Dialogues of the Dead (22.7-23.1)

DIOGENES

So such, my friends, were your companions on the journey; for my part, I came down with Blepsias, the money-lender from the Piraeus, Lampis, the free-lance officer from Acarnania, and Damis, the rich man from Corinth. Damis had been poisoned by his son, Lampis had committed suicide out of

love for Myrtium, the courtesan, while Blepsias, poor fellow, was said to have starved to death, and you could see quite clearly that he was pale in the extreme and completely wasted away. I knew how they died, but I asked just the same. Then, when Damis railed at his son, I said to him, “But your treatment at his hands was quite just, if you, who had a thousand talents in all, and lived a life of pleasure at ninety, wouldn’t allow your eighteen-year-old son any more than fourpence. And you, the gentleman from Acarnania” (for he was groaning too, and cursing Myrtium) “why do you blame Love instead of yourself as you should? Though you never showed fear in the face of the enemy, but would always court danger and fight in front of the others, yet, for all your courage, you admitted defeat to a quite ordinary wench with her artificial tears and lamentations.” As for Blepsias, he was the first to accuse himself of great folly in hoarding his money for heirs who were unrelated, thinking in his folly that he would live for ever. But they afforded me uncommon pleasure by their lamentations on that occasion.

DIOGENES

But here we are at the entrance. We must look out and watch the distance for the first appearance of the newcomers. Hullo! What a crowd! What an assortment! And all crying except for those children and infants! Yes, even the oldest among them are in tears. Why such behaviour? Does Life hold them in her spell through a love-potion?

DIOGENES

I’d like to put a question to this hoary old fellow. Why do you weep at having died at your age? Why, good sir, are you so annoyed, though you’ve come here only in old age? Were you a king?

BEGGAR

By no means.

DIOGENES

A satrap?

BEGGAR

Not that either.

DIOGENES

Were you rich, then, and grieve at having left great luxury by your death?

BEGGAR

Nothing of the kind. I was about ninety years old, I got a poor living by rod and line, I was utterly penniless, had no children, and besides all that, was lame and half blind.

DIOGENES

And in spite of your condition you still wanted to live?

BEGGAR

Yes, for the light was sweet to me, and death was a frightening thing and to be avoided.

DIOGENES

You’re out of your mind, old fellow, and acting just like a boy, with such timidity in the face of the inevitable, though you’re as old as our ferryman. Why should we talk any more about the young, when men as old as you are such lovers of life, men who ought to be eager for death as a cure for the evils of old age? But let’s be off now, or we may be suspected of plotting our escape, if we’re seen crowding round the entrance.

AGAMEMNON

If you went mad, Ajax, and killed only yourself, instead of all of us as you had intended, why do you blame Odysseus? Why wouldn’t you look at him the other day, when he came to consult the prophet, [*] or even deign to speak to your fellow-soldier and comrade, but went striding past him with your head in the air?

AJAX

And quite right, too, Agamemnon. He was personally to blame for my madness, by being my only rival for the arms. [*]

AGAMEMNON

Did you expect to be unopposed and to overcome us all without a struggle?

AJAX

Yes, under the circumstances. The armour belonged to me by natural right, as it was my cousin’s, and the rest of you, though far superior to him, wouldn’t compete, but left the prize for me; the son of Laertes, however, whom I’d often saved when in danger of being cut to pieces by the Phrygians, claimed he was my superior and more deserving of the arms.