Chapter 15
DIALOGUE XV Antilochus, the son of Nestor, one of the Greek heroes who fell during the siege of Ilium, remonstrates with his friend Achilles for having given utterance to the words put into his mouth by the poet of the Odyssey that he would rather be a slave on earth than king in Hades, shows him the uselessness of the regrets in the underworld, and, at the same time,
attempts to console him with the reflection that he is far from being alone in his fate. Achilles takes the admonition of his friend in good part, but refuses to be comforted. Antilochus, read by Alan Mapstone. Achilles, read by David Purdy. What sort of language was that, Achilles?
you addressed to Odysseus the day before yesterday about death? How ignoble and unworthy of both your teachers, Chiron and Phoenix! For I overheard you when you were saying that you would wish to be a servant bound to the soil in the house of any poor man, whose means of support were small, rather than to be king over all the dead. These sentiments, indeed, some abject Phrygian, cowardly and dishonourably clinging to life, might perhaps be allowed to utter,
but for the son of Peleus, the most rashly daring of all heroes, to entertain so ignoble thoughts about himself, is a considerable disgrace and a contradiction to your actions in life. You who, though you might have reigned ingloriously a length of time, in Pythiatis, of your own accord, preferred death with fair fame. But, O son of Nestor, at that time I was still unacquainted with the state of things here,
and was ignorant which of those two conditions was the better, and used to prefer that wretched paltry glory to existence. But now I already perceive how profitless it is, even though the people above ground shall parrot-like sing its praises to the utmost of their power. With the dead there is perfect sameness of dignity, and neither those good looks of mine, Antilochus, nor my powers of strength are here, but we lie all alike under the same murky gloom,
and in no way superior one to the other. And neither the dead of the Trojans have fear of me, nor do those of the Achaeans pay me any court. But there is complete and entire equality in an address, and a dead man is the same all the world over, both the coward and the brave. These thoughts cause me anguish, and I am grieved that I am not alive and serving as a hireling. Yet what can one do, Achilles? For such is the will of nature, that all certainly die.
So one must abide by her ordinance, and not be grieved at the constituted order of things. Besides, you observe how many of us, your friends, are about you here. And, after a short space of time, Odysseus too will certainly arrive. And community in misfortune, and the fact that one is not alone in suffering, brings comfort. You see Heracles and Meleaguer, and other admired heroes,
who, I imagine, would not accept the offer of a return to the upper regions if one were to send them back to be hired servants to starvelings and beggars. Your exhortation is friendly and well meant, but I know not how. The remembrance of things in life troubles me, and I imagine it does each one of you too. However, if you do not confess it openly, you are in that respect worse off, in that
you endure it in silence. No, rather better off, Achilles, for we see the uselessness of speaking about it. And we have come to the resolution to keep silence, and to bear and to put up with it, to incur ridicule as you do by indulging in such wishes.
