simple friend, these good things were presents--
came in streams. From dawn my doors were thronged with visitors, and
in the day it was a procession of the fairest gifts of earth.
_Si_. Why, you must have seized the crown after my death.
_Pol_. Oh no, it was only that I inspired a number of tender passions.
_Si_. Tender passions, indeed! what, you, an old man with hardly a
tooth left in your head!
_Pol_. Certainly; the first of our townsmen were in love with me. Such
as you see me, old, bald, blear-eyed, rheumy, they delighted to do me
honour; happy was the man on whom my glance rested a moment.
_Si_. Well, then, you had some adventure like Phaon's, when he rowed
Aphrodite across from Chios; your God granted your prayer and made you
young and fair and lovely again.
_Pol_. No, no; I was as you see me, and I was the object of all
desire.
_Si_. Oh, I give it up.
_Pol_. Why, I should have thought you knew the violent passion for old
men who have plenty of money and no children.
_Si_. Ah, now I comprehend your beauty, old fellow; it was the
_Golden_ Aphrodite bestowed it.
_Pol_. I assure you, Simylus, I had a good deal of satisfaction out of
my lovers; they idolized me, almost. Often I would be coy and shut
some of them out. Such rivalries! such jealous emulations!
_Si_. And how did you dispose of your fortune in the end?
_Pol_. I gave each an express promise to make him my heir; he
believed, and treated me to more attentions than ever; meanwhile I had
another genuine will, which was the one I left, with a message to them
all to go hang.
_Si_. Who was the heir by this one? one of your relations, I suppose.
_Pol_. Not likely; it was a handsome young Phrygian I had lately
bought.
_Si_. Age?
_Pol_. About twenty.
_Si_. Ah, I can guess his office.
_Pol_. Well, you know, he deserved the inheritance much better than
they did; he was a barbarian and a rascal; but by this time he has the
best of society at his beck. So he inherited; and now he is one of the
aristocracy; his smooth chin and his foreign accent are no bars to his
being called nobler than Codrus, handsomer than Nireus, wiser than
Odysseus.
_Si_. Well, _I_ don't mind; let him be Emperor of Greece, if he likes,
so long as he keeps the property away from that other crew.
H.
X
_Charon. Hermes. Various Shades_
_Ch_. I'll tell you how things stand. Our craft, as you see, is small,
and leaky, and three-parts rotten; a single lurch, and she will
capsize without more ado. And here are all you passengers, each with
his luggage. If you come on board like that, I am afraid you may have
cause to repent it; especially those who have not learnt to swim.
_Her_. Then how are we to make a trip of it?
_Ch_. I'll tell you. They must leave all this nonsense behind them on
shore, and come aboard in their skins. As it is, there will be no room
to spare. And in future, Hermes, mind you admit no one till he has
cleared himself of encumbrances, as I say. Stand by the gangway, and
keep an eye on them, and make them strip before you let them pass.
_Her_. Very good. Well, Number One, who are you?
_Men_. Menippus. Here are my wallet and staff; overboard with them. I
had the sense not to bring my cloak.
_Her_. Pass on, Menippus; you're a good fellow; you shall have the
seat of honour, up by the pilot, where you can see every one. --Here is
a handsome person; who is he?
_Char_. Charmoleos of Megara; the irresistible, whose kiss was worth a
thousand pounds.
_Her_. That beauty must come off,--lips, kisses, and all; the flowing
locks, the blushing cheeks, the skin entire. That's right. Now we're
in better trim;--you may pass on. --And who is the stunning gentleman
in the purple and the diadem?
_Lam_. I am Lampichus, tyrant of Gela.
_Her_. And what is all this splendour doing here, Lampichus?
_Lam_. How! would you have a tyrant come hither stripped?
_Her_. A tyrant! That would be too much to expect. But with a shade we
must insist. Off with these things.
_Lam_. There, then: away goes my wealth.
_Her_. Pomp must go too, and pride; we shall be overfreighted else.
_Lam_. At least let me keep my diadem and robes.
_Her_. No, no; off they come!
_Lam_. Well? That is all, as you see for yourself.
_Her_. There is something more yet: cruelty, folly, insolence, hatred.
_Lam_. There then: I am bare.
_Her_. Pass on. --And who may you be, my bulky friend?
_Dam_. Damasias the athlete.
_Her_. To be sure; many is the time I have seen you in the gymnasium.
_Dam_. You have.
