_Menippus. Cerberus_
_Me_. My dear coz—for Cerberus and Cynic are surely related through the
dog—I adjure you by the Styx, tell me how Socrates behaved during the
descent. A God like you can doubtless articulate instead of barking, if
he chooses.
_Cer_. Well, while he was some way off, he seemed quite unshaken; and I
thought he was bent on letting the people outside realize the fact too.
Then he passed into the opening and saw the gloom; I at the same time
gave him a touch of the hemlock, and a pull by the leg, as he was
rather slow. Then he squalled like a baby, whimpered about his
children, and, oh, I don't know what he didn't do.
_Me_. So _he_ was one of the theorists, was he? His indifference was a
sham?
_Cer_. Yes; it was only that he accepted the inevitable, and put a bold
face on it, pretending to welcome the universal fate, by way of
impressing the bystanders. All that sort are the same, I tell you—bold
resolute fellows as far as the entrance; it is inside that the real
test comes.
_Me_. What did you think of _my_ performance?
_Cer_. Ah, Menippus, you were the exception; you are a credit to the
breed, and so was Diogenes before you. You two came in without any
compulsion or pushing, of your own free will, with a laugh for
yourselves and a curse for the rest.