SCRIPTORES EROTICI GRÆCI

THE GREEK ROMANCES

OF

HELIODORUS, LONGUS,

AND

ACHILLES TATIUS,

COMPRISING

THE ETHIOPICS; OR, ADVENTURES OF THEAGENES AND CHARICLEA;

THE PASTORAL AMOURS OF DAPHNIS AND CHLOE;

AND

THE LOVES OF CLITOPHO AND LEUCIPPE.

Translated from the Greek, with notes.

By the REV. ROWLAND SMITH, M.A.

FORMERLY OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD.

LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET COVENT GARDEN.

1901.

CONTENTS.
[PREFACE]
Summaries:
[HELIODORUS.]
[LONGUS.]
[ACHILLES TATIUS.]
[THE ADVENTURES OF THEAGENES AND CHARICLEA.]
[BOOK II.]
[BOOK III.]
[BOOK IV.]
[BOOK V.]
[BOOK VI.]
[BOOK VII.]
[BOOK VIII.]
[BOOK IX.]
[BOOK X.]
[THE LOVES OF DAPHNIS AND CHLOE, A PASTORAL NOVEL.]
[BOOK II.]
[BOOK III.]
[BOOK IV.]
[THE LOVES OF CLITOPHO AND LEUCIPPE.]
[BOOK I.]
[BOOK II.]
[BOOK III.]
[BOOK IV.]
[BOOK V.]
[BOOK VI.]
[BOOK VII.]
[BOOK VIII.]

[PREFACE]

By no reader of classical antiquity will any of its remains be regarded as entirely devoid of worth. The "fine gold" will naturally stand first in estimation, but the "silver and brass and iron," nay even the "iron mingled with miry clay," will each possess its respective value. Accordingly, while the foremost place will ever be assigned to its Historians, Philosophers, Orators, and Poets, the time will not be esteemed thrown away which makes him acquainted with those authors who struck out a new vein of writing, and abandoning the facts of history and the inventions of mythology, drew upon their own imagination and sought for subjects in the manners and pursuits of domestic life.

The publication of a revised translation of Heliodorus and Longus, and of a new translation of Achilles Tatius, calls for some brief prefatory observations upon the origin of fictitious narrative among the Greeks; that department of literature which, above any other, has been prolific in finding followers, more especially in modern times; and which, according to the spirit in which it is handled, is capable of producing some of the best or worst effects upon society.

Works of fiction may, as we know, administer a poisoned cup, but they may also supply a wholesome and pleasing draught; they may be the ministers of the grossest immorality and absurdity, but they may likewise be the vehicles of sound sense and profitable instruction.

"As real History," says Bacon, "gives us not the success of things according to the deserts of vice and virtue Fiction connects it, and presents us with the fates and fortunes of persons, rewarded or punished according to merit."

"It is chiefly in the fictions of an age," says Dunlop, "that we can discover the modes of living, dress, and manners of the period;" and he goes on to say—"But even if the utility which is derived from Fiction were less than it is, how much are we indebted to it for pleasure and enjoyment! It sweetens solitude and charms sorrow—it occupies the attention of the vacant, and unbends the mind of the philosopher. Like the enchanter, Fiction shows us, as it were in a mirror, the most agreeable objects; recalls from a distance the forms which are dear to us, and soothes our own grief by awakening our sympathy for others. By its means the recluse is placed in the midst of society; and he who is harassed and agitated in the city is transported to rural tranquillity and repose. The rude are refined by an introduction, as it were, to the higher orders of mankind, and even the dissipated and selfish are, in some degree, corrected by those paintings of virtue and simple nature, which must ever be employed by the novelist, if he wish to awaken emotion or delight."

Huet, Bishop of Avranches, was the first who wrote a regular and systematic treatise on the origin of fictitious narrative—"De origine Fabularum Romanensium."

He gives it as his opinion, that "not in Provence (Provincia Romanorum), nor yet in Spain, are we to look for the fatherland of those amusing compositions called Romances; but that it is among the people of the East, the Arabs, the Egyptians, the Persians, and the Syrians, that the germ and origin is to be found, of this species of fictitious narrative, for which the peculiar genius and poetical temperament of those nations particularly adapt them, and in which they delight to a degree scarcely to be credited; for even their ordinary discourse is interspersed with figurative expressions, and their maxims of theology and philosophy, and above all of morals and political science, are invariably couched under the guise of allegory or parable." In confirmation of this opinion he remarks, that "nearly all those who in early times distinguished themselves as writers of what are now called Romances, were of Oriental birth or extraction;"—and he instances "Clearchus, a pupil of Aristotle, who was a native of Soli, in Cilicia,—Iamblicus, a Syrian—Heliodorus and Lucian, natives, the one of Emessa, the other of Samosata—Achilles Tatius, of Alexandria."

This statement of Huet's is admitted to hold good, generally, by the author of a very interesting Article on the "Early Greek Romances," in No. CCCXXXIII. of Blackwood's Magazine; who however differs from the learned Bishop in some particulars.

"While fully admitting," he says, "that it is to the vivid fancy and picturesque imagination of the Orientals that we owe the origin of all those popular legends, which have penetrated under various changes of costume, into every corner of Europe, we still hold, that the invention of the Romance of ordinary life, on which the interest of the story depends upon occurrences in some measure within the bounds of probability, and in which the heroes and heroines are neither invested with superhuman qualities, nor extricated from their difficulties by supernatural means, must be ascribed to a more European state of society than that which produced those tales of wonder, which are commonly considered as characteristic of the climes of the East."

This difference of opinion he fortifies, by remarking that "the authors enumerated by the Bishop of Avranches himself were all denizens of Greek cities of Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt, and consequently, in all probability, Greeks by descent; and though the scene of their works is frequently laid in Asia, the costumes and characters introduced are almost invariably on the Greek model."

He concludes this part of his subject by saying; "these writers, therefore, may fairly be considered as constituting a distinct class from those more strictly Oriental—not only in birth but in language and ideas; and as being in fact the legitimate forerunners of modern novelists."

The first to imbibe a love for fictitious narrative from the Eastern people among whom they dwelt, were the Milesians, a colony of Greeks, and from them this species of narrative derived the name of "Sermo Milesius."[1] A specimen of the Milesian tale may be seen in the Stories of Parthenius, which are chiefly of the amatory kind, and not over remarkable for their moral tendency. From the Greek inhabitants of Asia Minor, especially from the Milesians, it was natural that a fondness for Fiction should extend itself into Greece, and that pleasure should produce imitation. But it was not until the conquests of Alexander, that a greater intercourse between Greece and Asia became the means of conveying the stores of fiction from the one continent to the other.

The Romance writers, who flourished previous to Heliodorus, are known only from the summary of their compositions preserved to us by Photius, Patriarch of Constantinople, in the ninth century. We subjoin their names and the titles of their works:—

Antonius Diogenes wrote "The incredible things in Thule;" Iamblicus, the "Babylonica," comprising the formidable number of sixteen books; in addition to which there is the "Ass" of Lucian, founded chiefly upon the "Metamorphoses of Lucius."

The palm of merit, in every respect, especially "in the arrangement of his fable," has been universally assigned to Heliodorus, Bishop of Tricca in Thessaly, who flourished A.D. 400; "whose writing," says Huet, "the subsequent novelists of those ages constantly proposed to themselves as a model for imitation; and as truly may they all be said to have drunk of the waters of this fountain, as all the Poets did of the Homeric spring."

The writers of Romance, posterior to Heliodorus, who alone are worthy of note, are Achilles Tatius, who is allowed to come next to him in merit; Longus, who has given the first example of the "Pastoral Romance;" and Xenophon, of Ephesus.

Having alluded to the various writers of fictitious narrative, our farther remarks may be confined to Heliodorus, Longus, and Achilles Tatius. With the work of the author of the "Ethiopics" are connected some curious circumstances, which shall be given in the words of an Ecclesiastical Historian, quoted by the writer of the article in Blackwood.

Nicephorus, B. xii. c. 34, says—"This Heliodorus, Bishop of Tricca, had in his youth written certain love stories, called 'Ethiopics,' which are highly popular, even at the present day, though they are now better known by the title of 'Chariclea;' and it was by reason thereof that he lost his see. For inasmuch as many of the youths were drawn into peril of sin by the perusal of these amorous tales, it was determined by the Provincial Synod, that either these books, which kindled the fire of love, should themselves be consumed by fire, or that the author should be deposed from his episcopal functions; and this choice being propounded to him, he preferred resigning his bishoprick to suppressing his writings.—Heliodorus," continues the reviewer, "according to the same authority, was the first Thessalian Bishop who had insisted on the married clergy putting away their wives, which may probably have tended to make him unpopular; but the story of his deposition, it should be observed, rests solely on the statement of Nicephorus, and is discredited by Bayle and Huet, who argue that the silence of Socrates, (Eccles. Hist. B. v. c. 22), in the chapter where he expressly assigns the authority of the 'Ethiopics' to the 'Bishop' Heliodorus, more than counterbalances the unsupported assertion of Nicephorus;—'an author,' says Huet, 'of more credulity than judgment.' If Heliodorus were, indeed, as has been generally supposed, the same to whom several of the Epistles of St. Jerome were addressed, this circumstance would supply an additional argument against the probability of his having incurred the censures of the Church; but whatever the testimony of Nicephorus may be worth on this point, his mention of the work affords undeniable proof of its long continued popularity, as his Ecclesiastical History was written about A.D. 900, and Heliodorus lived under the reign of the sons of Theodosius, fully 500 years earlier."

Of the popularity of his work in more recent times, the following instances may be given. "Tasso," says Ghirardini, "became acquainted with this Romance when it was introduced at the Court of Charles the IXth of Prance, where it was read by the ladies and gentlemen in the translation made by Amiot. The poet promised the courtiers that they should soon see the work attired in the most splendid vestments of Italian poetry, and kept his promise, by transferring to the heroine Clorinda (in the tenth canto of the 'Gerusalemme') the circumstances attending the birth and early life of the Ethiopian maiden Chariclea."

"The proposed sacrifice and subsequent discovery of the birth of Chariclea have likewise," observes Dunlop, "been imitated in the Pastor Fido of Guarini, and through it, in the Astrea of D'Urfé.

"Racine had at one time intended writing a drama on the subject of this Romance, a plan which has been accomplished by Dorat, in his Tragedy of Theagenes and Chariclea, acted at Paris in the year 1762. It also suggested the plot of an old English tragi-comedy, by an unknown author, entitled the 'Strange Discovery.'"

Hardy, the French poet, wrote eight tragedies in verse on the same subject, without materially altering the ground-work of the Romance; "an instance of literary prodigality"—remarks Dunlop truly—"which is perhaps unexampled."

Nor have authors only availed themselves of the work of Heliodorus. Artists likewise have sought from his pages subjects for their canvass.

"Two of the most striking incidents have been finely delineated by Raphael in separate paintings, in which he was assisted by Julio Romano. In one he has seized the moment when Theagenes and Chariclea meet in the temple of Delphi, and Chariclea presents Theagenes with a torch to kindle the sacrifice. In the other he has chosen for his subject, the capture of the Tyrian ship, in which Calasiris was conducting Theagenes and Chariclea to the coast of Sicily. The vessel is supposed to have already struck to the Pirates, and Chariclea is exhibited, by the light of the moon, in a suppliant posture, imploring Trachinus that she might not be separated from her lover and Calasiris."

Heliodorus, as has already been remarked, is allowed to be far superior to any of his predecessors in "the disposition of the fable;" as also, "in the artful manner in which the tale is disclosed;" and Tasso praises him for the skill which he displays in keeping the mind of his reader in suspense, and in gradually clearing up what appeared confused and perplexed. His style is, in many parts, highly poetical, abounding in expressions and turns of thought borrowed from the Greek poets, to which, indeed, it is quite impossible to do justice when translating them into another language.

The chief defects in the composition of his work, are the digressions—for instance, the adventures of Cnemon and the siege of Cyene; together with certain critical and philosophical discussions, which, while they take up considerable space distract the attention of the reader, without adding to his interest.

He has also been blamed for making a third person—Calasiris—recount the adventures of the hero and heroine; instead of letting them tell their own story. As regards the two principal characters, it must be allowed that the hero, like many heroes in modern novels, is "insipid." Upon certain occasions, it is true that Theagenes "comes out:" he does battle boldly with the pirate lieutenant; distances his rival, in good style, in the running match; effectually cools the courage of the Ethiopian bully; and gives proof of the skill of reasoning man over the strength of the irrational brute in the scene of the Taurocathapsia; but with these exceptions, he is remarkable chiefly for his resistance to temptations, and for the constancy of his affections—no slight merits, however, especially in a heathen, and like other "quiet virtues," of greater intrinsic value than more sparkling and showy qualities.

Of Chariclea, on the other hand, it has with justice been observed,[2] that "her character makes ample amends for the defects in that of her lover. The masculine firmness and presence of mind which she evinces in situations of peril and difficulty, combined at all times with feminine delicacy; and the warmth and confiding simplicity of her love for Theagenes, attach to her a degree of interest which belongs to none of the other personages."

"The course of true love never did run smooth," says the Poet; and however defective may be the work of Heliodorus, in other respects, none of its readers will deny that the author has exemplified the words of the Bard in the perils, and escapes, separations, and unexpected reunion of the hero and heroine of the "Ethiopics."

None there are, we trust but will rejoice, when at the conclusion, they find—

"How Fate to Virtue paid her debt,
And for their troubles, bade them prove
A lengthened life of peace and love."

The forte of Heliodorus lies especially in descriptions; his work abounds in these, and apart from the general story, the most interesting portions are, the account of the haunts of the Buccaneers; the procession at Delphi, with the respective retinues and dresses of Theagenes and Chariclea; the wrestling match, and the bull fight—all these are brought before the reader with picturesque effect, and in forcible and vivid language; nor should we omit what is very curious and valuable in an antiquarian point of view, his minute description of the panoply worn by man and horse composing the flower of the Persian army, which paints to the life, the iron-clad heroes of the Crusades, so many centuries before they appeared upon the scene.

With reference to the writers of Greek Romance, in general, there is one particular point which deserves mention; the more prominent manner in which they bring forward that sex, whose influence is so powerful upon society, but whose seclusion in those early times banished them from a participation in the every day affairs of life. "The Greek Romances," says Dunlop, "may be considered as almost the first productions, in which woman is in any degree represented as assuming her proper station of the friend and companion of man. Hitherto she had been considered almost in the light of a slave, ready to bestow her affections on whatever master might happen to obtain her; but in Heliodorus and his followers, we see her an affectionate guide and adviser. We behold an union of hearts painted as a main spring of our conduct in life—we are delighted with pictures of fidelity, constancy, and chastity."

The same writer sums up his observations upon the Greek Romances, by saying: "They are less valuable than they might have been, from giving too much to adventure, and too little to manners and character; but these have not been altogether neglected, and several pleasing pictures are delineated of ancient customs and feelings. In short, these early fictions are such as might have been expected at the first effort, and must be considered as not merely valuable in themselves, but as highly estimable in pointing out the method of awaking the most pleasing sympathies of our nature, and affecting most powerfully the fancy and heart." The popularity of Heliodorus has found translators for his Romance in almost every European language—France, Spain, Italy, Poland, Germany, and Holland have contributed their versions.

Four Translations have appeared in English, by Thomas Underdowne, Lond., 1587; W. Lisle, Lond., 1622; N. Tate and another hand, 1686; lastly, the translation upon which the present one is based, 1791.

Among these, Lisle, who favoured the world with a Poetical version of the Prose Romance, affords us an example of an adventurous and ill fated wight.

"Carmina qui scripsit Musis et Apolline nullo."
"Apollo and the Nine; their heavy curse
On him did lay;—they bid him—go, write verse."

The Reviewer in Blackwood designates his production, as "one of the most precious specimens of balderdash in existence; a perfect literary curiosity in its way." Of the truth of which any one, who will be at the trouble of turning over his pages, may satisfy himself.

The worthy man, at starting, prays earnestly for "A sip of liquor Castaline," and having done this, he mounts and does his best to get Pegasus into a canter; but it is all in vain—whip and spurs avail not; the poor jade, spavined and galled, will not budge an inch; however, nothing daunted, the rowels and scourge are most unmercifully applied; the wretched brute gets into a kind of hobbling trot, which enables the rider to say at the end of his journey—

"This have I wrought with day and nightly swinke
. . . . . .
That after-comers know, when I am dead,
I, some good thing in life endeavoured;—
. . . . . .
To keep my name undrown'd in Lethe pool;
In vain (may seem) is wealth or learning lent
To man that leaves thereof no monument."

The version upon which the present one is founded, is in many places more of a paraphrase than a translation. Several passages are entirely omitted, while of others the sense has been mistaken; it has been the endeavour of the translator to remedy these defects, and to give the meaning of his author as literally as is consistent with avoiding stiffness and ruggedness of style.

With regard to Longus nothing is known of his birthplace, nor is it certain at what period he flourished; he is generally supposed however to have lived during the reign of Theodosius the Great, in the fourth century. Photius and Suidas, who have preserved the names of various Greek Romance writers, and have likewise given us summaries of their works, make no mention of him.

An extract from the work of Mr. Dunlop, on the "History of Fiction," will form a suitable Introduction to this Pastoral Romance, the first of its kind, and one which is considered to have had much influence upon the style of subsequent writers of Romance, in ancient times, as also among those of the moderns who have chosen for their theme a Pastoral subject.

After reviewing the Ethiopics of Heliodorus, Mr. Dunlop goes on to say:—

"We now proceed to the analysis of a romance different in its nature from the works already mentioned; and of a species which may be distinguished by the appellation of Pastoral Romance.

"It may be conjectured with much probability, that pastoral composition sometimes expressed the devotion, and sometimes formed the entertainment of the first generations of mankind. The sacred writings sufficiently inform us that it existed among the eastern nations during the earliest ages. Rural images are everywhere scattered through the Old Testament; and the Song of Solomon in particular beautifully delineates the charms of a country life, while it paints the most amiable affections of the mind, and the sweetest scenery of nature. A number of passages of Theocritus bear a striking resemblance to descriptions in the inspired pastoral; and many critics have believed that he had studied its beauties and transferred them to his eclogues. Theocritus was imitated in his own dialect by Moschus and Bion; and Virgil, taking advantage of a different language copied, yet rivalled the Sicilian. The Bucolics of the Roman bard seem to have been considered as precluding all attempts of the same kind; for, if we except the feeble efforts of Calpurnius and his contemporary Nemesianus, who lived in the third century, no subsequent specimen of pastoral poetry was, as far as I know, produced till the revival of literature.

"It was during this interval that Longus, a Greek sophist, who is said to have lived soon after the age of Tatius, wrote his pastoral romance of Daphnis and Chloe, which is the earliest, and by far the finest example that has appeared of this species of composition. Availing himself of the beauties of the pastoral poets who preceded him, he has added to their simplicity of style, and charming pictures of Nature, a story which possesses considerable interest. In some respects a prose romance is better adapted than the eclogue or drama to pastoral composition. The eclogue is confined within narrow limits, and must terminate before interest can be excited. A series of Bucolics, where two or more shepherds are introduced contending for the reward of a crook or a kid, and at most descanting for a short time on similar topics, resembles a collection of the first scenes of a number of comedies, of which the commencement can only be listened to as unfolding the subsequent action. The drama is, no doubt, a better form of pastoral writing than detached eclogues, but at the same time does not well accord with rustic manners and descriptions.

"In dramatic composition, the representation of strong passions is best calculated to produce interest or emotion, but the feelings of rural existence should be painted as tranquil and calm. In choosing a prose romance as the vehicle of pastoral writing, Longus has adopted a form that may include all the beauties arising from the description of rustic manners, or the scenery of nature, and which, as far as the incidents of rural life admit, may interest by an agreeable fable, and delight by a judicious alternation of narrative and dialogue. Longus has also avoided many of the faults into which his modern imitators have fallen, and which have brought this style of composition into so much disrepute; his characters never express the conceits of affected gallantry, nor involve themselves in abstract reasoning; he has not loaded his romance with those long and constantly recurring episodes, which fatigue the attention, and render us indifferent to the principal story. Nor does he paint that chimerical state of society, termed the golden age, in which the characteristic traits of rural life are erased, but attempts to please by a genuine imitation of Nature, and by descriptions of the manners, the rustic occupations, or rural enjoyments of the inhabitants of the country where the scene of the pastoral is laid.

"The pastoral is in general very beautifully written;—the style, though it has been censured on account of the reiteration of the same forms of expression, and as betraying the sophist in some passages by a play on words, and affected antithesis, is considered as the purest specimen of the Greek language produced in that late period; the descriptions of rural scenery and rural occupations are extremely pleasing, and if I may use the expression, there is a sort of amenity and calm diffused over the whole romance. This, indeed, may be considered as the chief excellence in a pastoral; since we are not so much allured by the feeding of sheep as by the stillness of the country. In all our active pursuits, the end proposed is tranquillity, and even when we lose the hope of happiness, we are attracted by that of repose; hence we are soothed and delighted with its representation, and fancy we partake of the pleasure.

"There can be no doubt that the pastoral of Longus had a considerable influence on the style and incidents of the subsequent Greek romances, particularly those of Eustathius and Theodorus Prodromus; but its effects on modern pastorals, particularly those which appeared in Italy during the sixteenth century, is a subject of more difficulty.—Huet is of opinion, that it was not only the model of the Astrea of D'Urfé, and the Diana of Montemayor, but gave rise to the Italian dramatic pastoral. This opinion is combated by Villoison, on the grounds that the first edition of Longus was not published till 1598, and that Tasso died in the year 1595. It is true that the first Greek edition of Longus was not published till 1598, but there was a French translation by Amyot, which appeared in 1559, and one in Latin verse by Gambara in 1569, either of which might have been seen by Tasso. But although this argument, brought forward by Villoison, be of little avail, he is probably right in the general notion he has adopted that Daphnis and Chloe was not the origin of the pastoral drama. The Sacrificio of Agostino Beccari, which was the earliest specimen of this style of composition, and was acted at Ferrara in 1554, was written previous to the appearance of any edition or version of Longus. Nor is there any similarity in the story or incidents of the Aminta to those in Daphnis and Chloe, which should lead us to imagine that the Greek romance had been imitated by Tasso.

"It bears, however, a stronger likeness to the more recent dramatic pastorals of Italy. These are frequently founded on the exposure of children who, after being brought up as shepherds by reputed fathers, are discovered by their real parents by means of tokens fastened to them when they were abandoned. There is also a considerable resemblance between the story of Daphnis and Chloe and that of the Gentle Shepherd: the plot was suggested to Ramsay by one of his friends, who seems to have taken it from the Greek pastoral. Marmontel, too, in his Annette and Lubin, has imitated the simplicity and inexperience of the lovers of Longus. But of all modern writers the author who has most closely followed this romance is Gessner. In his Idylls there is the same poetical prose, the same beautiful rural descriptions, and the same innocence and simplicity in the rustic characters. In his pastoral of Daphnis, the scene of which is laid in Greece, he has painted, like Longus, the early and innocent attachment of a shepherdess and swain, and has only embellished his picture by the incidents that arise from rural occupations and the revolutions of the year."

To these observations we may add, that Longus is supposed by some to have furnished to Bernardin de St. Pierre the groundwork for his beautiful tale of Paul and Virginia. Many points of resemblance may certainly be traced between the hero and heroine of the respective works; the description of their innocence—their simple and rustic mode of life, and their occupation and diversions. Among the rest may be mentioned the descriptions of the sensations of love when first arising in Virginia; and the pantomimic dance in which she and Paul take part.

An anonymous and "select" translation of Longus, published at Truro, in 1803, has been taken as the basis of the present version. The passages (and there are many) omitted by the former translator are here given, together with a considerable fragment, first discovered by M. Paul Louis Courier, in 1810, in the Laurentian Library at Florence. It has been the endeavour of the present translator to make his version convey the sense of the original as faithful as possible, except in some few passages ("egregio inspersos corpore nævos") where it has been considered advisable to employ the veil of a learned language.

In reading the work of Longus, we must bear in mind that he was most probably a heathen, or at any rate, that he describes the heathen state of morals.

The following passage from Dr. Nott's Preface to his translation of Catullus will illustrate the principle upon which the present translator has gone, in presenting in an English dress passages entirely omitted in the anonymous version, before referred to:—

"When an ancient classic is translated and explained, the work may be considered as forming a link in the chain of history.—History should not be falsified, we ought therefore to translate him somewhat fairly, and when he gives us the manners of his own day, however disgusting to our sensations and repugnant to our natures they may oftentimes prove, we must not, in translation, suppress or even too much gloss them over, through a fastidious regard to delicacy."[3]

Achilles Tatius was a native of Alexandria, commonly assigned to the second or third century of the Christian æra, but considered by the best critics to have flourished after Heliodorus, to whom he is looked upon as next in point of literary merit, and whom he has more or less imitated in various parts of his works, like him frequently introducing into the thread of his narrative the Egyptian buccaneers. According to Suidas, he became, towards the end of his life, a Christian and a Bishop; a statement which is however considered doubtful, as no mention is made by that lexicographer of his Episcopal see, and Photius, who mentions him in three different places, is silent upon the subject.

In point of style, Achilles Tatius is considered to excel Heliodorus and the other writers of Greek Romance. Photius says of him,—"With regard to diction and composition, Tatius seems to me to excel when he employs figurative language: it is clear and natural; his sentences are precise and limpid, and such as by their sweetness greatly delight the ear."

Like Heliodorus, one of his principal excellences lies in descriptions; and though these, as Mr. Dunlop observes, "are too luxuriant, they are in general beautiful, the objects being at once well selected, and so painted as to form in the mind of the reader a distinct and lively image. As an example of his merit in this way, may be mentioned his description of a garden, and of a tempest followed by a shipwreck; also his accounts of the pictures of Europa, Andromeda, and Prometheus, in which his descriptions and criticisms are executed with very considerable taste and feeling." The same writer, however, justly notes "the absurd and aukward manner in which the author, as if to show his various acquirements, drags in without the slightest necessity, some of those minute descriptions, viz., those of the necklace, and of different zoological curiosities, in the Second Book, together with the invention of purple-dying, and the accounts drawn from natural history, which are interspersed in the Fourth Book."

In his discussions upon the passions of love, and its power over human nature, however we may object to the warmth of his description, we cannot but allow the ability with which the colours are laid on.

"The rise and progress of the passion of Clitopho for Leucippe," observes Mr. Dunlop, "is extremely well executed,—of this there is nothing in the romance of Heliodorus. Theagenes and Chariclea, are at first sight violently and mutually enamoured; in Tatius we have more of the restless agitation of love and the arts of courtship. Indeed this is by much the best part of the Clitopho and Leucippe, as the author discloses very considerable acquaintance with the human heart. This knowledge also appears in the sentiments scattered through the work, though it must be confessed, that in many of his remarks he is apt to subtilize and refine too much."

In the hero of his work, Achilles Tatius is more unfortunate even than Heliodorus.—"Clitopho," says a reviewer, "is a human body, uninformed with a human soul, but delivered up to all the instincts of nature and the senses. He neither commands respect by his courage, nor affection by his constancy." As in the work of Heliodorus so in that of Achilles Tatius, it is the heroine who excites our sympathy and interest:—"Leucippe, patient, high-minded, resigned and firm, endures adversity with grace; preserving throughout the helplessness and temptations of captivity, irreproachable purity and constancy unchangeable."

In concluding these remarks upon one of the three chief writers of Greek Romance, one more observation of Mr. Dunlop will not be out of place.—"Tatius," he says, "has been much blamed for the immorality of his Romance, and it must be acknowledged that there are particular passages which are extremely exceptionable; yet, however odious some of these may be considered, the general moral tendency of the story is good; a remark which may be extended to all the Greek Romances. Tatius punishes his hero and heroine for eloping from their father's house, and afterwards rewards them for their long fidelity."

Several French translations of Achilles Tatius have appeared; an Italian one by Coccio; also an English one published at Oxford in 1638, which the present writer, after many inquiries, has been unable to procure a sight of.

R. S.

October, 1855.

[1] In the opening of his celebrated novel, the "Golden Ass," Apuleius says—"At ego tibi sermone isto Milesio varias fabulas conseram," &c.

[2] Author of article in Blackwood.

[3] N.B.—There have been two other English versions of the work of Longus, one by George Thornley, in 1657, another by James Craggs, in 1764.

There are translations in Italian by Caro and Gozzi, and a French one by Amyot; the first version of the Romance into a modern language, which gives the sense of the original with fidelity, and at the same time with great spirit and quaintness.

[HELIODORUS.]

ETHIOPICS: OR, ADVENTURES OF THEAGENES AND CHARICLEA.

SUMMARY.

As the thread of the story in the Ethiopics is rather entangled, through the author's method of telling it, the following summary from Dunlop's "History of Fiction," will be useful.

"The action of the romance is supposed to take place previous to the age of Alexander the Great, while Egypt was tributary to the Persian monarchs. During that period a queen of Ethiopia, called Persina, having viewed at an amorous crisis a statue of Andromeda, gives birth to a daughter of fair complexion. Fearing that her husband might not think the cause proportioned to the effect, she commits the infant in charge to Sisimithres, an Ethiopian senator, and deposits in his hands a ring and some writings, explaining the circumstances of her birth. The child is named Chariclea, and remains for seven years with her reputed father. At the end of this period he becomes doubtful of her power to preserve her chastity any longer in her native country; he therefore determines to carry her along with him, on an embassy to which he had been appointed, to Oroondates, satrap of Egypt. In that land he accidentally meets Charicles, priest of Delphi, who was travelling on account of domestic afflictions, and to him he transfers the care of Chariclea. Charicles brings her to Delphi, and destines her for the wife of his nephew Alcamenes. In order to reconcile her mind to this alliance, he delivers her over to Calasiris, an Egyptian priest, who at that period resided at Delphi, and undertook to prepossess her in favour of the young man. About the same time, Theagenes, a Thessalian, and descendant of Achilles, comes to Delphi, for the performance of some sacred rite: Theagenes and Chariclea, having seen each other in the temple, become mutually enamoured.

"Calasiris, who had been engaged to influence the mind of Chariclea in favour of her intended husband Alcamenes, is warned in a vision by Apollo that he should return to his own country, and take Theagenes and Chariclea along with him. Henceforth his whole attention is directed to deceive Charicles, and effect his escape from Delphi. Having met with some Phœnician merchants, and having informed the lovers of his intentions, he sets sail along with them for Sicily, to which country the Phœnician vessel was bound; but soon after, passing Zacynthus, the ship is attacked by pirates, who carry Calasiris and those under his protection to the coast of Egypt.

"On the banks of the Nile, Trachinus, the captain of the pirates, prepares a feast to solemnize his nuptials with Chariclea; but Calasiris, with considerable ingenuity having persuaded Pelorus, the second in command, that Chariclea is enamoured of him, a contest naturally arises between him and Trachinus during the feast, and the other pirates, espousing different sides of the quarrel, are all slain except Pelorus, who is attacked and put to flight by Theagenes. The stratagem of Calasiris, however, is of little avail, except to himself: for immediately after the contest, while Calasiris is sitting on a hill at some distance, Theagenes and Chariclea are seized by a band of Egyptian robbers, who conduct them to an establishment formed on an island in a remote lake. Thyamis, the captain of the banditti, becomes enamoured of Chariclea, and declares an intention of espousing her. Chariclea pretends that she is the sister of Theagenes, in order that the jealousy of the robber may not be excited, and the safety of her lover endangered. Chariclea, however, is not long compelled to assume this character of sister.

"The colony is speedily destroyed by the forces of the satrap of Egypt, who was excited to this act of authority by a complaint from Nausicles, a Greek merchant, that the banditti had carried off his mistress. Thyamis, the captain of the robbers, escapes by flight, and Cnemon, a young Athenian, who had been detained in the colony, and with whom Theagenes had formed a friendship during his confinement, sets out in quest of him.

"Theagenes and Chariclea depart soon after on their way to a certain village, where they had agreed to meet Cnemon, but are intercepted on the road by the satrap's forces.

"Theagenes is sent as a present to the King of Persia; and Chariclea, being falsely claimed by Nausicles as his mistress, is conducted to his house. Here Calasiris had accidentally fixed his abode, since his separation from Theagenes and Chariclea; and was also doing the honours of the house to Cnemon in the landlord's absence. Chariclea being recognised by Calasiris, Nausicles abandons the claim to her which he had advanced, and sets sail with Cnemon for Greece, while Calasiris and Chariclea proceed in search of Theagenes. On arriving at Memphis, they find that with his usual good luck, he had again fallen into the power of Thyamis, and was besieging that capital along with the robber. A treaty of peace, however, is speedily concluded. Thyamis is discovered to be the son of Calasiris, and is elected high-priest of Memphis.

"Arsace, who commanded in that city, in the absence of her husband, falls in love with Theagenes; but as he perseveres in resisting all her advances, and in maintaining his fidelity to Chariclea, she orders him to be put to the torture: she also commands her nurse, who was the usual confidant of her amours and instrument of her cruelty, to poison Chariclea; but the cup-bearer having given the nurse the goblet intended for Chariclea, she expires in convulsions. This, however, serves as a pretext to condemn Chariclea as a poisoner, and she is accordingly appointed to be burnt. After she had ascended the pile, and the fire had been lighted, she is saved for that day by the miraculous effects of the stone Pantarbè, which she wore about her person, and which warded off the flames. During the ensuing night a messenger arrives from Oroondates, the husband of Arsace, who was at the time carrying on a war against the Ethiopians: he had been informed of the misconduct of his wife, and had despatched one of his officers to Memphis, with orders to bring Theagenes and Chariclea to his camp. Arsace hangs herself; but the lovers are taken prisoners, on their way to Oroondates, by the scouts of the Ethiopian army, and are conducted to Hydaspes, who was at that time besieging Oroondates in Syene. This city having been taken, and Oroondates vanquished in a great battle, Hydaspes returns to his capital, Meröe, where, by advice of the Gymnosophists, he proposes to sacrifice Theagenes and Chariclea to the Sun and Moon, the deities of Ethiopia.

"As virgins were alone entitled to the privilege of being accepted as victims, Chariclea is subjected to a trial of chastity. Theagenes, while on the very brink of sacrifice, performs many feats of strength and dexterity. A bull, which was his companion in misfortune, having broken from the altar, Theagenes follows him on horseback and subdues him. At length, when the two lovers are about to be immolated, Chariclea, by means of the ring and fillet which had been attached to her at her birth, and had been carefully preserved, is discovered to be the daughter of Hydaspes, which is further confirmed by the testimony of Sisimithres, once her reputed father; and by the opportune arrival of Charicles, priest of Delphi, who was wandering through the world in search of Chariclea. After some demur on the part of the Gymnosophists, Chariclea obtains her own release and that of Theagenes, is united to him in marriage, and acknowledged as heiress of the Ethiopian empire."

[LONGUS.]

ROMANCE OF DAPHNIS AND CHLOE.

SUMMARY.[1]

"In the neigbourhood of Mytilene, the principal city of Lesbos, Lamon, a goatherd, as he was one day tending his flock, discovered an infant sucking one of his goats with surprising dexterity. He takes home the child, and presents him to his wife Myrtale; at the same time he delivers to her a purple mantle with which the boy was adorned, and a little sword with an ivory hilt, which was lying by his side. Lamon having no children of his own, resolves to bring up the foundling, and bestows on him the pastoral name of Daphnis.

"About two years after this occurrence, Dryas, a neighbouring shepherd, finds in the cave of the Nymphs, a female infant, nursed by one of his ewes. The child is brought to the cottage of Dryas, receives the name of Chloe, and is cherished by the old man as if she had been his daughter.

"When Daphnis had reached the age of fifteen and Chloe that of twelve, Lamon and Dryas, their reputed fathers, had corresponding dreams on the same night. The Nymphs of the cave in which Chloe had been discovered appear to each of the old shepherds, delivering Daphnis and Chloe to a winged boy, with a bow and arrows, who commands that Daphnis should be sent to keep goats, and the girl to tend the sheep. Daphnis and Chloe have not long entered on their new employments, which they exercise with a care of their flocks increased by a knowledge of the circumstances of their infancy, when chance brings them to pasture on the same spot. Daphnis collects the wandering sheep of Chloe, and Chloe drives from the rocks the goats of Daphnis. They make reeds in common, and share together their milk and their wine;—their youth, their beauty, the season of the year, everything tends to inspire them with a mutual passion: at length Daphnis having one day fallen into a covered pit which was dug for a wolf, and being considerably hurt, receives from Chloe a kiss, which serves as the first fuel to the flame of love.

"Chloe had another admirer, Dorco the cowherd, who having in vain requested her in marriage from Dryas, her reputed father, resolves to carry her off by force; for this purpose he disguises himself as a wolf, and lurks among some bushes near a place where Chloe used to pasture her sheep. In this garb he is discovered and attacked by the dogs, but is preserved from being torn to pieces by the timely arrival of Daphnis.

"In the beginning of autumn some Tyrian pirates, having landed on the island, seize the oxen of Dorco, and carry off Daphnis whom they meet sauntering on the shore. Chloe hearing him calling for assistance from the ship, flies for help to Dorco, and reaches him when he is just expiring of the wounds inflicted by the corsairs of Tyre. Before his death he gives her his pipe, on which, after she had closed his eyes, she plays according to his instructions a certain tune, which being heard by the oxen in the Tyrian vessel, they all leap overboard and overset the ship. The pirates being loaded with heavy armour are drowned, but Daphnis swims safe to shore.

"Here ends the first book; and in the second the author proceeds to relate, that during autumn Daphnis and Chloe were engaged in the labours, or rather the delights, of the vintage. After the grapes had been gathered and pressed, and the new wine treasured in casks, having returned to feed their flocks, they are accosted one day by an old man, named Philetas, who tells them a long story of seeing Cupid in a garden, adding, that Daphnis and Chloe were to be dedicated to his service; the lovers naturally enquire who Cupid is, for, although they had felt his influence, they were ignorant of his name. Philetas describes his power and his attributes, and points out the remedy for the pain he inflicts.

"The progress of their love was on one occasion interrupted by the arrival of certain youths of Methymnæa, who landed near that part of the island where Daphnis fed his flocks, in order to enjoy the pleasures of the chace during vintage. The twigs by which the ship of these sportsmen was tied to the shore had been eaten through by some goats, and the vessel had been carried away by the tide and the land breeze. Its crew having proceeded up the country in search of the owner of the animals, and not having found him, seized Daphnis as a substitute, and lash him severely, till other shepherds come to his assistance. Philetas is appointed judge between Daphnis and the Methymnæans, but the latter, refusing to abide by his decision, which was unfavourable to them, are driven from the territory. They return, however, next day, and carry off Chloe, with a great quantity of booty. Having landed at a place of shelter which lay in the course of their voyage, they pass the night in festivity, but at dawn of day they are terrified by the unlooked-for appearance of Pan, who threatens them with being drowned before they arrive at their intended place of destination, unless they set Chloe at liberty. Through this interposition she is allowed to return home, and is speedily restored to the arms of Daphnis. The grateful lovers sing hymns to the Nymphs. On the following day they sacrifice to Pan, and hang a goat's skin on a pine adjoining his image. The feast which follows this ceremony is attended by all the old shepherds in the neighbourhood, who recount the adventures of their youth, and their children dance to the sound of the pipe.

"The Third Book commences with the approach of winter. The season of the year precludes the interviews of Daphnis and Chloe. They could no longer meet in the fields, and Daphnis was afraid to excite suspicion by visiting the object of his passion at the cottage of Dryas. He ventures, however, to approach its vicinity, under pretext of laying snares for birds. Engaged in this employment, he waits a long time without any person appearing from the house. At length, when about to depart, Dryas himself comes out in pursuit of a dog, who had run off with the family dinner. He perceives Daphnis with his game, and accordingly, as a profitable speculation, invites him into the cottage. The birds he had caught are prepared for supper, a second cup is filled, a new fire is kindled, and Daphnis is asked to remain next day to attend a sacrifice to be performed to Bacchus. By accepting the invitation, he for some time longer enjoys the society of Chloe. The lovers part, praying for the revival of spring; but while the winter lasted, Daphnis frequently visits the habitation of Dryas. When spring returns, Daphnis and Chloe are the first to lead out their flocks to pasture. Their ardour when they meet in the fields is increased by long absence and the season of the year, but their hearts remain innocent,—a purity which the author still imputes, not to virtue, but to ignorance.

"Chromis, an old man in the neighbourhood, had married a young woman called Lycænium, who falls in love with Daphnis; she becomes acquainted with the perplexity in which he is placed with regard to Chloe, and resolves at once to gratify her own passion and to free him from his embarrassment.

"Daphnis, however, still hesitates to practise with Chloe the lesson he had received from Lycænium.

"In the Fourth Book we are told that, towards the close of summer, a fellow-servant of Lamon arrives from Mytilene, to announce that the lord of the territory on which the reputed fathers of Daphnis and Chloe pasture their flocks, would be with them at the approach of vintage. Lamon prepares everything for his reception with much assiduity, but bestows particular attention on the embellishment of a spacious garden which adjoined his cottage, and of which the different parts are described as having been arranged in a manner fitted to inspire all the agreeable emotions which the art of gardening can produce. On this garden Daphnis had placed his chief hopes of conciliating the good-will of his master; and, through his favour, of being united to Chloe. Lampis, a cowherd, who had asked Chloe in marriage from Dryas, and had been refused, resolves on the destruction of this garden. Accordingly, when it is dark, he tears out the shrubs by the roots and tramples on the flowers. Dreadful is the consternation of Lamon on beholding on the following morning the havoc that had been made. Towards evening his terror is increased by the appearance of Eudromus, one of his master's servants, who gives notice that he would be with them in three days. Astylus (the son of Dionysophanes, proprietor of the territory) arrives first, and promises to obtain pardon from his father of the mischance that had happened to the garden. Astylus is accompanied by a parasite, Gnatho, who is smitten with a friendship à la Grecque for Daphnis. This having come to the knowledge of Lamon, who overhears the parasite ask and obtain Daphnis as a page from Astylus, he conceives it incumbent on him to reveal to Dionysophanes, who had by this time arrived, the mysteries attending the infancy of Daphnis. He at the same time produces the ornaments he had found with the child, on which Dionysophanes instantly recognizes his son. Having married early in youth, he had a daughter and two sons, but being a prudent man, and satisfied with this stock, he had exposed his fourth child, Daphnis: a measure which had become somewhat less expedient, as his daughter and one of his sons died immediately after, on the same day, and Astylus alone survived. The change in the situation of Daphnis does not alter his attachment to Chloe. He begs her in marriage of his father, who, being informed of the circumstances of her infancy, invites all the distinguished persons in the neighbourhood to a festival, at which the articles of dress found along with Chloe are exhibited. The success of this device fully answers expectation, Chloe being acknowledged as his daughter by Megacles, one of the guests, who was now in a prosperous condition, but had exposed his child while in difficulties. There being now no farther obstacle of the union of Daphnis and Chloe, their marriage is solemnized with rustic pomp, and they lead through the rest of their days a happy and pastoral life."

[1] From Dunlop's History of Fiction.

[ACHILLES TATIUS.]

THE LOVES OF CLITOPHO AND LEUCIPPE.

SUMMARY.[1]

"Clitopho, engaged in marriage to his half-sister Calligone, resided at his father Hippias' house in Tyre, where his cousin Leucippe came to seek refuge from a war which was at that time carried on against her native country Byzantium. These young relatives became mutually enamoured. Callisthenes of Byzantium carries off Calligone by mistake instead of Leucippe, and Leucippe's mother having discovered Clitopho one night in the chamber of her daughter, the lovers resolved to avoid the effects of her anger by flight.

"Accompanied by Clinias, a friend of Clitopho, they sailed, in the first instance, for Berytus. After a short stay there, the fugitives set out for Alexandria: the vessel was wrecked on the third day of the voyage, but Clitopho and Leucippe, adhering with great presence of mind to the same plank, were driven on shore near Pelusium, in Egypt. At this place they hired a vessel to carry them to Alexandria, but while sailing up the Nile they were seized by a band of robbers, who infested the banks of the river. The robbers were soon after attacked by the Egyptian forces, commanded by Charmides, to whom Clitopho escaped during the heat of the engagement. Leucippe, however, remained in the power of the enemy, who, with much solemnity apparently ripped up our heroine close to the army of Charmides, and in the sight of her lover, who was prevented from interfering by a deep fosse which separated the two armies.

"The ditch having been filled up, Clitopho in the course of the night went to immolate himself on the spot where Leucippe had been interred. He arrived at her tomb, but was prevented from executing his purpose by the sudden appearance of his servant Satyrus, and of Menelaus, a young man who had sailed with him in the vessel from Berytus. These two persons had also escaped from the shipwreck, and had afterwards fallen into the power of the robbers. By them Leucippe had been accommodated with a false uterus, made of sheep's skin, which gave rise to the deceptio visus above related.

"At the command of Menelaus, Leucippe issued from the tomb, and proceeded with Clitopho and Menelaus to the quarters of Charmides. In a short time this commander became enamoured of Leucippe, as did also Gorgias, one of his officers. Gorgias gave her a potion calculated to inspire her with reciprocal passion; but which being too strong, affected her with a species of madness of a very indecorous character. She is cured, however, by Chæreas, another person who had fallen in love with her, and had discovered the secret of the potion from the servant of Gorgias.

"Taking Chæreas along with them, Clitopho and Leucippe sail for Alexandria. Soon after their arrival, Leucippe was carried off from the neighbourhood of that place, and hurried on board a vessel by a troop of banditti employed by Chæreas. Clitopho pursued the vessel, but when just coming up with it he saw the head of a person whom he mistook for Leucippe struck off by the robbers. Disheartened by this incident, he relinquished the pursuit, and returned to Alexandria. There he was informed that Melitta, a rich Ephesian widow, at that time residing at Alexandria, had fallen in love with him. This intelligence he received from his old friend Clinias, who after the wreck of the vessel in which he had embarked with Clitopho, had got on shore by the usual expedient of a plank, and now suggested to his friend that he should avail himself of the predilection of Melitta.

"In compliance with this suggestion, he set sail with her for Ephesus, but persisted in postponing the nuptials till they should reach that place, in spite of the most vehement importunities on the part of the widow. On their arrival at Ephesus the marriage took place; but before Melitta's object had been accomplished, Clitopho discovered Leucippe among his wife's slaves; and Thersander, Melitta's husband, who was supposed to be drowned, arrived at Ephesus. Clitopho was instantly confined by the enraged husband; but, on condition of putting the last seal to the now invalid marriage, he escaped by the intervention of Melitta. He had not proceeded far when he was overtaken by Thersander, and brought back to confinement. Thersander, of course, fell in love with Leucippe, but not being able to engage her affections, he brought two actions; one declaratory, that Leucippe was his slave, and a prosecution against Clitopho for marrying his wife. Clitopho escapes being put to the torture by the opportune arrival of Sostratus, Leucippe's father, sent on a sacred embassy.

"Leucippe is at last subjected to a trial of chastity in the cave of Diana, from which the sweetest music issued when entered by those who resembled its goddess. Never were notes heard so melodious as those by which Leucippe was vindicated. Thersander was, of course, nonsuited, and retired, loaded with infamy. Leucippe then related to her father and Clitopho that it was a woman dressed in her clothes whose head had been struck off by the banditti, in order to deter Clitopho from further pursuit, but that a quarrel having arisen among them on her account, Chæreas was slain, and after his death she was sold by the other pirates to Sosthenes. By him she had been purchased for Thersander, in whose service she remained till discovered by Clitopho."

Sostratus then relates how Callisthenes, after discovering his mistake, became enamoured of Calligone, conducted her to Byzantium, treated her with all respect, expressing his determination not to marry her without her own and her father's consent. The party in a few days sail to Byzantium, where the nuptials of Clitopho and Leucippe take place. Shortly afterwards they proceed to Tyre, and are present at the wedding of Callisthenes and Calligone, who had arrived in that city before them.

[1] From Dunlop's History of Fiction.

[THE ADVENTURES OF THEAGENES AND CHARICLEA.]

The day had begun to smile cheerily, and the sun was already gilding the tops of the hills, when a band of men, in arms and appearance pirates,[1] having ascended the summit of a mountain which stretches down towards the Heracleotic[2] mouth of the Nile, paused and contemplated the sea which was expanded before them. When not a sail appeared on the water to give them hopes of a booty, they cast their eyes upon the neighbouring shore; where the scene was as follows: a ship was riding at anchor, abandoned by her crew; but to all appearance laden with merchandize, as she drew much water.[3] The beach was strewn with bodies newly slaughtered; some quite dead, others dying, yet still breathing, gave signs of a combat recently ended. Yet it appeared not to have been a designed engagement; but there were mingled with these dreadful spectacles the fragments of an unlucky feast, which seemed to have concluded in this fatal manner. There were tables, some yet spread with eatables; others overturned upon those who had hoped to hide themselves under them; others grasped by hands which had snatched them up as weapons. Cups lay in disorder, half fallen out of the hands of those who had been drinking from them, or which had been flung instead of missiles; for the suddenness of the affray had converted goblets into weapons.

Here lay one wounded with an axe, another bruised by a shell picked up on the beach, a third had his limbs broken with a billet, a fourth was burnt with a torch, but the greater part were transfixed with arrows; in short, the strangest contrast was exhibited within the shortest compass; wine mingled by fate with blood, war with feasting, drinking and fighting, libations and slaughters. Such was the scene that presented itself to the eyes of the pirates.

They gazed some time, puzzled and astonished. The vanquished lay dead before them, but they nowhere saw the conquerors; the victory was plain enough, but the spoils were not taken away; the ship rode quietly at anchor, though with no one on board, yet unpillaged, as much as if it had been defended by a numerous crew, and as if all had been peace. They soon, however, gave up conjecturing, and began to think of plunder; and constituting themselves victors, advanced to seize the prey. But as they came near the ship, and the field of slaughter, a spectacle presented itself which perplexed them more than any which they had yet seen. A maiden of uncommon and almost heavenly beauty sat upon a rock; she seemed deeply afflicted at the scene before her, but amidst that affliction preserved an air of dignity. Her head was crowned with laurel; she had a quiver at her shoulder; under her left arm was a bow, the other hung negligently down; she rested her left elbow on her right knee, and leaning her cheek on her open hand looked earnestly down on a youth who lay upon the ground at some distance. He, wounded all over, seemed to be recovering a little from a deep and almost deadly trance; yet, even in this situation, he appeared of manly beauty, and the whiteness of his cheeks became more conspicuous from the blood which flowed upon them.[4] Pain had depressed his eye-lids, yet with difficulty he raised them towards the maiden; and collecting his spirits, in a languid voice thus addressed her (while the pirates were still gazing upon both): "My love, are you indeed alive? or, has the rage of war involved you also in its miseries?[5] But you cannot bear even in death to be entirely separated from me, for your spirit still hovers round me and my fortunes."—"My fate," replied the maiden, "depends on thee: dost thou see this (showing him a dagger which lay on her knee)? it has yet been idle because thou still breathedst;" and saying this, she sprang from the rock.

The pirates upon the mountain, struck with wonder and admiration, as by a sudden flash of lightning, began to hide themselves among the bushes; for at her rising she appeared still greater and more divine. Her "shafts[6] rattled as she moved;" her gold-embroidered garments glittered in the sun; and her hair flowed, from under her laurel diadem, in dishevelled ringlets down her neck.

The pirates, alarmed and confused, were totally at a loss to account for this appearance, which puzzled them more than the previous spectacle; some said it was the goddess Diana, or Isis, the tutelary deity of the country; others, that it was some priestess, who, inspired by a divine frenzy from the gods, had caused the slaughter they beheld; this they said at random, still in ignorance and doubt. She, flying towards the youth and embracing him, wept, kissed him, wiped off the blood, fetched a deep sigh, and seemed as if she could yet scarcely believe she had him in her arms.

The Egyptians, observing this, began to change their opinion. These, said they, are not the actions of a deity; a goddess would not with so much affection kiss a dying body. They encouraged one another therefore to go nearer, and to inquire into the real state of things. Collecting themselves together, then, they ran down and reached the maiden, as she was busied about the wounds of the youth; and placing themselves behind her, made a stand, not daring to say or do any thing. But she, startled at the noise they made, and the shadow they cast, raised herself up; and just looking at them, again bent down, not in the least terrified at their unusual complexion and piratical appearance, but earnestly applied herself to the care of the wounded youth: so totally does vehement affection, and sincere love, overlook or disregard whatever happens from without, be it pleasing or terrifying; and confines and employs every faculty, both of soul and body, to the beloved object. But when the pirates advancing, stood in front, and seemed preparing to seize her, she raised herself again, and seeing their dark complexion[7] and rugged looks,—"If you are the shades of the slain," said she, "why do you trouble me? Most of you fell by each other's hands; if any died by mine it was in just defence of my endangered chastity. But, if you are living men, it appears to me that you are pirates; you come very opportunely to free me from my misfortunes, and to finish my unhappy story by my death." Thus she spake in tragic strain.[8]

They not understanding what she said, and from the weak condition of the youth, being under no apprehension of their escaping, left them as they were; and proceeding to the ship, began to unload it. It was full of various merchandize; but they cared for nothing but the gold, silver, precious stones, and silken garments, of all which articles they carried away as much as they were able. When they thought they had enough, (and they found sufficient even to satisfy the avidity of pirates,) placing their booty on the shore, they divided it into portions not according to value but to weight; intending to make what related to the maiden and the youth, matter of their next consideration. At this instant another band of plunderers appeared, led by two men on horseback; which as soon as the first party observed, they fled precipitately away, leaving their booty behind them, lest they should be pursued; for they were but ten, whereas those who came down upon them were at least twice as many. The maiden in this manner ran a second risk of being taken captive.

The pirates hastening to their prey, yet from surprise and ignorance of the facts stopt a little. They concluded the slaughter they saw to have been the work of the first robbers; but seeing the maid in a foreign and magnificent dress, little affected by the alarming circumstances which surrounded her, employing her whole attention about the wounded youth, and seeming to feel his pains as if they were her own, they were much struck with her beauty and greatness of mind: they viewed with wonder too the noble form and stature of the young man, who now began to recover himself a little, and to assume his usual countenance. After some time, the leader of the band advancing, laid hands upon the maiden, and ordered her to arise and follow him. She, not understanding his language, yet guessing at his meaning, drew the youth after her (who still kept hold of her); and pointing to a dagger at her bosom, made signs that she would stab herself, unless they took both away together.

The captain, comprehending what she meant, and promising himself a valuable addition to his troop in the youth, if he should recover, dismounted from his horse, and making his lieutenant dismount too, put the prisoners upon their horses, and ordered the rest to follow when they had collected the booty; he himself walked by their side, ready to support them, in case they should be in danger of falling. There was something noble in this; a commander appearing to serve, and a victor waiting upon his captives; such is the power of native dignity and beauty, that it can even impose upon the mind of a pirate, and subdue the fiercest of men.

They travelled about two furlongs along the shore; then, leaving the sea on their right hand, they turned towards the mountains, and with some difficulty ascending them, they arrived at a kind of morass, which extended on the other side. The features of the place were these: the whole tract is called The Pasturage by the Egyptians; in it there is a valley, which receives certain overflowings of the Nile, and forms a lake, the depth of which in the centre is unfathomable. On the sides it shoals into a marsh; for, as the shore is to the sea, such are marshes to lakes.

Here the Egyptian[9] pirates have their quarters; one builds a sort of hut upon a bit of ground which appears above the water; another spends his life on board a vessel, which serves him at once for transport and habitation. Here their wives work for them and bring forth their children, who at first are nourished with their mother's milk, and afterwards with fish dried in the sun; when they begin to crawl about they tie a string to their ancles, and suffer them to go the length of the boat. Thus this inhabitant of the Pasturage is born upon the lake, is raised in this manner, and considers this morass as his country, affording as it does shelter and protection for his piracy. Men of this description therefore are continually flocking thither; the water serves them as a citadel, and the quantity of reeds as a fortification. Having cut oblique channels among these, with many windings, easy to themselves, but very difficult for others, they imagined themselves secure from any sudden invasion; such was the situation of the lake and its inhabitants.

Here, about sunset, the pirate-chief and his followers arrived; they made their prisoners dismount, and disposed of the booty in their boats. A crowd of others, who had remained at home, appearing out of the morass, ran to meet them, and received the chief as if he had been their king; and seeing the quantity of spoils, and almost divine beauty of the maiden, imagined that their companions had been pillaging some temple, and had brought away its priestess, or perhaps the breathing image[10] of the deity herself. They praised the valour of their captain, and conducted him to his quarters; these were in a little island at a distance from the rest, set apart for himself and his few attendants. When they arrived he dismissed the greater part, ordering them to assemble there again on the morrow; and then taking a short repast with the few who remained, he delivered his captives to a young Greek (whom he had not long before taken to serve as an interpreter), assigning them a part of his own hut for their habitation; giving strict orders that the wounded youth should have all possible care taken of him, and the maiden be treated with the utmost respect; and then, fatigued with his expedition, and the weight of cares which lay upon him, he betook himself to rest.

Silence now prevailed throughout the morass, and it was the first watch of night, when the maiden, being freed from observers, seized this opportunity of bewailing her misfortunes; inclined to do so the rather, perhaps, by the stillness and solitude of the night, in which there was neither sound nor sight to direct her attention, and call off her mind from ruminating on its sorrows. She lay in a separate apartment on a little couch on the ground; and fetching a deep sigh, and shedding a flood of tears, "O Apollo," she cried, "how much more severely dost thou punish me than I have deserved! Is not what I have already suffered sufficient? Deprived of my friends, captured by pirates, exposed to a thousand dangers at sea, and now again in the power of buccaneers, am I still to expect something worse? Where are my woes to end? If in death, free from dishonour, I embrace it with joy; but if that is to be taken from me by force, which I have not yet granted even to Theagenes, my own hands shall anticipate my disgrace, shall preserve me pure in death, and shall leave behind me at least the praise of chastity. Ο Apollo, no judge will be more severe than thou art!"

Theagenes, who was lodged near, overheard her complaints, and interrupted them, saying, "Cease, my dear Chariclea; you have reason, I own, to complain, but by so doing you irritate the deity: he is made propitious by prayers, more than by expostulations; you must appease the power above by prayers, not by accusations." "You are in the right," said she; "but how do you do yourself?"—"Better than I was yesterday," he replied, "owing to the care of this youth, who has been applying medicine to my wounds."—"You will be still better to-morrow," said the youth, "for I shall then be able to procure an herb which after three applications will cure them. I know this by experience; for since I was brought here a captive, if any of the pirates have returned wounded, by the application of this plant they have been healed in a few days. Wonder not that I pity your misfortunes; you seem to be sharing my own ill fate; and, as I am a Greek myself, I naturally compassionate Grecians."

"A Greek! Ο gods!" cried out both the strangers in transport, "a Greek indeed, both in language and appearance! Perhaps some relief to our misfortunes is at hand." "But what," said Theagenes, "shall we call you?"—"Cnemon." "Of what city?"—"An Athenian." "What have been your fortunes?"—"Cease," he replied; "why touch upon that subject; my adventures are matter for a tragedy. You seem to have had sorrows enough of your own; there is no need to increase them by a recital of mine; besides, what remains of the night would not be sufficient for the relation; and the fatigues you have gone through to-day demand sleep and rest." They would not admit his excuses, but pressed him to relate his story; saying, that to hear of misfortunes something like their own, would be the greatest consolation to them.

Cnemon then began in this manner:—"My father's name was Aristippus, an Athenian, a member of the Upper Council,[11] and possessed of a decent fortune. After the death of my mother, as he had no child but me, he began to think of a second marriage, esteeming it hard that he should live an unsettled life solely on my account; he married therefore a woman of polished manners, but a mischiefmaker, called Demæneta.[12] From the moment of their marriage she brought him entirely under her subjection, enticing him by her beauty and seeming attentions; for there never was a woman who possessed the arts of allurement in a greater degree: she would lament at his going out, run with joy to meet him at his return, blame him for his stay, and mingle kisses and embraces with the tenderest expostulations. My father, entangled in these wiles, was entirely wrapped up in her. At first she pretended to behave to me as if I had been her own son; this likewise helped to influence my father. She would sometimes kiss me, and constantly wished to enjoy my society. I readily complied, suspecting nothing, but was agreeably surprised at her behaving to me with so much maternal affection. When, however, she approached me with more wantonness; when her kisses became warmer than those of a relation ought to be, and her glances betrayed marks of passion, I began to entertain suspicions, to avoid her company, and repress her caresses. I need not enumerate what artifices she used, what promises she employed to gain me over, how she called me darling, sweetest, breath of her life; how she mingled blandishments with these soft words; how, in serious affairs, she behaved really as a mother, in less grave hours but too plainly as a mistress.

"At length, one evening, after I had been assisting at the solemn Panathenæan festival (when a ship[13] is sent to Minerva by land), and had joined in the hymns and usual procession, I returned home in my dress of ceremony, with my robe and crown. She, as soon as she saw me, unable to contain herself, no longer dissembled her love, but, her eyes sparkling with desire, ran up to me, embraced me, and called me her dear Theseus, her young Hippolytus: How do you imagine I then felt, who now blush even at the recital?

"My father that night was to sup in the Prytanæum,[14] and, as it was a grand and stated entertainment, was not expected to return home till the next day. I had not long retired to my apartment, when she followed me, and endeavoured to obtain the gratification of her wishes; but when she saw that I resisted with horror, regardless of her allurements, her promises, or her threats, fetching a deep-drawn sigh, she retired; and the very next day, with uncommon wickedness, began to put her machinations in force against me.

"She took to her bed; and, when my father returned and inquired the reason of it, she said she was indisposed, and at first would say no more. But when he insisted, with great tenderness, on knowing what had so disordered her, with seeming reluctance she thus addressed him:—'This dainty youth, this son of yours, whom I call the gods to witness I loved as much as you could do yourself, suspecting me to be with child (which, till I was certain of it, I have yet concealed from you), taking the opportunity of your absence, while I was advising and exhorting him to temperance, and to avoid drunkenness and loose women (for I was not ignorant of his inclinations though I avoided dropping the least hint of them to you, lest it should appear the calumny of a step-mother)—while, I say, I took this opportunity of speaking to him alone, that I might spare his confusion, I am ashamed to tell how he abused both you and me; nor did he confine himself to words; but assaulting me both with hands and feet, kicked me at last upon the stomach, and left me in a dreadful condition, in which I have continued ever since.'

"When my father heard this, he made no reply, asked no questions, framed no excuse for me; but, believing that she who had appeared so fond of me, would not, without great reason, accuse me, the next time he met me in the house he gave me a tremendous blow; and calling his slaves, he commanded them to scourge me, without so much as telling me the cause of it. When he had wreaked his resentment, 'Now, at least,' said I, 'father, tell me the reason of this shameful treatment.' This enraged him the more. 'What hypocrisy!' cried he; 'he wants me to repeat the story of his own wickedness.' And, turning from me, he hastened to Demæneta. But this implacable woman, not yet satisfied, laid another plot against me.

"She had a young slave called Thisbe, handsome enough, and skilled in music. She, by her mistress's orders, put herself in my way; and though she had before frequently resisted solicitations, which, I own, I had made to her, she now made advances herself, in gestures, words, and behaviour. I, like a silly fellow as I was, began to be vain of my own attractions; and, in short, made an appointment with her to come to my apartment at night. We continued our commerce for some time, I always exhorting her to take the greatest care lest her mistress should detect her. When, one day, as I was repeating these cautions, she broke out, 'Ο Cnemon! how great is your simplicity, if you think it dangerous for a slave like me to be discovered with you. What would you think this very mistress deserves, who, calling herself of an honourable family, having a lawful husband, and knowing death to be the punishment of her crime, yet commits adultery?'—'Be silent,' I replied; 'I cannot give credit to what you say.'—'What if I show you the adulterer in the very fact?'—'If you can, do.'—'Most willingly will I,' says she, 'both on your account, who have been so abused by her, and on my own, who am the daily victim of her jealousy. If you are a man, therefore, seize her paramour.'—I promised I would, and she then left me.

"The third night after this she awakened me from sleep, and told me that the adulterer was in the house; that my father, on some sudden occasion, was gone into the country, and that the lover had taken this opportunity of secretly visiting Demæneta. Now was the time for me to punish him as he deserved; and that I should go in, sword in hand, lest he should escape.

"I did as Thisbe exhorted me; and taking my sword, she going before me with a torch, went towards my mother's bedchamber. When I arrived there, and perceived there was a light burning within, my passion rising, I burst open the door, and, rushing in, cried out, 'Where is the villain, the vile paramour of this paragon of virtue?' and thus exclaiming, I advanced, prepared to transfix them both, when my father, Ο ye gods! leaping from the bed, fell at my feet, and besought me, 'Ο my son! stay your hand, pity your father, and these grey hairs which have nourished you. I have used you ill, I confess, but not so as to deserve death from you. Let not passion transport you; do not imbrue your hands in a parent's blood!'

"He was going on in this supplicatory strain, while I stood thunderstruck, without power either to speak or stir. I looked about for Thisbe, but she had withdrawn. I cast my eyes in amaze round the chamber, confounded and stupified: the sword fell from my hand.

"Demæneta, running up, immediately took it away; and my father, now seeing himself out of danger, laid hands upon me, and ordered me to be bound, his wife stimulating him all the time, and exclaiming, 'This is what I foretold; I bid you guard yourself from the attempts of this youth; I observed his looks, and feared his designs.'—'You did,' he replied; 'but I could not have imagined he would carry his wickedness to such a pitch.' He then kept me bound; and though I made several attempts to explain the matter, he would not suffer me to speak.

"When the morning was come, he brought me out before the people, bound as I was; and flinging dust upon his head, thus addressed them: 'I entertained hopes, Ο Athenians, when the gods gave me this son, that he would have been the staff of my declining age. I brought him up genteelly; I gave him a first-rate education;[15] I went through every step needful to procure him the full privileges of a citizen of Athens; in short, my whole life was a scene of solicitude on his account. But he, forgetting all this, abused me first with words, and assaulted my wife with blows; and at last broke in upon me in the night, brandishing a drawn sword, and was prevented from committing a parricide only by a sudden consternation which seized him, and made the weapon drop from his hand. I have recourse, therefore, to this assembly for my own defence and his punishment. I might, I know, lawfully have punished him even with death myself; but I had rather leave the whole matter to your judgment than stain my own hands with his blood:' and, having said this, he began to weep.

"Demæneta too accompanied him with her tears, lamenting the untimely but just death which I must soon suffer, whom my evil genius had armed against my parent; and thus seeming to confirm by her lamentations the truth of her husband's accusations.

"At length I desired to be heard in my turn, when the clerk arising put this pointed question to me: Did I attack my father with a sword? When I replied, 'I did indeed attack him, but hear how I came so to do'—the whole assembly exclaimed that, after this confession, there was no room for apology or defence. Some cried out I ought to be stoned; others, that I should be delivered to the executioner, and thrown headlong into the Barathrum.[16] During this tumult, while they were disputing about my punishment, I cried out, 'All this I suffer on account of my mother-in-law; my step-mother makes me to be condemned unheard.' A few of the assembly appeared to take notice of what I said, and to have some suspicions of the truth of the case; yet even then I could not obtain an audience, so much were all minds possessed by the disturbance.

"At length they proceeded to ballot: one thousand seven hundred condemned me to death; some to be stoned, others to be thrown into the Barathrum. The remainder, to the number of about a thousand, having some suspicions of the machinations of my mother-in-law, adjudged me to perpetual banishment; and this sentence prevailed: for though a greater number had doomed me to death, yet there being a difference in their opinions as to the kind of death, they were so divided, that the numbers of neither party amounted to a thousand.

"Thus, therefore, was I driven from my father's house and my country: the wicked Demæneta, however, did not remain unpunished; in what manner you shall hear by-and-by.—But you ought now to take a little sleep; the night is far advanced, and some rest is necessary for you."

"It will be very annoying to us," replied Theagenes, "if you leave this wicked woman unpunished."—"Hear, then," said Cnemon, "since you will have it so.

"I went immediately from the assembly to the Piræus, and finding a ship ready to set sail for Ægina, I embarked in her, hearing there were some relations of my mother's there. I was fortunate enough to find them on my arrival, and passed the first days of my exile agreeably enough among them. After I had been there about three weeks, taking my accustomed solitary walk, I came down to the port; a vessel was standing in; I stopped to see from whence she came, and who were on board. The ladder was no sooner let down, when a person leapt on shore, ran up to me, and embraced me. He proved to be Charias, one of my former companions.—'Ο Cnemon!' he cried out, 'I bring you good news. You are revenged on your enemy: Demæneta is dead.'—'I am heartily glad to see you, Charias,' I replied; 'but why do you hurry over your good tidings as if they were bad ones? Tell me how all this has happened; I fear she has died a natural death, and escaped that which she deserved.'—'Justice,' said he, 'has not entirely deserted us (as Hesiod[17] says); and though she sometimes seems to wink at crime for a time, protecting her vengeance, such wretches rarely escape at last: neither has Demæneta. From my connexion with Thisbe, I have been made acquainted with the whole affair.

"'After your unjust exile, your father, repenting of what he had done, retired from the sight of the world, into a lonely villa, and there lived; "gnawing his own heart," according to the poet.[18] But the furies took possession of his wife, and her passion rose to a higher pitch in your absence than it had ever done before. She lamented your misfortunes and her own, calling day and night in a frantic manner upon Cnemon, her dear boy, her soul; insomuch that the women of her acquaintance, who visited her, wondered at and praised her; that, though a step-dame, she felt a mother's affection. They endeavoured to console and strengthen her; but she replied that her sorrows were past consolation, and that they were ignorant of the wound which rankled at her heart.

"'When she was alone she abused Thisbe for the share she had in the business. "How slow were you in assisting my love! How ready in administering to my revenge! You deprived me of him I loved above all the world, without giving me an instant to repent and be appeased." And she gave plain hints that she intended some mischief against her.

"'Thisbe seeing her disappointed, enraged, almost out of her senses with love and grief, and capable of undertaking anything, determined to be beforehand with her; and by laying a snare for her mistress, to provide for her own security. One day, therefore, she thus accosted her: "Why, Ο my mistress, do you wrongfully accuse your slave? It has always been my study to obey your will in the best manner I could; if anything unlucky has happened, fortune is to blame; I am ready now, if you command me, to endeavour to find a remedy for your distress."—"What remedy can you find?" cried she. "He who alone could ease my torments is far distant; the unexpected lenity of his judges has been my ruin: had he been stoned or otherwise put to death, my hopes and cares would have been buried with him. Impossibility of gratification extinguishes desire, and despair makes the heart callous. But now I seem to have him before my eyes: I hear, and blush at hearing him upbraid me with his injuries. Sometimes I flatter my fond heart that he will return again, and that I shall obtain my wishes; at other times I form schemes of seeking him myself, on whatever shore he wanders. These thoughts agitate, inflame, and drive me beside myself. Ye gods! I am justly served. Why, instead of laying schemes against his life, did I not persist in endeavouring to subdue him by kindness? He refused me at first, and it was but fitting he should do so; I was a stranger, and he reverenced his father's bed. Time and persuasion might have overcome his coldness; but I, unjust, and inhuman as I was, more like a tyrant, than his mistress, cruelly punished his first disobedience. Yet with how much justice might he slight Demæneta, whom he so infinitely surpassed in beauty! But, my dear Thisbe, what remedy is it you hint at?" The artful slave replied: "Ο Mistress, Cnemon, as most people think, in obedience to the sentence, has departed both from the city and from Attica; but I, who inquire anxiously into everything that you can have any concern in, have discovered that he is lurking somewhere about the town. You have heard perhaps of Arsinoë the singer: he has long been connected with her. After his misfortune, she promised to go into exile with him, and keeps him concealed at her house till she can prepare herself for setting out."—"Happy Arsinoë!" cried Demæneta; "happy at first in possessing the love of Cnemon, and now in being permitted to accompany him into banishment. But what is all this to me?"—"Attend, and you shall hear," said Thisbe. "I will pretend that I am in love with Cnemon. I will beg Arsinoë, with whom I am acquainted, to introduce me some night to him in her room; you may, if you please, represent Arsinoë, and receive his visit instead of me. I will take care that he shall have drunk a little freely when he goes to bed. If you obtain your wishes, perhaps you may be cured of your passion. The first gratification sometimes extinguishes the flame of desire. Love soon finds its end in satiety: but if yours (which I hope will not be the case) should still continue, we may perhaps find some other scheme to satisfy it;[19] at present let us attend to this which I have proposed."

"'Demæneta eagerly embraced the proposal, and desired her to put it into immediate execution. Thisbe demanded a day only for preparation; and going directly to Arsinoë, asked her if she knew Teledemus. Arsinoë replying that she did, "Receive us then," says she, "this evening into your house; I have promised to sleep with him to-night: he will come first; I shall follow, when I have put my mistress to bed." Then hastening into the country to Aristippus, she thus addressed him: "I come, master, to accuse myself; punish me as you think fit. I have been the cause of your losing your son; not indeed willingly, but yet I was instrumental in his destruction: for when I perceived that my mistress led a dissolute life, and injured your bed, I began to fear for myself, lest I should suffer if she should be detected by anybody else. I pitied you too, who received such ill returns for all your affection; I was afraid, however, of mentioning the matter to you, but I discovered it to my young master; and coming to him by night, to avoid observation, I told him that an adulterer was sleeping with my mistress. He, hurried on by resentment, mistook my meaning, and thought I said that an adulterer was then with her. His passion rose; he snatched a sword, and ran madly on towards your bedchamber. It was in vain I endeavoured to detain him, and to assure him that no adulterer was then with my mistress; he regarded not what I said, either made deaf by rage, or imagining that I changed my purpose. The rest you know. You have it in your power at least to clear up the character of your banished son, and to punish her who has injured both of you; for I will shew you to-day Demæneta with an adulterer, in a strange house without the city, and in bed."

"'"If you can do that," said Aristippus, "your freedom shall be your reward. I shall, perhaps, take some comfort in life, when I have got rid of this wicked woman. I have for some time been uneasy within myself: I have suspected her; but, having no proofs, I was silent. But what must we do now?"—"You know," said she, "the garden where is the monument of the Epicureans: come there in the evening, and wait for me." And having so said, away she goes; and coming to Demæneta, "Dress yourself," she cries, "immediately; neglect nothing that can set off your person; everything that I have promised you is ready."—Demæneta did as she was desired, and adorned herself with all her skill; and in the evening Thisbe attended her to the place of assignation. When they came near she desired her to stop a little; and going forwards she begged Arsinoë to step into the next house, and leave her at liberty in her own; for she wished to spare the young man's blushes, who was but lately initiated into love affairs; and, having persuaded her, she returned, introduced Demæneta, put her to bed, took away the light (lest, forsooth, you, who were then safe at Ægina, should discover her), and entreated her to enjoy the good fortune which awaited her in silence. "I will now go," said she, "and bring the youth to you; he is drinking at a house in the neighborhood."—Away she flies where Aristippus was waiting, and exhorts him to go immediately and bind the adulterer fast. He follows her, rushes into the house, and, by help of a little moonlight which shone, with difficulty finding the bed, exclaims, "I have caught you now, you abandoned creature!" Thisbe immediately upon this exclamation bangs to the door on the other side, and cries out, "What untoward fortune! the adulterer has escaped; but take care at least that you secure the adulteress."—"Make yourself easy," he replied; "I have secured this wicked woman, whom I was the most desirous of taking:" and seizing her, he began to drag her towards the city. But she feeling deeply the situation she was in, the disappointment of her hopes, the ignominy which must attend her offences, and the punishment which awaited them, vexed and enraged at being deceived and detected, when she came near the pit which is in the Academy (you know the place where our generals sacrifice to the Manes of our heroes), suddenly disengaging herself from the hands of the old man, flung herself headlong in: and thus she died[20] a wretched death, suited for a wretch like herself.

"'Upon this Aristippus cried out, "You have yourself anticipated the justice of the laws," and the next day he laid the whole matter before the people; and having with difficulty obtained his pardon, consulted his friends and acquaintance how best he could obtain your recall. What success he has met with I cannot inform you of; for I have been obliged, as you see, to sail here on my own private business. But I think you have the greatest reason to expect that the people will consent to your return, and that your father will himself come to seek you, and conduct you home.'—Here Charias ended his recital. How I came to this place, and what have been my fortunes since, would take up more time and words than there is at present opportunity for."

Having said this, he wept; the strangers wept with him, seemingly for his calamities, really, perhaps, in remembrance of their own: nor would they have ceased from lamentation, had not sleep coming over them through the luxury of grief, at length dried their tears. They then lay in repose, but Thyamis (for that was the name of the pirate captain) having slept quietly the first part of the night, was afterwards disturbed by wandering dreams; and starting from his sleep, and pondering what they should mean, was kept awake by his perplexities the remainder of the night. For about the time when the cocks crow (whether a natural instinct induces them to salute the returning sun, or a feeling of warmth and a desire of food and motion excites them to rouse those who are about them with their song) the following vision appeared to him.

He seemed to be in Memphis, his native city; and entering into the temple of Isis, he saw it shining with the splendour of a thousand lighted lamps; the altars were filled with bleeding victims of all sorts; all the avenues of the temple were crowded with people, and resounded with the noise of the passing throngs. When he had penetrated to the inmost sanctuary of the edifice, the goddess seemed to meet him, to give Chariclea into his hands, and to say, "Ο Thyamis, I deliver this maiden to you; but though having you shall not have her, but shall be unjust, and kill your guest; yet she shall not be killed."—This dream troubled him, and he turned it every way in his mind; at length, wearied with conjectures, he wrested its signification to his own wishes. You shall have her, and not have her; that is, you shall have her as a wife, not as a virgin: and as for the killing, he understood it to mean, thou shalt wound her virginity, but the wound shall not be mortal. And thus, led by his desires, he interpreted his vision.—When the morning dawned, he called his principal followers about him, and ordered their booty, which he called by the specious name of spoils, to be brought out into the midst; and sending for Cnemon, directed him to bring with him the captives whom he had the care of. When they were being brought, "What fortune," they exclaimed, "awaits us now?" and besought the protection and assistance of Cnemon. He promised to do all that was in his power for them, and comforted and encouraged them. He told them that the pirate captain had nothing barbarous in his disposition; that his manners were rather gentle; that he belonged to an illustrious family, and from necessity alone had embraced this kind of life. When all were met together, and they too made their appearance, Thyamis, seating himself on an eminence, and ordering Cnemon, who understood the Egyptian tongue, (whereas he himself could not speak Greek) to interpret what he said to the captives, thus addressed the assembly:—

"You know, comrades, what my sentiments have always been towards you. You are not ignorant, how being the son of the high-priest of Memphis, and being frustrated of succeeding to the office[21] after the departure of my father, my younger brother against all law depriving me of it, I fled to you, that I might revenge the injury, and recover my dignity. I have been thought worthy to command you, and yet I have never arrogated any particular privileges to myself: if money was to be distributed, I desired only an equal share of it; if captives were to be sold, I brought their price into the common stock; for I have always deemed it to be the part of a valiant leader, to take the larger share of toil, and only an equal share of spoils. As to the captives, those men whose strength of body promised to be serviceable to us, I kept for ourselves; the weaker I sold. I never abused the women. Those of any rank I suffered to redeem themselves with money; and sometimes, out of compassion, dismissed them without ransom: those of inferior condition, who, if they had not been taken, would have passed their lives in servile offices, I employed in such services as they had been accustomed to. But now I do ask of one part of these spoils for myself, this foreign maiden. I might take her by my own authority, but I would rather receive her by your common consent; for it were foolish in me to do anything with a prisoner against the will of my friends. Neither do I ask this favour of you gratis; I am willing, in recompense for it, to resign my share in all the other booty. For since the priestly caste despises common amours, I am determined to take this maiden to myself, not out of mere lust, but for the sake of offspring. And I will explain to you the reasons which induce me to do so.

"In the first place she appears to me to be well born: I form this conjecture both from the riches which were found about her, and from her not being depressed by her calamities, but, seeming to rise superior to them; I am convinced that her disposition is good and virtuous; for, if in beauty she surpasses all, and by her looks awes all beholders into respect, can we do otherwise than think highly of her? But what recommends her above every thing to me is, that she appears to be a priestess of some god; for, in all her misfortunes, she has with a pious regard refused to lay aside her sacred robe and chaplet. Where then can I a priest find a partner more fitting for me, than one who is herself a priestess?"

The applause of the whole company testified their approbation. They exhorted him to marry, and wished him all possible happiness. He then pursued his discourse:—"I thank you, comrades; but it will now be proper to inquire how far my proposal is agreeable to this maiden. Were I disposed to use the power which fate has put into my hands, my will would be sufficient; they who can compel have no need to entreat. But in lawful marriage, the inclination of both parties ought to coincide." And turning to Chariclea, he said, "How, maiden, do you like my offer? What is your country, and who were your parents?" She, keeping her eye a considerable time on the ground, and moving slowly her head, seemed to meditate what she should answer. At length, raising herself gently towards Thyamis, and dazzling him with more than her usual charms (for her eyes shone with uncommon lustre, and the circumstances she was in gave an additional glow to her cheeks), Cnemon serving as interpreter, she thus addressed him:

"It might perhaps have been more proper for my brother Theagenes to speak on this occasion; for silence, I think, best becomes women, especially in a company of men. Since, however, you address yourself to me, and shew this first mark of humanity, in that you seek to obtain what you desire, by persuasion rather than force; since the main subject of your discourse relates to me alone; I am compelled to lay aside the common reserve of my sex, and to explain myself in regard to the proposal of marriage which you have made, even before such an audience. Hear then what is our state and condition.

"Our country is Ionia; our family one of the most illustrious in Ephesus. In early youth, as the laws appointed, we entered into the priesthood. I was consecrated to Diana, my brother to Apollo. But as the office is an annual one, and the time was elapsed, we were going to Delos to exhibit games[22] according to the custom of our country, and to lay down the priesthood. We loaded a ship therefore with gold, silver, costly garments, and other things necessary for the show and the entertainment which we were to give to the people. We set sail; our parents being advanced in years, and afraid of the sea, remained at home: but a great number of our fellow citizens attended us, some on board our ships, others in vessels of their own. When we had completed the greatest part of our voyage, a tempest suddenly arose; winds and hurricanes, raising the waves, drove the ship out of its course. The pilot yielded at length to the fury of the storm; and deserting the government of the ship, let her drive at the mercy of the winds. We scudded before them for seven days and nights; and at length were cast upon the shore where you found us, and where you saw the slaughter which had happened there. Rejoicing at our preservation, we gave an entertainment to the ship's company. In the midst of it, a party of the sailors, who had conspired to make themselves masters of our riches, by taking away our lives, attacked us; our friends defended us; a dreadful combat ensued, which was continued with such rage and animosity, on both sides, that of the whole number engaged we alone survived (would to God we had not!), miserable remains of that unhappy day; in one thing alone fortunate, in that some pitying deity has brought us into your hands; and, instead of death which we feared, we are now to deliberate upon a marriage. I do not by any means decline the offer. Prisoner as I am, I ought to esteem it an honour and a happiness to be permitted to aspire to the bed of my conqueror. It seems too, to be by a particular providence of the gods, that I, a priestess, should be united to the son of a high priest. One thing alone I beg of you, Ο Thyamis. Permit me, at the first city I arrive at in which there is a temple or altar of Apollo, to resign my priesthood, and lay aside these badges of my office: this perhaps would with most propriety be done in Memphis, when you shall have recovered the dignity you are entitled to. Thus would our wedlock be celebrated with better auspices, joined with victory and prosperous success: but, if you would have it sooner, be it as you please; let me only first perform those rites which the custom of my country demands. This I know you will not refuse me, as you have yourself been, as you say, dedicated to holy things from childhood, and have just and reverend notions of what relates to the gods."

Here she ceased, and her tears began to flow. Her speech was followed by the approbation and applause of the company, who bid her do thus, and promised her their aid. Thyamis could not help joining with them, though he was not entirely satisfied, for his eager desire to possess Chariclea made him think even the present hour an unreasonable delay. Her words, however, like the siren's song, soothed him, and compelled his assent; he thought, too, he saw in this some relation to his dream, and brought himself to agree that the wedding should be celebrated at Memphis. He then dismissed the company, having first divided the spoils, a great part of the choicest of which were forced upon him by his people.

He gave orders that, in ten days, they should all be ready to march to Memphis; and sent the Greeks to the habitation in which he had before placed them. Cnemon, too, by his command, attended them no longer now as a guard, but as a companion: their entertainment was the best which Thyamis could afford; and Theagenes, for his sister's sake, partook of the same handsome treament. He determined within himself to see Chariclea as seldom as possible, lest the sight of her should inflame the desire which tormented him, and urge him on to do anything inconsistent with what he had agreed to and promised. He deprived himself, therefore, of that company in which he most delighted, fearing that to converse with her, and to restrain himself within proper bounds, would be more than he could answer for. When the crew had dispersed, each to his habitation in the lake, Cnemon went to some distance from it, in search of the herb which he had promised to procure for Theagenes; and Theagenes, taking the opportunity of his absence, began to weep and lament, not addressing himself to Chariclea, but calling earnestly upon the gods: and she with tender solicitude inquiring whether he was only lamenting their common misfortunes, or suffering any new addition to them?—"What can be newer or more unworthy," he replied, "than the breaking of vows and promises? than that Chariclea, entirely forgetting me, should give her consent to another marriage?"—"God forbid!" replied the maiden; "let not your reproaches increase the load of my calamities; nor, after so long an experience of my fidelity, lightly suspect a measure which the immediate necessity of the moment compelled me to adopt: sooner will you change than find me changed in regard to you. I can bear ill fortune; nor shall any force compel me to do anything unworthy of the modesty and virtue of my sex. In one thing alone, I own, I am immoderate, my love for you; but then it is a lawful one; and, however great, it did not throw me inconsiderately into your power; I resigned myself to you on the most honourable conditions; I have hither to lived with you in the most inviolate purity, resisting all your solicitations, and looking forward to a lawful opportunity of completing that marriage to which we are solemnly pledged. Can you then be so unreasonable as to think it possible that I should prefer a barbarian to a Greek? a pirate, to one to whom I am bound by so many ties?"—"What, then," said Theagenes, "was the meaning of that fine speech of yours? To call me your brother, indeed, was prudent enough, to keep Thyamis from suspecting the real nature of our love, and to induce him to let us continue together. I understood, too, the meaning of your veiling the true circumstances of our voyage under the fictions of Ionia and Delos. But so readily to accept his proposals, to promise to marry him, nay, to fix a time for the ceremony—this, I own, disturbs me, and passes my comprehension; but I had rather sink into the earth than see such an end of all my hopes and labours on your account."

Chariclea flung her arms round Theagenes, gave him a thousand kisses, and bedewing him with tears, cried out, "How delightful to me are these apprehensions of yours! They prove that all the troubles you have undergone have in no degree weakened your love; but know, Ο my dear Theagenes, that unless I had promised as I did, we should not now be talking together. You must be sensible that contradiction only adds force to violent passion; seeming compliance allays the impulse in its birth, and the allurement of promises lulls the violence of desire. Your rough lovers think they have got something when they have obtained a promise: and, relying upon the faith of it, become quieter, feeding themselves with hope. I, being aware of this, in words resigned myself up to him, committing what shall follow to the gods, and to that genius who presides over our loves.

"A short interval of time has frequently afforded means of safety, which the wisest counsels of men could not have foreseen. I saw nothing better to be done than to endeavour to ward off a certain and imminent danger, by a present, though uncertain, remedy. We must, therefore, my dearest Theagenes, use this fiction as our best ally, and carefully conceal the truth even from Cnemon; for though he seems friendly to us, and is a Greek, yet he is a captive, and likely, perhaps, to do anything which may ingratiate him with his master. Our friendship with him is as yet too new, neither is there any relation between us sufficiently strong to give us a certain assurance of his fidelity. If he suspects, therefore, and inquires into our real situation, we must deny it: for even a falsehood is commendable when it is of service to those who use it, and does no injury to the hearers of it."

While Chariclea was thus suggesting this course, Cnemon comes running in, with an altered countenance, and seemingly in much agitation. "Ο Theagenes," he cried, "I have brought you the herb I mentioned; apply it, and it will heal your wounds; but you must now, I fear, prepare yourself for others, and a slaughter equal to that which you have lately been an actor in." Theagenes desiring him to explain himself, "There is no time at present;" he replied, "for explanation; action will probably anticipate words; but do you and Chariclea follow me as fast as you can;" and taking them with him, he brought them to Thyamis. They found him employed in burnishing his helmet and sharpening his spear. "Very seasonably," he exclaimed, "are you employed about your arms; put them on as fast as you can, and command all your men to do the same, for a hostile force is approaching greater than ever threatened us before, and they must now be very near. I saw them advancing over the top of the neighbouring hill, and have made all possible haste to bring you information, giving the alarm to every one I met with in my passage."

Thyamis, at these tidings, started up and cried out, "Where is Chariclea?" as if he were more apprehensive for her than for himself. When Cnemon showed her standing near the door. "Lead this maiden privately," says he, "into the cave where I keep my treasures, and forget not to replace as usual the covering of it; having done this, return to me as fast as you can: meanwhile, I will prepare for the storm of battle which awaits us." Having said this, he ordered his lieutenant to bring forth a victim, that he might begin the engagement after a due sacrifice to his country's gods. Cnemon proceeded to execute his commission, and leading off Chariclea, who turned earnestly towards Theagenes, and lamented her hard fate, he let her down into the cave. This was not, as many are, the work of nature, an accidental excavation, but the contrivance of the pirates, who, imitating her operations, had hollowed out an artificial cavern for the reception of their treasures. It was formed in this manner: its entrance,[23] narrow and dark, was under the doors of a hidden chamber, the threshold became, in case of need, a second door, for farther descent; it fitted exactly, and could be lifted up with great facility; the rest of the cave was cut into various winding passages, which, now diverging, now returning, with a multitude of ramifications, converged at last into an open space at the bottom, which received an uncertain light from an aperture at the extremity of the lake. Here Cnemon introduced Chariclea, and led her to the farthest recess, encouraging and promising her that he and Theagenes would come to her in the evening; and that he would not suffer him to engage in the battle which impended. Chariclea was unable to answer him; and he went out of the cave, leaving her half dead, silent, and stupified, as if her soul had been separated from her with Theagenes. He shut down the door, dropping a tear for her as he did it, and for the necessity he was under of burying her in a manner alive, and consigning the brightest of human forms to darkness and obscurity. He made what haste he could to Thyamis. He found him burning with ardour for the fight, and Theagenes by his side splendidly armed; he was even to frenzy rousing the spirits of his followers who surrounded him, and thus began to address them:

"There is no need, comrades, to address you in a long exhortation; you want no encouragement, to whom war is the breath of life; and the sudden approach of the enemy cuts off all space for words; it becomes us to prepare to resist force by force; not to do so would betray an absence of all energy. I do not put you in mind of your wives and children as is usual on these occasions, though nothing but victory can preserve them from destruction and violation. This contest is for our very being and existence; no quarter, no truce, ever takes place in piratic warfare; we must either conquer or die. Let us exert, then, our force to the utmost, and with determined minds fall upon the enemy."

Having said this, he looked round for his lieutenant, Thermuthis, and called him several times by his name. When he nowhere appeared, throwing out hasty threats against him, he rushed on towards the ferry. The battle was already begun, and he could see at a distance those who inhabited the extremities and approaches of the lake in the fact of being routed by the enemy, who set on fire the boats and huts of those who fell or fled. The flames spread to the neighbouring morass, caught hold of the reeds which grew there in great abundance, dazzled every eye with an almost intolerable blaze, and, crackling and roaring, stunned their ears.

War[24] now appeared in all its horrid forms: the inhabitants for some time, with readiness and energy, supported and repelled the attack; but being astonished by the sudden incursion, and pressed by the superior numbers of the enemy, those on the land gave way, and many of those on the lake, together with their boats and habitations, were overwhelmed in the waters! every dreadful sound now struck the air, as the conflict raged both by land and water; groans and shouts were mingled, the lake was discoloured with blood, all were involved in fire or water. Thyamis, at this sight, called to mind his dream, and the temple of Isis shining with lamps, and flowing with the blood of victims; he saw a resemblance in it to the scene before him, and began to fear that he must give up his former favourable interpretation; that Chariclea was destined to fall in this tumult, and that so having had her in his possession, he should now have her no longer; that she would be slain, not merely be wounded in her virginity; exclaiming, therefore against the goddess, for having deceived him, and unable to bear the thought that any one else should possess Chariclea, he ordered the men who were about him to halt, and if they were obliged to engage, to defend themselves as well as they could, by retiring behind, and making sallies from, the numerous little islands: as by so doing they might, for some time, be able to resist the attack of the enemy. He then, under pretence of going to seek Thermuthis, and sacrificing to his household gods, returned in great agitation to his tent, suffering no one to follow him.

The disposition of the barbarians is obstinate and determined;[25] when they despair of their own safety, they are accustomed to destroy those who are most dear to them; either wildly imagining that they shall enjoy their company after death; or thinking that by so doing they shall deliver them from the injuries and insults of the enemy. Stimulated by some of these motives, Thyamis, forgetting the urgent danger which pressed upon him, and the enemies by whom he was surrounded as by a net; burning with anger, love, and jealousy, rushed headlong to the cave: he poured out his Egyptian exclamations with a loud voice, and soon after his entrance, being addressed by some one in the Greek tongue, the voice guided him to the person; he seized her hair with his left hand, and with his right plunged his sword into her bosom: the unfortunate creature sank down, uttering a last and piteous groan. Issuing forth and closing the trap-door, he threw a little dust over her, and dropping a tear he exclaimed, "Are these then the nuptial presents you were to expect from me!" When he arrived at the boats, he saw his people ready to fly as the enemy approached near, and Thermuthis having now made his appearance, preparing to begin the sacrifice: having abused him for his unseasonable absence, and told him that he had already offered up the most beauteous of victims, he, Thermuthis and the rower got into a boat: their small vessels would not hold more, being made out of the trunk of a tree rudely hollowed. Theagenes and Cnemon got into another, and in the same manner all the rest embarked.

When they had proceeded a little from the shore, rowing round the side rather than launching out into the deep, they lay upon their oars, and drew up in a line, to receive the enemy; but at their approach, a sudden panic seized the pirates, and not sustaining the first hostile shout of their opponents, they fled in disorder: Cnemon and Theagenes gradually retired, but not from fear: Thyamis alone disdained to fly; and perhaps not wishing to survive Chariclea, rushed into the midst of his foes. A cry was instantly heard among them, "This is Thyamis, let all have an eye to him:" immediately they turned their boats and surrounded him; he, vigorously fighting, wounded some and killed others, and yet strange was that which ensued: out of so great a multitude no one lifted up a sword, or cast a dart at him, but every one did their utmost to capture him alive. He continued manfully to resist, till at length his spear was wrested from him, and he had lost his lieutenant, who had nobly seconded him; and who, having received, as he thought, a mortal wound, leaped into the lake, and with great difficulty reached the shore, no one offering to pursue him; for now they had laid hold on Thyamis, and esteemed the capture of one man a victory; and though he had destroyed so many of their men, their joy at having taken him alive far exceeded their grief for the loss of their comrades; for gain is dearer to robbers than their lives; and friendship and relationship are only so far considered among them as they conduce to this main end.

The leaders of this attack were the men who had fled from Thyamis and his followers at the Heracleotic mouth of the Nile: they, enraged at the loss of a booty, which through plunder, they considered as their own, gathered their friends together, and many others from the neighbouring towns, by proposing to them an equal division of the spoils; and became their guides in the expedition.

The reason why they were so desirous of taking Thyamis alive was this: Petosiris, who resided at Memphis, was his younger brother; by his artifices he had unlawfully deprived Thyamis of the priesthood, and hearing that he was now at the head of the pirates, he feared that he might take some opportunity to attack him, or that in time his treachery might be discovered; he was besides suspected of having made away with his brother, who nowhere appeared. For these reasons he proclaimed great rewards among all the nests of pirates in his neighbourhood, to any one who should capture him alive: they, stimulated by these offers, and in the heat of battle, not losing sight of gain, took him prisoner at the price of many of their lives. They sent him, under a strong guard, to the main land, he reproaching them all the while for their seeming lenity, and bearing bonds much more indignantly than he would have borne death. The rest proceeded towards the island in quest of treasures and spoil; but when, after a long and strict search, they found nothing of any consequence, some few things excepted, which out of hurry or forgetfulness were left out of the cavern, they set fire to the tents; and the evening coming on, fearing to remain there any longer, lest they should be surprised by the enemy whom they had driven thence, they returned to their companions upon the continent.

[1] Piracy was not in those times considered dishonorable; but the contrary.—Thucyd. B. i. 4.

[2] Called by Herodotus, B. ii. 17, the Bucolic mouth. "It seems clear that the phrase was derived from the inhabitants of the region, a horde of piratical herdsmen, apparently of different race from the agricultural Egyptians. They haunted the most marshy part of the Delta, where the papyrus reeds effectually masked their retreats."—Blakesley's Herodotus.

[3] ἐπὶ τρίτον ζωστῆρα—to the third wale. The wales are strong planks extending along a ship's side through the whole length at different heights, serving to strengthen the decks and form the curves. A passage in the Cyclops of Euripides may illustrate the above—

γάνυμας δὲ δαιτὸς ἤβης,
σκάφος ὁλκὰς ὥς γεμισθεὶς
ποτὶ σέλμα γαστρὸς ἂκρας.—Cyclops. 503.

[4]

Indum sanguineo veluti violaverat ostro
Si quis ebur.—Æn. xii. 67.

[5] ἤ γέγoνας πολέμου πάρεργον. The expression πολέμου πάρεργον means a by-work; something done by the by.—Thucyd. B. i. 112.

[6] Iliad, B. i. 45.

[7] A full description of the personal appearance of the buccaneers will be found in Achilles Tatius.—B. iii. c. 9.

[8] Ή μὲν ταῦτα ἐπετραγῴδει.

[9] For a further description of the buccaneer stronghold, see Achilles Tatius, B. iv. c. 14.

Perhaps Heliodorus (afterwards a bishop) had derived the materials for his graphic description of their haunts and manners from personal residence among them, as was the case (so Horace Walpole informs us) with Archbishop Blackburne (temp. Geo. II,) who in his younger days is said to have been a buccaneer. In Herod. v. 16, is a curious account of a fishing-town built in the lake Prasias, exactly corresponding with the description of The Pasturage in Heliodorus.

[10] Ἔμπνουν ἄγαλμα.

"And there she stood, so calm and pale
That, but her breathing did not fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
You might have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very life, was there;
But still she was, so pale, so fair."—Marmion, c. xxi

[11] Βουλῆς δὲ τῆς ἅνω. The Council of the 500, who were a kind of Committee of the Ἐκκλησία to prepare measures for that assembly.

[12] Cnemon and his stepmother will recall to the reader's memory Phædra and Hippolytus.

[13] In the Ceramicus, without the city, was an engine, built in the form of a ship, upon which the πέπλος, or robe of Minerva, was hung, in the manner of a sail, and which was put in motion by concealed machinery. It was conveyed to the temple of Ceres Eleusinia, and from thence to the citadel, where it was put upon Minerva's statue, which was laid upon a bed strewed with flowers, and called πλακὶς.

[14] The public hall at Athens, in which the Prytanes for the time being, and some other magistrates, had their meals, and entertained foreign ambassadors.

[15] Literally, "I had him enrolled in his proper ward (φρατρία), in his proper house (γένος), and among those arrived at puberty (ἕφηβοι)," the successive steps to Athenian citizenship.

[16] The Barathrum was a yawning cleft behind the Acropolis, into which criminals were cast.

[17] Hesiod, "Works and Days," 221.

"Justice....
When mortals violate her sacred laws,
When judges hear the bribe and not the cause,
Close by her parent god behold her stand,
And urge the punishment their sins demand."—Lee.

Ammianus Marcellinus says, B. xxix., "Inconnivens justitiæ oculus; arbiter et vindex perpetuus rerum."

Rarò antecedentem scelestum
Descruit pede Pœna claudo.—Hor. Od. iii. II. 31.

[18] Ὄν θυμόν κατέδων. Il. vi. 202.

[19] Δεύτερος ἔσται πλοῦς, we will go on a fresh tack.

[20] Κακή κακῶς.

[21] The succession to the Egyptian priesthood was hereditary.—Vide Herod., ii. 37.

[22] θεωρίαν ἤγομεν. The Athenians made a solemn voyage to Delos every year; the deputation was called θεωρία; the persons employed in it, θεωροὶ; the ship, θεωρὶς. See Robinson's Antiquities of Greece.

[23] This description is very obscure in the original; the meaning seems to be, that the descent to the cavern was effected by lifting up an oblong stone, bearing the appearance of a threshold, but serving as a door. The following is the version of the Italian translator: "L'entrata era stretta e oscura, sottoposta all' entrata d'uno occulto edificio, in guisa che la soglia della prima entrata faceva un' altra porta ad uso di scendere," &c. The poet, Walter Lisle, gives the passage thus:—

"A cave there was, it opened well and shut
With narrow door of stone, that threshold was
T'an upper room. Within, a maze it has
Of sundrie wayes, entangled (like the roots
Of thicke-set trees, amids and all abouts),
That meet in plaine."

And wishing to embellish the picture, he adds—

"With scales of crocodile
The roofe is pav'd, brought hither from the Nile."

[24] See a passage, already referred to, in Achilles Tatius (B. iv. c. 14), containing a spirited picture of pirate warfare.

[25] There is a curious example of this disposition of the barbarians in the conduct of Mithridates, after his defeat by Lucullus. See Ferguson's Rom. Hist. vol. ii. p. 24. He ordered his wives and sisters to destroy themselves, fearful of their falling into the enemy's hands.

[BOOK II.]

In this manner, as we have related, were the flames spread over the lake; the conflagration escaped the notice of Theagenes and Cnemon while the sun was above the horizon, the superior lustre of that planet overcoming the blaze; but when it set, when night came on, and the fire had no longer any rival to contend with, it appeared at a distance to their great consternation, as they began to raise themselves out of the morass. Theagenes tearing his hair, thus broke out into passionate exclamations; "May this day be the last of my life; may my fears, cares, and dangers now have an end, and my hopes and love conclude together. Chariclea is no more, and I am undone; in vain, wretch, that I am, have I become a coward, and submitted to an unmanly flight, that I might preserve myself for you, the delight of my life. For you, alas! I live no longer; you have fallen by an untimely death, nor was he on whom you doated present to receive your latest breath; but you are become the prey of flames, and these are the nuptial torches which cruel fate has lighted up for you. All is consumed, and there now remains no trace of the most perfect of human forms: O! most cruel and envious deities! a last embrace is denied me:" and thus lamenting, he felt about for his sword—Cnemon arrested his hand, and cried out, "Why, Theagenes, do you lament her who is safe? Chariclea is alive; be comforted." "Away!" he replied, "this is a tale for children; why do you keep me from the death I long for?" Cnemon swore to the truth of what he had said, told him the orders of Thyamis, described the cave where he had placed Chariclea; and assured him there was not the smallest danger of the flames (cut off as they would be) penetrating through the deep and winding avenues by which she was protected.

Theagenes at these assurances began to recover his spirits, and hastened towards the island, having Chariclea, and a joyful meeting in the cave before his eyes, ignorant, alas! of the woes which awaited him there. They proceeded forwards with great ardour, plying the oars themselves, for their rower had fallen overboard in the confusion of the first flight; they went on with an unsteady course from inexperience in rowing, not able to keep stroke, and the wind being against them; but their ardour overcame their unskilfulness, and with great difficulty at last, and bathed in sweat, they reached the shore, and ran eagerly towards the tents. Of these they saw only the ashes, they having been totally consumed; the stone, however, which formed the threshold and entrance of the cavern, was conspicuous enough; for the huts being built of reeds and such slender materials, were soon consumed and turned into a light ash, which the wind scattering away, left the earth bare in many places for a passage, cooling it at the same time with the blast.

Finding some torches half burnt, and lighting some reeds which remained, they opened the cave's mouth, and under the guidance of Cnemon, descended into it. When they had gone a little way, Cnemon suddenly exclaimed, "Ο God! what is this? we are undone, Chariclea is slain;" and flinging his torch on the ground, extinguished it, and falling on his knees, and covering his face with his hands, began to weep. Theagenes threw himself upon the body, and held it a long time in his arms, closely embraced; Cnemon seeing him overwhelmed with this stroke, and fearing when he recovered his senses he would make some attempt upon himself, took away unobserved the sword which hung by his side, and leaving him for a moment, ran out to light his torch. While he was gone, the unhappy lover broke out into mournful and tragic exclamations, "Ο intolerable calamity, and never-to-be-appeased wrath of the gods! what insatiable demon thus rages to my destruction? who, after having driven me from my country through a thousand dangers of seas and pirates, having delivered me up to marauders, and stript me of all I had, when one only comfort was left me, has now deprived me of that! Chariclea is no more, she lies slain by a violent death; doubtless, she has fallen in defence of her chastity, determined to preserve herself unspotted for my sake. In vain has her beauty bloomed both for herself and me; but, Ο my love! have not you one last word left to speak to me? Are life and breath for ever gone? Alas! you are silent; that mouth, formerly the interpreter of the will of heaven, is dumb, and darkness and destruction have overwhelmed the priestess of the gods. Those eyes glance no more whose lustre dazzled all beholders, whose brightness, if your murderer had met, he could not have executed his purpose; what shall I call you, my wife? but we were not married; my contracted spouse? but the contract has been a fruitless one; let me call you by the sweetest of all appellations, Chariclea. Ο Chariclea! if, where you are, you are capable of receiving comfort, be comforted; you have a faithful lover; we shall soon meet again; behold, I sacrifice myself to your Manes, to you I pour out my own blood in libations;[1] this cavern, a rude sepulchre, shall retain both our bodies; we shall be united in our deaths, though fate forbade it in our lives." Saying this, he felt for his sword, and not finding it, "Ο Cnemon," he exclaimed, "you have undone me, and Chariclea too, for the second time depriving her shade of the company it desires." While he was thus speaking, a voice from the windings of the cave was heard, calling Theagenes; he, not in the least alarmed, replied, "I come, my dearest life; your soul, I see, still hovers above the earth, partly, perhaps, because unwilling to leave that body, from which it has by violence been expelled; and partly, because[2] wanting the rites of sepulture, you may be refused admittance in the shades below." Cnemon now approached with the torch; again the voice was heard, calling Theagenes; Cnemon instantly exclaimed, "Ye gods! is not this the voice of Chariclea? Theagenes, I think she is safe, for the sound seems to me to proceed from that very part of the cavern where I know I left her."—"Will you never cease attempting to deceive me," replied Theagenes?—"I am much deceived myself," replied the other, "if we find this corpse which lies before us to be that of Chariclea;" and stooping down to examine the countenance, "O heavens!" he cried out, "what do I see? the face of Thisbe!" and starting back, he stood petrified with astonishment. Theagenes, on the contrary, now began to recover his spirits, and in his turn supported and encouraged Cnemon, who was ready to faint; and besought him that he would lead him instantly to Chariclea; Cnemon, by degrees coming to himself, again examined the body, which really was that of Thisbe; he knew, too, by its hilt, the sword which Thyamis from rage and haste had left sticking in the wound. He perceived also a tablet appearing out of her bosom; he took it, and was beginning to read what was written upon it; but Theagenes would not suffer him, and earnestly entreated him, if all he saw was not the illusion of some demon, that he would take him to Chariclea; you may afterwards, said he, read this tablet. Cnemon obeyed; and, taking up the tablet and the sword, hastened towards Chariclea. She, creeping on hands and knees towards the sound of their voices as well as she could, at length saw the light, flew to Theagenes, and hung upon his neck. And mutually exclaiming, "And are you restored to me, my dear Theagenes?"—"Do you live,[3] sweetest Chariclea?" they fell in each others' arms upon the ground; their voices murmuring and themselves dying away. So much does a sudden rush of joy overpower the human faculties, and excess of pleasure passes into pain. Thus these lovers, unexpectedly preserved, seemed again in danger, till Cnemon, observing a little water in a cleft of the rock, took it up in the hollow of his hand, and sprinkling it over their faces and nostrils, they came by degrees to themselves. But when they discovered their situation, lying on the ground in each other's arms, they rose immediately, and blushing a little, especially Chariclea, began to make excuses to Cnemon. He, smiling, turned the matter into pleasantry.

"You will not find a severe censor in me," said he; "whoever is but moderately acquainted with the passion of love, will easily forgive its excesses. But there is one part of your conduct, Theagenes, which I cannot approve of—indeed I was ashamed to see it—when you fell down, and bewailed in so lamentable a manner a foreign woman, and one of no good character, while I was all the time assuring you, that she, whom you professed to love best, was alive and near you."—"Have done, Cnemon," he replied; "do not traduce me to Chariclea. You know I lamented her, under the person of another; but since the kind gods have shewn me that I was in an error, pray call to mind a little your own fortitude. You joined your tears, at first, with mine; but when you recognized the body which lay before you, you started as from a demon on the stage, you in armour, and with a sword, from a woman; you, a Grecian warrior, from a corpse!"

This raillery drew a short and forced smile from them, mingled with tears; for such was their calamitous situation, that grief and thought soon overpowered this gleam of cheerfulness. A short silence ensued; when Chariclea[4] gently moving her finger upon her cheek under the ear, exclaimed, "I shall always esteem her blest, whoever she be, for whom Theagenes is concerned; but, if you do not think that love makes me too inquisitive, I should be glad to know who is this happy damsel who has been thought worthy of his tears; and by what error he could take a stranger for me."—"You will wonder when you hear," replied Theagenes. "Cnemon affirms, that these are the remains of Thisbe, the Athenian singer, the plotter against him and Demæneta."—"How," said the astonished Chariclea, "could she be brought here, from the middle of Greece to the extremity of Egypt, like a deity in a tragedy?[5] and how could she be concealed from us at our entrance?"—"As to that, I am as much at a loss about it as you can be," said Cnemon; "all I know of her adventures is this: After the tragical end of Demæneta, my father laid before the people what had happened. They pitied and pardoned him; and he was earnestly employed in soliciting my recall. Thisbe made use of the leisure she had upon her hands; and at different entertainments set her musical skill and her person to sale.

"She[6] now received more favour from the public than Arsinoë, who grew careless in practising her talents; while Thisbe shewed greater perfection, both in voice and execution. But she was not aware that by this she had excited the inextinguishable envy of a courtezan. This was increased by her having seduced Nausicles, a rich merchant of Naucratium, formerly a lover of Arsinoë; but who had left her on pretence of being disgusted with the distortions of her eyes and countenance, while she was playing on the flute. Anger and jealousy raging in her bosom, she went to the relations of Demæneta, and discovered to them the snare which Thisbe had laid for their kinswoman; partly from her own conjectures, and partly from what Thisbe had told her. Their anger, however, fell first upon my father; and they engaged the most skilful counsel to accuse him to the people, as if he had put Demæneta to death without trial or conviction; and had made use of the adultery only as a pretext for her murder; and loudly called upon him to produce the adulterer, or at least to name him; they concluded by insisting that Thisbe should be put to the torture. My father readily agreed to this, but she was not to be found; for, upon the first stirring of the matter, she had taken flight with her merchant. The people, angry at her escape, were in an ill humour to hear the defence of the accused. They did not indeed convict him of the murder, but found him guilty of being concerned in the contrivance against Demæneta, and of my unjust banishment. They exiled him from the city, and fined him to the amount of the greatest part of his fortune. Such were the fruits of his second marriage.

"The wretched Thisbe, whose punishment I now see before me, sailed safe from Athens: this is all I know about her, and this I had from Anticles at Ægina. I sailed with him to Egypt in hopes of finding Thisbe at Naucratium, that I might bring her back to Athens, and clear my father from the suspicions and accusations he laboured under, and procure her to be justly punished for her crimes against us. What I have since undergone you shall hear at a more convenient season; let us now examine into the cause of the tragedy which is here presented to us. But how Thisbe came into this cavern, and how she has been murdered in it, must be explained to us, I believe, by some deity, for it passes human comprehension; let us examine, however, the tablet that was found in her bosom; perhaps that will give us some information." With this he took it, and began to read as follows:

"Thisbe, formerly his enemy, but now his avenger, to her master, Cnemon:

"In the first place I inform you of the death of Demæneta, brought about on your account by my means; how it happened, if you will admit me to your presence, I will relate to you in person. I have been ten days on this island, having been made captive by one of the robbers, who boasts that he is lieutenant to the chief, and keeps me closely confined—as he says, out of love; as I suppose, lest I should be taken from him. By the kindness of the gods, I have seen and recognized you, and send this tablet to you privately by an old woman who waits upon me, commanding her to deliver it to a handsome Greek, a favourite of the chief. Deliver me from the power of these pirates, and receive to yourself your handmaid; and, if you can prevail upon yourself, preserve her; knowing that in what I acted against you I was compelled, but the revenging you of your enemy was my own voluntary act. But, if you still feel an inextinguishable resentment against me, satiate it as you please; only let me be in your hands, even if I am to die by them; I prefer death from you, and to have the rites of my country performed over my remains, to a life that is more dreadful than death; and to the love of a barbarian, more odious to me than the hatred of a Greek."—This was the contents of the tablet.

"O Thisbe," said Cnemon, "the gods have wisely ordained your death; and that you should become, even after your slaughter, the relater of your calamities; the Fury[7] who has driven you through the world, has not ceased her avenging pursuit, till she has made me, whom you have injured, even in Egypt, a spectator of your punishment. But what accident is it which has stopped your career, while perhaps this letter of yours was only the forerunner of some new practice against me? for I cannot help suspecting you even now that you are dead. I fear lest the account of Demæneta's death should be a fiction; lest those who have informed me of it should have deceived me; lest you should have crossed the seas with a design to renew in Egypt the tragedies you have acted against me in Attica."—"Ο you courageous fellow!" cries out Theagenes, "will you never cease to terrify yourself with shades and fancies? You cannot pretend that she has bewitched me, at any rate, for I have had no part in the drama; assure yourself that no harm can arise to you from this dead corpse, and pluck up your spirits: but who has been so far your benefactor as to slay your enemy, and how and when she descended here, I am utterly at a loss to imagine."—"As to the matter in general I am so too," replied Cnemon; "but he who slew her was certainly Thyamis, as I conjecture from the sword which was found near the body; I know it to be his, by the ivory hilt carved into the form of an eagle."—"But can you conjecture," said the other, "how, and when, and for what cause, he committed this murder?"—"How should I know that?" he answered. "This cavern has not had the virtue of inspiring me, like that of Delphi or Trophonius."

The mention of Delphi seemed to agitate Theagenes, and drew tears from Chariclea; they repeated the name with great emotion. Cnemon was surprised, and could not conceive why they were so affected by it. In this manner they were engaged in the cave. Meanwhile Thermuthis, the lieutenant of Thyamis, after he had been wounded and had got to land in the manner we have related, when night came on, hastened towards the cavern in search of Thisbe; for he it was who had placed her there. He had some days before taken her by force from the merchant Nausicles in a narrow mountain pass. On the tumult and attack which soon after ensued, when he was sent by Thyamis in search of a victim, he let her down into this cavern, that she might be out of the reach of danger, and in his hurry and confusion left her near the entrance of it. Here she remained out of fear, and ignorance of the winding passages which led to the bottom; and here Thyamis found and killed her by mistake for Chariclea. Thermuthis proceeded on his way to Thisbe. Upon reaching the island he hastened to the tents; these he found in ashes: and having with some difficulty discovered the entrance of the cavern, by means of the stone covering, he lighted a handful of reeds which yet remained there, and hastened to descend into it.

He called Thisbe by her name, in Greek; but when he saw her lying dead at his feet, he stood motionless with horror and surprise. At length he heard a murmur and distant sound of voices issuing from the hollow recesses of the cave; for Theagenes and Cnemon were still conversing together.

These he concluded to be the murderers of Thisbe, and was in doubt what he should do; for as was natural in a ferocious pirate, his rage, raised to the highest pitch by this disappointment of his desires, urged him to rush at once upon the supposed authors of it; but his want of arms made him unwillingly more cautious. He concluded therefore that it was best at first not to present himself as an enemy, but if by any means he could possess himself of arms, then to attack them on a sudden. With this design he advanced towards Theagenes, throwing wild and fierce glances around him, and discovering in his looks the purpose of his heart.

They were surprised at the sudden appearance of a stranger, almost naked, wounded, and with his face bloody. Chariclea, startled and ashamed, retired into the inmost part of the cave. Cnemon too drew a little back, knowing Thermuthis, seeing him unexpectedly, and fearing that he came there on no good account. But Theagenes was more irritated than terrified, and presenting the point of his sword, called out, "Stand where you are, or you shall receive another wound; thus far I spare you, because I know your face, and am not sure of your designs."—Thermuthis stretched out his unarmed hands, and besought his compassion; forced, notwithstanding his rugged temper, from the circumstance he was in, to become a supplicant. He called on Cnemon for assistance, and said he deserved help from him, having never injured him; having lived with him as a comrade, and coming now as a friend. Cnemon was moved by his entreaties; raised him from the knees of Theagenes which he had embraced, and eagerly inquired where was Thyamis. The latter related all he knew—how his leader had attacked the enemy; how he had rushed into the midst of the battle, sparing neither his foes nor himself; the slaughter he made of them; and the protection which the proclamation to take him alive afforded him. He mentioned his own wound and escape, but knew nothing of his captain's fate; and was come here in search of Thisbe. They inquired how he became so interested about Thisbe; and how she came into his possession. He told them everything: how he had taken her from a merchant; how he fell violently in love with her, and had concealed her some time in his tent, and at the approach of the attacking party had placed her in the cave where he now saw her slain; that he was perfectly ignorant of the authors of her death, but would most gladly find them out if he could, and ascertain their motive.

Cnemon, eager to free himself from suspicion, told him it was certainly Thyamis who slew her; and shewed him the sword which was found beside her; which, when Thermuthis saw, still reeking with blood, and warm from the wound, and knew it to have belonged to Thyamis, he uttered a deep groan, still more perplexed how to account for the accident, and in dumb gloomy astonishment moved towards the mouth of the cave. Here throwing himself upon the bosom of the deceased, he embraced the body, and repeating nothing but the name of Thisbe, fainter by degrees and fainter, oppressed with grief and fatigue, sunk at last into a sleep.

The remainder of the company in the cave began now to consult what steps it was proper for them to pursue. But the multitude of their past calamities, the pressure of the present misfortunes, and the uncertainty of what might happen to them, obscured the light, and weakened the force, of their reason. Each looked at the other, expecting him to say something; and being disappointed, turned his eyes to the ground; and raising them again, sighed, lightening a little his grief by this expression of it. At length Cnemon sat down on the ground; Theagenes threw himself on a rock, and Chariclea reclined upon him. In this posture they a long time resisted the attacks of sleep, desirous, if they could, to devise some scheme of action; but, overcome at last with grief and fatigue, they unwillingly yielded to the law of nature, and fell into a sweet slumber from the very excess of sorrow. Thus is the intelligent soul obliged sometimes to sympathise with the affections of the body.

When sleep had for a little while just weighed their eye-lids down, the following vision appeared to Chariclea. A man with his hair in disorder, a downcast look, and bloody hands, seemed to come and thrust out her right eye with a sword. She instantly cried out, and called upon Theagenes. He was soon awakened, and felt for her uneasiness, though it was only in a dream. She lifted her hand to her face, as if in search of the part she had lost, and then exclaimed, "It was a dream; my eye is safe!"—"I am glad," replied Theagenes, "that those bright sunbeams are uninjured. But what has ailed you? how came you so terrified?"—"A savage and violent man," says she, "not fearing even your valour, attacked me with a sword as I lay at your feet; and, as I thought, deprived me of my right eye; and would that it had been a reality and not a vision!"—"Now Heaven forefend! why do you make so shocking a wish?"—"Because I would much rather lose one of my eyes than be under apprehensions for you; for I greatly fear that the dream regards you, whom I esteem as my eyes, my soul, my all."—"Cease," called out Cnemon (who had heard all that had passed, having been awakened by the first exclamation of Chariclea), "for I think the vision has another interpretation. Had you any parents living when you left Greece?"—"I had," she replied.—"Believe then now that your father is dead. I form my conjecture from hence: Our parents are the authors of our being; therefore they may properly enough in a dream be shadowed out under the similitude of eyes, the organs of light, which convey to us things visible."

"The loss of my father," replied Chariclea, "would be a heavy blow; but let even your interpretation be the true one, rather mine. I consent to pass for a false prophet!"—"Be it so," replied Cnemon; "but we are indeed dreaming, while we are examining fancies and visions, and forget to apply ourselves to our real business, especially while the absence of the Egyptian (meaning Thermuthis), who is employed in lamenting his deceased love, gives us an opportunity."—"Ο Cnemon," said Theagenes, "since some god has joined you to us, and made you a partaker in our calamities, do you advise us what to do, for you are acquainted with the country and language; and we, oppressed with a greater weight of misfortunes, are less fit for counsel."

"Which of us has the greater load of misfortunes to struggle with, is by no means clear," said Cnemon. "I have my full share of them; but, however, as I am the elder, and you command me to speak, I will obey you. The island where we are, you see, is desolate, and contains none but ourselves. Of gold, silver, and precious garments, plundered from you and others, and heaped together by the pirates, there is plenty; but of food and other necessaries, it is totally destitute. If we stay here, we are in danger of perishing by famine, or of being destroyed by some of the invaders, or by the buccaneers, if, knowing of the treasures which are left here, they return again in search of them. There will then be no escape; either we shall perish, or be exposed to their violence and insults. They are always a faithless race, and will now be more disorderly and dreadful, having lost their chief. We must fly, therefore, from this place, as from a snare and a prison, sending Thermuthis away first, if we can, under pretext of inquiring after Thyamis, for we shall be more at liberty to consult and act by ourselves. It is prudent, too, to remove from us a man of an unconstant temper, of savage manners, and who, besides, suspects us on account of the death of Thisbe, and probably only waits for an opportunity to commit some violence against us."

The advice of Cnemon was approved of; and they determined to follow it; and moving towards the mouth of the cave, the day now beginning to dawn, they roused Thermuthis, who was still sunk in sleep; and telling him as much as they thought proper of their design, easily persuaded a fickle-minded man. They then took the body of Thisbe, drew it into a hollow of the rock, covered it as well as they could with ashes from the tents, and performed what funeral rites the time and place would admit of, supplying what was deficient by tears and lamentations.

They next proceeded to send out Thermuthis on the expedition they had projected for him. He set out, but soon returned, declaring he would not go alone, nor expose himself to the danger of so perilous a search, unless Cnemon would bear him company. Theagenes, observing that this proposal was by no means agreeable to Cnemon, who betrayed evident marks of fear and apprehension when informed of it, said to him, "You are valiant in council, Cnemon, but a laggard in action; you have shown this more than once; pluck up your spirits, and prove yourself a man. It is necessary that this fellow should have no suspicion, at present, of our design to leave him. Seem to agree, therefore, to what he proposes, and go with him at first; for there is no danger to be apprehended from an unarmed man, especially by you who are armed. You may take your opportunity, and leave him privately, and come to us at some place which we shall fix upon; and we will, if you please, mention some neighbouring town, if you know any, where the inhabitants are a little civilized."

Cnemon agreed to this, and named Chemmis, a rich and populous place, situated on a rising ground on the banks of the Nile, by way of defence against the incursions of the pirates, about one hundred furlongs distant from the lake directly south. "I fear," said Theagenes, "that Chariclea will find some difficulty in getting thither, as she is unused to walking; however, we will attempt it, and pretend that we are beggars who seek our living by showing juggling tricks."

"Truly," said Cnemon, "your faces are sufficiently disfigured for such a business, particularly Chariclea's, who has just lost an eye; after all, though, I fear you will rather appear guests for the table than petitioners for scraps at the door."[8]—This sally was received with a forced and languid smile, which played only on the lips. They then prepared to depart, swearing never to desert each other, and calling the gods to witness it.

Cnemon and Thermuthis set out early in the morning; and, crossing the lake, took their way through a thick and difficult wood. Thermuthis went first, at the persuasion of Cnemon, on the pretext that, as he was acquainted with the country, he was better qualified to lead; in reality, that the other might more easily find an opportunity of deserting him. They met with some flocks in their way; and the shepherds fled, at their approach, into the thickest of the wood. They seized a ram, roasted him at a fire the shepherds had lighted, and hardly staying till it was sufficiently dressed, devoured the flesh with eagerness. Hunger pressed them; they fell upon it like wolves; swallowed whole pieces, just warmed through, and still dropping with blood. When they had satisfied their hunger, and allayed their thirst with milk, they pursued their way. Evening now approached, and they were ascending a hill under which was situated a town, where Thermuthis said it was very probable that Thyamis was either detained a captive or had been slain. Here Cnemon pretended that he felt great pain; that his stomach was exceedingly disordered by his inordinate repast of meat and drink, and that he must retire to ease it. This he did two or three times, that his companion might suspect nothing, and complained that it was with great difficulty he could follow him. When he had accustomed the Egyptian to his staying behind, he took an opportunity at last to let him go on forwards farther than usual; and then, turning suddenly back, he ran down the hill as fast as he could into the thickest part of the bushes. Thermuthis, when he had arrived at the summit, sat himself down on a rock, expecting the approach of night, which they had agreed to wait for before they entered into the town to inquire after Thyamis. He looked about for his companion, having no good designs against him, for he was still persuaded that he had slain Thisbe, and was considering how he might serve him in the same manner; proposing afterwards to attack Theagenes. But when Cnemon appeared nowhere, and night advanced, he fell asleep—a deadly[9] and last sleep it proved to him, for an asp, which had lain concealed in a thicket, bit him, and put a fitting end to his life.

But Cnemon, after he had left Thermuthis, stopped not in his flight till the darkness of the night obliged him to make a halt. He then endeavoured to conceal himself by lying down and covering himself as well as he could with leaves. Here he passed a restless and almost sleepless night, taking every noise, every gust of wind, and motion of a leaf, for Thermuthis. If at any time he dropped into a slumber, he thought he was fleeing;[10] and looking behind, imagined he saw him pursuing, who was now unable to follow him; till at last he resisted all approaches of sleep, his dreams becoming more dreadful to him than even his waking apprehensions.

He was uneasy at the duration of the night, which appeared to him the longest he had ever spent. At length, to his great joy, day appeared. He[11] then proceeded to cut his hair short, which he had suffered to grow, in imitation of, and to recommend himself to, his piratical companions, for the pirates, willing to render themselves as formidable as they can, among other things, cherish long hair, which they suffer to grow down their foreheads, and play over their shoulders, well knowing that flowing locks, as they make the lover more amiable, so they render the warrior more terrible. When Cnemon, therefore, had shaped his hair into the common form, he proceeded to Chemmis, where he had appointed to meet Theagenes. As he drew near the Nile, and was preparing to pass over it to Chemmis, he perceived an old man wandering upon its banks, walking several times up and down the stream, as if he were communicating his cares to the river. His locks were as white as snow, and shaped like those of a priest; his beard flowing and venerable; his habit Grecian. Cnemon stopped a little; but when the old man passed by many times, seemingly unconscious that any one was near (so entirely was he immersed in care and meditation), he placed himself before him, and, in the Grecian manner of salutation, bid him be of good cheer.[12] The other replied, his fortunes were such that good cheer was out of the question. Cnemon, surprised, asked: "Are you a stranger from Greece, or from whence?"—"I am neither a Grecian nor a stranger," said he, "but an Egyptian of this country."—"Why, then, have you a Grecian dress?"—"My misfortunes," says he, "have put me into this splendid habit." The other, wondering how misfortunes could improve a man's appearance, and seeming desirous to be informed—"You carry me into a 'tale of Troy divine,'"[13] replied the old man; "and a swarm of evils, the recital of which would oppress you. But whence do you come, Ο young man, and whither are you going? and how come I to hear the Greek tongue in Egypt?"—"It is a little unreasonable in you," replied Cnemon, "to ask these questions of me, you who will tell nothing about yourself, though I made the first inquiries."—"I admit it," said the other; "but do not be offended. You seem to be a Greek, and to have yourself undergone some transformation from the hand of fortune. You are desirous to hear my adventures; I am no less so to relate them. Probably I had told them to these reeds, as the fable[14] goes, if I had not met with you. But let us leave the Nile and its banks; for a situation exposed to the meridian sun is not a proper place for a long narration. If you have no urgent business which hinders you, let us go to the town which you see opposite to us. I will entertain you, not in my own house, but in that of a good man who received me when I implored his protection. There you may listen to my story, and in your turn relate your own."—"With all my heart," said Cnemon, "for I myself was going to this town to wait for some friends of mine, whom I had appointed to meet there." Getting, therefore, into a boat, many of which were lying by the river's side, to transport passengers, they crossed over into the town, and arrived at the house where the stranger was lodged. The master of the house was not at home; but his daughter, a marriageable maiden, received them with great cheerfulness, and the servants waited upon the old man as if he had been their father, most probably by their master's orders. One washed his feet, and wiped off the dust from under his knees; another got ready his bed, and strewed it with soft coverings; a third brought an urn, and filled it with fire; a fourth prepared the table, and spread it with bread and various kinds of fruit.

Cnemon, wondering at their alacrity, exclaimed, "We have certainly got into the house of Jove the Hospitable,[15] such is the attention and singular benevolence with which we are received."—"You have not got into the habitation of Jove," replied the other, "but into that of a man who exactly imitates his hospitable and charitable qualities: for his life[16] has been a mercantile and wandering one; he has seen many cities, and observed the manners of many nations; he is naturally therefore inclined to compassionate the stranger, and receive the wanderer, as he did me not many days ago."—"And how came you to be a wanderer, father?"—"Being deprived," said he, "of my children by robbers; knowing those who had injured me, but unable to contend with them; I roam about this spot, mourning and sorrowing; not unlike a bird whose nest a serpent[17] has made desolate, and is devouring her young before her eyes. She is afraid to approach, yet cannot bear to desert them; terror and affection struggle within her; she flies mournfully round the scene of her calamities, pouring in vain her maternal complaints into ears deaf to her waitings and strangers to mercy."—"Will you then relate," said Cnemon, "when and how you encountered this grievous war of woe?"—"By-and-bye," he replied; "but let us now attend to our craving stomach; which, because it considers itself of more consequence than any other organ, is called by Homer destructive.[18] And first, as is the custom of the Egyptian sages, let us make a libation to the gods. Nothing shall make me omit this; nor shall grief ever so entirely possess my mind, as to render me forgetful of what I owe to heaven." With this he poured pure water out of the vase, and said, "I make this libation to the gods of this country, and those of Greece; to the Pythian Apollo, and also to Theagenes and Chariclea, the good and beautiful, since I reckon them also among the gods:" and then he wept, as if he were making another libation to them with his tears. Cnemon, greatly struck at what he heard, viewed the old man from head to foot, and exclaimed, "What do you say? Are Theagenes and Chariclea really your children?"—"They are my children," replied the stranger, "but born to me without a mother. Fortune, by the permission of the gods, gave them to me; I brought them forth with the travail of my soul. My great inclination towards them supplied the place of nature; and I have been esteemed by them, and called their father. But tell me, how came you acquainted with them?"—"I am not only acquainted with them," said Cnemon, "but can assure you that they are alive and well."—"Ο Apollo, and all the gods!" he exclaimed, "where are they? Tell me, I beseech you; and you will be my preserver and equal to the gods!"—"But what shall be my reward?" replied the other.—"At present that of obliging me; no mean reward to a wise man: I know many who have laid up this as a treasure in their hearts. But if we arrive in my country, which, if I may believe the tokens of the gods, will ere long be, your utmost desires shall be satisfied with wealth."

"You promise me," said Cnemon, "things uncertain and future, when you have it in your power to reward me immediately."—"Show me anything I can now do for you," said the old man, "for I would willingly part even with a limb to satisfy you."—"Your limbs need be in no danger," replied the Grecian; "I shall be satisfied if you will relate to me from whence these strangers come, who were their parents, how they were brought here, and what have been their adventures."—"You shall have a treat," replied the old man; "so great as to be second to none other, not even if you should obtain all earthly treasures. But let us now take a little food; for my narration and your listening will take up a considerable time."

When they had eaten, therefore, some nuts and figs, and fresh-gathered dates, and such other things as the old man was used to feed upon (for he never deprived any animal of life for his own nourishment), he drank a little water, and Cnemon some wine; and, after a short pause, the latter said: "You know, Ο father, that Bacchus delights in convivial conversations and stories; and as I am now under his influence, I am very desirous of hearing some, and I claim from you my promised reward: it is time to bring your piece upon the stage, as the saying goes."—"You shall be satisfied," replied the stranger: "but I wish the good Nausicles were here, who has often earnestly desired to hear this detail from me, and as often, on some pretext or other, has been put off."—At the name of Nausicles, Cnemon asked where he was. "He is gone a hunting," replied the other.—"And after what kind of game?"—"Why, not indeed of wild beasts, but of men as savage as they, who are called buccaneers, who live by robbery, who are very difficult to be taken, and lurk in marshes, caverns, and lakes."—"What offence have they given him?"—"They have taken his mistress from him, an Athenian girl, whom he called Thisbe."—"Ah!" said Cnemon, in a tone of surprise, and immediately stopped, as if checking himself.—"What ails you?" said the old man.—The other, evading the question, proceeded, "I wonder with what forces he means to attack them?"—"Oroondates, viceroy of Egypt, under the Great King, has appointed Mithranes commandant of this town; Nausicles, by means of a large sum of money, has prevailed upon him to march with a body of horse and foot against them; for he is exceedingly annoyed at the loss of this Grecian girl; not only because he liked her himself, and because she was well skilled in music; but because he was going to take her with him to the king of Ethiopia, by way of attendant upon the queen, as he said, and to amuse her after the Grecian fashion. Being deprived, therefore, as he supposes, by her loss, of a great reward which he expected for her, he is using his utmost efforts to recover her. I encouraged him too to this expedition, thinking it possible he might find and recover my children also." "Enough of buccaneers, and viceroys, and kings," cried out Cnemon, impatiently; "your discourse is wandering from the point I aim at. This episode[19] has nothing to do with the main plot; come back to the performance of your promise; you are like the Pharian Proteus;[20] not turning indeed into false and fleeting shapes, but trying to slip away from me."—"Be satisfied," said the old man, "you shall know all. I will explain to you first what relates to myself, shortly, and without reserve; which will be a proper introduction to that which is to follow.

"I am a citizen of Memphis. The name of my father was Calasiris, as is likewise mine. Though now a wanderer, I was not long ago a high priest. I had a wife, but have now lost her; after her death I lived for some time quietly, delighting myself with two sons whom she had left me. But in a few years, the fated revolution of the heavenly bodies altered every thing; the eye of Saturn scowled upon my family, and portended a change in my fortunes for the worse. I had skill enough to foresee the ills which threatened me, but not to avoid them; for no foresight can enable us to escape the immutable decrees of fate: it is, however, an advantage, to have some foreknowledge of them, as it blunts the violence of the stroke. Unexpected misfortunes, my son, are intolerable; those which are foreseen are more easily borne: the mind is confused and disarmed by sudden fear; custom and reason strengthen it. My calamities began in this manner:

"A Thracian woman, in the bloom of youth and in beauty second only to Chariclea, whose name was Rhodope, unfortunately for those who became acquainted with her, travelled through Egypt. In her progress[21] she came in 'revel-rout' to Memphis, with great luxury and pomp of attendance, and adorned with every grace, and exercising all the arts of love. It was almost impossible to see her, and not fall into her snares; such irresistible witchery accompanied the eyes of this fair[22] harlot. She frequently came into the temple of Isis, where I officiated as high priest. She worshipped the goddess with sacrifices and costly offerings. I am ashamed to proceed; yet I will not conceal the truth. The frequent sight of her overcame me at last, in spite of the command I had long been accustomed to maintain over my passions. I struggled long against my bodily eyes and the eyes of my fancy, but in vain; I yielded at last, and sank under the dominion of love. I perceived that the arrival of this woman was to be the beginning of those misfortunes which the heavens foretold to me; and that my evil genius was to make her one of the principal instruments of them. I determined, however, to do nothing to disgrace that office of priesthood which had descended to me from my ancestors, nor to profane the altars and temples of the gods: and as to the transgression which my evil stars had determined I should fall into, not in act, indeed (heaven forbid!) but in desire; I constituted reason my judge, and made her impose the penalty of exile from my native land, yielding to the necessity of fate, submitting to its decrees, and flying from the ill-omened Rhodope. For I will own to you, Ο stranger! that I was afraid, lest, under the present baleful influence of the constellations, I might be tempted to do something unbecoming my character. Another, and a principal reason for my absenting myself, was, on account of my children; for my skill in divination shewed me that they were in a short time to contend with each other in arms.

"Snatching myself away, therefore, from a spectacle so dreadful to a father's eyes (sufficient to turn aside the aspect of the sun, and make him hide his beams), I departed from my country, from my house, and family, making no one acquainted with the course I intended to take, but pretending that I was going to Egyptian Thebes, to see my eldest son Thyamis, who was there on a visit to his grandfather."—Cnemon started again at the name of Thyamis; but restrained himself, and was silent, desirous to hear the sequel. The old man, after observing—

"I pass over the intermediate part of my journey, for it has no relation to what you desire to know," thus proceeded: "But having heard that there was a famous city in Greece, called Delphi, sacred to Apollo, abounding in temples, the resort of wise men, retired, and free from popular tumults; thither I bent my steps, thinking that a city destined for sacred rites was a proper retreat for one of my profession. I sailed through the Crissæan gulf, and landing at Cirrha, proceeded to the city: when I entered it, a voice, no doubt divine, sounded in my ears; and as in other respects this place seemed a fit habitation for a superior race, so particularly on account of its situation. The mountain Parnassus hangs over it, as a kind of natural fortification and citadel, stretching out its sides, and receiving the city into its bosom." "Your description is most graphic, cried out Cnemon, "and seems really made under the influence of the Pythic inspiration; for in this manner I remember well my father described Delphi, when he returned from the council of the Amphictyons, to which the city of Athens had deputed him as sacred secretary."[23]—"You are an Athenian then, my son?"—"Yes."—"Your name?"—Cnemon."—"What have been your fortunes?"—"You shall hear by-and-bye. Now however continue your own narration."—"I will," replied the old man.

"I ascended into the place, I admired the city of race-courses, of market-places, and of fountains, especially the famed one of Castalia, with the water of which I sprinkled myself, and hastened to the temple; for the thronging of the multitude, which pressed towards it, seemed to announce the time when the priestess was about to be under the sacred impulse;[24] and having worshipped and uttered a petition for myself, I received the following oracle:

Thou from the fertile Nile, thy course dost bend,[25]
Pause here awhile, and sojourn as my friend:
Stern fate thou fly'st, her strokes with courage bear;
Ere long of Egypt thou shalt have a share.

"As soon as the priestess had pronounced this, I fell upon my face, and besought the deity to be propitious to me in everything. The crowd who surrounded the shrine, joined in praising the deity for having deigned to answer me on my first entreaty; they congratulated me, and paid me great respect, saying, that I seemed to be the greatest favourite with the deity who had appeared there since Lycurgus,[26] a Spartan. They permitted me at my request to inhabit the precincts of the temple, and passed a decree that I should be maintained at the public expense. My situation, in short, was a very agreeable one; I either assisted at the ceremonies and sacrifices which were every day performed and offered by strangers as well as natives, or conversed with the philosophers, for many of this description flocked to Delphi. The city[27] is in truth a university, inspired by the deity who presides over inspiration and the muses. Various subjects were discussed; sometimes the manner of our religious rites in Egypt, and why certain animals were counted sacred more than others; and the different histories which belonged to each. Another inquired about the construction of the Pyramids and the Catacombs.[28] In short, there was nothing relative to Egypt which they did not scrutinize into; for it is wonderful how the Greeks listen to, and are delighted with, accounts of that country. At length one among the more accomplished of them touched upon the Nile, its fountains, and inundations, wondering why it alone, of all rivers, should in the summer time swell and overflow. I told them what I knew on that subject, which I had gathered from the sacred books which the priests alone are permitted to consult. I related how it had its rise on the south-east confines of Libya and Ethiopia; that it increased in the summer, not because its waters, as some supposed, were driven back by the Etesian[29] winds, but because these winds, about the time of the summer solstice, drive the clouds before them from the northern into the southern parts, which are by this means collected in the torrid zone, where their farther motion is stopped by the extreme vehemence of the heat. They are then condensed, and pressed by degrees, till they dissolve, and fall in copious showers. These swell the river till it disdains its banks, and, bursting over Egypt like a sea, fertilizes the plains it overflows. Its waters are very sweet to drink, as they are furnished by the rains from heaven; they are not hot to the touch as they are higher up, but nevertheless are tepid; they exhale no vapours like other rivers, which they certainly would do, if (as some learned Grecians suppose) their rise was owing to the melting of the snows.

"While I was discoursing in this manner, one of the priests of Apollo, whose name was Charicles, with whom I had contracted some intimacy, said, 'I am pleased with what you say, and agree with you entirely, for I have heard the same account of this matter from the priests at the cataracts of the Nile.'—'And have you been as far as there,' said I?—'I have,' he replied.—'On what account?'—'On occasion of some family misfortunes, which, however, at last became the course of my happiness.' When I expressed some surprize at this, 'You would not wonder,' said he, 'if you were to hear the whole matter as it happened; and you may hear it whenever you please.'—'I should be very glad to hear it at once,' said I.—'Attend then,' said Charicles; 'for I have long, and from an interested motive, wished for an opportunity of relating my story to you:'—and, dismissing the general company, he began as follows:

"'I had been married a considerable time without having children;[30] I wearied the gods with supplications; and at last, in an advanced stage of life, I became the father of a little daughter, but who was born, as the gods foretold, not under auspicious destiny. She became marriageable, and had many suitors. I married her to him whom I thought most worthy of her; and on the very wedding night she was burnt in her bed, her apartment having been set on fire either by accident or lightning. The hymeneal song, which was still resounding, was turned into a dirge: she was carried from the marriage apartment to her grave; and the torches, which had illuminated the nuptial procession, now lighted the funeral pile.

"'My evil genius added yet another calamity to this tragedy, and took from me the mother of my child, who sank under her sorrows.

"'Such a series of misfortunes was almost too much for me. It was with difficulty I abstained from laying violent hands upon myself; I had however strength of mind sufficient to refrain from an action which the teachers of religion pronounce unlawful. But being unable to bear the solitude and silence of my house, I left my country, for to deaden memory by turning the eyes upon new objects is a great palliative to grief. I wandered into various parts, and came at last into your Egypt, and to Caladupa,[31] in order to visit the cataracts of the Nile: this, my friend, was the occasion of my coming into your country, which you inquired after. I must now proceed to a digression, though it more properly forms the principal reason of my entering at all into this narration.

"'While I was wandering at leisure through the city, and buying some things of the Greeks (for time having now considerably alleviated my grief, I thought of returning into my country), I was accosted by a middle-aged man, with the complexion of an Ethiopian, but of a grave deportment, and bearing marks of prudence in his aspect: he saluted me, and in broken Greek said he wished to speak to me. I readily consenting, he took me into a neighbouring temple, and said: "I saw you cheapening some Indian, Ethiopian, and Egyptian roots and herbs; if you really have a desire to buy some, I can furnish you."—"I shall be very glad to see them," I replied.—"You must not beat me down too much," said he.—"Do not then be too exorbitant on your part," was my answer.—With that he pulled a small pouch from a pocket under his arm, and showed me some jewels of inestimable value: there were pearls as big as nuts, perfectly round, and of the purest white; emeralds and amethysts—the former as green as the vernal corn, and shining with a kind of oily lustre; the latter resembling the colour of the sea-beach, when played upon by the shadows of an overhanging rock, which impart to it a purple tinge.[32] The mingled brilliancy of the whole collection astonished and delighted my eyes.

"'After having contemplated them for some time, I said, "You must seek some other purchaser; my whole fortune would scarcely be sufficient to procure one of these gems."—"But if you cannot buy them," he replied, "you may receive them as a present."—"Certainly! but why are you jesting with me?"—"I am not jesting with you, I am serious in what I say; and I swear to you by the deity whose shrine we are before, that I will give you everything which I have shown you, if, in addition to these, you will receive from my hands a present far more precious than all which you behold."—I could not help smiling: he asked the cause of it.—"Because it seems to me ridiculous," said I, "that when you promise me gifts of such price, you should besides make me expect a present still more valuable."—"Nevertheless, believe me," he replied, "and swear to me that you will use my gift well, and in the manner which I shall exact from you."—I wondered and doubted, but at last swore to him, allured by the hopes of such treasures. When I had taken such an oath as he required, he conducted me to his house, and showed me a girl of wonderful and more than mortal beauty: He affirmed she was but seven years old; but she appeared to me to be almost of a marriageable age, so much did her uncommon beauty seem to add even to her stature. I stood for some time motionless, ignorant of what was to follow, and ravished with the sight before me; when my conductor thus addressed me:

"'"The child whom you behold, Ο stranger, was exposed, when an infant, by her mother, and left at the mercy of fortune, for a reason which you shall hear by-and-bye. It happened luckily that I found, and took her up; for I could not allow myself to desert in its danger a soul which had once entered a human body: in so doing I should have transgressed the precepts of our Gymnosophists,[33] of whom I had been privileged to be a disciple. Something, too, uncommon and divine, seemed to beam from the eyes of the infant, which were cast upon me with sparkling yet engaging lustre. There was exposed with her this profusion of jewels which I have shown you. There was a silken fillet, on which was written some account of the child, in letters of her native country; her mother, I suppose, taking care to place these explanations with her. When I had read it, and knew from whence and whose the infant was, I took her to a farm at a distance from the city, and placed her in the hands of shepherds to be nourished, enjoining them to keep her as private as possible. I myself kept the jewels which were exposed with her, lest they might tempt any one to destroy the child. The whole transaction remained for a while a secret; but, in process of time, as she grew up and increased more than commonly in stature and in beauty (so much so, indeed, that her charms would not have been concealed even in the bowels of the earth), fearing some discovery to her prejudice, and that I, too, might come into some trouble about her: I procured myself to be sent ambassador into Egypt. I came here: I brought the girl with me, being very desirous of placing her in some secure situation. The viceroy of this country has appointed to give me audience to-day: meanwhile I deliver up to you, and to the gods, the disposers of all events, this child; trusting that you will observe the conditions you have sworn to; that you will preserve her free, as you have received her, and marry her to a free man. I confide in your performing all you have promised; not depending alone on your oaths, but on your disposition and general conduct, which I have observed for the many days which you have spent in this city, and which I see to be truly worthy of Greece, that renowned country to which you owe your birth. This is all I can say to you at present, as the business of my embassy calls me; but, if you will meet me at the temple of Isis to-morrow, you shall have a more particular and exact account of your charge."

"'I did as I was desired. I took the girl home with me to my house: I treated her with respect and tenderness, giving thanks to the gods for the event; and from that time calling and esteeming her as my daughter. The next morning I hastened to the temple of Isis, where the stranger had appointed me; and after I had walked about and waited a considerable time, and saw nothing of him, I went to the palace of the viceroy, and inquired if any one had seen the Ethiopian ambassador. I was there told that he had left the city, or rather had been driven out of it, the evening before,—the viceroy threatening him with death if he did not immediately quit the province. When I inquired into the cause of so sudden a proceeding, I learned that he had, with some haughtiness, forbidden the governor to meddle with the emerald mines, which he claimed as belonging exclusively to Ethiopia. I returned home vexed and disappointed, as I was by this accident prevented from knowing the condition, the country, and parents of the child.'"

"I am vexed, too, as much as he was," said Cnemon, "for my curiosity on these subjects is nearly as great; but, perhaps, it may be satisfied in the progress of your narration." "Possibly it may," replied Calasiris; "but now, if you please, let Charicles proceed with his own story," which he thus continued:—

"'When I arrived at my house, the child came out to meet me. She could not speak to me, knowing nothing of Greek; but she saluted me with her hand, and the sight of her began to console me for my disappointment. I saw, with admiration, that, as a generous race of hounds fawn upon those who notice them; so she seemed to have a strong sense of my kindness for her, and to consider me in the light of a father. I determined to stay no longer at Caladupa, lest some envious deity should deprive me of my second daughter. Embarking, therefore, on the Nile, I reached the sea, got on board a ship, and arrived in Greece. This child is now with me: I have given her my name, and all my cares are centred in her. Her improvements exceed my warmest wishes. She has learned my language with surprising quickness: she has grown up to perfection like a nourishing plant. Her beauty is so transcendent as to attract every eye upon her, both Grecian and foreign.[34] Wherever she appears—in the temple, in the course, or in the market-place—she draws to her the looks and thoughts of all, like the model statue of some goddess. Yet, with all this, she is the cause of great uneasiness to me: she[35] obstinately refuses to marry, determines to lead a life of celibacy, consecrates herself to Diana, and spends most of her leisure hours in the chase, and with her bow. This is a severe disappointment to me, for I wished to give her to my sister's son, an accomplished and graceful young man; but my wishes are frustrated by this preposterous fancy of hers. Neither entreaties, nor promises, nor reasoning, can work upon her; and, what is most vexatious, she wounds me, as they say, with a shaft drawn from my own bow, and employs the eloquence which I have taught her in magnifying the way of life she has chosen. She is inexhaustible in the praises of virginity; places it next the life of the gods—pure, unmixed, uncorrupt. She is equally skilful in depreciating love, and Venus, and marriage. I implore your assistance in this matter; for which reason I was glad to seize the opportunity you gave me, and have troubled you with a long story. Do not desert me on this occasion, my good Calasiris, but employ the wisdom you are master of, or even any charm you may know; persuade her by words, or work upon her by incantations, to leave this unnatural course, and to feel that she is born a woman: you can, I know, do this if you will. She is not averse to the conversation of men; she has been used to their company from her childhood. She lives, too, very near you, here within the precincts of the temple. Condescend, I beseech, to hear me, and grant what I desire. Suffer me not to spend a melancholy and lonely old age, without hopes of having my family continued; I entreat you by Apollo, and your country's gods.'"

"I was moved by his supplications, Cnemon. I could scarcely refrain from tears: his own flowed in great abundance. I promised, in short, to use my utmost skill in attempting what he desired. We were still talking, when a messenger arrived in haste, and told us that the head of the Ænianian embassy was at the door, and extremely impatient for the priest to appear, and begin the sacred rites. When I inquired who the Ænianians were, what was the nature of the embassy which they had sent, and what sacrifice he was going to perform; he told me that the Ænianians were a principal nation of Thessaly, entirely Grecian, being descended from Deucalion—that their country extended along the Malian bay—that they called their metropolis Hypata;[36] as they would insinuate, because it was fit to rule over all the cities of the province; as others pretended, because it was situated under Mount Œta—that the embassy was sent by the Ænianians every fourth year, at the time of the Pythian games—and the sacrifice offered to Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, who was here surprised and slain,[37] at the very altar of Apollo, by Orestes the son of Agamemnon. But the embassy of the present year will be yet more magnificent than any of the former ones; for the head of it prides himself in being descended from Achilles.

"I met the young man the other day, and indeed he seems worthy of the family of Peleus: such is the nobleness of his stature and deportment, that you will easily believe him sprung from a goddess.

"When I wondered how it came to pass, that he, being an Ænianian, should pretend that he was of the race of Achilles (for Homer, our great Egyptian poet makes Achilles a Phthiotian), 'the young man,' said Charicles, 'claims him entirely as their own: for Thetis, he says, certainly married Peleus out of the Malian bay; and the country which extended along that bay was anciently called Phthia: but the glory of the hero has induced others to claim him falsely as their countryman. He is, besides, in another way, related to the Æacidæ: Mnestheus is his ancestor, the son of Sperchius and Polydora, the daughter of Peleus, who went with Achilles to the siege of Troy; and, being so nearly connected with him, was among the chief leaders of the Myrmidons.

"'The ambassador abounds in arguments to support the claim of his country to Achilles. He insists much upon this present embassy and sacrifice to Neoptolemus; the honour of performing which, all the Thessalians have, by common consent, yielded up to the Ænianians, whereby they admit that they are most nearly related to him.'

"'Whether this be truth or vain assumption,' said I, 'be so good now, if you please, as to call in the ambassador, for I am extremely desirous to see him.'

"Charicles immediately sent to him, and the young man entered with an air and aspect truly worthy of Achilles. His neck straight and erect, his hair thrown back off his forehead; his nose and open nostrils giving signs of an impetuous temper; his eyes of a deep blue, inclining to black, imparting an animated but amiable look to his countenance, like the sea smoothing itself from a storm into a calm.

"After he had received and returned our salutations, he said it was time to proceed to the sacrifice, that there might be sufficient space for the ceremonies which were to be performed to the Manes of the hero, and for the procession which was to follow them.—'I am ready,' replied Charicles, and rising, said to me, 'If you have not yet seen Chariclea, you will see her to-day; for, as a priestess of Diana, she will be present at these rites and the procession.'

"But I, Cnemon, had often seen the young woman before; I had sacrificed and conversed with her upon sacred subjects. However, I said nothing of it; and, waiting for what might happen, we went together to the temple. The Thessalians had prepared everything ready for the sacrifice. We approached the altar; the youth began the sacred rites; the priest having uttered a prayer, and from her shrine the Pythoness pronounced this oracle:[38]

Delphians, regard with reverential care,
Both him the goddess-born, and her the fair;
"Grace" is the sound which ushers in her name,
The syllable wherewith it ends, is "Fame."
They both my fane shall leave, and oceans past,
In regions torrid shall arrive at last;
There shall the gods reward their pious vows,
And snowy chaplets bind their dusky brows.[39]

"When they who surrounded the shrine heard this oracle, they were perplexed, and doubted what it should signify. Each interpreted it differently, as his inclinations and understanding led him: none, however, laid hold of its true meaning. Oracles indeed, and dreams, are generally to be explained only by the event. And beside, the Delphians, struck with the preparations which were making for the procession, hastened to behold it, neglecting or deferring any farther scrutiny into the oracular response."

[1]

"Te....
... cohibent
Pulveris exigui....
Munera...."—Hor. I. Od. i. 28.

[2]

"May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame."—Pope.

[3]

.... "O my soul's joy!
.... If I were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate."—Othello.

[4] This motion is supposed to be a sign of jealousy and anger. Thus Apuleius, lib. vi., Quam ubi primum inductam oblatamque sibi conspexit Venus, latissimum cachinnum extollit; et qualem solent furenter irati, caputque quatiens, et adscalpens aurem dextram.

[5] Καθάπερ ἐκ μηχανῆς.

[6] On the αὐλητρίς and ὀρχηστρίς who exhibited their talents at private parties among the Greeks, see a Note at p. 114 of Mitchell's Translation of Aristophanes; and another on line 481 of his edition of The Frogs.

[7]