Dialogues of the Dead (27.2-28.3)

True enough. Well, I wish I could catch Eros here.

I will answer you in defence of Eros. He will say that he may have been the cause of the love of Paris, but that you, Protesilaus, were the sole cause of your own death; for, when your fleet was approaching the land of Troy, you forgot your new-wed wife, and made that mad adventurous leap ashore before any of the others; you were in love with glory, and because of her were the first to die at the landing of the army.

Then, Aeacus, I shall retort with an even stronger argument in my defence; the responsibility lies not with me, but with Fate and the way the thread was spun from the start.

Quite right; why, then, blame the present company?

O master and king, and Zeus of our world, and you, daughter of Demeter, scorn not a lover’s prayer.

What do you ask of us? Who are you?

I am Protesilaus, son of Iphiclus, from Phylace, one who served with the Achaean army, and first man to die at Troy. I beg to be released and restored to life for a little.

That’s a love that’s common to all the dead, but will come to pass for none of them.

My love, Aidoneus, is not for life, but for my wife, whom, while still but newly wed, I left in her bower and sailed away; and then, by evil fortune, I was slain by Hector, while I was landing; and so my love for my wife is eating my heart out, my lord; could I be restored to her sight even for a short while, I would gladly return here again.

Have you not drunk, Protesilaus, from the waters of Lethe?

Deeply have I drunk, my lord, but my affliction was too strong.

Then be patient; in time, she will join you here; you won’t have to go up there.

I can’t bear to wait, Pluto. You’ve been in love yourself, before now, Pluto, and know what it’s like.

What good will it do you to return to life for a single day, if shortly afterwards you must bewail the same misfortune?

I think I’ll be able to persuade her to follow me here, so that soon you’ll have two of us dead instead of one.

All this would be wrong, and has never happened before.

Let me refresh your memory, Pluto. You gave up Eurydice to Orpheus for this very reason, and sent back my kinswoman, Alcestis, [*] 1 as a favour to Heracles.

Do you want that fair bride of yours to see you as you are now—a bare unsightly skull? What sort of a welcome will she give you, if she can’t even recognise you? She’ll be frightened, I’m sure, and run away from you, and you’ll find your long journey up to earth to have been a waste of time.

Then, dear husband, you must put matters right, and instruct Hermes to touch Protesilaus with his wand the moment he’s in the light, and make him the handsome youth he was when he left the bridal chamber.

Well, Hermes, since Persephone agrees, take him up and make him into a bridegroom again. And you, sir, remember you’ve only been given one day.