Chapter 21

_Mi_. 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 thought happy while he lived; he was feared and respected by all: he had his gold and his silver; his fine clothes and his horses and his banquets; his smart pages and his handsome ladies,—and had to leave them all. No wonder if he was vexed, and felt the tug of parting. For I know not how it is, but these things are like birdlime: a man's soul sticks to them, and will not easily come away; they have grown to be a part of him. Nay, 'tis as if men were bound in some chain that nothing can break; and when by sheer force they are dragged away, they cry out and beg for mercy. They are bold enough for aught else, but show them this same road to Hades, and they prove to be but cowards. They turn about, and must ever be looking back at what they have left behind them, far off though it be,—like men that are sick for love. So it was with the fool yonder: as we came along, he was for running away; and now he tires you with his entreaties. 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.

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

_Mi_. 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.

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

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

_Mi_. 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.

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

_Mi_. Ha, ha! I shall get there first, and I shouldn't wonder.

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

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

_Her_. What do you say to the tyrant's shoulders?

_Clo_. A good idea that.

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

_Cy_. 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.

_Cha_. To it, then; and I'll ask no other payment of you.

_Cy_. Shall I tip them a stave?

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

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

_Sh_. 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?—-

_Her_. Why, Micyllus, have _you_ never an Oh or an Ah? It is quite improper that any shade should cross the stream, and make no moan.

_Mi_. Get along with you. What have I to do with Ohs and Ahs? I'm enjoying the trip!

_Her_. Still, just a groan or two. It's expected.

_Mi_. Well, if I must, here goes.—Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah, Soles, old Soles!—Oh, 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?

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

_Cha_. Wait a bit! Fares first, please. Your fare, Micyllus; every one else has paid; one penny.

_Mi_. You don't expect to get a penny out of the poor cobbler? You're joking, Charon; or else this is what they call a 'castle in the air.' I know not whether your penny is square or round.

_Cha_. A fine paying trip this, I must say! However,—all ashore! I must fetch the horses, cows, dogs, and other livestock. Their turn comes now.

_Clo_. You can take charge of them for the rest of the way, Hermes. I am crossing again to see after the Chinamen, Indopatres and Heramithres. They have been fighting about boundaries, and have killed one another by this time.

_Her_. Come, shades, let us get on;—follow me, I mean, in single file.

_Mi_. Bless me, how dark it is! Where is handsome Megillus _now_? There would be no telling Simmiche from Phryne. All complexions are alike here, no question of beauty, greater or less. Why, the cloak I thought so shabby before passes muster here as well as royal purple; the darkness hides both alike. Cyniscus, whereabouts are you?

_Cy_. Use your ears; here I am. We might walk together. What do you say?

_Mi_. Very good; give me your hand.—I suppose you have been admitted to the mysteries at Eleusis? That must have been something like this, I should think?

_Cy_. Pretty much. Look, here comes a torch-bearer; a grim, forbidding dame. A Fury, perhaps?

_Mi_. She looks like it, certainly.

_Her_. Here they are, Tisiphone. One thousand and four.

_Ti_. It is time we had them. Rhadamanthus has been waiting.

_Rhad_. Bring them up, Tisiphone. Hermes, you call out their names as they are wanted.

_Cy_. Rhadamanthus, as you love your father Zeus, have me up first for examination.

_Rhad_. Why?

_Cy_. There is a certain shade whose misdeeds on earth I am anxious to denounce. And if my evidence is to be worth anything, you must first be satisfied of my own character and conduct.

_Rhad_. Who are you?

_Cy_. Cyniscus, your worship; a student of philosophy.

_Rhad_. Come up for judgement; I will take you first. Hermes, summon the accusers.

_Her_. If any one has an accusation to bring against Cyniscus here present, let him come forward.

_Cy_. No one stirs!

_Rhad_. Ah, but that is not enough, my friend. Off with your clothes; I must have a look at your brands.

_Cy_. Brands? Where will you find them?

_Rhad_. Never yet did mortal man sin, but he carried about the secret record thereof, branded on his soul.

_Cy_. Well, here I am stripped. Now for the 'brands.'

_Rhad_. Clean from head to heel, except three or four very faint marks, scarcely to be made out. Ah! what does this mean? Here is place after place that tells of the iron; all rubbed out apparently, or cut out. How do you explain this, Cyniscus? How did you get such a clean skin again?

_Cy_. Why, in old days, when I knew no better, I lived an evil life, and acquired thereby a number of brands. But from the day that I began to practise philosophy, little by little I washed out all the scars from my soul,—thanks to the efficiency of that admirable lotion.

_Rhad_. Off with you then to the Isles of the Blest, and the excellent company you will find there. But we must have your impeachment of the tyrant before you go. Next shade, Hermes!

_Mi_. Mine is a very small affair, too, Rhadamanthus; I shall not keep you long. I have been stripped all this time; so do take me next.

_Rhad_. And who may you be?

_Mi_. Micyllus the cobbler.

_Rhad_. Very well, Micyllus. As clean as clean could be; not a mark anywhere. You may join Cyniscus. Now the Tyrant.

_Her_. Megapenthes, son of Lacydes, wanted! Where are you off to? This way! You there, the Tyrant! Up with him, Tisiphone, neck and crop.

_Rhad_. Now, Cyniscus, your accusation and your proofs. Here is the party.

_Cy_. There is in fact no need of an accusation. You will very soon know the man by the marks upon him. My words however may serve to unveil him, and to show his character in a clearer light. With the conduct of this monster as a private citizen, I need not detain you. Surrounded with a bodyguard, and aided by unscrupulous accomplices, he rose against his native city, and established a lawless rule. The persons put to death by him without trial are to be counted by thousands, and it was the confiscation of their property that gave him his enormous wealth. Since then, there is no conceivable iniquity which he has not perpetrated. His hapless fellow-citizens have been subjected to every form of cruelty and insult. Virgins have been seduced, boys corrupted, the feelings of his subjects outraged in every possible way. His overweening pride, his insolent bearing towards all who had to do with him, were such as no doom of yours can adequately requite. A man might with more security have fixed his gaze upon the blazing sun, than upon yonder tyrant. As for the refined cruelty of his punishments, it baffles description; and not even his familiars were exempt. That this accusation has not been brought without sufficient grounds, you may easily satisfy yourself, by summoning the murderer's victims.—Nay, they need no summons; see, they are here; they press round as though they would stifle him. Every man there, Rhadamanthus, fell a prey to his iniquitous designs. Some had attracted his attention by the beauty of their wives; others by their resentment at the forcible abduction of their children; others by their wealth; others again by their understanding, their moderation, and their unvarying disapproval of his conduct.

_Rhad_. Villain, what have you to say to this?

_Me_. I committed the murders referred to. As for the rest, the adulteries and corruptions and seductions, it is all a pack of lies.

_Cy_. I can bring witnesses to these points too, Rhadamanthus.

_Rhad_. Witnesses, eh?

_Cy_. Hermes, kindly summon his Lamp and Bed. They will appear in evidence, and state what they know of his conduct.

_Her_. Lamp and Bed of Megapenthes, come into court. Good, they respond to the summons.

_Rhad_. Now, tell us all you know about Megapenthes. Bed, you speak first.

_Bed_. All that Cyniscus said is true. But really, Mr. Rhadamanthus, I don't quite like to speak about it; such strange things used to happen overhead.

_Rhad_. Why, your unwillingness to speak is the most telling evidence of all!—Lamp, now let us have yours.

_Lamp_. What went on in the daytime I never saw, not being there. As for his doings at night, the less said the better. I saw some very queer things, though, monstrous queer. Many is the time I have stopped taking oil on purpose, and tried to go out. But then he used to bring me close up. It was enough to give any lamp a bad character.

_Rhad_. Enough of verbal evidence. Now, just divest yourself of that purple, and we will see what you have in the way of brands. Goodness gracious, the man's a positive network! Black and blue with them! Now, what punishment can we give him? A bath in Pyriphlegethon? The tender mercies of Cerberus, perhaps?

_Cy_. No, no. Allow me,—I have a novel idea; something that will just suit him.

_Rhad_. Yes? I shall be obliged to you for a suggestion.

_Cy_. I fancy it is usual for departed spirits to take a draught of the water of Lethe?

_Rhad_. Just so.

_Cy_. Let him be the sole exception.

_Rhad_. What is the idea in that?

_Cy_. His earthly pomp and power for ever in his mind; his fingers ever busy on the tale of blissful items;—'tis a heavy sentence!

_Rhad_. True. Be this the tyrant's doom. Place him in fetters at Tantalus's side,—never to forget the things of earth.

F.

THE END