Dialogi mortuorum

Lucian of Samosata

The Works of Lucian of Samosata, complete, with exceptions specified in thepreface, Vol. 1. Fowler, H. W. and Fowlere, F.G., translators. Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1905.

Diogenes You two have described your fellow passengers; now for mine. There came down with me Blepsias, the Pisatan usurer, Lampis, an Acarnanian freelance, and the Corinthian millionaire Damis, The last had been poisoned by his son, Lampis had cut his throat for love of the courtesan Myrtium, and the wretched Blepsias is supposed to have died of starvation; his awful pallor and extreme emaciation looked like it. I inquired into the manner of their deaths, though I knew very

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well. When Damis exclaimed upon his son, ‘You only have your deserts,’ I remarked,—‘an old man of ninety living in luxury yourself with your million of money, and fobbing off your eighteen-year son with a few pence! As for you, sir Acarnanian’—he was groaning and cursing Myrtium—, ‘why put the blame on Love? it belongs to yourself; you were never afraid of an enemy—took all sorts of risks in other people’s service—and then let yourself be caught, my hero, by the artificial tears and sighs of the first wench you came across.’ Blepsias uttered his own condemnation, without giving me time to do it for him: he had hoarded his money for heirs who were nothing to him, and been fool enough to reckon on immortality. I assure you it was no common satisfaction I derived from their whinings.

But here we are at the gate; we must keep our eyes open, and get the earliest view. Lord, lord, what a mixed crowd! and all in tears except these babes and sucklings. Why, the hoary seniors are all lamentation too; strange! has madam Life given them a love-potion?

I must interrogate this most reverend senior of them all.—Sir, why weep, seeing that you have died full of years? has your excellency any complaint to make, after so long a term? Ah, but you were doubtless a king.

Pauper Not so.

Diogenes A provincial governor, then?

Pauper No, nor that.

Diogenes I see; you were wealthy, and do not like leaving your boundless luxury to die.

Pauper You are quite mistaken; I was near ninety, made a miserable livelihood out of my line and rod, was excessively poor, childless, a cripple, and had nearly lost my sight.

Diogenes And you still wished to live?

Pauper Ay, sweet is the light, and dread is death; would that one might escape it!

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Diogenes You are beside yourself, old man; you are like a child kicking at the pricks, you contemporary of the ferryman. Well, we need wonder no more at youth, when age is still in love with life; one would have thought it should court death as the cure for its proper ills. —And now let us go our way, before our loitering here brings suspicion on us; they may think we are planning an escape.