Cataplus

Megapenthes. Clotho, I had a particular reason for desiring one more glimpse of daylight. I have a burning grievance!

Clotho And what is that? Something of vast importance, I make no doubt.

Megapenthes. It is about my slave Carion. The moment he knew of my death, he came up to the room where I lay; it was late in the evening; he had plenty of time in front of him, for not a soul was watching by me; he brought with him my concubine Glycerium (an old affair, this, E suspect), closed the door, and proceeded to take his pleasure with her, as if no third person had been in the room! Having satisfied the demands of passion, he turned his attention to me. ‘You little villain,’ he cried, ‘many’s the flogging I’ve had from you, for no fault of mine!’ And as he spoke he plucked out my hair and smote me on the face. ‘Away with you,’ he cried finally, spitting on me, ‘away to the place of the damned!’—and so withdrew. I burned with resentment: but there I lay stark and cold, and could do nothing. That baggage Glycerium, too, hearing footsteps approaching, moistened her eyes and pretended she had been weeping for me; and withdrew sobbing, and repeating my name.—If I could but get hold of them——

Clotho Never mind what you would do to them, but come on board. The hour is at hand when you must appear before the tribunal.

Megapenthes. And who will presume to give his vote against a tyrant?

Clotho Against a tyrant, who indeed? Against a Shade, Rhadamanthus will take that liberty. He is strictly impartial, as you will presently observe, in adapting his sentences to the requirements of individual cases. And now, no more delay.

Megapenthes. Dread Fate, let me be some common man,—some

Clotho Where is the one with the stick? Hermes, you and he must drag him up feet foremost. He will never come up by himself.

Hermes Come along, my runagate. Here you are, skipper. And I say, keep an eye——

Charon Never fear. We'll lash him to the mast.

Megapenthes. Look you, I must have the seat of honour.

Clotho And why exactly?

Megapenthes. Can you ask? Was I not a tyrant, with a guard of ten thousand men?

Cynic Oh, dullard! And you complain of Carion’s pulling your hair! Wait till you get a taste of this stick; you shall know what it is to be a tyrant.

Megapenthes. What, shall a Cynic dare to raise his staff against me? Sirrah, have you forgotten the other day, when I had all but nailed you to the cross, for letting that sharp censorious tongue of yours wag too freely?

Cynic Well, and now it is your turn te be nailed,—to the mast.

Micyllus And what of me, mistress? Am I to be left out of the reckoning? Because I am poor, must I be the last to come aboard?

Clotho Who are you?

Micyllus Micyllus the cobbler.

Clotho A cobbler, and cannot wait your turn? Look at the tyrant: see what bribes he offers us, only for a short reprieve. It is very strange that delay is not to your fancy too.

Micyllus It is this way, my lady Fate. I find but cold comfort in that promise of the Cyclops: ‘Outis shall be eaten last,’ said he; but first or last, the same teeth are waiting. And then, it is not the same with me as with the rich. Our lives are what they call ‘diametrically opposed.’ This tyrant, now, was

As for me, I had no stake in life; lands and horses, money and goods, fame, statues,—I had none of them; I could not have been in better trim: it needed but one nod from Atropus,—I was busied about a boot at the time, but down I flung knife and leather with a will, jumped up, and never waited to get my shoes, or wash the blacking from my hands, but joined the procession there and then, ay, and headed it, looking ever forward; I had left nothing behind me that called for a backward glance. And, on my word, things begin to look well already. Equal rights for all, and no man better than his neighbour; that is hugely to my liking. And from what I can learn there is no collecting of debts in this country, and no taxes; better still, no shivering in winter, no sickness, no hard knocks from one’s betters. All is peace. The tables are turned: the laugh is with us poor men; it is the rich that make moan, and are ill at ease.

Clotho To be sure, I noticed that you were laughing, some time ago. What was it in particular that excited your mirth?

Micyllus I'll tell you, best of Goddesses. Being next door to a tyrant up there, I was all eyes for what went on in his house; and he seemed to me neither more nor less than a God. I saw the embroidered purple, the host of courtiers, the gold, the jewelled goblets, the couches with their feet of silver: and I thought, this is happiness. As for the sweet savour that arose when his dinner was getting ready, it was too much for me; such blessedness seemed more than human. And then his proud looks and stately walk and high carriage, striking admiration into all beholders! It seemed almost as if he must be handsomer than other men, and a good eighteen inches taller. But when he was dead, he made a queer figure, with all his finery gone; though I laughed more at myself than at him: there had I been worshipping mere scum on no better authority than the smell of roast meat, and reckoning happiness by the blood of Lacedaemonian sea-snails!

There was Gniphon the usurer, too, bitterly reproaching himself for having died without ever knowing the taste of wealth, leaving all his money to his nearest relation and heir-at-law, the spendthrift Rhodochares, when he might have had the enjoyment of it himself. When I saw him, I laughed as if I should never stop: to think of him as he used to be, pale, wizened, with a face full of care, his fingers the only rich part of him, for they had the talents to count,—scraping the money together bit by bit, and all to be squandered in no time by that favourite of Fortune, Rhodochares!—But what are we waiting for now? There will be time enough on the voyage to enjoy their woebegone faces, and have our laugh out.

Clotho Come on board, and then the ferryman can haul up the anchor.

Charon Now, now! What are you doing here? The boat is full, You wait till to-morrow. We can bring you across in the morning.

Micyllus What right have you to leave me behind,—a shade of twenty-four hours’ standing? I tell you what it is, I shall have you up before Rhadamanthus. A plague on it, she’s moving! And here I shall be left all by myself. Stay, though: why not swim across in their wake? No matter if I get tired; a dead man will scarcely be drowned. Not to mention that I have not a penny to pay my fare.

Clotho Micyllus! Stop! You must not come across that way; Heaven forbid!

Micyllus Ha, ha! I shall get there first, and I shouldn’t wonder.

Clotho This will never do, We must get to him, and pick him up.... Hermes, give him a hand up.

Charon And where is he to sit now he is here?_ We are full up, as you may see,

Hermes What do you say to the tyrant’s shoulders?

Clotho A good idea that.

Charon Up with you then; and make the rascal’s back ache. And now, good luck to our voyage!

Cynic Charon, I may as well tell you the plain truth at once. The penny for my fare is not forthcoming; -I have nothing but my wallet, look, and this stick, But if you want a hand at baling, here I am; or I could take an oar; only give me a good stout one, and you shall have no fault to find with me.

Charon To it, then; and I’ll ask no other payment of you.

Cynic Shall I tip them a stave?

Charon To be sure, if you have a sea-song about you.

Cynic I have several. Look here though, an opposition is starting: a song of lamentation. It will throw me out.

Cynic Oh, my lands, my lands!—Ah, my money, my money!— Farewell, my fine palace!—The thousands that fellow will have to squander!—Ah, my helpless children!—To think of the vines I planted last year! Who, ah who, will pluck the grapes?

Hermes Why, Micyllus, have you never an Oh or an Ah? It is

Micyllus Get along with you. What have I to dowith Ohs and Ahs? I’m enjoying the trip!

Hermes Still, just a groan or two. It’s expected.

Micyllus Well, if I must, here goes.—Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah, Soles, old Soles!—Qh, ancient Boots!—Woe’s me! Never again shall I sit empty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a winter’s day, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl, will be another’s: whose, ah! whose?

Hermes Yes, that will do. We are nearly there.