 Dialogue 20 of the Dialogues of the Gods by Lucien. Translated by Howard Williams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dialogue 20. The Judgement of Paris. Zeus, Hermes, Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, Paris, or Alexander. Stage Directions, read by Todd. Paris, read by Erin White. Aphrodite, read by Sandra. Sonia S. Athena. Hera, read by Phon. Hermes, read by Owen Cook. Zeus, read by Alan Mapstone. Take this affore here, Hermes, and high to Phrygia, to the presence of the son of Priam, the cowherd. He is tending his cows on the gargoyle summit of Ida. And say to him, Paris, Zeus be due, since you are yourself a good-looking youth and clever in love matters, to decide for the goddesses here which is the most beautiful. And let the winner receive the apple as the prize of the contest. And now, goddesses, it is quite time for yourselves to set off to the presence of your judge. For, for my part, I decline for myself the office of arbitrator loving you as I do with equal affection. And if it were only possible, I would with pleasure see you all three winners. Especially, I do decline, as in giving the prize of beauty to one, I must certainly incur the hatred of the rest. For this reason, I am myself no suitable umpire for you. But this Phrygian youth, to whom you are going, is of princely birth, and is a relative of Ganymede here. In other respects, he is simple and mountainbred. No one would think him unworthy of such a spectacle. As far as I'm concerned, Zeus, even though you should point Momus himself our judge, I will cheerfully go to the exhibition, for indeed, what could he have to find fault with me? The man, however, will have to satisfy these goddesses, too. Oh, it's not we, Aphrodite, who have to fear. No, not though your own Aries should be entrusted with the arbitration. May we also accept this Paris, whoever he may be. And does this content you daughter, too? What say you? You turn away and blush. Is it the privilege of virgins, indeed, to be shy about such matters? But you nod ascent, however. Away with you all then, and see that you are not hard upon your judge, you who have been vanquished, and don't have any mischief inflicted on the youth. For it's not possible for you all to be equally beauties. Let us start off straight for Phrygia, I leading the way, and do you follow me without loitering, and keep up your spirits. I am personally acquainted with Paris. He is a good-looking youth, and amorous into the bargain, and very competent to judge in all such matters. He would not give a bad judgment. That is all fair, and you speak quite after my mind, that he is the right judge for us. Confidentially. But is he a bachelor, or has he some wife or other living with him? Not absolutely a bachelor, Aphrodite. How do you mean? Some lady of Ida appears to be keeping company with him, well enough in her way, but contrived and dreadfully boorish. However, he does not seem to be excessively attached to her. But, Pré, why do you put these questions? I asked quite indifferently. Hello. You, sir. There you are exceeding your commission in communicating with her in private. There was nothing extraordinary, Athena, and nothing against you. She only asked me if Paris is a bachelor. And, Pré, why is she so inquisitive about that? I don't know. But she says it occurred to her quite casually, and she had no purpose in asking. Well, is he unmarried? I think not. What, then? Has he a desire for the military life, and is he at all ambitious for glory, or is he altogether devoted to his herds? The exact truth I am unable to say, but one must suppose that a young fellow like him would be eager to acquire fame in these things, and would like to be first in fighting. Aphrodite, pouting. Do you see? I don't find fault, nor charge you with talking to her on the sly, for such sort of quarrelousness is peculiar to people not over much pleased with themselves. It's not Aphrodite's way. Indeed, she asked me almost exactly the same question as she did you. So don't be a pet, and don't imagine you were worst treated, if I answered her somewhat frankly and simply. But while we are talking, we have already advanced far on our road, and taken leave of the stars, and in fact are almost opposite Phrygia. And now, in fact, I see Ida and the whole of Gargerus distinctly, and, if I am not deceived, Paris himself, your umpire. But where is he? For he is not visible to my eyes. Look carefully there to the left, Hera, not near the top of the mountain, but along the flank where the cave is, there where you see the herd. But I don't see the herd. Oh! Do you not see tiny cows in the direction of my finger, so advancing from the midst of the rocks, and someone running down from the cliff, with a shepherd's crook, and stopping them from scattering ahead? Now I see, if it really is he. But it is, and since we are now so near, let us, if you please, settle down on terra firma, and walk, that we may not quite disconcert him, by flying down all on a sudden from the clouds. You are right, so let us do, and now we have made our own descent. It is high time for you, Aphrodite, to advance and show us the way. For you, as is reasonable to expect, are well acquainted with the locality, having frequently, as report goes, come down here to Ancyces. These nears of yours, Hera, don't disturb me over much. Well, I will act as your guide and chaperone, for I myself, in fact, passed some time on Ida when Zeus, to be sure, was in love with the Phrygian boy, and often have I come here when sent down to look after the child. And when at length he was mounted on the eagle, I flew by his side with him, and helped to support my handsome charge. And if I recollect a right, from this rock here he snatched him up, for the boy happened to be piping to his flock at the moment, and flying down himself from behind, Zeus very lightly embraced him in his talons, and, grasping his turban with his beak, bore the lad aloft in a terrible state of alarm, as he was gazing on his ravisher with neck bent backwards. Then, picking up his shepherd's pipe, for he had let it fall on his fright, I would excuse me, for here is our umpire close at hand, so that I shall cost him. Good day to you, herdsmen. The same to you, young man. But who are you, and what is the purpose of your visit to us? What ladies are these you are conducting? For such town bells as they are, they are not fitted for roving over rough mountains. But they are not women, Paris, but it is Hera, and Athena, and Aphrodite, you see. And I, I am the God Hermes, Zeus has sent with them. But why do you tremble, and turn so pale? Don't be frightened, for there is nothing to be afraid of. He only bids you to be the judge of their beauty. For since, says he, you are a beautiful youth yourself, and clever in love matters, I entrust the judgment to you, and when you have read the inscription on the apple, you will know the prize of the contest. Ha! Come, let me see what it all means. Let the beautiful one take me, it says. How, pray, Sir Hermes, could I, mere mortal myself, and a simple peasant too, be a judge or so preternaturally wonderful, a spectacle, and one too great for poor herdsmen to decide upon. To judge in matters of such importance is rather for delicately nurtured persons, and courtiers, but, for my part, whether one she-goat be more beautiful than another she-goat, or one heifer surpasses another heifer in beauty, I could perhaps decide Secundum Atum, but these ladies are all equally beautiful, and I don't know how a man could wrench away his gaze and transfer it from the one to the other, for it will not easily unfix itself, but where it first rests to that part it clings and commends what's immediately before it, and even though it pass on to another part, that too it sees to be beautiful and lingers, and is caught by the adjoining charms, and in short their beauty has circumfused itself about me, and wholly taken possession of me, and I am vexed that I too cannot, like Argus, see with all my body. I think I should judge fairly if I give the apple to all, for, indeed, there is this difficulty besides, it happens that this lady is the sister and wife of Zeus, and that these are his daughters. How, I should like to know, is not the decision a hard one from this point of view too? I don't know about that, but it's not possible to shirk the commands of Zeus, I know. This one thing Hermes persuade them to, that the two defeated ladies be not angry with me, but consider the error to attach to my eyes alone. Hermes confers with the goddesses a part. They promise to comply with your request, and now it is high time for you to proceed with your judgment. I will do my best endeavours, for how can one help it? But this first I wish to know, will it be quite enough to view them as they are, or will it be necessary to make them undress for an accurate examination? That must be your part as judge to decide. Give your orders, how and in what way you like. How I like, really. I wish to see them undressed. Oh, you ladies there, off with your clothes. For your part make a thorough survey. As for me, I avert my face at once. Very well said, Paris, and I will be the first to undress, that you may perceive that I have not only white arms, and that I am not proud of having cow's eyes only, but that I am equally and proportionally beautiful all over. Ah, off with your clothes, too, Aphrodite. Don't let her undress, Paris, before she lays aside her cestus, for she is an enchantress, for fear she may be witch you by its means. Indeed, she ought not either to have appeared here so meretriciously tricked out, nor painted up with so many dyes and cosmetics for all the world as if she were, in fact, some lady of the demimonde, but have exhibited her beauty unadorned. Paris, turning to Aphrodite. They are quite right as to that cestus of yours, so you must Ian Doth it. Why, then, do you not also, Athena, doft that helmet of yours and display your bare head, instead of shaking that plumed crust and terrifying your judge? Are you afraid that fiercely glaring look about your eyes, seen without that frightful object, may be set down to you discredit? There, I have taken off this objectionable helmet for your satisfaction. There, too, is the cestus for yours. Well, let us undress. Paris, expressing in his features the utmost admiration. Oh, Zeus, worker of miracles, glorious vision, the beauty, the delight! Oh, how superb is the virgin goddess, and how right royally and with what dignity does this goddess hairer shine in all her splendour, and how truly right worthy of Zeus. But how sweetly does this goddess here Aphrodite look, and what a kind of pretty seducing smile she has. Well, now I have enough of this felicity, but if it is agreeable, I wish to have a look at each of them separately, in private, as at present I am really in doubt, and don't know on what part to fix my gaze for my eyes are distracted in every direction. Let us do as you wish is. Withdraw, then, you, too, and do you, hairer, remain. I will do so, and after you have had a good look at me, it will be time for you to consider other matters besides, whether the gifts at my disposal, in return for your vote, do not appear fair to you. For if, my dear Paris, you award me the prize of beauty, you shall be lord of all Asia. Our decision depends not on bribes. Now, withdraw, please, for whatever seems proper will have to be done hereafter. And now, Athena, do you approach. Here I am at your service, and in my turn, Paris, if you award to me the prize of beauty, you shall never come out of battle worsted, but always victorious, for I will make a warrior and a conqueror of you. I don't want war in fighting, Athena, for peace, as you see, at present, prevails both in Frigia and in Lydia, and my father's kingdom is free from war. But never mind, for you shall not be the worst for it, even though we do not give judgment for bribes. Well, now, put on your clothes again, and replace the helmet on your head, for I have seen enough. It is now time for Aphrodite to appear. Here I am at your elbow, and examine carefully each part of me, one by one, passing over nothing, but dwelling upon every one of my charms. And, if you will, my handsome youth, listen to this from me. I have reason to ask you to do so, for I have long ago observed you to be young and good-looking, of such sort that I doubt if all Frigia supports another like you. And I congratulate you on your good looks, but I blame you that you do not leave these lonely cliffs and these rocks, and go and live in the city, instead of wasting your sweetness on the desert air. For what enjoyment can such as you obtain from the mountains, and what satisfaction can your cows derive from your handsome face? You ought by this time to have married, not however some hoidonish and rustic girl, such as are the women of Aida, but some girl out of Hellas, from Argos, or from Corinth, or a Spartan lady, such as Helen, young and beautiful, and in no way inferior to myself, and, what is indeed most to the point, of an amorous disposition. For I tell you, if she were but only to see you, she would, I am sure, leave all, and give herself up soul and body to you, and would follow your fortunes, and live with you. But surely even you have heard something of her fame. Not a word, Aphrodite, and I should now be glad to hear from you a full account of her. She's the daughter of Leda, the famous beauty to whom Zeus flew down in the shape of a swan. What is she like to look at? Pale and fair, as the daughter of a swan might be expected to be, and delicate, like one bred in an egg, trained naked, for the most part, in the gymnasium, and skilled in the art of wrestling. And she has been, in a manner, so much indeed in request, that there has even been a war on her account. Theseus having run away with her, were not yet in her teens. Not indeed, but that, since she arrived at her majority, all the greatest princes of the Archaians met together to woo her, and Manolas, of the family of the Pelopidae, was preferred. If you wish it, I say, I will bring about the nuptials for you. What, with a girl already married? You are young and country-fied. I know, however, how affairs of this sort are to be managed. How? For I should like to know, too, myself. You will set out on your travels, as if with the purpose of seeing Hellas. And as soon as ever you arrive at Lekker Daemon, Helen shall see you, and from that moment it will be my business, that she shall fall in love, and run away with you. That's the very thing that seems to me hard to believe, that she should leave her husband, and be ready to sail off with a foreigner and a stranger. As far as that's concerned, have no fear, for I have two handsome boys, Desire and Love. Them I will give you to be guides of the way, and Love stealthily assailing her with all his might will compel the lady to fall in love, while Desire, shedding his whole influence over yourself, will render you what he is himself, an object of Desire and of Love, and I will be present in person to assist him. I will request of the Graces also to attend you, so that all of us together may persuade her. How it will all turn out is not clear, Aphrodite, but I am already in love with this Helen, and I fancy, I don't know how, I even see her, and am on my voyage straight for Hellas, and am staying at Sparta. Yes, and am now returning home with my wife, and I feel vexed I am not already engaged about all this. Don't fall in love, Paris, before you have rewarded your matchmaker and the bridesmaid with your favourable sentence, for it would be proper for me, too, to be with you as to bring our victory, and at once to celebrate your marriage, and to sing your triumphal odes, for it is in your own power to purchase everything, love, beauty, marriage, with this apple here. I am afraid that, after the verdict, you may forget me. Would you have me then give you my oath upon it? Not at all, but just promise me once again. I promise you, I say, to give over to you Helen for your wife, and that she shall run away with you and shall come to Ilium to you. I myself will certainly be present and will assist you in everything, and you will bring love and desire and the graces. Be sure of it, and I will take with me passionate longing and hymn besides. On these conditions, then, I give the apple to you. On these conditions receive it. END OF DIALOGUE XXI Hermes, read by Owen Cook Aries, read by phone Did you hear, Hermes, what threats Zeus uttered against us, how arrogant and absurd? If I should have a mind to it, says he, I will let down a chain from heaven, and you shall hang on it, and use all your force to pull me down, but you will labour in vain, for you will certainly not drag me down, whereas should I wish to drag it up, not only you, but both the earth and sea, I will fasten together and suspend in mid-air, and all the other menaces which surely you have heard. Now I, for my part, would not deny that he is superior to and stronger than any of us taken separately, but that he surpasses so many of us together, so that we could not wear him out, even though we brought to our aid earth and sea, that I could not believe. Fair speech, my dear Aries, for it's not safe to speak in this sort of way, for fear we reap some mischief from your idle talk. Why, do you suppose that I should say this to everyone, and not to you alone, who I knew can hold your tongue? But what, however, seemed to me especially ridiculous, as I listened while he was threatening, I could not possibly be silent about to you, why, I remember, no very long time before, when Poseidon and Hera and Athena rose up and conspired to seize him, and put him in fetters, how he resorted to all sorts of devices in his terror, and that, though there were only three against him. And if Thetis, in fact, out of pity, had not summoned to his aid Prioryeus of the Hundred Hands, he would have been bound hand and foot, his thunderbolt and all. As I thought of this, it constrained me to laugh at his fine grand eloquence. Hold your tongue, I say, for it is not safe, either for you to talk or for me to hear this sort of language. End of dialogue twenty-one. Dialogue twenty-two of the Dialogues of the Gods by Lucian, translated by Howard Williams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dialogue twenty-two. Pan urges his claims to be the son of Hermes, who is unwilling to admit his paternity. Hermes, read by Stefan. Pan, read by Erin White. How do you do, my father, Hermes? And how are you? But how am I your father? Are you not, perchance, the Kylenian Hermes? Certainly. How, then, are you my son? I am the result of an irregular intrigue. Your love, child. By heaven, rather, probably, of an intrigue of goats. For how could you be mine, with your horns, and such a snub nose, and shaggy beard, and cloven feet, and goatish legs, and tail upon your rump? Whatever sneers you aim at me, it is your own son, you render an object of reproach, my dear father, but yourself steal more for begetting and making such offspring. I am innocent of it all. And whom do you call your mother? Have I, perchance, had an intrigue with a goat, without knowing it? You have not committed adultery with a goat, but recollect yourself, if you have never offered violence to a girl of gentle birth in Arcadia. Why do you bite your thumb to find an answer, and remain in doubt so long? I allude to Penelope, the daughter of Icarius. Then under what circumstances did she bring you into the world, resembling a goat, instead of myself? I will give you her very own story. Well, when she dispatched me to Arcadia, my child, said she, I am your mother Penelope of Sparta, and know you have a god, Hermes, the son of Maia and Zeus, for your father, and if you wear horns and have the legs of a goat, let not that circumstance distress you, for when your father visited me, he gave himself the form of a he-goat. To avoid notice, and for that reason, you have turned out very like that animal. In truth, I remember to have done something of the kind. Shall I, however, who pride myself so greatly on my good looks, and am still without a beard, have the reputation of being your father, and incur ridicule at the hands of all on account of my lovely offspring? Yet shall I not disgrace you, father, for I am a musician, and play the pipe with remarkable sweetness? And Bacchus can do nothing without me, but has made me his companion, and Thorsis-bearer for himself, and I lead the dance for him. And if you could see my flocks, too, what a large number I possess in the neighbourhood of Tigaea, and all over Parthenius, you would be greatly delighted. And I rule over all Arcadia. And, but lately, having fought on the side of the Athenians, I distinguished myself so much at Marathon, that even a prize of valor was awarded me, the cave under the Acropolis. In fact, if you go to Athens, you will know how great is the name of Pan there. But tell me, have you already married Pan? For that, I believe, is what they call you. Certainly not, father, for I am of an amorous turn, and could never be content to live with one wife. Then, no doubt, you make love to your she-goats. You are indulging in sarcasm. I keep company with Echo, and with Pities, and with all the mean adds of Bacchus, and am made much of by them. Do you know, however, how you could gratify me, my dear son, who ask a favour of you for the first time? Lay your commands upon me, father, and let us know them. Come to me, then, and affectionately embrace me. But see that you don't call me father, at least in the hearing of anybody else. End of dialogue 22 Dialogue number 23 of the Dialogues of the Gods by Lucian, translated by Howard Williams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dialogue number 23. Apollo remarks to Bacchus on the heterogeneousness of Aphrodite's children, while Bacchus exposes the character of Praepus. Dionysus, read by Todd. Apollo, read by T.J. Burns. What should we say? That Eros, Hermaphrodite, and Praepus are brothers by the same mother? Very unlike though they are in external form, and in their pursuits. For the one is altogether handsome and an archer, and invested with no small amount of power, rules overall, while the second is womanish and only half a man, and of ambiguous appearance. You could not plainly distinguish whether he's a young man or a virgin. As for the third, he is masculine beyond the bounds of all decency. Praepus, I mean. There is nothing to be surprised at, Apollo. For Aphrodite is not the cause of it, but the different fathers. Often, in fact, where the children are by the same father, of the same mother, they are like yourselves, but one a male, the other a female. Yes, but we are alike, and follow the same pursuits, for we are archers, both of us. As far as the bow is concerned, your occupation is the same, Apollo. But those other things are not exactly similar. That Artemis murdered strangers among the Scythians, and you act the prophet, and set up for a doctor. Why, do you imagine that my sister is happy with the Scythians? Seeing she is quite prepared, if any Greek should ever happen to touch the Tauric Peninsula, to sail away with him, loathing her sacrificial butchery. And she does well to do so. As for Praepus, however, for I will tell you something highly ridiculous. Being lately at Lemsakas, I was traveling by the city, and he received me hospitably, and gave me lodgings in his house. When we had retired to rest, after having sufficiently moistened ourselves at the dinner, somewhere above midnight my excellent host got up. But I blushed to tell you. Did he make any attempt on your virtue Dionysus? Something of the sort. And you? What did you do thereupon? Why, what else but laugh? Well done. That was acted in no unkind or uncivil manner. He was to be excused indeed, considering his attempt was directed against so good-looking a personage as yourself. For that same reason, my dear Apollo, he might direct his attention to you, too. For you are a good-looking youth, and adorned with long flowing tresses, so that Praepus might well attempt your virtue, even in his sober moments. He will not do so, however, Dionysus. For with my flowing hair, I have my bows and arrows also. End of dialogue twenty-three. Dialogue twenty-four of the Dialogues of the Gods by Lucian, translated by Howard Williams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dialogue twenty-four. Hermes complains to his mother of the multiplicity of his employments. Hermes, read by Stefan. Maya, read by Leannia. Why, mother, is any God in heaven more thoroughly ruttured than I? Pray, don't talk in that way, my dear Hermes. Why should not I talk so, who have such a number of duties to attend to, toiling as I do, all alone, and distracted to so many services? For as soon as I am up at daybreak, I have to sweep out our banqueting hall, and after carefully arranging the couches, and putting each particular thing in order. I have to take my place at the side of Zeus, and carry about in all directions the messages I receive from him, running up and down the whole day like a courier. And as soon as I have returned up here again, while still covered with dust, I must hand him the ambrosia. Before, too, this lately purchased cup-bearer arrived. It was my business to pour in the nectar also. But what is most dreadful of all is that I alone of all the gods get no sleep even at night. But I must needs also be then conducting souls to Pluto, and acting as marshal of dead men, and dance attendants in his court of justice. For my employments by they are not enough to take my place in the palestra, and even to act as herald in the representative assemblies, and to train orators. But, parceled out as I am already, for all these services I must also take part in the affairs of the dead, and yet the sons of Leda take their places each in turn every other day in heaven and in Hades. But I must perforce, be about my duties here and there, the sons of Alkemena and Semeli, two born of wretched women, though they be, feast without care, whereas I, the son of Maya, the daughter of Atlas, wait upon them. And now, having but just come from Sidon, from the daughter of Cadmus, to whom he has sent me to see what the girl is about, and before even I have had time to get my breath, he packs me off again to Argus to look after Dany, then go from dense, says he, into Biosha, and have a look at Antiope, by the way. In truth I am quite done up and given, if I could, I vow I would gladly claim my right to be sold like those slaves on the earth who are vilely treated. Don't mind these things, child, for you must perforce, be submissive to your father and everything, since you are but a youth. And now, as you have been dispatched, march off to Argus, then to Biosha, that you may not get a beating for your dilatoranus, for people in love are apt to have short tempers. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Zeus, read by Owen Cook. What have you done, worst of Titans? You have ruined everything on the earth by trusting that chariot of yours to a foolish youth who was burned up for one half of the world by being carried to near the earth, and the other half has caused to be utterly destroyed by cold, by withdrawing heat too far from it, and in fine there is nothing whatever that has not been utterly thrown into disturbance and confusion. Indeed, if I had not perceived what had happened and hurled him down with my thunderbolt, there would have remained not even a remnant of the human species. Such an excellent driver and chariotier have you sent forth in that fine son of yours. I committed an arrow, Zeus, but don't be hard upon me, since I was prevailed upon by my son with his frequent entreaties, for from whence could I have at all expected that so tremendous a mischief could come about? Did you not know what extreme caution the matter needed, and that if one swerved ever so little from the road everything was ruined? Were you ignorant too of the temper of the horses, and how absolutely necessary it is to hold a tight reign? For if one slackens at all they immediately take the bit in their mouths, just as in fact they ran away with him, now to the left and after a space to the right, and sometimes in the opposite direction to their course and upwards and downwards in fine, where they themselves had a mind to go, while he did not know how to treat them. All this indeed I knew, and for that reason I for a long time resisted, and would not trust the driving to him, but when he begged me over and over again with tears in his mother's climony with him, after mounting him on the chariot I cautioned him, how he must stand firmly, and how far he should allow his horses to go into the higher regions and be born aloft, then how far he must direct them downwards again, and how he must have complete control of the reins, and not surrender them to the fireiness of his steeds, and I told him too how great was the peril if he did not keep the straight road. Well, he, mere boy that he was, taking his stand upon such a tremendous fire chariot, and peering down into the yawning abyss was seized with sudden terror, as was to be expected, while the horses, when they perceived that it was not I who was mounted upon the vehicle, not heeding the youthful driver, swerved from their proper route, and caused this terrific calamity, then he, letting go of the reins from sheer fright I suppose, lest he should be thrown out himself, clung to the front rail of the chariot, but he now has received the reward of his rashness, and for me his dues, the consequent grief, ought to be enough punishment. Enough punishment, do you say? You who have rashly risked all this? However, I will grant your pardon now, for this time, but for the future, if you transgress at all in a similar fashion, or dispatch any similar substitute for yourself, you shall at once know of how much more fiery virtue is my thunderbolt than your fire. So now let his sisters bury him near the erudanus, whereabouts he fell, where he was pitched out, weeping amber over him, and let them become poplars out of their grief for him. But do you, for your part, put your chariot to pieces again? Both its pole is broken in two, and one of the wheels is completely smashed, and yoking your horses, drive on once more. Well, keep in mind all these injunctions. End of dialogue 25 Dialogue 26 of the Dialogues of the Gods by Lucienne, translated by Howard Williams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dialogue 26 Apollo asks Hermes to point out to him of the Twin Diaschiorei, which is Caster, and which Palladukes, and takes the opportunity of criticising their divine pretensions. Apollo, read by Aaron White. Hermes, read by Owen Cook. Can you tell me, Hermes, which of these is Caster, or which is Palladukes? For I could not distinguish between them. That is Caster, who was with us yesterday, and this is Palladukes. How do you make your distinction, for they are as like as two peas? Thus, because this one Apollo has upon his face the traces of the wounds which he received from his antagonists when boxing, and especially the wounds which were inflicted on him by the Bibrysian Nameicus, when on the voyage with Jason, while the other shows nothing of the kind, but is untouched and unwounded in his face. Ah! you have conferred an obligation upon me by indicating the distinguishing marks, since in regard to other parts all are exactly alike. The half-segment of an egg and star above on their heads, a javelin in the hand, and each mounted on a white horse, so that I frequently addressed Palladukes as Caster, and the latter by the name of Palladukes. But tell me this, too. Why in the world do they not both live with us, but by halves, either of them at one moment is a dead man, and at another a divinity? They act so out of brotherly affection. For since one of the sons of Leda must have died, and the other have been a mortal alone, they of their own accord divided for themselves immortality between them in this way. And not altogether wise decision, Hermes, since by this arrangement they will not even see each other, what I suppose they especially desired, for how can they when one is with the gods, and the other with the dead? But, however, just as I deal in prophecy, and as escapious deals in medicine, and you, excellent trainer that you are, give instruction in the art of wrestling, and as Artemis acts the midwife, and each one of the rest of us exercises some profession useful either to the gods or to men, what then will these good people do for us? Will they such strapping use as they are enjoy the banquet without working? By no means, but they have assigned to them to act as deputies for Poseidon, and they must ride over the sea, and if they anywhere perceive sailors overtaken by a storm, perch themselves on the ship, and protect the voyagers.