THIS is an attack on the Cynic philosopher Peregrinus of Parium, also known as Proteus, who cremated himself on a pyre at the Olympic games of 165. As a satiric invective it can be compared with the Alexander, though it lacks the concentrated venom which characterizes that work. Lucian hits Peregrinus hard, but the picture here is a more dispassionate one of a character who literally stopped at nothing in his frenzy for notoriety. An element of deliberate disengagement in the narrative can be seen in the fact that though himself present at the actual cremation, Lucian earlier employs the device of a double in the person of the unnamed character who gives an account of Peregrinus’ life, which takes up a large section of the piece (8–30), and which Lucian could have given us himself. These biographical details are almost the only source of our knowledge of Peregrinus’ life. As in the Nigrinus and the Alexander, a letter is the vehicle for the narrative, the addressee here being one Cronius, a minor Platonist whom we hear of from other sources.
The treatise has a particular interest in its extensive references to the Christians, with whom Peregrinus involves himself. These allusions seem to us not unfriendly, if a little dismissive, but they caused great offence to later church leaders, so that the Peregrinus, along with the spurious Philopatris, was proscribed by the Papal Index of 1559. (Subsequently, in 1590, the Index put a total ban on Lucian’s works.)
Greetings from Lucian to Cronius.
Ill-starred Peregrinus, or as he liked to call himself, Proteus, has suffered exactly the same fate as the Homeric Proteus.* After turning himself into all things for the sake of notoriety and adopting umpteen changes of shape, he has at long last turned into fire: such, it seems, was his passion for notoriety. And now your fine friend has been burnt to a cinder, like Empedocles;* except that the latter tried to avoid notice when he threw himself into the crater, whereas this noble fellow waited for the most crowded of the Greek festivals, piled up a most enormous pyre, and jumped into it in front of all those witnesses. He even made a speech about it to the Greeks a few days before his escapade.
1
I seem to picture you convulsed with laughter at the drivelling old fool—or rather, I can hear you crying out, as you well might: ‘Oh, the stupidity! Oh, the thirst for renown! Oh—’, all the other things we tend to say about them. Well, you can say all this at a distance and much more safely; but I said it right by the fire, and even before that in a large crowd of listeners. Some of these became angry, the ones who were impressed by the old man’s lunacy; but there were others who laughed at him too. Yet I can tell you I was nearly torn to pieces by the Cynics, like Actaeon by his dogs or his cousin Pentheus by the Maenads.*
2
This is how the whole performance was set up. You know the sort of playwright he was, and the extraordinary spectacles he put on all his life, far beyond Sophocles and Aeschylus. Well, as soon as I arrived in Elis, while lounging around the gymnasium I listened to a Cynic yelling out in their usual street-corner style invocations to virtue in a harsh, loud voice, and abusing everyone indiscriminately. Then his ranting ended with Proteus, and I’ll try my best to quote to you from memory exactly what he said. But of course you will recognize it, as you’ve often stood by while they were ranting.
3
‘Does anyone’, he said, ‘dare to call Proteus vainglorious, O Earth, O Sun, O rivers, O sea, O Heracles, god of our fathers!—Proteus, who was imprisoned in Syria, who gave up five thousand talents to his native land, who was exiled from Rome, who is more in men’s eyes than the sun, who can rival Olympian Zeus himself? Is it because he has decided to depart from life through fire that they accuse him of vainglory? Did not Heracles do so? Did not Asclepius and Dionysus, through a thunderbolt?* Did not Empedocles end by throwing himself into the crater?’
4
After these words of Theagenes*—that was the ranter’s name—I asked one of the bystanders, ‘What does he mean about fire, and what have Heracles and Empedocles to do with Proteus?’ He replied, ‘Proteus is shortly going to cremate himself at the Olympic festival’. ‘How?’, I asked, ‘and why?’
5
Then he attempted to tell me, but the Cynic was yelling so that you couldn’t hear anyone else. So I listened to him as he drenched us with the rest of his speech, delivering himself of wonderful hyperboles regarding Proteus: not stooping to compare him with the man from Sinope, or his teacher Antisthenes,* or even Socrates himself, he summoned Zeus to the contest. But then he decided to keep them on a sort of level, and ended his speech thus: ‘The two finest works of art the world has seen are the Olympian Zeus and Proteus. The artist who created the one was Pheidias,* the other, Nature. But now this ornament of ours will be leaving the world of men for the gods, borne upon flames and leaving us bereft.’
6
Thus he sweated his way through his oration, wept in a most ludicrous way, and tore his hair—but making sure not to pull it too hard. At last he was led away still sobbing by some Cynics, who tried to console him.
Immediately after him another man went up, without waiting for the crowd to disperse, and poured a libation on the previous sacrifice while it was still burning. And first he laughed for a long while, clearly very heartily; then he began in something like these words: ‘Since that scoundrel Theagenes ended his abominable speech with the tears of Heraclitus, I shall do the opposite and begin with the laughter of Democritus.’* Again he laughed for a long while, so that he caused us to do the same.
7
Then turning to us he said, ‘What else can you do, gentlemen, when you hear such ludicrous utterances, and see old men almost standing on their heads in public for the sake of a bit of contemptible notoriety? So you can know just what is this “ornament” which is to be burned, listen to me, for I have kept a close eye on his character and watched his career from the beginning. I have also learnt a few things from his fellow-citizens, and from people who must have known him through and through.
8
‘Well, this work of art of nature’s creation, this canon of Polyclitus,* when he first arrived at manhood was caught in adultery in Armenia, got a thoroughly good beating, and eventually managed to escape by jumping down from a roof, with a radish plugging his anus.* Next he seduced a good-looking youth, and bribed the lad’s poverty-stricken parents with three thousand drachmas not to bring him before the governor of Asia.
9
‘This behaviour and anything like it I intend to pass over; for his clay was still unmoulded, and our “ornament” was not yet perfected. But you really must hear what he did to his father, though you all know it, and you’ve heard how he strangled the old fellow because he couldn’t bear him living past 60. Then, when that episode became common talk he condemned himself to exile, and wandered around from one place to another.
10
‘That was when he learnt the remarkable wisdom of the Christians, by getting to know their priests and scribes in Palestine. And—naturally—in a short time he made them look like children, being himself prophet, fraternity-leader, convener of synagogues, all in one person. Some of their books he interpreted and expounded, and many he wrote himself; they honoured him as a god, employed him as a lawgiver, and entitled him a protector, though naturally coming after him whom they still worship—the man who was crucified in Palestine for introducing this new cult into the world.
11
‘Then to be sure Proteus was arrested for this activity and put in prison, and this in itself won him no little reputation for his subsequent career, and the miracle-working and thirst for renown that possessed him. Well, the Christians regarded his imprisonment as a disaster, and did everything they could to rescue him. Then, when this proved impossible, they showed every other form of care towards him, not just casually but in real earnest. From early dawn you could see elderly widows and orphan children waiting by the prison, while officials of the Christians even bribed the guards and slept inside with him. Again, elaborate meals were taken in, their sacred books were read to him, and our excellent Peregrinus, which was still his name, was called by them “the new Socrates”.*
12
‘Indeed, people arrived even from the cities of Asia, sent by the Christians and paid for out of their joint funds, in order to help, defend, and encourage the man. They move with extraordinary swiftness when any such corporate action is undertaken, and at a moment’s notice they spend their all. Well, at that time too they sent a lot of money to Peregrinus on the occasion of his imprisonment, from which he derived no small income. The poor fools have persuaded themselves above all that they are immortal and will live forever, from which it follows that they despise death and many of them willingly undergo imprisonment. Moreover, their first lawgiver taught them that they are all brothers of one another, when once they have sinned by denying the Greek gods, and by worshipping that crucified sophist himself and living according to his laws. So, they despise all things equally and regard them as common property, accepting such teaching without any sort of clear proof. Accordingly, if any quack or trickster, who can press his advantage, comes among them, he can acquire great wealth in a very short time by imposing on simple-minded people.
13
‘However, Peregrinus was released by the then governor of Syria, a man who was keen on philosophy, and who being aware of Peregrinus’ lunacy and that he would welcome death for the reputation he would acquire for it, released him as not being even worthy of punishment. When he returned home he found that the question of his father’s murder was still a burning issue, and that many people were threatening him with prosecution. During his absence most of his possessions had been seized, and only his farms were left, valued at about fifteen talents. For the whole property left by the old man was worth perhaps thirty talents, and not five thousand, as that totally ridiculous Theagenes claimed. Not even the whole city of Parium* together with the five neighbouring ones, and including the inhabitants with their cattle and the rest of their belongings, could be sold for that much.
14
‘But still, the prosecution and the charge were still being hotly pursued, and it seemed likely that before too long someone would appear against him. The people themselves were particularly angry with him, as they grieved for a fine old man (as those who had seen him said), who had been so heartlessly murdered. But note how our crafty Proteus dealt with all this and managed to escape the danger. He appeared before the assembly of the Parians, with his hair now grown long, wearing a dirty cloak, a pouch at his side and a staff in his hand,* got up altogether in a very dramatic fashion. Presenting himself thus to them, he stated that he was relinquishing to the public all the property which his blessed father had left him. When the people heard this, poor fellows all gaping for handouts, they at once shouted out, “The one and only disciple of Diogenes and Crates!”* His enemies were muzzled, and if anyone even tried to mention the murder he was immediately stoned.
15
‘So he went forth a second time on his wanderings, being adequately funded by the Christians, and under their patronage he lived in clover. For a time he supported himself like that; but then he managed to transgress even one of their laws—I think he was seen eating some food forbidden among them—and as he was no longer accepted by them and in dire straits, he thought he’d better recant and demand his property back from the city. He submitted a formal request and expected he would recover it by the emperor’s orders. But then the city made counter-representations, and he lost his claim and was told to stick to what he had once for all decided under compulsion from nobody.
16
‘After that he went on his travels a third time, to Egypt, to see Agathoboulos,* where he underwent that extraordinary training in asceticism, shaving half of his head, smearing his face with mud, demonstrating what they call an “indifferent” act* by masturbating in the middle of a large crowd, as well as giving and receiving blows on the rump with a fennel cane, and acting the charlatan in many other audacious ways.
17
‘After these preparations he sailed from there to Italy, and as soon as he had disembarked he began abusing everyone, especially the emperor,* knowing that he was very mild and placid and he could venture to do so with impunity. As you would imagine, the emperor paid little attention to his profanities, and didn’t think it worth punishing for his words a man who just wore philosophy as a mask, and particularly one who made abuse into an art. But even this caused Peregrinus’ reputation to increase, at least among the uneducated people, and he was admired for his lunacy; until the city prefect, an intelligent man, sent him away for flaunting his profession beyond any reasonable bounds, saying that the city did not need a philosopher like that. Yet even this brought him fame, and everyone talked about him as the philosopher who had been banished for his outspokenness and for exercising too much freedom; so that in this way he approached Musonius, Dio, Epictetus,* and anyone else in a similar situation.
18
‘And so he arrived in Greece, where at one time he abused the Eleans; at another he advised the Greeks to take up arms against the Romans; at another he insulted a man of outstanding culture and renown* because of his benefactions to Greece, which included bringing a water supply to Olympia and so preventing those attending it from dying of thirst. He had just made the Greeks effeminate (so ran the charge), when the spectators ought to endure their thirst—and to be sure, death too, many of them, from the dangerous diseases which until then spread through the huge crowd because of the dryness of that area. And all this he said while drinking that very water.
19
‘When they all made a rush at him and were on the point of killing him by stoning, our fine friend managed to avoid death by taking refuge at Zeus’ sanctuary; and at the next Olympiad he delivered a speech to the Greeks which he had composed in the intervening four years, praising the man who had built the aqueduct and defending himself for running away on the previous occasion.
20
‘But by now he was ignored by everyone and no longer the centre of attention: all he did was stale, and he could no longer think up anything novel to startle those who met him and win their wonder and admiration, which was what he had always longed for passionately. So he finally contrived this exploit involving the pyre, and spread the word among the Greeks immediately after the last Olympics that he was going to cremate himself at the next one. And now, they say, he is plotting just that piece of quackery, digging a pit, collecting faggots, and promising us an awesome feat of endurance.
‘In my view he should ideally have waited for death and not run away from life; but if he had decided at all costs to take himself off, he should not have used fire or any such device from the tragic stage, but have chosen to depart by some other of the thousands of ways of dying. But if he is keen on fire because it has a touch of Heracles to it, why not quietly choose a well-wooded mountain and cremate himself there in solitude, taking with him just one person, like Theagenes here, to act as his Philoctetes?* But no, it is at the crowded festival of Olympia, and virtually in the theatre, that he is going to roast himself—and serve him right too, by Heracles, if parricides and atheists deserve to suffer for their shameless crimes. And in that connection he seems to be leaving it very late: he should long ago have been thrown into the bull of Phalaris* to pay the penalty he deserved, rather than just opening his mouth once to the fire and dying in a moment. For lots of people tell me that no other form of death is quicker than by fire: you just have to open your mouth and you’re immediately dead.
21
‘Of course I imagine the purpose of the spectacle is to be impressive, a man being cremated in a holy place, where it is wrong even to bury others who die. But you must have heard that long ago someone who wished to become famous, and couldn’t find any other way to do it, set fire to the temple of Artemis at Ephesus.* Our man too is contriving something similar, such is the passion for fame which has filled his being.
22
‘Yet he claims he is doing it on behalf of humanity, so he can teach men to despise wealth and endure suffering. But I would like to ask, not him but you, whether you would want criminals to become his disciples in this sort of hardihood, and to despise death and burning and suchlike terrors. I know very well that you would not. So how does Proteus make this distinction, and benefit the good without making the wicked more reckless and daring?
23
‘However, grant that it is possible that only those will be present at this event who will benefit from witnessing it. Again I shall ask you: would you wish your children to emulate such a man? You would not say so. Yet why did I ask that, when not even any of his own disciples would emulate him? Indeed, what you would most blame Theagenes for is that, while he imitates the man in everything else, he doesn’t follow his master and join him on his journey, as he says, to Heracles; though he could speedily acquire complete blessedness by leaping headlong into the fire with him!
24
‘Emulation does not lie just in having a pouch and staff and cloak: all that is safe and easy and open to all. You must emulate the sum and substance, build a pyre of fig-wood logs as green as possible, and stifle yourself in the smoke. For fire itself is not for Heracles and Asclepius alone but for temple-robbers and murderers, whom you can see suffering it by sentence of the law. So it is better to endure smoke, which would be appropriate, and peculiar to you people.
‘Anyway, if Heracles really did endure such a fate, he did it because 25 of his sufferings, when the Centaur’s blood was eating into him, as the tragic poets tell us.* But what’s the pretext for this fellow throwing himself bodily into the flames? To be sure, to prove his physical endurance, like the Brahmins; for Theagenes thought him worthy of comparison with them—as if there couldn’t be fools and attention-seekers among the Indians too. All right then, let him imitate them. They do not leap into the fire, according to Onesicritus, Alexander’s helmsman, who witnessed Calanus in the flames;* but when they have heaped up their pyre, they stand motionless beside it, enduring a roasting, and then stepping onto it they cremate themselves in a dignified manner, without moving a muscle as they lie there.
25
‘But what great deed will this fellow achieve if he just jumps in and dies in the grip of the fire? It’s on the cards that he will jump out half-burnt unless, as people say, he is preparing a pyre deep within a pit. And there are those who say he has even changed his mind, 26 and is recounting dreams in which Zeus forbids his holy place to be polluted. But he can be reassured on that count: I would swear a great oath that none of the gods would be distressed if Peregrinus came to a bad end. Nor indeed could he easily back out now, for his fellow Cynics are all inciting and propelling him into the fire, and keeping his resolution kindled, to prevent him from being a coward. If he would only drag a couple of these along with him when he jumps into the fire, that would be the one gracious act in his performance.
26
‘I’ve heard that he no longer chooses to be called Proteus, but has changed his name to Phoenix, because the phoenix, an Indian bird, is also said to mount a pyre when it is very old. Moreover, he even invents stories and quotes oracles, supposedly ancient, to the effect that he is fated to become a guardian spirit of the night; and he is obviously yearning for altars and expecting to be set up as a golden image.
27
‘And indeed, it’s not unlikely that among all the crowds of idiots some would be found to claim that he had caused them to be relieved of quartan fever, and that by night they had met the guardian spirit of the night. And I imagine that these ghastly disciples of his will also be setting up an oracular shrine and sanctuary on the site of the pyre, because the well-known Proteus, son of Zeus, the founder of his name, was himself a seer. I give you my word too that priests will be appointed for him, with whips or branding-irons or some such mind-boggling equipment, or even, by heaven, that some nocturnal rite will be established in his name, with a torch-procession on the site of the pyre.
28
‘One of my friends has told me that Theagenes recently said the Sibyl predicted these things, quoting the lines from memory:
29
But when Proteus, the greatest by far among all the Cynics,
Shall kindle a fire in the precinct of thundering Zeus,
And leaping into the flames shall arrive at lofty Olympus,
Then this is my bidding to all who consume the fruits of the land,
To honour that greatest of heroes who wanders abroad in the night,
And shares a throne with Hephaestus and also with lord Heracles.
‘That is what Theagenes claims to have heard from the Sibyl. But I will quote him an oracle of Bacis* on the same subject, who speaks as follows, expressing it admirably: 30
Whenever the Cynic who has many names shall into the fire
Hurl himself bodily, stirred in his soul by a frenzy for glory,
Then it is right for the others, the jackals who like to attend him
To mimic the death of the wolf who has now gone his way and departed.
But if there’s a coward among them who flees from the might of Hephaestus,
Then speedily must he be pelted with stones by all the Achaeans,
To teach the cold-hearted never to indulge in fiery speeches,
Stuffing his wallet with gold from plentiful practice of usury,
And storing away fifteen talents in the beautiful city of
Patrae.*
What do you think, gentlemen? Is Bacis a worse soothsayer than the Sibyl? So now is the time for these admirable disciples of Proteus to look around for somewhere to vaporize themselves—that’s what they call cremation.’
When he had finished speaking the bystanders all shouted out, ‘Let them be burned now: they deserve the fire!’
31
And the man got down laughing; but ‘Nestor noticed the shouting’:* I mean Theagenes, who when he heard the uproar came at once, mounted the platform and began bawling and uttering countless slanders about the man who had got down from it—I don’t know that excellent fellow’s name. I left Theagenes bursting his sides and went off to see the athletes, as the Hellanodicae were said to be now in the Plethrium.*
So now you know what happened at Elis. When we got to Olympia, the back chamber was full of people either criticizing Proteus or praising his resolution, so that many of them were even coming to blows. At last Proteus himself arrived, with an innumerable escort, after the contest of the heralds, and gave some account of himself, describing the sort of life he had led, the dangers he had endured, and the troubles he had borne for the sake of philosophy. It was a long speech, though I heard little of it because of the crowd around me. After a while, afraid that I might be crushed by such a large mob, which I saw happening to many people, I left, saying a long farewell to the death-loving sophist who was delivering his own funeral oration before his departure.
32
However, I did overhear this much. He said he wanted to put a golden tip on a golden bow:* for he who had lived the life of Heracles should die the death of Heracles and be mingled with the ether. ‘And I wish’, he said, ‘to be of benefit to men by showing them how one should despise death. Therefore all men ought to act Philoctetes to me.’
33
The more stupid of the people present began to weep and to cry out, ‘Save yourself for the Greeks!’, while those of stronger fibre yelled, ‘Carry out your purpose!’ The latter greatly upset the old man, as he was hoping they would all take hold of him and not abandon him to the fire, but force him—unwillingly of course—to go on living. That ‘Carry out your purpose’ striking him so unexpectedly made him turn still paler, though his colour was already deathlike, and even start to tremble, so that he ended his speech.
I imagine you can guess how I laughed; for no man deserved pity who was so disastrously in love with glory, beyond all others who are hounded by the same Fury. Anyway, there he was being escorted by a crowd, taking his fill of glory as he looked around at the multitude of his admirers, not realizing, poor fool, that a great many more attend those being led to the cross or in the hands of the public executioner.
34
And now the Olympic games were over, the finest Olympics I have ever witnessed, and that was the fourth time for me. But I couldn’t secure myself a carriage, as many were leaving at the same time, so I reluctantly stayed behind. Peregrinus had kept putting things off, but at last he announced the night when he would display his cremation. One of my friends asked me to go with him, so I got up around midnight and went straight to Harpina, where the pyre was. This is fully 2¼ miles from Olympia as you go eastwards past the hippodrome. As soon as we arrived we found the pyre piled up in a pit about six feet deep. It was constructed mainly of pinewood, stuffed with dry kindling so as to catch fire quickly.
35
When the moon rose—for she too had to witness this glorious performance—he came forward dressed as usual, and attended by the leading Cynics, notably our noble friend from Patrae, holding a torch—no bad supporting actor in this drama. Proteus too was carrying a torch. Then from all sides men came up and lit the pyre into a mighty flame, fed by the pinewood and kindling. And he—now pay close attention—putting aside his pouch and cloak and that famous Herculean club, stood there in a shirt that was utterly filthy. Then he asked for incense to throw on the fire, and when someone produced it he did so, and said, looking towards the south (for the south too was an element in the spectacle): ‘Spirits of my mother and father, receive me favourably.’ With these words he jumped into the fire; nor indeed could he be seen, but he was enveloped by the towering flames.
36
I see, my good Cronius, that you are laughing again at the climax of the drama. As for me, I certainly didn’t criticize him seriously for calling on the spirits of his mother; but when he invoked his father’s too, I remembered what had been said about his murder and couldn’t contain my laughter. The Cynics surrounding the pyre were not weeping, but showed some silent grief as they looked at the flames, until choking with rage at them I said, ‘Let us be off, you idiots. It is not a pleasant sight, watching an old man being roasted and inhaling a foul stench of burning. Or are you waiting for some painter to come and portray you, as the companions of Socrates are pictured with him in prison?’
37
They became angry and abused me, and some even made a grab at their sticks. Then, when I threatened to seize some of them and pitch them into the fire, so they could follow their master, they left off and held their peace.
As I came back, my friend, I was pondering a variety of things, and reflecting on the nature of the love of glory: how this is the only passion which can’t be evaded even by those who seem to be wholly admirable, let alone that man whose life in other respects had been reckless and unstable, and not undeserving of the flames. Then I met a lot of people coming over to see the spectacle themselves; for they thought they would find him still alive. The fact is, it had been given out on the previous day that before mounting the pyre he would greet the rising sun, as indeed the Brahmins are said to do. So I turned back most of them, explaining that the deed was finished and done, those at least who were not particularly interested just in seeing the actual place and in collecting some remnant of the fire.
38 39
Therein, my friend, I must say I had a deal of trouble describing what happened to everyone who asked me questions and wanted full details. Faced by anyone sophisticated, I would give him an unadorned account of the events. But when it came to the thick-witted, agog to hear the story, I souped it up a bit with my own inventions: that when the pyre was lit and Proteus threw himself onto it, first there was a tremendous earthquake and rumbling of the ground; and then a vulture flew up from the midst of the flames* and went off to the heavens, saying loudly and in human language:
The earth I have left and I mount to Olympus.
They were astonished, and bowed down shuddering, and they asked me whether the vulture had rushed away to the east or the west. I told them in answer anything that occurred to me.
Returning to the festival I encountered a grey-haired man, whose countenance, as well as his beard and his generally dignified appearance, really made him seem trustworthy. He was talking all about Proteus, and how after his cremation he had recently observed him clad in white, and had just now left him cheerfully walking around the Colonnade of the Seven Echoes,* wearing a crown of wild olive. Then on top of all this he added the vulture, swearing he had personally seen it flying up from the pyre, when I myself had just sent it flying off to make a mockery of the stupid and the witless.
40
You can imagine what’s likely to happen to him from now on, what swarms of bees will not settle on the site, what cicadas will not sing over it, what crows will not fly to it, as they did to Hesiod’s tomb*—and all that sort of thing. Then, too, I know there will be lots of statues set up very soon by the Eleans themselves and by the other Greeks, to whom he said he had written. It is alleged that he sent letters to almost all cities of note—his testaments, as it were, and exhortations and statutes. For this purpose he also appointed envoys from among his companions, calling them ‘messengers of the dead’ and ‘couriers from the underworld’.
41
Such was the end of the ill-starred Proteus, a man who* (not to beat about the bush) never gazed steadily at the truth, but whose words and deeds were always without exception aimed at glory and popular praise, to the point of even leaping into the fire, though destined not to enjoy the praise for that since he couldn’t hear it.
42
Let me tell you one more story to give you a good laugh, and then I’ll stop. For you’ve long known that other one which you heard me tell as soon as I returned from Syria: how I sailed with him from Troas,* and how he indulged himself throughout the voyage, particularly in converting a handsome young lad to become a Cynic, so as to furnish himself with an Alcibiades;* and how during the night in mid-Aegean we were hit and tossed about by a dark storm which stirred up enormous waves, and this admirable character, who seemed superior to death, was to be heard shrieking along with the women. Well, a short while before his death, nine days or so, having eaten more than he should, I imagine, he was sick during the night and seized with a violent fever. I learnt this from Alexander, the doctor who was sent for to see him. He told me he had found him rolling about on the ground, unable to bear the fever, and desperately pleading for cold water, but that he had not given it to him. Furthermore, the doctor said he had told him that if he really and truly wanted death, it had come to his door unbidden, and he would do well to follow along without asking help from the fire. Proteus’ reply was: ‘But that way would bring less renown, being common to everyone.’
43 44
That was Alexander’s story. Not many days earlier I myself saw Proteus having smeared himself with ointment, so that the pungency of the unguent would clear his eyes by making them water. Get the point? Aeacus* is very unwilling to receive anyone with weak eyes. Just as if a man about to be crucified should nurse a sore finger! How do you think Democritus would have reacted to seeing this? Wouldn’t he have roared with laughter at the man, as he deserved? But where could he have got that much laughter? Well, my good friend, you too can have a laugh—especially when you hear other people admiring him.
45