Voyage To the Lower World (16-20)

Clotho To be sure, I noticed that you were laughing, some time ago. What was it in particular that excited your mirth?

Micyllus I'll tell you, best of Goddesses. Being next door to a tyrant up there, I was all eyes for what went on in his house; and he seemed to me neither more nor less than a God. I saw the embroidered purple, the host of courtiers, the gold, the jewelled goblets, the couches with their feet of silver: and I thought, this is happiness. As for the sweet savour that arose when his dinner was getting ready, it was too much for me; such blessedness seemed more than human. And then his proud looks and stately walk and high carriage, striking admiration into all beholders! It seemed almost as if he must be handsomer than other men, and a good eighteen inches taller. But when he was dead, he made a queer figure, with all his finery gone; though I laughed more at myself than at him: there had I been worshipping mere scum on no better authority than the smell of roast meat, and reckoning happiness by the blood of Lacedaemonian sea-snails!

There was Gniphon the usurer, too, bitterly reproaching himself for having died without ever knowing the taste of wealth, leaving all his money to his nearest relation and heir-at-law, the spendthrift Rhodochares, when he might have had the enjoyment of it himself. When I saw him, I laughed as if I should never stop: to think of him as he used to be, pale, wizened, with a face full of care, his fingers the only rich part of him, for they had the talents to count,—scraping the money together bit by bit, and all to be squandered in no time by that favourite of Fortune, Rhodochares!—But what are we waiting for now? There will be time enough on the voyage to enjoy their woebegone faces, and have our laugh out.

Clotho Come on board, and then the ferryman can haul up the anchor.

Charon Now, now! What are you doing here? The boat is full, You wait till to-morrow. We can bring you across in the morning.

Micyllus What right have you to leave me behind,—a shade of twenty-four hours’ standing? I tell you what it is, I shall have you up before Rhadamanthus. A plague on it, she’s moving! And here I shall be left all by myself. Stay, though: why not swim across in their wake? No matter if I get tired; a dead man will scarcely be drowned. Not to mention that I have not a penny to pay my fare.

Clotho Micyllus! Stop! You must not come across that way; Heaven forbid!

Micyllus Ha, ha! I shall get there first, and I shouldn’t wonder.

Clotho This will never do, We must get to him, and pick him up.... Hermes, give him a hand up.

Charon And where is he to sit now he is here?_ We are full up, as you may see,

Hermes What do you say to the tyrant’s shoulders?

Clotho A good idea that.

Charon Up with you then; and make the rascal’s back ache. And now, good luck to our voyage!

Cynic Charon, I may as well tell you the plain truth at once. The penny for my fare is not forthcoming; -I have nothing but my wallet, look, and this stick, But if you want a hand at baling, here I am; or I could take an oar; only give me a good stout one, and you shall have no fault to find with me.

Charon To it, then; and I’ll ask no other payment of you.

Cynic Shall I tip them a stave?

Charon To be sure, if you have a sea-song about you.

Cynic I have several. Look here though, an opposition is starting: a song of lamentation. It will throw me out.

Cynic Oh, my lands, my lands!—Ah, my money, my money!— Farewell, my fine palace!—The thousands that fellow will have to squander!—Ah, my helpless children!—To think of the vines I planted last year! Who, ah who, will pluck the grapes?

Hermes Why, Micyllus, have you never an Oh or an Ah? It is

Micyllus Get along with you. What have I to dowith Ohs and Ahs? I’m enjoying the trip!

Hermes Still, just a groan or two. It’s expected.

Micyllus Well, if I must, here goes.—Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah, Soles, old Soles!—Qh, ancient Boots!—Woe’s me! Never again shall I sit empty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a winter’s day, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl, will be another’s: whose, ah! whose?

Hermes Yes, that will do. We are nearly there.