_Diogenes. Alexander_
_Diog_. Dear me, Alexander, _you_ dead like the rest of us?
_Alex_. As you see, sir; is there anything extraordinary in a mortal's
dying?
_Diog_. So Ammon lied when he said you were his son; you were Philip's
after all.
_Alex_. Apparently; if I had been Ammon's, I should not have died.
_Diog_. Strange! there were tales of the same order about Olympias too.
A serpent visited her, and was seen in her bed; we were given to
understand that that was how you came into the world, and Philip made a
mistake when he took you for his.
_Alex_. Yes, I was told all that myself; however, I know now that my
mother's and the Ammon stories were all moonshine.
_Diog_. Their lies were of some practical value to you, though; your
divinity brought a good many people to their knees. But now, whom did
you leave your great empire to?
_Alex_. Diogenes, I cannot tell you. I had no time to leave any
directions about it, beyond just giving Perdiccas my ring as I died.
Why are you laughing?
_Diog_. Oh, I was only thinking of the Greeks' behaviour; directly you
succeeded, how they flattered you! their elected patron, generalissimo
against the barbarian; one of the twelve Gods according to some;
temples built and sacrifices offered to the Serpent's son! If I may
ask, where did your Macedonians bury you?
_Alex_. I have lain in Babylon a full month to-day; and Ptolemy of the
Guards is pledged, as soon as he can get a moment's respite from
present disturbances, to take and bury me in Egypt, there to be
reckoned among the Gods.
_Diog_. I have some reason to laugh, you see; still nursing vain hopes
of developing into an Osiris or Anubis! Pray, your Godhead, put these
expectations from you; none may re-ascend who has once sailed the lake
and penetrated our entrance; Aeacus is watchful, and Cerberus an
awkward customer. But there is one thing I wish you would tell me: how
do you like thinking over all the earthly bliss you left to come
here—your guards and armour-bearers and lieutenant-governors, your
heaps of gold and adoring peoples, Babylon and Bactria, your huge
elephants, your honour and glory, those conspicuous drives with
white-cinctured locks and clasped purple cloak? does the thought of
them _hurt_? What, crying? silly fellow! did not your wise Aristotle
include in his instructions any hint of the insecurity of fortune's
favours?
_Alex_. Wise? call him the craftiest of all flatterers. Allow me to
know a little more than other people about Aristotle; his requests and
his letters came to _my_ address; _I_ know how he profited by my
passion for culture; how he would toady and compliment me, to be sure!
now it was my beauty—that too is included under The Good; now it was my
deeds and my money; for money too he called a Good—he meant that he was
not going to be ashamed of taking it. Ah, Diogenes, an impostor; and a
past master at it too. For me, the result of his wisdom is that I am
distressed for the things you catalogued just now, as if I had lost in
them the chief Goods.
_Diog_. Wouldst know thy course? I will prescribe for your distress.
Our flora, unfortunately, does not include hellebore; but you take
plenty of Lethe-water—good, deep, repeated draughts; that will relieve
your distress over the Aristotelian Goods. Quick; here are Clitus,
Callisthenes, and a lot of others making for you; they mean to tear you
in pieces and pay you out. Here, go the opposite way; and remember,
repeated draughts.