No More Learning

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.


[Footnote 1: In the opening of his celebrated novel, the "_Golden
Ass_," Apuleius says--"At ego tibi _sermone isto Milesio_ varias
fabulas conseram," &c. ]

[Footnote 2: Author of article in Blackwood. ]

[Footnote 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. "


[Footnote 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. "

[Footnote 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?