7. In the picture of Andromeda, there was a hollow in the rock of about the size of the maiden, but it was of a sort that would indicate that it was not artificially made, but natural, for the painter had made its surface rough, just as nature had fashioned it. She rested within its embrace, and while, if one gazed upon her beauty, one would compare her to a newly carven statue, anybody seeing the chains and the approaching beast would think the rock a hastily contrived tomb. Upon her face was a mixture of beauty and fear; fear sat upon her cheeks, and beauty shone from her eyes. Even so, the pallor of her cheeks was not utterly without colour, but there was a gentle flush upon them; nor was the flower of beauty in her eyes without care, but was rather to be compared to violets that have just begun to fade. The painter had depicted her with the terror that did but enhance her charms. Her hands were stretched out on the surface of the rock, a bond holding both of them fast to it above her head, so that her fingers hung like bunches of fruit from a vine; the arms of spotless white verging towards the livid, and the fingers white with the pallor of death. Thus was she bound, waiting for her fate, adorned for a bridal as one who was to be the bride of the King of Death. She wore a tunic reaching to her feet, and white, of the thinnest woof like a spider’s web; not like that woven of the hair of sheep but of the produce of that winged insect which Indian women spin into thread from trees and weave into silk. (Such seems to be the meaning of this obscure sentence. The silk-worm, from the fact that it afterwards changes into a moth or butterfly, is represented as itself winged.) The beast is just coming up and opening the surface of the water, facing the maiden; most of its body was still enveloped in the waves, its head alone being above the surface, but beneath the foam the outline of its back was represented as apparent, as well as its knotted scales, its arched neck, its pointed prickles, and its twisting tail. Its mouth was wide and deep, and gaped open to where its neck joined its shoulders, and straightway there is the belly. Painted between the beast and the maiden was Perseus descending from the air; he was advancing to attack the monster, quite naked except for his mantle thrown about his shoulders, his winged sandals upon his feet, and a cap on his head, which signified Pluto’s helmet. (The “cap of darkness,” which made the wearer invisible. It was a gift from the Cyclopes to Pluto at the same time that they forged Zeus his thunderbolts.) In his left hand he bore the Gorgon’s head and held it before him like a shield; it was frightful, even in the artist’s representation, with its staring, protruding eyes, its bristling hair about the temples, its waving snakes; even as painted it seemed to threaten evil. That was the armament of Perseus’s left hand, in his right he held an iron weapon of double shape, something between a sickle and a sword; it began below as one, but half way up it split; half was pointed, and that half remained a sword, as it began; the other half was curved, thus becoming like a sickle, so that in a single blow one might with one portion kill by piercing and with the other by cutting. (The description of the weapon is not easy to understand, but it was presumably not unlike a mediaeval halberd. Perseus is traditionally represented with a falcatus ensis, a ferrum curvo hamo instructum; cp. Ovid, Met iv. 720, 727.) So much for the episode of Andromeda.
8. Next to it was that of Prometheus. Rock and iron form his bonds, and Hercules is armed with bow and spear. The bird was feasting upon his belly, and standing just ripping it open, or rather had already ripped it open, its beak dipped into the wound, and it seemed to be digging about in it, looking for the sufferer’s liver, which could just be seen, by the depth to which the painter had depicted the wound as being open, and it was pressing the sharp points of its claws into Prometheus’ thigh. He, in agony, is all drawn up, twisting himself on to his side, and lifts up his thigh; but to his own harm, for this does but bring the bird nearer to his liver. The other leg is stretched out straight right down to his feet, and the tension of it can be seen actually into the toes. His torture is shewn by the rest of the representation of him; his eyebrows are arched, his lips drawn up, his teeth shewn; you cannot help feeling pity even for what you know is only a picture. Then Hercules is coming to bring help to him in his distress; he stands just about to shoot at his torturer; the arrow is fitted to the bow; with his left hand he is drawing it to its full extent, while he holds his right hand back against his breast, and as he draws the string his arm, viewed from behind, appears somewhat foreshortened. All seem in motion at once — the bow, the string, the arrow, the hand which holds it; the bow is bent by means of the string, the string is made to run double by means of the hand, the hand is at rest upon the hero’s breast. The countenance of Prometheus has a mixed look of hope and fear; he looks partly at his wound, partly at Hercules; he would like to fix all his gaze upon the hero, but his agony robs him of half of the sight of him. (Because the other half is distracted by the wound, from which he cannot wholly turn his eyes away.)
9. Having waited therefore two days and somewhat refreshed ourselves after our troubles, we hired an Egyptian boat (we had just a little money which we happened to have kept in our belts), and started by the Nile towards Alexandria; there we purposed to make some stay and thought it was just possible that we might find that some of our shipwrecked friends had arrived there. We had arrived at a certain town, when suddenly we heard a great shouting. “The herdsmen,” cried the skipper, and tried to put the boat about and sail back; but already the place was full of terrifying savage men, all tall, dark-coloured (yet not absolutely black like an Indian, but more like a bastard Ethiopian), with shaven heads, small feet, and gross bodies: all spoke an outlandish jargon. “We are done for,” cried the helmsman, and brought the boat to a standstill, for the river is there very narrow; and four of the robbers boarded her, took all that there was in her, and snatched our money from us; then tying us up they shut us into a little hut and went away, setting a guard over us, with the intention of taking us before their king the following day: “king” is the name they gave to the robber-chief, and it would be a journey of two days, as we learned from those who had been made prisoners along with us.
10. When the night had come on, and we lay, bound as we were, and our guards were asleep, I began, as indeed I might, to mourn Leucippe’s fate, and, counting up how great were her woes of which I was the cause, to bewail them deep in my soul, while hiding inwardly the sound of my grief. “O all ye gods and guardian angels,” said I, “if really ye exist and can hear me, what great wrong have we done to be plunged in such a sea of troubles in so short a space of time? Now have you also delivered us over into the hands of Egyptian robbers, so that we have not even a chance of pity. A Greek buccaneer might be moved by the human voice, prayer might soften him: for speech is often the go-between of compassion; the tongue, ministering to him that is in anguish of soul by helping him to express supplication, subdues the fury of the listener’s mind. But, as things are, in what language are we to make our prayers? What oaths can we pour out? I might be more persuasive than the Sirens, but the murderer would not listen to me; I can only make my supplications by signs and explain my prayers for mercy by the gestures of my hands. Alack for my mishaps; already, in dumb show, I shall begin my funeral dirge. For my own woes, intolerable as they are, I care less; but yours, Leucippe — how can my lips deplore them, my eyes weep for them? Faithful you were when love’s stress came upon you, gentle and good to your unhappy lover: and here are fine trappings for your wedding! A prison is your bridal chamber, the earth your marriage bed, ropes and cords your necklaces and bracelets, a robber sleeps without as your bridesman, a dirge is your marriage-hymn. Ah, all in vain. O sea, did we give you thanks: now I blame your mercy; you were kinder to those whom you destroyed, and you have destroyed us yet more grievously by keeping us alive; you grudged us death save by a robber’s hand.”
11. Thus did I silently lament, but I could not weep — a peculiarity of the eyes in excessive sorrows. For when disasters are but moderate, tears flow freely, and serve for the sufferer as intercessions addressed to him that inflicts the suffering; they rel
ieve an aching; heart like the draining of a swollen wound. But when misfortunes are overwhelming, even tears fail and are traitors to the eyes; grief meets them as they well up, depresses their rise, conducts them away into other channels, and takes them back again below with itself, and then, diverted from the path of the eyes they flow back upon the soul and aggravate its wound. So I whispered to Leucippe, who lay speechless; “Why do you keep silence, my darling, and say no word to me?”— “Because, Clitophon,” said she, “my voice is dead, even before the departure of my soul.”
12. Thus conversing, we did not notice the approach of dawn, when a man arrived on horseback, with long and wild hair; his horse too had a full mane and tail, and was without harness or trappings, after the manner of robbers’ horses. He came from the robber chief, and “If there chance to be a virgin among the captives,” said he, “I am to take (This sentence is, in the Greek, a mixture of the Oratio Recta and Obliqua. I have, for convenience, put all the English into the former mode of speech.) her away for the god, to be a propitiatory and cleansing sacrifice for the host.” They at once rushed upon Leucippe, who clung to me and hung upon me screaming; the guards, some dragging her away and some raining blows upon me, (A good example of the over-elaboration of antithesis, which is intolerable in English. Literally translated, the sentence is; “Of the guards, some dragged and some beat: while they dragged Leucippe, they beat me.”) took her up and carried her off on their shoulders; (Or perhaps “on horseback.”) us they conveyed, bound, with no such speed.
13. We had progressed about a quarter of a mile from the village, when there came to our ears loud shouting and the sound of trumpets, and a regiment of soldiers appeared, all heavily armed. When the robbers saw them, they placed us in the middle of their band and waited for their advance, with the intention of resisting them. Soon they came on, about fifty in number, some with long shields and some with small targets; the robbers, who were far their superior in numbers, picked up clods from the ground and began hurling them at the soldiers. The Egyptian clod is more effective for this purpose than any other, being heavy, jagged, and unlike others, in that the jagged points of it are stones, so that when it is thrown and strikes, it can inflict a double sort of wound — a swelling, as from the blow of a stone, and an actual cut, like that of an arrow. The soldiers, however, received the stony clods on their shields and seemed to make light of the easting of their adversaries; and when the robbers began to tire by reason of their efforts in throwing, they opened their massed ranks, and from behind the shields out ran men lightly armed, each carrying a javelin and a sword, and as they hurled their javelins there was none that failed in his aim. Then the heavy-armed soldiers came in a flood; the battle was severe, with plenty of blows, wounds, and slaughter on both sides: the experience of the soldiers compensated for their inferiority in numbers. We prisoners, seeing that one flank of the robbers was weakening, made a concerted rush, broke through their line, and ran to join the enemy; they at first did not realise the position, and were ready to slay us, but when they saw that we were unarmed and bound, they suspected the truth, received us within the protection of their lines, and sent us to the rear and allowed us to remain there quietly. Meanwhile a large body of horse charged up; on their approach they spread out their wings and completely surrounded the robbers, and thus herding them together into a narrow space began to butcher them. Some were lying killed, some, half-dead, went on fighting; the rest they took alive.
14. It was now late afternoon, and the general took each of us separately aside, enquiring of us who we were and how we had been captured; each related his own story, and I mine. So when he had heard all, he bade us follow him, and said that he would give us arms. His intention was to wait for the rest of his forces and then attack the great robbers’ stronghold; there were said to be about ten thousand of them there. I asked for a horse, being well versed in the art of riding, and when one came, I rode him about and went through the various evolutions of cavalry fighting, so that the general was greatly pleased with me; on that same day he made me a companion of his own table, and at dinner he asked me about my story, and, when he heard it, was moved with pity. When a man hears of another’s misfortunes, he is inclined towards pity, and pity is often the introduction to friendship; the heart is softened by grief for what it hears, and gradually feeling the same emotions at the mournful story converts its commiseration into friendship and the grief into pity. So much did I move the general by my recital that I forced him to weep. More we could not do, Leucippe being in the robbers’ power. He also gave me an Egyptian servant to attend to me.
15. On the next day he made preparations to fill up and so cross over a wide trench which lay in our way: for on the other side of it we could see the robbers standing in great numbers and fully armed; they had an improvised altar made of mud and a coffin near it. Then two of them led up the girl, her hands tied behind her back. I could not see who they were, (The reason for this will be made clear in chapters xxi and xxii.) as they were in full armour, but I recognized her as Leucippe. First they poured libations over her head and led her round the altar while, to the accompaniment of a flute, a priest chanted what seemed to be an Egyptian hymn; this at least was indicated by the movements of his lips and the contortions of his features. (I do not think that this necessarily means that the Egyptian language was of so “crack-jaw” a kind that the face of anybody singing it would be distorted beyond recognition; but rather that the narrator was standing too far off to hear the words, and could only guess as to their nature by observing the facial movements of the singer.) Then, at a concerted sign, all retired to some distance from the altar; one of the two young attendants laid her down on her back, and strapped her so by means of pegs fixed in the ground, just as the statuaries represent Marsyas fixed to the tree; then he took a sword and plunging it in about the region of the heart, drew it down to the lower part of the belly, opening up her body; the bowels gushed out, and these they drew forth in their hands and placed upon the altar; and when they were roasted, the whole body of them cut them up into small pieces, divided them into shares and ate them. The soldiers and the general who were looking on cried out as each stage of the deed was done and averted their eyes from the sight. I sat gazing in my consternation, rooted to the spot by the horror of the spectacle; the immeasurable calamity struck me, as by lightning, motionless. Perhaps the story of Niobe was no fiction; she too, suffering some such woe as I, may, at the destruction of her children, have become so fixed and motionless, that she seemed to be made of stone. When the business came, as I thought, to an end, the two attendants placed her body in the coffin, put the lid upon it, overturned the altar, and hurried away without looking round; such were the instructions given to them by the priest in the liturgy which he chanted.
16. Evening come, the whole trench was filled up, the soldiers crossed it, pitched their camp a little beyond it, and set about preparing their supper, while the general tried to console me in my misery. Nevertheless about the first watch of the night, waiting until all were asleep, I took my sword and went forth, intending to kill myself over the coffin. When I had arrived at the spot, I held out the sword, and, “Leucippe,” said I, “wretched Leucippe, most ill-fated of mankind, it is not thy death alone that I mourn, nor thy death in a strange land, nor the violence of thy murder, but I grieve at the mockeries added to thy woes — that thou didst become a purifying sacrifice for the bodies of the most impure of men; that, still alive, thou wast ripped up and couldst see the torture with thine own eyes; that division was made of the secret and inner parts of thy belly, to receive its burial upon this ill-starred altar and in this ill-starred coffin. Here lies the shell of thy carcase, but its entrails where? If the fire had consumed them, thy fate would have been more tolerable; but now has the burial of them been at the same time the robbers’ sustenance. Accursed requiem at an accursed altar! Horrible and new-fangled banquet! At a sacrifice such as this the gods looked down — and yet the fire was not quenched, but was
allowed to pollute itself and carry up to heaven the savour of such an offering! Receive then, Leucippe, from me the only fitting-expiatory offering.”
17. With these words I raised my sword on high, intending to plunge it into my throat, when I saw two figures — the moon was shining — running towards me from in front. I therefore stayed my hand, thinking them to be two of the robbers, in order to meet my death at their hands. They approached and shouted aloud; they were Menelaus and Satyrus! When I saw that they were friends, and all unexpectedly still alive, I neither embraced them, nor had I the astonishment of joy; my grief for my misfortunes had made me dumb. They seized my hand and tried to wrest away the sword from me; but “By all the gods,” said I, “do not grudge me a death that is honourable, nay, is a cure for my woes; I cannot endure to live, even though you now constrain me, after Leucippe has thus been murdered. You can take away this sword of mine from me, but the sword of my grief has already stuck fast within me, and is little by little wounding me to death. Do you prefer that I should die by a death that never dies?”
“If this is your reason for killing yourself,” said Menelaus, “you may indeed withold your sword; your Leucippe will now at once live once more.”
Complete Works of Achilles Tatius Page 7
