Dialogues of the Dead (20.8-20.11)

But here’s an august personage, to judge by his appearance, and a proud man. Who can he be, with his haughty eyebrows, thoughtful mien, and bushy beard?

A Philosopher, Hermes, or rather an impostor, full of talk of marvels. Strip him too, and you’ll see many amusing things covered up under his cloak.

You there, off first with your clothes, and then with all this here. Ye gods, what hypocrisy he carries, what ignorance, contentiousness, vanity, unanswerable puzzles, thorny argumentations, and complicated conceptions—yes, and plenty of wasted effort, and no little nonsense, and idle talk, and splitting of hairs, and, good heavens, here’s gold too, and soft living, shamelessness, temper, luxury, and effeminacy! I can see them, however much you try to hide them. Away with your falsehood too, and your pride, and notions of your superiority over the rest of men. If you came on board with all these, not even a battleship would be big enough for you.

Then I take them off, since these are your orders.

But he ought to take off that beard as well, Hermes; it’s heavy and shaggy, as you can see. He has at least five pounds of hair there.

Well spoken. Off with that too.

Who will be my barber?

Menippus here will take a shipwright’s axe and cut it off; he can use the gangway as his block.

No, Hermes, pass me up a saw. That’ll be better fun.

The axe will do well enough. That’s fine. You look more human, now that you’ve lost that goat’s beard of yours.

Shall I take a little off his eyebrows as well?

By all means; he has them rising high over his forehead, as he strains after something or other. What’s this? Crying, you scum? Afraid to face death? Get in with you.

He still has the heaviest thing of all under his arm.

What, Menippus?

Flattery, Hermes, which was often most useful to him in life.

What about you then, Menippus? Off with your independence, plain speaking, cheerfulness, noble bearing, and laughter. You’re the only one that laughs.

Do nothing of the sort, but keep them, Menippus; they’re light and easy to carry, and useful for the

But you, Rhetorician, throw away your endless loquacity, your antitheses, balanced clauses, periods, foreign phrases, and everything else that makes your speeches so heavy.

Look, away they go.

Good. Loose the hawsers, then, let’s pull in the gangway, raise anchor and spread the sail, and you, Charon, take the rudder and see to the steering, and good luck to us.

Why are you groaning like that, you fools, and you, in particular, the Philosopher just despoiled of the beard?

Because, Hermes, I thought my soul was immortal.

He’s lying; something else seems to be grieving him.

What?

That he’ll have no more expensive dinners, or go out at night, unknown to all, with his cloak wrapped over his head, and go the round of the brothels, and never again take money next morning for cheating the young men with his show of wisdom. That’s what grieves him.

Aren’t you sorry to die yourself, Menippus?

How so, when I was eager for death [*] and needed no invitation?