No More Learning

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.




XXIV

_Diogenes. Mausolus_


_Diog_. Why so proud, Carian? How are you better than the rest of us?

_Man_. Sinopean, to begin with, I was a king; king of all Caria, ruler
of many Lydians, subduer of islands, conqueror of well-nigh the whole
of Ionia, even to the borders of Miletus. Further, I was comely, and
of noble stature, and a mighty warrior. Finally, a vast tomb lies over
me in Halicarnassus, of such dimensions, of such exquisite beauty as
no other shade can boast. Thereon are the perfect semblances of man
and horse, carved in the fairest marble; scarcely may a temple be
found to match it. These are the grounds of my pride: are they
inadequate?

_Diog_. Kingship--beauty--heavy tomb; is that it?

_Mau_. It is as you say.

_Diog_. But, my handsome Mausolus, the power and the beauty are no
longer there. If we were to appoint an umpire now on the question of
comeliness, I see no reason why he should prefer your skull to mine.
Both are bald, and bare of flesh; our teeth are equally in evidence;
each of us has lost his eyes, and each is snub-nosed. Then as to the
tomb and the costly marbles, I dare say such a fine erection gives the
Halicarnassians something to brag about and show off to strangers: but
I don't see, friend, that you are the better for it, unless it is that
you claim to carry more weight than the rest of us, with all that
marble on the top of you.

_Mau_. Then all is to go for nothing? Mausolus and Diogenes are to
rank as equals?

_Diog_. Equals! My dear sir, no; I don't say that. While Mausolus is
groaning over the memories of earth, and the felicity which he
supposed to be his, Diogenes will be chuckling. While Mausolus boasts
of the tomb raised to him by Artemisia, his wife and sister, Diogenes
knows not whether he has a tomb or no--the question never having
occurred to him; he knows only that his name is on the tongues of the
wise, as one who lived the life of a man; a higher monument than
yours, vile Carian slave, and set on firmer foundations.

F.




XXV

_Nireus. Thersites. Menippus_


_Ni_. Here we are; Menippus shall award the palm of beauty. Menippus,
am I not better-looking than he?

_Me_. Well, who are you? I must know that first, mustn't I?

_Ni_. Nireus and Thersites.

_Me_. Which is which? I cannot tell that yet.

_Ther_. One to me; I am like you; you have no such superiority as
Homer (blind, by the way) gave you when he called you the handsomest
of men; he might peak my head and thin my hair, our judge finds me
none the worse. Now, Menippus, make up your mind which is handsomer.

_Ni_. I, of course, I, the son of Aglaia and Charopus,

Comeliest of all that came 'neath Trojan walls.

_Me_. But not comeliest of all that come 'neath the earth, as far as I
know. Your bones are much like other people's; and the only difference
between your two skulls is that yours would not take much to stove it
in. It is a tender article, something short of masculine.

_Ni_. Ask Homer what I was, when I sailed with the Achaeans.

_Me_. Dreams, dreams. I am looking at what you are; what you were is
ancient history.

_Ni_. Am I not handsomer here, Menippus?

_Me_. You are not handsome at all, nor any one else either. Hades is a
democracy; one man is as good as another here.

_Ther_. And a very tolerable arrangement too, if you ask me.

H.




XXVI

_Menippus. Chiron_


_Me_. I have heard that you were a god, Chiron, and that you died of
your own choice?

_Chi_. You were rightly informed. I am dead, as you see, and might
have been immortal.

_Me_. And what should possess you, to be in love with Death? He has no
charm for most people.

_Chi_. You are a sensible fellow; I will tell you. There was no
further satisfaction to be had from immortality.

_Me_. Was it not a pleasure merely to live and see the light?

_Chi_. No; it is variety, as I take it, and not monotony, that
constitutes pleasure. Living on and on, everything always the same;
sun, light, food, spring, summer, autumn, winter, one thing following
another in unending sequence,--I sickened of it all. I found that
enjoyment lay not in continual possession; that deprivation had its
share therein.

_Me_. Very true, Chiron. And how have you got on since you made Hades
your home?

_Chi_. Not unpleasantly. I like the truly republican equality that
prevails; and as to whether one is in light or darkness, that makes no
difference at all. Then again there is no hunger or thirst here; one
is independent of such things.

_Me_. Take care, Chiron! You may be caught in the snare of your own
reasonings.

_Chi_. How should that be?

_Me_. Why, if the monotony of the other world brought on satiety, the
monotony here may do the same. You will have to look about for a
further change, and I fancy there is no third life procurable.

_Chi_. Then what is to be done, Menippus?

_Me_. Take things as you find them, I suppose, like a sensible fellow,
and make the best of everything.

F.




XXVII

_Diogenes. Antisthenes. Crates_


_Diog_. Now, friends, we have plenty of time; what say you to a
stroll? we might go to the entrance and have a look at the new-comers
--what they are and how they behave.

_Ant_. The very thing. It will be an amusing sight--some weeping, some
imploring to be let go, some resisting; when Hermes collars them, they
will stick their heels in and throw their weight back; and all to no
purpose.

_Cra_. Very well; and meanwhile, let me give you my experiences on the
way down.

_Diog_. Yes, go on, Crates; I dare say you saw some entertaining
sights.

_Cra_. We were a large party, of which the most distinguished were
Ismenodorus, a rich townsman of ours, Arsaces, ruler of Media, and
Oroetes the Armenian. Ismenodorus had been murdered by robbers going
to Eleusis over Cithaeron, I believe. He was moaning, nursing his
wound, apostrophizing the young children he had left, and cursing his
foolhardiness. He knew Cithaeron and the Eleutherae district were all
devastated by the wars, and yet he must take only two servants with
him--with five bowls and four cups of solid gold in his baggage, too.
Arsaces was an old man of rather imposing aspect; he expressed his
feelings in true barbaric fashion, was exceedingly angry at being
expected to walk, and kept calling for his horse. In point of fact it
had died with him, it and he having been simultaneously transfixed by
a Thracian pikeman in the fight with the Cappadocians on the Araxes.
Arsaces described to us how he had charged far in advance of his men,
and the Thracian, standing his ground and sheltering himself with his
buckler, warded off the lance, and then, planting his pike, transfixed
man and horse together.

_Ant_. How could it possibly be done simultaneously?

_Cra_. Oh, quite simple. The Median was charging with his thirty-foot
lance in front of him; the Thracian knocked it aside with his buckler;
the point glanced by; then he knelt, received the charge on his pike,
pierced the horse's chest--the spirited beast impaling itself by its
own impetus--, and finally ran Arsaces through groin and buttock. You
see what happened; it was the horse's doing rather than the man's.
However, Arsaces did not at all appreciate equality, and wanted to
come down on horseback. As for Oroetes, he was so tender-footed that
he could not stand, far less walk. That is the way with all the Medes
--once they are off their horses, they go delicately on tiptoe as if
they were treading on thorns. He threw himself down, and there he lay;
nothing would induce him to get up; so the excellent Hermes had to
pick him up and carry him to the ferry; how I laughed!

_Ant_. When _I_ came down, I did not keep with the crowd; I left them
to their blubberings, ran on to the ferry, and secured a comfortable
seat for the passage. Then as we crossed, they were divided between
tears and sea-sickness, and gave me a merry time of it.

_Diog_. You two have described your fellow passengers; now for mine.
There came down with me Blepsias, the Pisatan usurer, Lampis, an
Acarnanian freelance, and the Corinthian millionaire Damis. The last
had been poisoned by his son, Lampis had cut his throat for love of
the courtesan Myrtium, and the wretched Blepsias is supposed to have
died of starvation; his awful pallor and extreme emaciation looked
like it. I inquired into the manner of their deaths, though I knew
very well. When Damis exclaimed upon his son, 'You only have your
deserts,' I remarked,--'an old man of ninety living in luxury yourself
with your million of money, and fobbing off your eighteen-year son
with a few pence! As for you, sir Acarnanian'--he was groaning and
cursing Myrtium--, 'why put the blame on Love? it belongs to yourself;
you were never afraid of an enemy--took all sorts of risks in other
people's service--and then let yourself be caught, my hero, by the
artificial tears and sighs of the first wench you came across. '
Blepsias uttered his own condemnation, without giving me time to do it
for him: he had hoarded his money for heirs who were nothing to him,
and been fool enough to reckon on immortality. I assure you it was no
common satisfaction I derived from their whinings.

But here we are at the gate; we must keep our eyes open, and get the
earliest view. Lord, lord, what a mixed crowd! and all in tears except
these babes and sucklings. Why, the hoary seniors are all lamentation
too; strange!