“What is there surprising in that?” said Antigonus: “I know a man who came to life more than twenty days after his burial, having attended the fellow both before his death and after he came to life.’ “How was it,” said I, “that in twenty days the body neither corrupted nor simply wasted away from inanition? Unless it was an Epimenides

The Cretan priest who slept for forty years, or thereabouts.

While we were exchanging these words the sons of Eucrates came in upon us from the palaestra, one already of age, the other about fifteen years old, and after greeting us sat down upon the couch beside their father; a chair was brought in forme. Then, as if reminded by the sight of his sons, Eucrates said: “As surely as I hope that these boys will be a joy to me”—and he laid his hand upon them— “what I am about to tell you, Tychiades, is true. Everyone knows how I loved their mother, my wife of blessed memory; I made it plain by what I did for her not only while she was alive but even when she died, for I burned on the pyre with her all the ornaments and the clothing that she liked while she lived. On the seventh day after her death I was lying here on the couch, just as I am now, consoling my grief; for I was peacefully reading Plato’s book about the soul. While I was thus engaged, Demaenete herself in person came in upon me and sat down beside me, just as Eucratides here is sitting now”—with a gesture toward the younger of his sons, who at once shuddered in a very boyish way; he had already been pale for some time over the story. ‘“When I saw her,” Eucrates continued, “I caught her in my arms with a cry of grief and began to weep. She would not permit me to cry, however, but began to find fault with me because, although I had given her everything else, I had not burned one of her gilt sandals, which, she said, was under the chest, where it had been thrown aside. That was why we did not find it and burned only the one. We were continuing our conversation when a cursed toy dog that was under the couch, a Maltese, barked, and she vanished at his barking. The sandal, however, was found under the chest and was burned afterwards.

“Is it right, Tychiades, to doubt these apparitions any longer, when they are distinctly seen and a matter of daily occurrence?” “No, by Heaven,” I said: “those who doubt and are so disrespectful toward truth deserve to be spanked like children, with a gilt sandal!”

At this juncture Arignotus the Pythagorean came in, the man with the long hair and the majestic face—you know the one who is renowned for wisdom, whom they call holy. As I caught sight of him, I drew a breath of relief, thinking: “There now, a broadaxe has come to hand to use against their lies. The wise man will stop their mouths when they tell such prodigious yarns.” I thought that Fortune had trundled him in to me like a deus ex machina, as the phrase is. But when Cleodemus had made room for him and he was seated, he first asked about the illness, and when Eucrates told him ‘that it was already less troublesome, said: “What were you debating among yourselves? As I came in, I overheard you, and it seemed to me that you were on the point of giving a fine turn to the conversation!”

“We are only trying to persuade this man of adamant,” said Eucrates, pointing at me, “to believe that spirits and phantoms exist, and that souls of dead men go about above ground and appear to whomsoever they will.” I flushed and lowered my © eyes out of reverence for Arignotus. ‘“Perhaps, Eucrates,” he said, “Tychiades means that only the ghosts of those who died by violence walk, for example, if a man hanged himself, or had his head cut off, or was crucified, or departed life in some similar way; and that those of men who died a natural death do not. If that is what he means, we cannot altogether reject what he says.” “No, by Heaven,” replied Deinomachus, “he thinks that such things do not exist at all and are not seen in bodily form.”

“What is that you say?” said Arignotus, with a sour look at me. “Do you think that none of these things happen, although everybody, I may say, sees them?’ “Plead in my defence,” said I,“if I do not believe in them, that I am the only one of all who does not see them; if I saw them, I should believe in them, of course, just as you do.” “Come,” said he, “if ever you go to Corinth, ask where the house of Eubatides is, and when it is pointed out to you beside Cornel Grove, enter it and say to the doorman Tibius that you should like to see where the Pythagorean Arignotus exhumed the spirit and drove it away, making the house habitable from that time on.