It is splendid, Zeus, that you actually urge me to frankness; that is a truly royal, high-souled action. Therefore I shall give the name. It is this peerless Dionysus, who is half human; in fact, on his mother’s side he is not even Greek, but the grandson of a Syrophoenician trader named Cadmus. Inasmuch as he has been honoured with immortality, I say nothing of the man himself—either of his hood or of his drunkenness or of his gait; for you all, I think, see that he is womanish and unmanly in his character, half crazy, with strong drink on his breath from the beginning of the day. But he has foisted upon us a whole clan; he presents himself at the head of his rout, and has made gods out of Pan and Silenus and the Satyrs, regular farm-hands and goat-herds, most of them—capering fellows with queer shapes. One of them has horns and looks like a goat from the waist down, and wears a long beard, so that he is not much different from a goat. Another is a baldpated gaffer with a flat nose who usually rides on a donkey. He is a Lydian. The Satyrs are prickeared, and they too are bald, with horns like those that bud on new-born kids; they are Phrygians, and they all have tails. D’ye see what sort of gods he is making for us, the bounder?

And then we wonder that men despise us when they see such laughable and portentous deities! I omit to mention that he has also brought up two women, one his sweetheart Ariadne, whose very head-band he has admitted into the starry choir, and the other the daughter of Icarius the farmer!

Erigone; her dog Maera guided her to the spot where Icarius lay buried. He had been slain by drunken shepherds to whom he had given wine that Dionysus Thad taught him how to make. After her suicide Erigone became Virgo, and Maera, it would seem from Lucian’s xuvidiov, Procyon (Canis Minor). No doubt it is Momus’ indignation about the dog that accounts for his failure to mention Icarius’ introduction into the heavens as Bootes.

And what is most ridiculous of all, Gods, even Erigone’s dog—that too he has brought up, so that the little maid shall not be distressed if she cannot have in heaven her pet, darling doggie! Does not all this look to you like insolence, impudence, and mockery? But let me tell you about others.

Say nothing, Momus, about either Asclepius or Heracles, for I see where you are heading in your speech. As far as they are concerned, one of them is a doctor who cures people of their illnesses and is “as good as a host in himself,”

Iliad, XI, 514, alluding to Machaon.

whilst Heracles, though my own son, purchased his immortality at the cost of many labours; so do not denounce them.

I shall hold my tongue, Zeus, for your sake, although I have plenty to say. Indeed, if there were nothing else, they still carry the marks of fire!

Heracles cremated himself, and Asclepius was struck by lightning. Cf. p. 6, n. 1.

And if it were permissible to employ free speech about yourself, I should have plenty to say. I assure you, about me it is quite permissible. But you are not prosecuting me as an alien, are you?

Well, in Crete not only that may be heard, but they tell another story about you and show people atomb. However, I put no faith either in them or in the Achaeans of Aegium, who assert that you are a changeling.

Zeus was not only born in Crete, but buried there, in more than one place. His critics in Lucian several times refer to this fact (Timon, 4; Zeus Rants, 45). Lucian very likely means the place that was pointed out to R. Pashley in 1834 as the tomb of Zeus, on Mt. Juktas; see A. J. Cook’s Zeus, I, 157-163. The Achaean version of the birth of Zeus which made him out a changeling is not mentioned elsewhere, but plenty of places gave him other fathers than Cronus, which amounts to the same thing.