_Menippus. Tiresias_
_Me_. Whether you are blind or not, Tiresias, would be a difficult
question. Eyeless sockets are the rule among us; there is no telling
Phineus from Lynceus nowadays. However, I know that you were a seer,
and that you enjoy the unique distinction of having been both man and
woman; I have it from the poets. Pray tell me which you found the more
pleasant life, the man's or the woman's?
_Ti_. The woman's, by a long way; it was much less trouble. Women have
the mastery of men; and there is no fighting for them, no manning of
walls, no squabbling in the assembly, no cross-examination in the
law-courts.
_Me_. Well, but you have heard how Medea, in Euripides, compassionates
her sex on their hard lot—on the intolerable pangs they endure in
travail? And by the way—Medea's words remind me did you ever have a
child, when you were a woman, or were you barren?
_Ti_. What do you mean by that question, Menippus?
_Me_. Oh, nothing; but I should like to know, if it is no trouble to
you.
_Ti_. I was not barren: but I did not have a child, exactly.
_Me_. No; but you might have had. That's all I wanted to know.
_Ti_. Certainly.
_Me_. And your feminine characteristics gradually vanished, and you
developed a beard, and became a man? Or did the change take place in a
moment?
_Ti_. Whither does your question tend? One would think you doubted the
fact.
_Me_. And what should I do but doubt such a story? Am I to take it in,
like a nincompoop, without asking myself whether it is possible or not?
_Ti_. At that rate, I suppose you are equally incredulous when you hear
of women being turned into birds or trees or beasts,—Aedon for
instance, or Daphne, or Callisto?
_Me_. If I fall in with any of these ladies, I will see what they have
to say about it. But to return, friend, to your own case: were you a
prophet even in the days of your femininity? or did manhood and
prophecy come together?
_Ti_. Pooh, you know nothing of the matter. I once settled a dispute
among the Gods, and was blinded by Hera for my pains; whereupon Zeus
consoled me with the gift of prophecy.
_Me_. Ah, you love a lie still, Tiresias. But there, 'tis your trade.
You prophets! There is no truth in you.