Calasiris and Cnemon betook themselves to their apartments on the
men's side of the house, and composed themselves to rest. The night
was quickly past, great part of it having been consumed in the
preceding feast, and subsequent narration; but it passed too slowly for
their impatience; and almost before day they were up, and presented
themselves to Nausicles, urging him to inform them where he thought
Theagenes was, and to lead them to him as soon as possible. He was
not slow in complying with their request, and they set out under his
direction. Chariclea was very earnest to accompany them, but they
pressed, and at last obliged, her to remain where she was; Nausicles
assuring her that they were not going far, and that they would soon
return, and bring Theagenes with them. Here then they left her,
struggling between sorrow for their departure, and joy for the promised
hope of seeing her lover.
They had scarcely got out of the village, and were proceeding along
the banks of the Nile, when they saw a crocodile creeping from the
right side of the river to the left, and making his way swiftly down
the stream. The rest of the party being used to the sight, regarded
it with indifference, although Calasiris secretly thought that it
portended some impediment in their expedition. But Cnemon was very much
frightened at its appearance, though he could hardly be said to have
seen the animal itself, but had rather had a glimpse of the shadow: he
was so terrified as almost to run away. Nausicles burst into a laugh.
"Cnemon," said Calasiris, "I thought you were apt to be terrified only
in the darkness and obscurity of the night; but I see your courage
shows itself even in the day-time. It is not only names that affright
you,[1] but the commonest and most every-day appearance puts you quite
into a trepidation."--"Prithee tell me what god, or what demon is it,"
said Nausicles, "whose name this valiant Grecian cannot bear?"
"If it were the name of a deity," replied the old man, "there might be
something in it; but it is the appellation of a mortal, and that not
of a celebrated hero, nor even of a man; but of a weak woman, and, as
he says, of a dead one too, at the mention of which he is disordered
and trembles. That night in which you returned from the buccaneers,
bringing with you my dearest Chariclea, this said name was, somehow or
other, mentioned in his hearing: it put him into such an agitation,
that he had no sleep all night, nor suffered me to enjoy any; he was
half dead with fear, and I had the greatest difficulty in the world to
bring him to himself; and were I not afraid of terrifying, or giving
him pain, I would now mention the name, that you might laugh the
more:"--and immediately he uttered the word _Thisbe_. But Nausicles did
not laugh, as he expected; he became grave and pensive, doubting and
pondering why and by reason of what intimacy Cnemon felt so much at the
mention of Thisbe.
Cnemon upon this burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter in
his turn. "See," said he, "my dear Calasiris, the mighty magic of
this name; it is not only a bugbear which disturbs, as you say, all
my faculties, but it has the same effect upon Nausicles; with this
difference, however, that the certainty of her death inclines me to
laughter, when the same news seems to make him sorrowful, who was
before so disposed to be merry at the expense of others."--"Spare
me," said Nausicles; "you have sufficiently revenged yourself: but I
conjure you by the gods of hospitality and friendship--by the kind and
sincere reception which you have met with at my house and table--that
you will tell me how you became so well acquainted with the name of
Thisbe--whether you really have known her, or only pretend to have done
so, out of sport, and to vex me?"--"It is now your turn, Cnemon," said
Calasiris, "to turn narrator. You have frequently promised to make me
acquainted with your condition and adventures, and as often, on some
pretext or other, have put it off: you cannot have a better opportunity
of doing so than the present: you will oblige both Nausicles and me;
and lighten, by your story, the fatigues of our journey."
Cnemon suffered himself to be persuaded, and entered upon his history,
relating briefly, what he had before told more at length to Theagenes
and Chariclea--That he was an Athenian--that his father was Aristippus,
and his stepmother Demæneta--her execrable love, and the snares she
laid for him on its disappointment, by the ministry of Thisbe--the
particulars of these--his flight from his country, and condemnation as
a patricide--his exile at Ægina--his hearing from Charias of the death
of Demæneta, betrayed by her own wicked assistant Thisbe--what Anticles
related to him of the distress his father fell into; the family of
Demæneta combining against him, and persuading the people that he had
murdered her--the flight of Thisbe from Athens, with a Naucratian
merchant, who was in love with her--his sailing with Anticles to
Egypt, in search of Thisbe; in order, if he could find her, to bring
her back to Athens, to clear his father, and punish her--the various
difficulties and dangers he went through, both by sea and pirates--how,
having escaped these, and arrived in Egypt, he was again taken by the
pirates--his meeting and connection with Theagenes and Chariclea--the
death of Thisbe--and every thing in order, till he came to his meeting
with Calasiris and Nausicles, and to those facts and events with which
they were acquainted.
Nausicles meanwhile revolved a thousand thoughts in his mind--now
he was about to disclose all his transactions with Thisbe, and now
inclined to defer it to another opportunity; but his eagerness for
speaking had almost got the better of him, when some remains of
reserve, and an accident which happened by the way, prevented his
unbosoming himself for the present. They had travelled about eight
miles, and were near to the village where Mithranes dwelt, when
Nausicles meeting an acquaintance, inquired whither he was going in so
much haste.
"Do you not know," he replied, "that all my exertions have now but
one aim, that of executing the behests of Isias of Chemmis? I labour
for her, I supply her with every thing she wants. I wake day and
night in her service. I refuse no commission, small or great, which
the dear Isias imposes on me, though toil and loss are all I have
hitherto gotten for my pains. I am now making what haste I can with
this bird which you see, a flamingo[2] of the Nile, carrying it to my
mistress, according to her commands."--"What an amiable mistress you
have got," said Nausicles, "how light are her commands! how fortunate
you are that she has not ordered you to bring her a phœnix, instead of
a phœnicopter!"--"She does all these things," said the other, "out of
wanton sport to make a jest of me--but may I ask where you are bending
your course?"
When he had learned that they were going to Mithranes--"You are on a
sleeveless errand," said he, "for Mithranes is not now here; he has
this evening led out his troops on an expedition against the buccaneers
of Bessus; for Thyamis, their leader, has made an incursion into his
territories, and taken from him one of his captives, a Grecian youth,
whom he was preparing to send to Oroondates, at Memphis; and from
thence, as I suppose, as a present to the Great King. But I must be
gone to Isias, (who is now, perhaps, looking for me with eager eyes),
lest my delay offend my charmer; she is but too ready to seize a
pretence, however slight, to flout and quarrel with me." While these
words were yet in his mouth, he hurried off, leaving his hearers
confused and stupified at his tidings.
Nausicles was the first who broke silence. He tried to encourage his
companions; and told them, that they ought not to lose heart, and
entirely lay aside their undertaking, on account of this short and
temporary disappointment. That now, indeed, it was necessary to return
to Chemmis, as well to consult upon what they had farther to do, as to
make preparations for a longer expedition, which must be undertaken in
search of Theagenes, whether he was with the buccaneers or anywhere
else; but that he had good hopes of finding and recovering him:
for he conceived that it was not without some kind interposition of
Providence, that they had so fortunately met with an acquaintance whose
intelligence put them into the right track, and plainly pointed out to
them the pirate-settlement, as the first place where they were to seek
their friend.
They assented, without difficulty, to his proposal; what they had heard
giving them a glimmering hope, and Cnemon privately assuring Calasiris
that he was sure that Thyamis would watch over the safety of Theagenes.
They determined therefore to return to Chemmis, where, being arrived,
they found Chariclea at the house door, with outstretched neck and
eager eyes, looking on every side for their appearance. As soon as she
saw them, and no Theagenes with them, fetching a deep and melancholy
sigh--"Are you alone!" she cried, "Father? Do you return even as you
set out?--Theagenes then is no more! Tell me, by the gods I beseech
you, if you have any tidings for me! and whatever they may be, do not
increase my misery by delaying them. There is a degree of humanity in
discovering quickly unfortunate intelligence: the soul collects at once
all its powers of resistance, and the shock is sooner over."
Cnemon hastening to repress her rising anguish--"How ready are you,"
said he, "to foretell calamities! You generally, however, prove a false
prophetess, and so far you do well--Theagenes is not only living,
but, I trust in the gods, safe;"--and he told her, briefly, in what
condition, and where he was. "Ah, Cnemon!" said Calasiris, "one would
think, from what you say, that you had never been in love! Do not
you know that they who really love are apprehensive of the slightest
trifles, and believe only their own eyes, when the situation of their
lovers is concerned? Absence always fills their languishing souls with
fear and torment; they imagine that nothing but the most invincible
necessity can ever make them separate from each other. Forgive
Chariclea, therefore, who labours under the extremity of this passion,
and let us enter the house, and consider what we have to do;"--and
taking Chariclea's hand, and soothing her with paternal tenderness, he
led her in.
Nausicles, willing to solace his friends after their fatigues, and
having, besides, a farther private end of his own, prepared a more
than usually choice entertainment for them alone and his daughter,
whom he commanded to dress and adorn herself with uncommon bravery and
splendour. Towards the end of the feast he thus addressed them:
"I call the gods to witness, my friends, that your company is so
agreeable to me, that I should be happy if you would spend the
remainder of your lives here, and enjoy, in common with me, my wealth
and pleasures. I wish to consider you so much more in the light of
friends than guests, that I shall think nothing too much which I can
bestow upon, or partake with you. I am ready also to give you every
advice and assistance in my power, towards the recovery of your lost
relation, as long as I can stay with you; but you know that I am a
merchant, and that it is by this profession that I procure and increase
my substance. And now, as the west winds have set in favourably, have
opened the sea for navigation, and promise a prosperous season, my
affairs call loudly upon me to sail into Greece. I am very desirous,
therefore, of hearing what you propose to do, that I may endeavour, as
much as possible, to accommodate my schemes to yours." Here he paused;
and Calasiris, after a short pause, answered him:--"Ο Nausicles!
may your voyage be fortunate!--may Hermes, the patron of gain, and
Neptune the preserver, protect and accompany your expedition--may they
lead you through smooth seas, may they make every haven safe--every
city easy of access to you, and every inhabitant favourable to your
undertakings--these are the sincere and grateful wishes of those
whom you have received, and now, at their own request, dismiss after
observing the exact law of friendship and hospitality. Though it is
grievous and painful to us to leave you, and to depart from your
house, which with so much generosity you have taught us in a manner to
consider as our own; yet it is incumbent upon, and unavoidable for us,
to apply ourselves immediately to the search and recovery of our lost
friend. This is the fixed purpose of myself and Chariclea: let Cnemon
speak for himself--whether he had rather gratify us, by accompanying
us in our wanderings, or has any other project in his mind." Cnemon
seemed now desirous of answering in his turn; and, preparing to speak,
fetched, on a sudden, a deep sigh, and tears for some time stopped his
utterance: at length collecting and composing himself as well as he
could, he said--
"Ο fortune, fickle and uncertain goddess! how dost thou shower
down misfortunes upon us miserable mortals! but upon none have thy
persecutions been exerted with more unremitting severity than upon
me. You deprived me of my family and father's house; banished me from
my country and friends--after a long interval of calamities which I
pass over, shipwrecked me upon the coast of Egypt; delivered me over
to pirates; shewed me, at last, a glimmering of comfort, by making
me acquainted with men, unfortunate, indeed, like myself, but at the
same time Greeks, and such as I hoped to spend the remainder of my
life with; but now you deprive me of this consolation, where shall I
turn myself? What ought I to do? Shall I desert Chariclea, who has not
yet recovered Theagenes? That would be infamous and abominable? Or
shall I follow and attend her in her search? If there were a probable
prospect of finding him, the hope of success would sweeten, and
authorize my toils; but if that expectation is distant and uncertain,
and the undertaking discouraging and difficult, who can tell where my
wanderings will end? May I not, then, hope that you, and the deities
of friendship, will forgive me, if I venture to mention a return to my
family and country? especially since the gods offer me so unlooked-for
an opportunity, in the voyage which Nausicles proposes making into
Greece. Ought I to let slip so favourable an occasion? since, should
any thing have happened to my father, his house will be left desolate,
and his name and estate without a successor: and though I may be
destined to spend the remainder of my days in poverty, yet it will be
desirable and right in me, to preserve in my own person the remnant of
my race. But, Ο Chariclea! I am most anxious to excuse myself to you,
and to beg your forgiveness, which I beseech you to grant me. I will
follow you as far as the quarters of the buccaneers; and will beg the
favour of Nausicles, however pressed he may be in time, to wait for
me so long. If perchance I should be so fortunate as to deliver you
there into the hands of Theagenes, I shall then appear to have been a
faithful guardian of the precious deposit which has fallen under my
care, and shall set out on my own expedition with lucky omens, and a
quiet conscience. But if (which the gods forbid!) I should be deceived
in this hope, I shall still, I trust, appear excusable, in that I have
gone so far, and have not left you alone, but in the hands of the
excellent Calasiris, your father, and best preserver."
Chariclea meanwhile conjecturing, from many circumstances, that Cnemon
was in love with the daughter of Nausicles (for one who is herself
enamoured most easily detects the like affections in another), and
seeing, from the behaviour and expressions of Nausicles, that he was
very desirous for the alliance, that he had long been working at it,
and endeavouring to allure Cnemon into it; and thinking it, besides,
not perfectly proper, or free from suspicion, that he should any longer
be the companion of her journey--"My friend," said she, "let us entreat
you to act as is most agreeable to yourself: receive our best and most
grateful thanks for all the favours you have bestowed upon us, and the
good offices you have performed. For the future we have not so much
need of your cares and attention, nor is there now any necessity that
you should endanger your own fortunes, by waiting any longer upon ours.
Go, then, under happy auspices, to Athens; may you there again find
your family, and recover your estate. It would be blameable on you to
neglect the opportunity which Nausicles offers you: I and Calasiris
will struggle with the cross accidents which pursue us, till we may
perhaps, at last, find some end to our wanderings. If we meet with no
assistance from men, the gods, we trust, will not forsake us."
"May the immortals," said Nausicles, "accompany Chariclea, according to
her prayers, and assist her in every thing! and may she soon recover
her friend and parents: her generous spirit and excellent understanding
well deserve success. Do you, Cnemon, regret no longer that you do not
bring Thisbe back again with you to Athens, especially when you may
accuse me of having carried her off clandestinely from thence; for
the merchant of Naucratium, the lover of Thisbe, was no other than
myself; nor have you any reason to apprehend distress or poverty. If
your inclinations coincide with mine, you may not only recover your
country and family, under my guidance, but enrich yourself to the
extent of any reasonable desires. If you are willing to marry, I offer
you my daughter, Nausiclea, with an ample portion, judging that I have
received enough in that I have learned your family and nation."
Cnemon, seeing what had long been the object of his wishes and prayers,
now unexpectedly offered him beyond his hopes, eagerly replied, "I take
your offer with great joy, and gratitude;" and Nausicles immediately
delivered his daughter into his outstretched hand, and betrothed her
to him; and ordering those who were present to raise the nuptial song,
he himself opened the dance, making the entertainment furnish forth a
sudden wedding.
All the company were engaged in this joyous ceremony, the more
pleasant, because unlooked for: the song resounded through the
apartments, and during the whole night, the house shone with the
marriage torches. But Chariclea, retiring from the rest, betook herself
to her solitary chamber; where, having secured the door, and risking
as she thought no intrusion, she surrendered herself to all the stings
of frenzy. She let her dishevelled tresses fall upon her shoulders,
tore and discomposed her garments, and thus broke out:--"Aye! let me
too, in the manner he likes best, lead the dance before the overruling
evil genius; let lamentations be my songs, and tears my libations: let
darkness surround me, and obscure night preside over what I am about;"
and with this she extinguished her torch against the ground. "What a
dainty nuptial chamber has he provided me! He claims me for himself,
and keeps me solitary. Cnemon marries and joins in the dance; Theagenes
wanders a captive, perhaps, and in bonds; and provided he lives even
that were well. Nausiclea is betrothed and separated from me, who,
till this night, partook of my bed; and I am left alone and destitute.
Heaven knows that I grudge them not their good fortune; I wish them
all felicity; but I repine that I have no share of it myself. The
tragedy of my misfortunes has been prolonged beyond example. But what
avails it to spend my time in womanish lamentations! let the measure
of my calamities be filled up, since such is the will of heaven. But,
Ο Theagenes, my sweet and only care, if you are dead, and the dreadful
tidings (which may the gods forbid!) should ever wound my ear, I swear
instantly to join you in the shades below. Meanwhile let me offer to
your spirit (if it has left the lovely body) these funeral rites"
(and immediately she plucked off handfuls of her hair and laid them
on the bed): "Let me pour a libation to you out of those eyes which
you hold so dear;" and with this she bedewed her couch with her tears.
"But, if you are alive and safe, appear to me, my life, in a dream; and
repose with me, but preserve, even then, the respect you have sworn
to your betrothed." So saying, she flung herself on the bed, embraced
and kissed it; till sobs and groans, fatigue and grief, gradually
overwhelmed with a cloud all her reasoning faculties; and she sunk,
at last, into a deep sleep, which continued till late the following
morning.
Calasiris, wondering that she did not appear as usual, went up to her
chamber to inquire after her; where, knocking loudly at the door,
and calling her repeatedly by her name, he at length awakened her.
She, alarmed at this sudden call, and confused at the disorder both
of her person and apartment; yet, went to the door, unbolted it,
and let him in. He, when he saw her hair dishevelled, her garments
torn, her eyes restless, and breathing still too much of that passion
with which they had been inflamed before she dropped asleep, began
to suspect something of the cause of this agitation. Leading her,
therefore, again to the bed, placing her upon it, and helping her to
compose her dress a little--"Why, Chariclea," says he, "do you indulge
these transports? Why do you grieve thus beyond measure, and abjectly
sink under the calamities which oppress you? I am now at a loss to
discover that nobleness of mind, and chastened spirit, with which
you have hitherto borne your ills. Have done with these unbecoming
extravagancies--consider that you are a mortal creature;[3] a thing
unstable, subject to the blasts of good and evil fortune. Why abandon
yourself to despair, perhaps, on the eve of a change of fortune?
Preserve yourself, my child; if not for your own sake, at least for
Theagenes, who lives only in and for you."
Chariclea blushed at his chiding, and at the circumstances in which he
had surprised her. She was for some time silent. At last she said--"You
have reason, I own, to blame me, Father: but, perhaps, you will not
think me without excuse. My love for Theagenes is no new or vulgar
passion, but pure and chaste; it is directed towards one who, though
not my wedded husband, is my betrothed: I am grieved and disappointed
at not seeing him return with you; and am in a thousand doubts and
fears about his life and safety."
"Be comforted then," replied Calasiris, "trust in the oracles of the
gods, and believe, that under their guidance and protection, he is both
safe and well. You should remember what we heard yesterday--that he
was taken by Thyamis, as he was being carried to Memphis; and, if he
is in his power, you may be satisfied that he is safe; for there was
a friendship between them even before. It is our business now to make
what haste we can to the town of Bessa, in order to seek, you for your
lover, and I for my son; for you have already heard that Thyamis stands
in that relation to me."
Chariclea appeared very pensive at this.--"If indeed," said she, "this
is your son, and not some other Thyamis, our affairs are in great
jeopardy." Calasiris wondering at, and inquiring the cause of, her
apprehensions,--"You know," she continued, "that I was for some time in
the power of the pirates: there these unhappy features of mine inspired
Thyamis with love. I fear lest, if in our inquiry we should meet with
him, he should immediately recognize me, and compel me to a marriage
which, on various pretences, I before with difficulty eluded."--"I
trust," said the old man, "that the sight of me will inspire him
with reverence and respect, and that a father's eye will repress and
restrain his intemperate desires: however, there is no reason why we
should not endeavour, by some artifice, to guard against what you fear;
and you seem expert at finding out excuses and delays, against those
who show themselves too pressing."
Chariclea, recovering her spirits a little at this pleasantry--"I
do not know whether you are in jest or earnest:" said she, "but I
can relate to you the contrivance of Theagenes and myself, when we
attempted to make our escape from the pirates' island; and, if you
approve of it, we may make use now of the same stratagem; and may it be
more fortunate than it was then! We determined to change our garments,
to metamorphose ourselves into beggars, and in this squalid garb to
pass through the towns and villages. Let us now then, if you please,
put on the appearance of wretchedness: we shall be less subject to
inquiry and observation. The greatest security is found in the lowest
estate. Poverty is an object of pity, not of envy; and we shall more
easily procure our daily bread: for, in a foreign land, every thing is
sold dear to strangers; but is cheaply given to the wretched."
Calasiris approved of the project, and besought her to be ready as
soon as possible to set out. They acquainted Nausicles and Cnemon
with their intentions, and in three days were prepared to enter on
their expedition. They took no beast of burden with them, though they
might have had one, nor suffered any one to attend them. Nausicles and
Cnemon, and all their family, accompanied them as far as they would
permit it. Nausiclea, too, having by earnest entreaties obtained her
father's permission, set out with her friend; her love for Chariclea
making her break through that reserve and retirement which young women
are expected to preserve during the first days of their nuptials. They
accompanied them about half a mile; and then, saluting each other,
and mingling tears and every good wish with their embraces, they took
their leave. Cnemon repeatedly besought them to pardon those nuptial
engagements which prevented his going with them; and promised that,
whenever he had an opportunity, he would endeavour to find them out.
At length they separated. Nausicles, and his train, took the road to
Chemmis. Chariclea and Calasiris began the transformation which they
had meditated, and clothed themselves in tattered garments, which
they had got ready. She stained her cheeks with a compound of soot
and dust,[4] and threw an old torn veil negligently over her face.
She carried a bag under her arm, which had the appearance of being a
receptacle for scraps and broken victuals, but contained, in reality,
the sacred vestments she had brought from Delphi--her garlands, and the
precious tokens which her mother had exposed with her.
Calasiris carried her quiver, wrapt up in a piece of old leather, as
a burden, across his shoulders; and, loosening the string of her bow,
made use of it as a walking-stick. If any one approached, he leant
heavily upon it, stooping more than his years actually obliged him to
do; and, limping with one leg, suffered himself frequently to be led by
Chariclea.
When the metamorphosis was completed they could not help smiling at
each other's appearance, and, in the midst of their grief, a few jokes
upon it escaped them; and beseeching the deities who persecuted them to
cease at length from their anger, they made what haste they could to
the town of Bessa, where they hoped to find Theagenes and Thyamis. But
in this they were disappointed; for arriving near Bessa at sun-setting,
they saw the ground strewed with a considerable number of dead bodies,
newly slain; most of them were Persians, whom they knew by their
habits, but some were the natives of the place. They conjectured this
to have been the work of war, but were at a loss to know who had been
the combatants. At length, while they were searching and examining the
corpses, dreading lest they might find a friend among them (for strong
affection is unreasonably apprehensive on the slightest grounds), they
saw an old woman, hanging over the body of one of the natives, and
loud in her lamentations. They resolved therefore to endeavour to get
what intelligence they could from her; and, accosting her, they first
tried to soothe her vehement affliction; and then, when she became a
little calmer, Calasiris, in the Egyptian tongue, ventured to ask her
what was the cause of the slaughter they saw before them, and who it
was whom she so lamented. She answered, briefly, that she was mourning
for her son; that she came on purpose to the field of battle that
some one of the combatants, if any should return, might deprive her
of life, now become a burden to her; that meanwhile, amid tears and
lamentations, she was endeavouring, as well as she could, to perform
funeral rites for her child. The cause of the engagement, says she, was
as follows:--"A foreign youth, of remarkable beauty and stature, was
proceeding under the direction of Mithranes, the Persian Commandant,
in his way to Memphis, where he was to be presented to Oroondates,
the Viceroy of the Great King. Mithranes had taken him captive, and
thought he could not offer a more agreeable gift. The inhabitants of
our town pretending, whether truly or not I cannot say, that they had
some knowledge of this young man, came suddenly upon the soldiers
of Mithranes, and rescued him. Mithranes, when he heard of it, was
violently enraged, and two days ago led his troops against the town.
My countrymen are used to war; they lead a piratical life, and despise
death when gain or revenge are in view. Many are the widows and orphans
they have made, and many mothers have they deprived of their children,
as I, unhappy woman, am at this day. As soon, therefore, as they had
certain intelligence of the Persians' expedition, they left the city,
chose a proper place for an ambuscade, and posting, in concealment,
a select body of troops where they knew the enemy must pass, as soon
as they appeared, attacked them resolutely in front, while the rest
of their companions rushed suddenly, with a great shout, from their
ambush, fell upon their flank, and soon put them to the rout. Mithranes
fell among the first, and most of his troops with him; for they were so
surrounded, that there was little opportunity for flight. A few of our
people were slain, and among those few my son, transfixed, as you see,
with a Persian dart; and now I, unhappy that I am, am bewailing his
loss; and, perhaps, am still reserved to lament that of the only son I
have now left, who marched yesterday with the army against the city of
Memphis."
Calasiris inquired into the cause of this expedition. The old woman
told him what she had heard from her son: That the inhabitants of
Bessa, after they had slaughtered the officer and soldiers of the
Great King, saw plainly that there was no room for excuse or pardon;
that Oroondates, as soon as the intelligence reached Memphis, would
immediately set out with his army,[5] surround, besiege, and utterly
destroy their town; that therefore they had resolved to follow up one
bold deed by a bolder; to anticipate the preparations of the Viceroy;
to march, in short, without delay to Memphis, where, if they could
arrive unexpectedly, they might possibly surprise and seize his person,
if he were in the city; or if he were gone, as was reported, upon
an expedition into Ethiopia, they might more easily make themselves
masters of a place which was drained of its troops, and so might
for some time ward off their danger; and could also reinstate their
captain, Thyamis, in the priesthood, of which he had been unjustly
deprived by his younger brother. But if they should fail in the bold
attempt, they would have the advantage of dying in the field, like men,
and escape falling into the hands of the Persians, and being exposed
to their insults and tortures. "But, as for you," continued the old
woman, "where are you going?"--"Into the town," said Calasiris.--"It
is not safe for you," returned she, "at this late hour, and unknown as
you are, to go among strangers."--"But if you will receive us into your
house," replied the other, "we shall think ourselves safe."--"I cannot
receive you just at this time," said she, "for I must now perform
some nocturnal sacrifices. But if you can endure it--and indeed you
must do so, retire to some distance from the slain, and endeavour to
pass the night as well as you can in the plain; in the morning I will
gladly receive and entertain you as my guests." When she had said this,
Calasiris took Chariclea, and shortly explained to her what had passed
between them; and going to a rising ground, not very far from the field
of battle, he there reclined himself, putting the quiver under his head.
Chariclea sat down on her wallet--the moon just rising, and beginning
to illuminate all around with her silver light; for it was the third
day from the full. Calasiris, old, and fatigued with his journey,
dropped asleep; but Chariclea's cares kept her waking, and made her
spectatress of an impious and accursed scene, but not an unusual one,
among the Egyptians. For[6] now the old woman, supposing herself at
liberty, and unobserved, dug a sort of pit, and lighted a fire of
sticks which she had collected together, on each side of it. Between
the two fires she placed the dead body of her son, and taking an
earthen cup from a neighbouring tripod, she poured first honey into the
trench, then milk, and then wine. She next worked up a kind of paste
of dough into something of the similitude of a man, and crowning it
with laurel and fennel, cast that too into the ditch. Then snatching up
a sword, with many frantic gestures and barbarous invocations to the
moon, in an unknown tongue, she wounded herself in the arm, and dipping
a branch of laurel in her blood, sprinkled it over the fire. And after
many other wild and mystic ceremonies, she stooped down at length to
the corpse of her son, whispered something in its ear, and, by the
power of her spells, raised and forced it to stand upright.
Chariclea, who had observed the former part of this ceremony, not
without apprehension, was now seized with affright and horror, and
awakened Calasiris, that he too might be a spectator of what was being
done. They, being themselves shrouded in darkness, observed in security
what passed by the light of the fires, and were near enough too to hear
what was said; the old woman now questioning the dead body in a loud
voice,--"Whether its brother, her son, would return in safety?"--it
answered nothing; but nodding its head by a doubtful signal, gave its
mother room to hope, and then, on a sudden, fell down again upon its
face. She turned the body on its back, repeated her question, and
whispered, as it should seem, still stronger charms in its ear; and
brandishing her sword now over the fire, and now over the trench,
raised the corpse again, and putting the same interrogation to it,
urged it to answer her, not by nods and signs only, but in actual and
distinct words.
Here Chariclea addressed Calasiris, and besought him to approach, and
ask something about Theagenes; but he refused altogether; declaring,
that it was much against his inclination that he became a compulsory
spectator of so impious a scene; for it did not become a priest
to be present at, much less to take a part in, such a deed.--"Our
divinations," said he, "are made by means of lawful sacrifices, and
pure prayers; not by profane ceremonies, and unhallowed conjurations
of dead carcases, such as our wayward fate has now obliged us to be
witnesses of." But while he was proceeding, the body, with a deep and
hollow voice, began to speak, as if its words were uttered from the
inmost recesses of a winding cave. "I spared you at first, Ο mother,
although you were transgressing the laws of nature, disregarding the
decrees of the fates, and disturbing by your enchantments, what ought
to remain at rest. There is, even among the departed, a reverence for
parents; but since, as far as in you lies, you destroy that reverence,
and persist in pushing your wicked incantations to the utmost--since
you are not content with raising up a dead body, and forcing it to make
signs, but will proceed to compel it to speak; regardless of the care
you owe to your son's remains, preventing his shade from mixing with
those who are gone before him, and mindful only of your own private
convenience and curiosity--hear what I piously avoided disclosing to
you before:
"Your son shall return no more; and you yourself shall perish by the
sword, and shortly conclude your course by a violent death, worthy of
the execrable practices in which you have spent your life; you who are
not now alone, as you suppose yourself; but are performing your horrid
rites, worthy of being buried in the deepest silence and darkness,
in the sight of others, and betraying the secrets of the dead in the
hearing of witnesses. One of them is a priest; and his wisdom indeed
is such, that he may perhaps see the propriety of concealing what he
has seen. He is dear to the gods; and if he hastens his journey, he may
prevent his sons from engaging singly with each other in a bloody and
deadly fight, and compose their differences. But what is infinitely
worse, a maiden has heard and seen everything which has taken place.
She is deeply in love, and is wandering through the world in search
of her lover, whom, after many toils and dangers, she shall at last
obtain, and, in a remote corner of the earth, pass with him a splendid
and royal life."
Having said this, the body fell again prone on the ground. The old
woman concluding that the strangers were the spectators meant, ran
furiously, in all the disorder of her dress, and sword in hand, to
seek for them among the dead, where she imagined they had concealed
themselves; determined to destroy, if she could find them, the
witnesses of her abominable incantations. But while searching
incautiously among the carcases, and blinded by her fury, she stumbled,
and fell headlong upon a fragment of a spear stuck upright in the
earth, which, piercing through her body, soon put an end to her wicked
life, and quickly fulfilled the fatal prophecy of her son.
[Footnote 1: See Book V.]
[Footnote 2: A bird, the brains and tongue of which were highly
esteemed by Roman epicures. Rich men's slaves used to take lessons in
carving this, and other choice dishes, practising upon wooden models.
"Sumine cum magno lepus, atque aper et pygargus,
Et Scythicæ volucres, et _phœnicopterus_ ingens,
Et Gætulus oryx, hebeti lautissima ferro,
Cæditur, et totâ sonat ulmea cœna Suburrâ."
Juv. XI. 138.
Those who are curious in the matter of good eating among the ancients,
may read with advantage the Feast of Trimalcio, in Petronius Arbiter,
and the concluding chorus in the Ecclesiazusæ of Aristophanes.]
[Footnote 3:
"... ye men, ye brittle things, mere images of clay,
Ye flitting leaves, ye shadowy shapes, ye creatures of a day,
Poor, wingless wretched mortals ye, like nothing but a dream."
Aristoph. Birds, 676. Cary's Tr.
]
[Footnote 4:
".... Whiles I may 'scape
I will preserve myself, and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast. My face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; elfe all my hair in knots;
And with presented nakedness, out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky."--King Lear.
]
[Footnote 5: Σαγηνεύσοντας τὴν κώμην. See Book I.]
[Footnote 6: See Lucan, Book vi., 667-761, where Erichtho brings the
dead to life in order to obtain a response as to the future success of
Pompey.]