19. After a few days bad elapsed, I said to Leucippe: “How long, my dearest, are we to stop at kisses, which are nothing but a prelude? Let us add to them something with real love in it. Let us fetter one another with an indissoluble bond; for if but once Aphrodite initiate us into her mysteries, no other god will ever prove stronger than she.” By constantly reiterating my request, I had persuaded the maiden to receive me one night in her chamber, with the connivance of Clio, who was her chambermaid. This was how her chamber lay: there was a large wing of the house divided into four rooms, two on the right and two on the left, separated by a narrow passage down the middle; there was a single door at the beginning of the passage, and this was the entrance the women used. The two inner rooms opposite one another belonged to the maiden and her mother; as for the two outer rooms nearer the entrance, the one next to Leucippe’s was occupied by Clio, and the other was used as the steward’s store. Her mother was in the habit, when she put Leucippe to bed, of locking the passage door from the inside, and somebody else would also lock it from the outside and pass the keys through the hole; she used to take and keep them, and in the morning, calling the servant whose business this was, she would pass the keys back again for him to open the door. Satyrus obtained a duplicate set of these keys and experimented with unlocking the door; finding that this was practicable, he persuaded Clio, with the maiden’s consent, to raise no objections to our plan. Such, then, were the arrangements we had made.
20. There was one of their servants called Conops — a meddlesome, talkative, greedy rascal, deserving any bad name you liked to call him. I noticed that he seemed to be watching; from a distance all that we were about; and being particularly suspicious that we were intending (as was indeed the case) to make some attempt by night, he would constantly sit up until very late, leaving open the doors of his room, so that it was a difficult business to escape him. Satyrus, wishing to conciliate him, used often to joke with him, calling him the Conops or Gnat, and good-humouredly punned upon his name; he saw through the device, and while he pretended to make jokes in return, he shewed in his humour his cross-grained and intractable nature. “Since,” said he, “you even mock at my name, allow me to relate to you a fable derived from the gnat.
21. “The lion often used to complain to Prometheus that he had made him great and handsome, that he had armed his jaw with teeth and made his feet strong with claws, and made him stronger than all the other beasts: ‘And yet,’ he would say,
‘powerful as I am, I am terrified of a cock.’ ‘Why thus blame me in vain?’ said Prometheus, his attention thus attracted to the matter: ‘you have everything that I could give you at the moment of creation: your spirit is feeble in this one respect.’ The lion wept much at his evil case and cursed his cowardice and at last determined to slay himself: but while he was in this frame of mind., he happened to meet the elephant, and after hailing him, stopped gossiping with him. He noticed that his ears kept moving the whole time, and asked him: ‘What is the matter with you? Why is it that your ear never keeps still even for a moment?’ It so chanced that at that instant a gnat was flying about him, and the elephant replied: ‘Do you see this tiny little buzzing creature? If once it were to get into the channel through which I hear, it would be the death of me.” Well,’ said the lion, ‘there is surely no reason for me to die after all, seeing that I am big enough and as much better off than the elephant, as the cock is a nobler creature than the gnat.’ You see then how powerful is the gnat, so that even the elephant is afraid of him.” Satyrus understood the innuendo that lay beneath this story, and, with a slight smile, “Listen,” said he, “to a fable of mine as well, taken from the gnat and the lion, which I once heard from a learned man: and I will make you a present of the elephant of your story.
22. “The rascally braggart gnat said one day to the lion: ‘I suppose that you think that you are king over me as over not better looks than I, or more courage or even greatness. What, in the first place, is your courage? You scratch with your claws and bite with your teeth: and so does any woman when she fights. Then what about your size or your looks of which you are so proud? You have a broad chest, muscular shoulders and plenty of hair about your neck: but you cannot see what a wretched sight you are from behind. (I do not feel quite sure of the reason for this taunt — whether the lion was supposed to be particularly unsightly in his hinder parts, quia pudenda ejus non satis tegebat cauda, or simply that the rest of the body, after the fine maned front, seems to be a poor and scraggy thing.) My greatness is that of the whole air which is traversed by my wings, and my beauty is the flowers of the meadows, which are as it were my garments which I put on when I am tired of flying. I fear it will make you laugh to hear all the catalogue of my valour: I am wholly an instrument of war; I am ready for the fray at the sound of the trumpet, and my mouth being at once trumpet and weapon I am both bandsman and archer. I am at once my own arrow and my own bow; my wings shoot me through the air, and as I pounce I make a wound like an arrow: the person who is struck suddenly cries out and looks for him who dealt the wound. I am there and not there: at the same moment I retire and advance: I use my wings as cavalry use their horses to circle round the man I am attacking; and I laugh at him when I see him dancing with the pain of my wounds. But what need of words? Let us begin the battle.’ So speaking, he fell upon the lion, alighting upon his eyes and flying about all the part of his face that was unprotected by hair, at the same time piping with his drone. The lion began to be furious, jumping round in every direction and making empty bites at the air: then the gnat all the more made sport of his anger, and wounded him actually on the lips. The lion turned towards the direction in which he was hurt, bending over to where he felt the blow of the wound, but the gnat adapted his body like a wrestler, avoided at the encounter the snap of the lion’s teeth, and flew clean through the middle of his jaw as it closed, so that his teeth clashed idly against one another. By this time the lion was tired out with fighting vainly against the air with his teeth, and stood quite worn out with his own passion, while the gnat hovered round his mane, chanting a song of victory: but as he took a wider sweep of flight in his unmannerly exultation, he became entangled unawares in the meshes of a spider’s web, though the spider was not at all unaware of his arrival. Now unable to escape, he began to cry in despair: ‘Fool that I was: I challenged the lion, while a paltry spider’s web has caught me!’” Thus did Satyrus speak: and, “Now,” said he, with a smile, “you had better beware of spiders.”
23. After letting a few days pass, he (knowing that Conops was always the slave of his belly) bought a drug of the nature of a strong sleeping-draught, and asked him to dinner. At first he suspected some trick and hesitated: then, his beloved belly being too strong for him, he accepted. He came to Satyrus, and after dinner was just on the point of going away, when Satyrus poured some of the drug into his parting glass: he drank it, had just time to get to his own room, and then fell down and lay sleeping a drugged sleep. Then Satyrus hurried to me and said: “Your Cyclops is asleep; see that you prove yourself a brave Ulysses. (A reference to the famous story in the ninth book of the Odyssey.)” He was still speaking when we came to my beloved’s door. He left me, and I entered, Clio letting me in on tiptoe, trembling with the double emotion of joy and fear: the fear of the danger we were running troubled the hopes of my heart, while the hope of success dulled with pleasure the fear I had conceived; hope was afraid and apprehension rejoiced. But hardly had I entered the maiden’s chamber, when a strange event befell her mother: she was troubled by a dream in which she saw a robber with a naked sword snatch her daughter from her, throw her down on her back, and then rip her up the middle of the belly with the blade, beginning from below. Greatly frightened and disturbed, naturally enough, she jumped up and rushed to her daughter’s chamber, which was quite close, when I had but just lain down: I, hearing the noise of the doors opening, leaped quickly up; but she was already at the bed-side. Then I understood the mischief, sprang away, and ran thr
ough the door-way, where Satyrus was waiting for me, all trembling and disordered as I was: then we fled through the darkness and came to our own rooms.
24. Panthea first of all fell down in a swoon: when she recovered, she straightway boxed Clio’s ears and caught her by the hair, at the same time crying out to her daughter: “Leucippe, you have destroyed all my hopes. Ah, my poor Sostratus; you are fighting at Byzantium to protect other people’s marriages; while at Tyre you have already been defeated and another has ravished your daughter’s marriage. Woe is me, Leucippe: I never thought to see your wedding in this wise: would that you had remained at Byzantium; would that you had suffered violence after the custom of war; yes, would even that a conquering Thracian had been your ravisher: a misfortune brought about by force does not carry shame with it. But now, wretched girl; you have lost your fame at the same time as your happiness. Even the visions of the night have beguiled me — this is truer than any dream: you have suffered a worse fate than being; as I saw you, ripped up; this is a crueller wound than the cutting of the sword — and I could not see your ravisher; nor do I know how the whole wretched business came about: alas; alas; was he perhaps a slave?”
25. This, showing that I had escaped; gave the maiden fresh courage. “Do not; mother,” said she, “thus disparage my virginity; nothing has happened to justify what you have said; and I know not who was here — god; demigod; or burglar. I was lying stricken with fright; and I was too much afraid; even to cry out: fear is a shackle on the tongue. Only one thing I know; that nobody has offended my virginity.” Then Panthea again fell down and wept: but Satyrus and I, when we were alone in our rooms, were considering what we had best do, and we decided that the best course would be to fly before morning came and Clio revealed the whole story under torture.
26. This resolved, we set about it at once. We told the porter that we were going out to see my mistress, (Not, of course, Leucippe, but some girl of lower station. Young Greeks and Romans were almost encouraged in light love-affairs to keep them from the graver offences of meddling with women of their own rank.) and went to Clinias’ house. It was still deep night, and his porter made some difficulty about opening to us; but Clinias; whose bedroom was upstairs; heard us talking to him and came running down in disorder: and just at that moment we saw Clio behind us, running; she too had made up her mind to run away. So all together Clinias heard our story from us, and we Clio’s; how she had fled; and Clio our next intentions. We all therefore went indoors; related to Clinias all that had happened; and told him that we had made up our mind to fly. Then said Clio:— “I am with you too: if I wait until morning; my only resource is death, which I prefer to torture.”
27. Then Clinias took me by the hand and led me away from Clio. “I think,” said he, “that I have conceived the best idea: namely, to send her away privily, and ourselves remain a few days; then, if we like, we can ourselves go after making all necessary preparations. At present, so you tell me, the girl’s mother does not even know whom she caught; and when Clio has once disappeared there will be nobody able to inform her. And perhaps you will be able to persuade the girl to escape with you.” At the same time he told us that he was prepared to share our flight abroad. This plan commended itself to us: so he handed Clio over to the charge of one of his servants, telling him to put her aboard a ship, while we waited there and discussed the future. Our final decision was to make an attempt to persuade Leucippe, and if she were willing to accompany us in our flight, to act accordingly: if not, to remain at home and put ourselves in the hands of fortune. We reposed ourselves therefore for the small part of the night that was still left, and returned home again about dawn.
28. When Panthea had risen, she began to set about the preparations for the torturing of Clio, and bade her be summoned. As Clio could not be found, she again attacked her daughter. “Do you refuse,” said she, “to tell how this plot was composed? Now Clio too has fled.” On this Leucippe gained still greater courage, saying, “What more can I tell you? What more valid proof can I bring that I am speaking the truth? If there be any test of virginity, apply it to me.”
“Yes,” said Panthea, “that was the one thing lacking — that our disgrace should be publicly known to others too.” As she said this, she flounced out of the room.
29. Leucippe, left alone to ponder on her mother’s words, was a prey to various differing emotions; grief, shame, and anger. She was grieved at having been found out: she was ashamed because of the reproaches which had been cast upon her: and she was angry because her mother would not believe her. Shame, grief, and anger may be compared to three billows which dash against the soul: shame enters through the eyes and takes away their freedom; grief diffuses itself about the breast and tends to extinguish the lively flame of the soul; while anger, roaring round the heart, overwhelms the reasoning power with its foam of madness. Of all these speech is the begetter: it is like a bow shooting and aiming at its mark and discharging its wounding arrows of various kinds against the soul. One of its arrows is upbraiding, the wound it causes, anger. Another is the conviction of wrong, and the wound caused by it grief. The third is the reproach for error, and the wound inflicted by this is called shame. All these arrows have the same peculiarity; the wounds they deal are deep, but bloodless, and there is but one remedy for all of them — to return the same arrows against the enemy. Speech is the arrow of the tongue, and the wound it causes can only be cured by another tongue shooting in return: this quiets the anger of the heart and deadens the soul’s pain. If the fact that one is dealing with a stronger makes such a return impossible, the wound grows more painful by reason of the silence thus enjoined. For the pains which are the result of these stormy waves of speech, if they cannot cast off their foam, swell within and only become the more severe. Such were the thoughts that surged upon Leucippe’s mind, and she was little able to bear their onslaught.
30. It so happened that just at that moment I sent Satyrus to her to see if she were prepared to run away with us. But before she even heard what he had to say, “I implore you,” said she to Satyrus, “in the name of our country gods and all there are in the world, take me away, wherever you like, out of my mother’s sight. If you go away and leave me behind, I shall end my life by a noose of my own making.” When I heard of her words, I felt that the greater part of my anxiety was gone; we waited a couple of days, while my father was still away, (In Palestine: see V. x. § 3.) and began to make our preparations for flight.
31. Satyrus still had some of that drug left with which he had put Conops to sleep; and while he was waiting upon us, he poured some of it unobserved into the last cup which he was bringing to Panthea: after rising from the table she went to her chamber and there fell at once asleep. Leucippe had a second chambermaid; with her, too, ever since she had been placed in that position, Satyrus had pretended to be in love, and he gave her also a dose of the same mixture; then he proceeded to his third victim, the porter, and successfully drugged him with a similar draught. A carriage was waiting in readiness for us outside the gates, due to the forethought of Clinias, and he himself got into it and waited there for us. When everybody was asleep, at about the first watch of the night, we went out without a sound, Satyrus leading Leucippe by the hand; fortunately Conops, who was in constant ambush for us, was away on that particular day on some business for his mistress. Satyrus opened the doors; we followed; and when we had arrived at the gates, we entered the carriage: we were six in all — ourselves, Clinias, and two servants of his. We took the road to Sidon; arriving there when another watch of the night was about spent, we hurried on to Berytus, expecting that we should find some ship at anchor there. Nor were we disappointed: for as we arrived at the harbour of Berytus, we found a ship just sailings on the very point of casting loose; so we asked no questions as to her destination, but embarked all our belongings aboard; it was then a little before dawn. It appeared that she was making the voyage to Alexandria, the great city at the mouth of the Nile.
32. I was at onc
e full of joy, even at my first sight of the ocean, before the boat got out to sea but was still riding in the harbour. When the breeze seemed favourable for putting off, a busy commotion arose throughout the ship — the crew running hither and thither, the helmsman giving his orders, men hauling on the ropes. The yard-arm was pulled round, the sail set, the ship leaped forward, the anchors were pulled in-deck, the harbour was left; we saw the coast little by little receding from the ship, as though it were itself in movement; there were songs of joy and much prayer directed to the gods saviours, invoking good omens for a prosperous voyage; meanwhile the wind freshened, the sail bellied, and the ship sped along.
33. There happened to be camping near us on board a young man, who, when breakfast-time arrived, very courteously asked us to take the meal with him. Satyrus was just bringing our victuals; so that we put all that we had into the common stock, and made a joint meal and also shared the conversation. I was the first to speak: “Where do you come from, young sir, and what are you called?”
“Menelaus is my name,” he replied, “an Egyptian by nationality. What are yours?”
“I am Clitophon, this is Clinias, Phoenicians both.”
“What then is the reason that you are thus leaving your country?”
“Tell us your story first, and then we will relate ours to you.”
34. Menelaus then began: “The summary of my absence from my native land is an ill-starred love and a hunt with evil event. I loved a fair youth, who was a passionate huntsman. I tried to check him, but my attempts were unsuccessful; as he would not obey me, I used to go with him on his expeditions. One day we were both out hunting on horseback; at first we were successful, chasing small beasts only. Suddenly a boar sprang from the wood; the youth gave chase. Then the boar turned and faced him, charging directly at him. But he would not give ground, though I shouted and yelled, ‘Pull in your horse and turn the reins; the beast is dangerous.’ The boar made a spring and charged right at him. They closed with one another, but as I saw it I was overcome with fright, and, fearing that the brute would get his blow in first and wound the horse, I poised my javelin without taking sufficiently careful aim, and let fly. The youth crossed the line and received it full. What do you think that my feelings were then? If I had any feelings at all, they were like those of a living death. More pitiful still, while he yet faintly breathed he stretched out his hands to me and embraced me; in his death-throes he that was slaughtered by me did not loathe my accursed self, but he gave up the ghost embracing my murderous hand. His parents dragged me, not at all unwilling, before the tribunal of justice. I made no defence there, and proposed the penalty of death. So the jury took pity upon me, and sentenced me to three years’ banishment; this period has now come to an end, and I am returning to my own country.” As he spoke, Clinias wept as the Trojan women wept over Patroclus (Homer, Iliad, xix. 302. The captive Trojan women were forced to act as mourners for the dead Patroclus; and they shed real enough tears, but they were thinking of their own woes rather than of the dead hero, The scene passed into a proverb, which is also used by Plutarch.); he remembered Charicles. “You weep at my woes,” said Menelaus; “Has some similar adventure exiled you too?” Then Clinias groaned bitterly and related to him the story of Charicles and the horse, and I told my tale too.
Complete Works of Achilles Tatius Page 5
