Me. I have heard that you were a god, Chiron, and that you died of your own choice?
Chi. You were rightly informed. I am dead, as you see, and might have been immortal.
Me. And what should possess you, to be in love with Death? He has no charm for most people.
Chi. You are a sensible fellow; I will tell you. There was no further satisfaction to be had from immortality.
Me. Was it not a pleasure merely to live and see the light?
Chi. No; it is variety, as I take it, and not monotony, that constitutes pleasure. Living on and on, everything always the same; sun, light, food, spring, summer, autumn, winter, one thing following another in unending sequence,--I sickened of it all. I found that enjoyment lay not in continual possession; that deprivation had its share therein.
Me. Very true, Chiron. And how have you got on since you made Hades your home?
Chi. Not unpleasantly. I like the truly republican equality that prevails; and as to whether one is in light or darkness, that makes no difference at all. Then again there is no hunger or thirst here; one is independent of such things.
Me. Take care, Chiron! You may be caught in the snare of your own reasonings.
Chi. How should that be?
Me. Why, if the monotony of the other world brought on satiety, the monotony here may do the same. You will have to look about for a further change, and I fancy there is no third life procurable.
Chi. Then what is to be done, Menippus?
Me. Take things as you find them, I suppose, like a sensible fellow, and make the best of everything.