LUCIAN'S TRUE HISTORY
TRANSLATED BY FRANCIS HICKES ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM STRANG
J. B. CLARK AND AUBREY BEARDSLEY WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
CHARLES WHIBLEY
(Originally published with the Greek text in 1894.)
A. H. BULLEN
18 Cecil Court
LONDON
MCMII
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AFTER THE TEMPEST (Strang)
ADORATION (Clark)
"A SNARE OF VINTAGE" (Beardsley)
SPIDERS OF MIGHTY BIGNESS (Strang)
THE BATTLE OF THE TURNIPS (Clark)
THE SUPPER OF FISH (Strang)
UNDERPROPPING THE WHALE'S CHOPS (Clark)
SOCRATES' GARDEN (Clark)
THE BANQUET OF BEANS (Strang)
THE PILLAR OF BERYLSTONE (Clark)
OWLS AND POPPIES (Strang)
DREAMS (Beardsley)
THE HALCYON'S NEST (Strang)
THE FLOATING FOREST (Clark)
THE ISLAND WOMEN (Strang)
WATER INCARNADINE (Clark)
INTRODUCTION.
It is a commonplace of criticism that Lucian was the first of the
moderns, but in truth he is near to our time because of all the
ancients he is nearest to his own. With Petronius he shared the
discovery that there is material for literature in the debased and
various life of every day--that to the seeing eye the individual is
more wonderful in colour and complexity than the severely simple
abstraction of the poets. He replaced the tradition, respected of
his fathers, by an observation more vivid and less pedantic than
the note-book of the naturalist. He set the world in the dry light
of truth, and since the vanity of mankind is a constant factor
throughout the ages, there is scarce a page of Lucian's writing that
wears the faded air of antiquity. His personages are as familiar
to-day as they were in the second century, because, with his pitiless
determination to unravel the tangled skein of human folly, he never
blinded his vision to their true qualities. And the multiplicity of
his interest is as fresh as his penetration. Nothing came amiss to
his eager curiosity. For the first time in the history of literature
(with the doubtful exception of Cicero) we encounter a writer whose
ceaseless activity includes the world. While others had declared
themselves poets, historians, philosophers, Lucian comes forth as a
man of letters. Had he lived to-day, he would have edited a newspaper,
written leading articles, and kept his name ever before the public
in the magazines. For he possessed the qualities, if he avoided the
defects, of the journalist. His phrase had not been worn by constant
use to imbecility; his sentences were not marred by the association
of commonness; his style was still his own and fit for the expression
of a personal view. But he noted such types and incidents as make an
immediate, if perennial, appeal, and to study him is to be convinced
that literature and journalism are not necessarily divorced.
The profession was new, and with the joy of the innovator Lucian was
never tired of inventing new genres. Romance, criticism, satire--he
mastered them all. In _Toxaris_ and _The Ass_ he proves with what
delicacy and restraint he could handle the story. His ill-omened
apprenticeship to a sculptor gave him that taste and feeling for
art which he turned to so admirable an account. He was, in fact,
the first of the art-critics, and he pursued the craft with an easy
unconsciousness of the heritage he bequeathed to the world. True, he
is silent concerning the technical practice of the Greeks; true, he
leaves us in profound ignorance of the art of Zeuxis, whose secrets he
might have revealed, had he been less a man of letters. But he found
in painting and sculpture an opportunity for elegance of phrase, and
we would forgive a thousand shortcomings for such inspirations of
beauty as the smile of Sosandra: to τὸ μειδίαμα σεμνὸν καὶ λεληθὸς. In
literary criticism he was on surer ground, and here also he leaves the
past behind. His knowledge of Greek poetry was profound; Homer he had
by heart; and on every page he proves his sympathies by covert allusion
or precise quotation. His treatise concerning the Writing of History[1]
preserves its force irresistible after seventeen centuries, nor has
the wisdom of the ages impeached or modified this lucid argument.
With a modest wit he compares himself to Diogenes, who, when he saw
his fellow-citizens busied with the preparations of war, gathered
his skirts about him and fell to rolling his tub up and down. So
Lucian, unambitious of writing history, sheltered himself from "the
waves and the smoke," and was content to provide others with the best
of good counsel. Yet such is the irony of accident that, as Lucian's
criticism has outlived the masterpieces of Zeuxis, so the historians
have snatched an immortality from his censure; and let it be remembered
for his glory that he used Thucydides as a scourge wherewith to beat
impostors. But matters of so high import did not always engross his
humour, and in _The Illiterate Book-buyer_[2] he satirizes a fashion of
the hour and of all time with a courage and brutality which tear the
heart out of truth. How intimately does he realize his victim! And
how familiar is this same victim in his modern shape! You know the
very streets he haunts; you know the very shops wherein he is wont
to acquire his foolish treasures; you recognize that not by a single
trait has Lucian dishonoured his model. In yet another strange instance
Lucian anticipated the journalist of to-day. Though his disciples
know it not, he invented the interview. In that famous visit to the
Elysian Fields, which is a purple patch upon his masterpiece, _The True
History_, he "went to talk with Homer the Poet, our leisure serving us
both well," and he put precisely those questions which the modern hack,
note-book in hand, would seek to resolve. First, remembering the seven
cities, he would know of Homer what fatherland claimed him, and when
the poet "said indeed he was a Babylonian, and among his own countrymen
not called Homer but Tigranes," Lucian straightly "questioned him
about those verses in his books that are disallowed as not of his
making;" whereto Homer replied with a proper condemnation of Zenodotus
and Aristarchus. And you wonder whether Lucian is chastising his
contemporaries or looking with the eye of a prophet into the future.
But even more remarkable than his many-coloured interest is Lucian's
understanding. He was, so to say, a perfect Intelligence thrown by
accident into an age of superstition and credulity. It is not only
that he knew all things: he saw all things in their right relation.
If the Pagan world had never before been conscious of itself, it had
no excuse to harbour illusions after his coming. Mr. Pater speaks
of the intellectual light he turned upon dim places, and truly no
corner of life escaped the gleam of his lantern. Gods, philosophers,
necromancers, yielded up their secrets to his enquiry. With pitiless
logic he criticized their extravagance and pretension; and actively
anticipating the spirit of modern science, he accepted no fact,
he subscribed to no theory, which he had not examined with a cold
impartiality.
Indeed, he was Scepticism in human shape, but as the weapon of his
destruction is always raillery, as he never takes either himself or his
victims with exaggerated seriousness, you may delight in his attack,
even though you care not which side wins the battle. His wit was as
mordant as Heine's own;--is it fantastical to suggest that Lucian too
carried Hebrew blood in his veins?--yet when the onslaught is most
unsparing he is still joyous. For a gay contempt, not a bitter hatred,
is the note of his satire. And for the very reason that his scepticism
was felt, that it sprang from a close intimacy with the follies of
his own time, so it is fresh and familiar to an age that knows not
Zeus. Not even the _Dialogues of the Gods_ are out of date, for if we
no longer reverence Olympus, we still blink our eyes at the flash of
ridicule. And might not the _Philopseudes_, that masterly analysis of
ghostly terrors, might not _Alexander the False Prophet_, have been
written yesterday?
And thus we arrive at Lucian's weakness. In spite of its brilliance
and flippancy, his scepticism is at times over-intelligent. His good
sense baffles you by its infallibility; his sanity is so magnificently
beyond question, that you pray for an interlude of unreason. The
sprightliness of his wit, the alertness of his fancy, mitigate the
perpetual rightness of his judgment. But it must be confessed that for
all his delicate sense of ridicule he cherished a misguided admiration
of the truth. If only he had understood the joy of self-deception,
if only he had realized more often (as he realized in _The Ass_) the
delight of throwing probability to the winds, we had regarded him with
a more constant affection. His capital defect sprang from a lack of the
full-blooded humour which should at times have led him into error. And
yet by an irony it was this very love of truth which suggested _The
True History_, that enduring masterpiece of phantasy. Setting out to
prove his hatred of other men's lies, he shows himself on the road the
greatest liar of them all. "The father and founder of all this foolery
was Homer's Ulysses": thus he writes in his Preface, confessing that in
a spirit of emulation he "turned his style to publish untruths," but
with an honester mind, "for this one thing I confidently pronounce for
a truth, that I lie." Such is the spirit of the work, nor is there the
smallest doubt that Lucian, once embarked upon his voyage, slipped from
his ideal, to enjoy the lying for its own sake. If _The True History_
fails as a parody, that is because we care not a jot for Ctesias,
Iambulus and the rest, at whom the satire is levelled. Its fascination,
in fact, is due to those same qualities which, in others, its author
affected to despise. The facile variety of its invention can scarce
be matched in literature, and the lies are told with so delightful
an unconcern, that belief is never difficult. Nor does the narrative
ever flag. It ends at the same high level of falsehood in which it
has its beginning. And the credibility is increased by the harmonious
consistency of each separate lie. At the outset the traveller discovers
a river of wine, and forthwith travels up stream to find the source,
and "when we were come to the head" (to quote Hickes's translation),
"no spring at all appeared, but mighty vine trees of infinite number,
which from their roots distilled pure wine, which made the river run
so abundantly." So conclusive is the explanation, that you only would
have wondered had the stream been of water. And how admirable is the
added touch that he who ate fish from the river was made drunk! Then
by a pleasant gradation you are carried on from the Hippogypians, or
the Riders of Vultures, every feather in whose wing is bigger and
longer than the mast of a tall ship, from the fleas as big as twelve
elephants, to those spiders, of mighty bigness, every one of which
exceeded in size an isle of the Cyclades. "These were appointed to
spin a web in the air between the Moon and the Morning Star, which was
done in an instant, and made a plain champaign, upon which the foot
forces were planted." Truly a very Colossus of falsehood, but Lucian's
ingenuity is inexhausted and inexhaustible, and the mighty Whale is
his masterpiece of impudence. For he "contained in greatness fifteen
hundred furlongs"; his teeth were taller than beech-trees, and when he
swallowed the travellers, he showed himself so far superior to Jonah's
fish, that ship and all sailed down his throat, and happily he caught
not the pigmy shallop between his chops. And the geographical divisions
of the Whale's belly, and Lucian's adventures therein, are they not
set down with circumstantial verity? Then there is the episode of the
frozen ship, and the sea of milk, with its well-pressed cheese for an
island, which reminds one of the Elizabethan madrigal: "If there were
O an Hellespont of Cream." Moreover, the verisimilitude is enhanced
by a scrupulously simple style. No sooner is the preface concerning
lying at an end than Lucian lapses into pure narrative. A wealth
of minutely considered detail gives an air of reality to the most
monstrous impossibility; the smallest facts are explicitly divulged;
the remote accessories described with order and impressiveness; so that
the wildest invention appears plausible, even inevitable, and you know
that you are in company with the very genius of falsehood. Nor does
this wild diversity of invention suggest romance. It is still classic
in style and shape; not a phrase nor a word is lost; and expression,
as always in the classics, is reduced to its lowest terms. But when
the travellers reach the Islands of the Blessed, the style takes on a
colour and a beauty which it knew not before. A fragrant air breathed
upon them, as of "roses, daffodils, gillyflowers, lilies, violets,
myrtles, bays, and blossoms of vines." Happy also was the Isle to look
upon: ἔνθα δὴ καὶ καθεωρῶμεν λιμένας τε πολλοὺς περὶ πᾶσαν ὰκλύστους
καὶ μεγάλους, ποταμούς τε διαυγεῖς ἐξίοντας ἠρέμα ἐς τὴν θάλατταν· ἔτὶ
δὲ λειμῶνας καὶ ὕλας καὶ ὄρνεα μουσικὰ, τὰ μὲν πὶ τῶν ἠΐόνων ἄδοντα,
πολλὰ δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν κλάδων ἀήρ τε κοῦφος καὶ εὔπνους περιεκέχυτο
τὴν χώραν: "a still and gentle air compassing the whole country."
Where will you find a more vivid impression of elegance and serenity?
or where match "the melody of the branches, like the sound of wind
instruments in a solitary place" (ἀπὸ τῶν κλάδων κινουμένον τερπνὰ καὶ
συνεχῆ μέλη ἀπεσυρίξετο ἐοικότα τοῖς ἐπ' ἐρημίας αὐλήμασι τῶν πλαγίων
αὐλῶν)? And when the splendour of the city breaks upon you, with its
smaragdus, its cinnamon-tree, its amethyst, ivory, and beryl, the rich
barbarity suggests Solomon's Temple, or the City of the Revelation.
Its inhabitants are the occasion of infinite jesting, and again and
again does Lucian satirize the philosophers, his dearest foes. Socrates
was in danger of being thrust forth by Rhadamanthus, ἤν φλυαρῇ καὶ
μὴ ἐθέλῃ ἀφεὶς τὴν εἰρωνείαν εὐωχεῖσθαι, while as for Diogenes the
Sinopean, so profoundly was he changed from his old estate, that he
had married Lais the Harlot. The journey to Hell is another excuse to
gird at the historians. The severest torments were inflicted, says
Lucian, upon Ctesias the Cnidian, Herodotus and many others, which
the writer beholding "was put in great hopes that I should never have
anything to do there, for I do not know that ever I spake any untruth
in my life." And yet with all his irony, all his scorn, Lucian has
ever a side-glance at literature. The verse of Homer is constantly
upon his lips, and it is from Homer that the Gods take their ditties
in the Elysian fields. Again, when the traveller visits the city of
Nephelococcygia, it is but to think upon the poet Aristophanes, "how
wise a man he was, and how true a reporter, and how little cause there
is to question his fidelity for what he hath written."
Such is the work which, itself a masterpiece, has been a pattern and
an exemplar unto others. If Utopia and its unnumbered rivals derive
from Plato, there is not a single Imaginary Traveller that is not
modelled upon Lucian. _The True History_ was, in effect, the beginning
of a new literature. Not only was its framework borrowed, not only
was its habit of fantastic names piously imitated, but the disciples,
like the master, turned their voyages to the purpose of satire. It
was Rabelais who made the first adaptation, for, while Epistemon's
descent into Hell was certainly suggested by Lucian, Pantagruel's
voyage is an ample travesty of _The True History_, and Lanternland,
the home of the Lychnobii, is but Lychnopolis, Lucian's own City of
Lights. The seventeenth century discovered another imitator in Cyrano
de Bergerac, whose tepid _Voyage dans la Lune_ is interesting merely
because it is a link in the chain that unites Lucian with Swift.
Yet the book had an immense popularity, and Cyrano's biographer has
naught to say of the original traveller, save that he told his story
"avec beaucoup moins de vraisemblance et de gentilesse d'imagination
que M. de Bergerac." An astounding judgment surely, which time has
already reversed. And then came _Gulliver's Travels_, incomparably the
greatest descendant of _The True History_. To what excellent purpose
Swift followed his Lucian is proved alike by the amazing probability
of his narrative, and the cruelty of his satire. Like Lucian, he
professed an unveiled contempt for philosophers and mathematicians;
unlike Lucian, he made his imaginary journey the occasion for a fierce
satire upon kings and politicians. But so masterly is the narrative,
so convincing the reality of Lilliput and Brobdignag, that Gulliver
retains its hold upon our imagination, though the meaning of its satire
is long since blunted. Swift's work came to astonish the world in 1727,
and some fourteen years later in the century Holberg astonished the
wits of Denmark with a satire cast in Lucian's mould. _Nicolai Klimii
Iter Subterraneum_--thus ran the title, and from Latin the book was
translated into every known tongue. The city of walking trees, the home
of the Potuans, and many another invention, prove Holberg's debt to the
author of _The True History_. And if the _genre_ is dead to-day, it is
dead because the most intrepid humourist would hesitate to walk in the
footsteps of Lemuel Gulliver.
Fortunate in his imitators, Lucian has been not wholly unfortunate
in his translators. Not even envy could pick a quarrel with Francis
Hickes, whose Englishing of _The True History_ is here reprinted. The
book appeared, under the auspices of Hickes's son, in 1634, four years
after the translator's death. Thus it is described on the title-page:
"Certaine Select Dialogues of Lucian together with his True Historie,
translated from the Greeke into English by Mr. Francis Hickes.
Whereunto is added the Life of Lucian gathered out of his own Writings,
with briefe Notes and Illustrations upon each Dialogue and Booke, by
T. H. Master of Arts, of Christ Church in Oxford. Oxford, Printed by
William Turner. 1634." Composed with a certain dignity, it is dedicated
"to the Right Worshipfull Dr. Duppa, Deane of Christ-Church, and
Vice-Chancellor of the famous Universitie in Oxford." And the work
reflects a wholesome glory upon the famous University. For it is the
work of a scholar, who knew both the languages. Though his diction
lacked the spirit and colour which distinguished the splendid versions
of North and Holland, he was far more keenly conscious of his original
than were those masters of prose. Not only did he, unlike North,
translate directly from the Greek, but he followed his original with
loyalty and patience. In brief, his Lucian is a miracle of suitability.
The close simplicity of Hickes fits the classical restraint of _The
True History_ to admiration. As the Greek is a model of narrative,
so you cannot read the English version without thinking of the
incomparable Hakluyt. Thirty years after the first printing of the
translation, Jasper Mayne published his "Part of Lucian made English,"
wherein he added sundry versions of his own to the work already
accomplished by Francis Hickes. And in his "Epistle Dedicatory" he
discusses the art of translation with an intelligence which proves how
intimately he realized the excellent quality of Hickes's version. "For
as the Painter," thus Jasper Mayne, "who would draw a man of a bald
head, rumpled forehead, copper nose, pigge eyes, and ugly face, draws
him not to life, nor doth the business of his art, if he draw him less
deformed or ugly than he is; or as he who would draw a faire, amiable
lady, limbes with an erring pencil, and drawes a libell, not a face, if
he gives her not just features, and perfections: So in the Translation
of Bookes, he who makes a dull author elegant and quick; or a sharp,
elegant author flat, rustick, rude and dull, by contrary wayes, commits
the same sinne, and cannot be said to translate, but to transforme."
That is sound sense, and judged by the high standard of Jasper Mayne,
Francis Hickes has most valiantly acquitted himself.
He was the son of Richard Hickes, an arras-weaver of Barcheston, in
Warwickshire, and after taking the degree of bachelor in the University
of Oxford, which he entered in 1579, at the age of thirteen, he was
diverted (says Thomas, his son) "by a country retirement." Henceforth
he devoted his life to husbandry and Greek. Besides Lucian, he
translated Thucydides and Herodian, the manuscripts of which are said
to survive in the library of Christ Church. Possibly it was his long
retirement that gave a turn of pedantry to his mind. It was but natural
that in his remote garden he should exaggerate the importance of the
knowledge acquired in patient solitude. But certain it is that the
notes wherewith he decorated his margins are triumphs of inapposite
erudition. When Lucian describes the famous cobwebs, each one of which
was as big as an island of the Cyclades, Hickes thinks to throw light
upon the text with this astonishing irrelevancy: "They are in the
Aegean Sea, in number 13." The foible is harmless, nay pleasant, and
consonant with the character of the learned recluse. Thus lived Francis
Hickes, silent and unknown, until in 1630 he died at a kinsman's house
at Sutton in Gloucestershire. And you regret that his glory was merely
posthumous. For, pedant as he was, he made known to his countrymen
the enemy of all the pedants, and turned a masterpiece of Greek into
English as sound and scholarly as is found in any translator of his
time.
[Footnote 1: Πῶς δεΐ ἰστορίαύ συγγράΦειν.]
[Footnote 2: Πρὸς τὸν παιδευτὸν καὶ πὸλλα ὠνούμενον]
LUCIAN'S TRUE HISTORY.
LUCIAN:
HIS TRUE HISTORY.
Even as champions and wrestlers and such as practise the strength and
agility of body are not only careful to retain a sound constitution of
health, and to hold on their ordinary course of exercise, but sometimes
also to recreate themselves with seasonable intermission, and esteem it
as a main point of their practice; so I think it necessary for scholars
and such as addict themselves to the study of learning, after they have
travelled long in the perusal of serious authors, to relax a little
the intention of their thoughts, that they may be more apt and able to
endure a continued course of study.
And this kind of repose will be the more conformable, and fit their
purpose better, if it be employed in the reading of such works as shall
not only yield a bare content by the pleasing and comely composure
of them, but shall also give occasion of some learned speculation to
the mind, which I suppose I have effected in these books of mine:
wherein not only the novelty of the subject, nor the pleasingness of
the project, may tickle the reader with delight, nor to hear so many
notorious lies delivered persuasively and in the way of truth, but
because everything here by me set down doth in a comical fashion glance
at some or other of the old poets, historiographers, and philosophers,
which in their writings have recorded many monstrous and intolerable
untruths, whose names I would have quoted down, but that I knew the
reading would bewray them to you.
Ctesias, the son of Ctesiochus, the Cnidian, wrote of the region of the
Indians and the state of those countries, matters which he neither saw
himself, nor ever heard come from the mouth of any man. Iambulus also
wrote many strange miracles of the great sea, which all men knew to be
lies and fictions, yet so composed that they want not their delight:
and many others have made choice of the like argument, of which some
have published their own travels and peregrinations, wherein they have
described the greatness of beasts, the fierce condition of men, with
their strange and uncouth manner of life: but the first father and
founder of all this foolery was Homer's Ulysses, who tells a long tale
to Alcinous of the servitude of the winds, and of wild men with one
eye in their foreheads that fed upon raw flesh, of beasts with many
heads, and the transformation of his friends by enchanted potions, all
which he made the silly Phæakes believe for great sooth.
This coming to my perusal, I could not condemn ordinary men for
lying, when I saw it in request amongst them that would be counted
philosophical persons: yet could not but wonder at them, that, writing
so manifest lies, they should not think to be taken with the manner;
and this made me also ambitious to leave some monument of myself behind
me, that I might not be the only man exempted from this liberty of
lying: and because I had no matter of verity to employ my pen in (for
nothing hath befallen me worth the writing), I turned my style to
publish untruths, but with an honester mind than others have done: for
this one thing I confidently pronounce for a truth, that I lie: and
this, I hope, may be an excuse for all the rest, when I confess what I
am faulty in: for I write of matters which I neither saw nor suffered,
nor heard by report from others, which are in no being, nor possible
ever to have a beginning. Let no man therefore in any case give any
credit to them.
Disanchoring on a time from the pillars of Hercules, the wind fitting
me well for my purpose, I thrust into the West Ocean. The occasion that
moved me to take such a voyage in hand was only a curiosity of mind,
a desire of novelties, and a longing to learn out the bounds of the
ocean, and what people inhabit the farther shore: for which purpose
I made plentiful provision of victuals and fresh water, got fifty
companions of the same humour to associate me in my travels, furnished
myself with store of munition, gave a round sum of money to an expert
pilot that could direct us in our course, and new rigged and repaired a
tall ship strongly to hold a tedious and difficult journey.
[Illustration]
Thus sailed we forward a day and a night with a prosperous wind, and
as long as we had any sight of land, made no great haste on our way;
but the next morrow about sun rising the wind blew high and the waves
began to swell and a darkness fell upon us, so that we could not see to
strike our sails, but gave our ship over to the wind and weather; thus
were we tossed in this tempest the space of threescore and nineteen
days together. On the fourscorth day the sun upon a sudden brake out,
and we descried not far off us an island full of mountains and woods,
about the which the seas did not rage so boisterously, for the storm
was now reasonably well calmed: there we thrust in and went on shore
and cast ourselves upon the ground, and so lay a long time, as utterly
tired with our misery at sea: in the end we arose up and divided
ourselves: thirty we left to guard our ship: myself and twenty more
went to discover the island, and had not gone above three furlongs from
the sea through a wood, but we saw a brazen pillar erected, whereupon
Greek letters were engraven, though now much worn and hard to be
discerned, importing, "Thus far travelled Hercules and Bacchus."
[Illustration: img002] There were also near unto the place two
portraitures cut out in a rock, the one of the quantity of an acre of
ground, the other less, which made me imagine the lesser to be Bacchus
and the other Hercules: and giving them due adoration, we proceeded on
our journey, and far we had not gone but we came to a river, the stream
whereof seemed to run with as rich wine as any is made in Chios, and
of a great breadth, in some places able to bear a ship, which made me
to give the more credit to the inscription upon the pillar, when I saw
such apparent signs of Bacchus's peregrination. We then resolved to
travel up the stream to find whence the river had his original, and
when we were come to the head, no spring at all appeared, but mighty
great vine-trees of infinite number, which from their roots distilled
pure wine which made the river run so abundantly: the stream was also
well stored with fish, of which we took a few, in taste and colour much
resembling wine, but as many as ate of them fell drunk upon it; for
when they were opened and cut up, we found them to be full of lees:
afterwards we mixed some fresh water fish with them, which allayed the
strong taste of the wine. We then crossed the stream where we found it
passable, and came among a world of vines of incredible number, which
towards the earth had firm stocks and of a good growth; but the tops
of them were women, from the hip upwards, having all their proportion
perfect and complete; as painters picture out Daphne, who was turned
into a tree when she was overtaken by Apollo; at their fingers' ends
sprung out branches full of grapes, and the hair of their heads was
nothing else but winding wires and leaves, and clusters of grapes.
When we were come to them, they saluted us and joined hands with us,
and spake unto us some in the Lydian and some in the Indian language,
but most of them in Greek: they also kissed us with their mouths, but
he that was so kissed fell drunk, and was not his own man a good while
after: they could not abide to have any fruit pulled from them, but
would roar and cry out pitifully if any man offered it. Some of them
desired to have carnal mixture with us, and two of our company were so
bold as to entertain their offer, and could never afterwards be loosed
from them, but were knit fast together at their nether parts, from
whence they grew together and took root together, and their fingers
began to spring out with branches and crooked wires as if they were
ready to bring out fruit: whereupon we forsook them and fled to our
ships, and told the company at our coming what had betide unto us, how
our fellows were entangled, and of their copulation with the vines.
Then we took certain of our vessels and filled them, some with water
and some with wine out of the river, and lodged for that night near the
shore.
[Illustration]
On the morrow we put to sea again, the wind serving us weakly, but
about noon, when we had lost sight of the island, upon a sudden a
whirlwind caught us, which turned our ship round about, and lifted us
up some three thousand furlongs into the air, and suffered us not to
settle again into the sea, but we hung above ground, and were carried
aloft with a mighty wind which filled our sails strongly. Thus for
seven days' space and so many nights were we driven along in that
manner, and on the eighth day we came in view of a great country in
the air, like to a shining island, of a round proportion, gloriously
glittering with light, and approaching to it, we there arrived, and
took land, and surveying the country, we found it to be both inhabited
and husbanded: and as long as the day lasted we could see nothing
there, but when night was come many other islands appeared unto us,
some greater and some less, all of the colour of fire, and another kind
of earth underneath, in which were cities and seas and rivers and woods
and mountains, which we conjectured to be the earth by us inhabited:
and going further into the land, we were met withal and taken by those
kind of people which they call Hippogypians. These Hippogypians are
men riding upon monstrous vultures, which they use instead of horses:
for the vultures there are exceeding great, every one with three heads
apiece: you may imagine their greatness by this, for every feather in
their wings was bigger and longer than the mast of a tall ship: their
charge was to fly about the country, and all the strangers they found
to bring them to the king: and their fortune was then to seize upon
us, and by them we were presented to him. As soon as he saw us, he
conjectured by our habit what countrymen we were, and said, Are not
you, strangers, Grecians? which when we affirmed, And how could you
make way, said he, through so much air as to get hither?
Then we delivered the whole discourse of our fortunes to him; whereupon
he began to tell us likewise of his own adventures, how that he also
was a man, by name Endymion, and rapt up long since from the earth
as he was asleep, and brought hither, where he was made king of the
country, and said it was that region which to us below seemed to be
the moon; but he bade us be of good cheer and fear no danger, for we
should want nothing we stood in need of: and if the war he was now
in hand withal against the sun succeeded fortunately, we should live
with him in the highest degree of happiness. Then we asked of him
what enemies he had, and the cause of the quarrel: and he answered,
Phaethon, the king of the inhabitants of the sun (for that is also
peopled as well as the moon), hath made war against us a long time
upon this occasion: I once assembled all the poor people and needy
persons within my dominions, purposing to send a colony to inhabit the
Morning Star, because the country was desert and had nobody dwelling
in it. This Phaethon envying, crossed me in my design, and sent his
Hippomyrmicks to meet with us in the midway, by whom we were surprised
at that time, being not prepared for an encounter, and were forced to
retire: now therefore my purpose is once again to denounce war and
publish a plantation of people there: if therefore you will participate
with us in our expedition, I will furnish you every one with a prime
vulture and all armour answerable for service, for to-morrow we must
set forwards. With all our hearts, said I, if it please you. Then
were we feasted and abode with him, and in the morning arose to set
ourselves in-order of battle, for our scouts had given us knowledge
that the enemy was at hand. Our forces in number amounted to an
hundred thousand, besides such as bare burthens and engineers, and
the foot forces and the strange aids: of these, fourscore thousand
were Hippogypians, and twenty thousand that rode upon Lachanopters,
which is a mighty great fowl, and instead of feathers covered thick
over with wort leaves; but their wing feathers were much like the
leaves of lettuces: after them were placed the Cenchrobolians and
the Scorodomachians: there came also to aid us from the Bear Star
thirty thousand Psyllotoxotans, and fifty thousand Anemodromians:
these Psyllotoxotans ride upon great fleas, of which they have their
denomination, for every flea among them is as big as a dozen elephants:
the Anemodromians are footmen, yet flew in the air without feathers in
this manner: every man had a large mantle reaching down to his foot,
which the wind blowing against, filled it like a sail, and they were
carried along as if they had been boats: the most part of these in
fight were targeteers. It was said also that there were expected from
the stars over Cappadocia threescore and ten thousand Struthobalanians
and five thousand Hippogeranians, but I had no sight of them, for
they were not yet come, and therefore I durst write nothing, though
wonderful and incredible reports were given out of them. This was
the number of Endymion's army; the furniture was all alike; their
helmets of bean hulls, which are great with them and very strong;
their breastplates all of lupins cut into scales, for they take the
shells of lupins, and fastening them together, make breastplates of
them which are impenetrable and as hard as any horn: their shields
and swords like to ours in Greece: and when the time of battle was
come, they were ordered in this manner. The right wing was supplied
by the Hippogypians, where the king himself was in person with the
choicest soldiers in the army, among whom we also were ranged: the
Lachanopters made the left wing, and the aids were placed in the main
battle as every man's fortune fell: the foot, which in number were
about six thousand myriads, were disposed of in this manner: there are
many spiders in those parts of mighty bigness, every one in quantity
exceeding one of the Islands Cyclades: these were appointed to spin a
web in the air between the Moon and the Morning Star, which was done in
an instant, and made a plain champaign upon which the foot forces were
planted, who had for their leader Nycterion, the son of Eudianax, and
two other associates.
[Illustration]
But of the enemy's side the left wing consisted of the Hippomyrmicks,
and among them Phaethon himself: these are beasts of huge bigness
and winged, carrying the resemblance of our emmets, but for their
greatness: for those of the largest size were of the quantity of two
acres, and not only the riders supplied the place of soldiers, but
they also did much mischief with their horns: they were in number
fifty thousand. In the right wing were ranged the Aeroconopes, of
which there were also about fifty thousand, all archers riding upon
great gnats: then followed the Aerocardakes, who were light armed and
footmen, but good soldiers, casting out of slings afar off huge great
turnips, and whosoever was hit with them lived not long after, but died
with the stink that proceeded from their wounds: it is said they use to
anoint their bullets with the poison of mallows. After them were placed
the Caulomycetes, men-at-arms and good at hand strokes, in number about
fifty thousand: they are called Caulomycetes because their shields
were made of mushrooms and their spears of the stalks of the herb
asparagus: near unto them were placed the Cynobalanians, that were sent
from the Dogstar to aid him: these were men with dogs' faces, riding
upon winged acorns: but the slingers that should have come out of _Via
Lactea_, and the Nephelocentaurs came too short of these aids, for the
battle was done before their arrival, so that they did them no good:
and indeed the slingers came not at all, wherefore they say Phaethon
in displeasure over-ran their country. These were the forces that
Phaethon brought into the field: and when they were joined in battle,
after the signal was given, and when the asses on either side had
brayed (for these are to them instead of trumpets), the fight began,
and the left wing of the Heliotans, or Sun soldiers, fled presently
and would not abide to receive the charge of the Hippogypians, but
turned their backs immediately, and many were put to the sword: but
the right wing of theirs were too hard for our left wing, and drove
them back till they came to our footmen, who joining with them, made
the enemies there also turn their backs and fly, especially when they
found their own left wing to be overthrown. Thus were they wholly
discomfited on all hands; many were taken prisoners, and many slain;
much blood was spilt; some fell upon the clouds, which made them look
of a red colour, as sometimes they appear to us about sun-setting;
some dropped down upon the earth, which made me suppose it was upon
some such occasion that Homer thought Jupiter rained blood for the
death of his son Sarpedon. Returning from the pursuit, we erected two
trophies: one for the fight on foot, which we placed upon the spiders'
web: the other for the fight in the air, which we set up upon the
clouds. As soon as this was done, news came to us by our scouts that
the Nephelocentaurs were coming on, which indeed should have come to
Phaethon before the fight. And when they drew so near unto us that we
could take full view of them, it was a strange sight to behold such
monsters, composed of flying horses and men: that part which resembled
mankind, which was from the waist upwards, did equal in greatness
the Rhodian Colossus, and that which was like a horse was as big as
a great ship of burden: and of such multitude that I was fearful to
set down their number lest it might be taken for a lie: and for their
leader they had the Sagittarius out of the Zodiac. When they heard that
their friends were foiled, they sent a messenger to Phaethon to renew
the fight: whereupon they set themselves in array, and fell upon the
Selenitans or the Moon soldiers that were troubled, and disordered in
following the chase, and scattered in gathering the spoils, and put
them all to flight, and pursued the king into his city, and killed the
greatest part of his birds, overturned the trophies he had set up, and
overcame the whole country that was spun by the spiders. Myself and
two of my companions were taken alive. When Phaethon himself was come
they set up other trophies in token of victory, and on the morrow we
were carried prisoners into the Sun, our arms bound behind us with a
piece of the cobweb: yet would they by no means lay any siege to the
city, but returned and built up a wall in the midst of the air to keep
the light of the Sun from falling upon the Moon, and they made it a
double wall, wholly compact of clouds, so that a manifest eclipse of
the Moon ensued, and all things detained in perpetual night: wherewith
Endymion was so much oppressed that he sent ambassadors to entreat
the demolishing of the building, and beseech him that he would not
damn them to live in darkness, promising to pay him tribute, to be his
friend and associate, and never after to stir against him. Phaethon's
council twice assembled to consider upon this offer, and in their first
meeting would remit nothing of their conceived displeasure, but on the
morrow they altered their minds to these terms.
[Illustration]
"The Heliotans and their colleagues have made a peace with the
Selenitans and their associates upon these conditions, that the
Heliotans shall cast down the wall, and deliver the prisoners that
they have taken upon a ratable ransom: and that the Selenitans should
leave the other stars at liberty, and raise no war against the
Heliotans, but aid and assist one another if either of them should
be invaded: that the king of the Selenitans should yearly pay to the
king of the Heliotans in way of tribute ten thousand vessels of dew,
and deliver ten thousand of their people to be pledges for their
fidelity: that the colony to be sent to the Morning Star should be
jointly supplied by them both, and liberty given to any else that
would to be sharers in it: that these articles of peace should be
engraven in a pillar of amber, to be erected in the midst of the air
upon the confines of their country: for the performance whereof were
sworn of the Heliotans, Pyronides and Therites and Phlogius: and of
the Selenitans, Nyctor and Menius and Polylampes." Thus was the peace
concluded, the wall immediately demolished, and we that were prisoners
delivered. Being returned into the Moon, they came forth to meet us,
Endymion himself and all his friends, who embraced us with tears,
and desired us to make our abode with him, and to be partners in the
colony, promising to give me his own son in marriage (for there are no
women amongst them), which I by no means would yield unto, but desired
of all loves to be dismissed again into the sea, and he finding it
impossible to persuade us to his purpose, after seven days' feasting,
gave us leave to depart.
Now, what strange novelties worthy of note I observed during the time
of my abode there, I will relate unto you. The first is, that they
are not begotten of women, but of mankind: for they have no other
marriage but of males: the name of women is utterly unknown among
them: until they accomplish the age of five and twenty years, they are
given in marriage to others: from that time forwards they take others
in marriage to themselves: for as soon as the infant is conceived the
leg begins to swell, and afterwards when the time of birth is come,
they give it a lance and take it out dead: then they lay it abroad
with open mouth towards the wind, and so it takes life: and I think
thereof the Grecians call it the belly of the leg, because therein
they bear their children instead of a belly. I will tell you now of
a thing more strange than this. There are a kind of men among them
called Dendritans, which are begotten in this manner: they cut out the
right stone out of a man's cod, and set it in their ground, from which
springeth up a great tree of flesh, with branches and leaves, bearing
a kind of fruit much like to an acorn, but of a cubit in length, which
they gather when they are ripe, and cut men out of them: their privy
members are to be set on and taken off as they have occasion: rich men
have them made of ivory, poor men of wood, wherewith they perform the
act of generation and accompany their spouses.
When a man is come to his full age he dieth not, but is dissolved like
smoke and is turned into air. One kind of food is common to them all,
for they kindle a fire and broil frogs upon the coals, which are
with them in infinite numbers flying in the air, and whilst they are
broiling, they sit round about them as it were about a table, and lap
up the smoke that riseth from them, and feast themselves therewith,
and this is all their feeding. For their drink they have air beaten
in a mortar, which yieldeth a kind of moisture much like unto dew.
They have no avoidance of excrements, either of urine or dung, neither
have they any issue for that purpose like unto us. Their boys admit
copulation, not like unto ours, but in their hams, a little above the
calf of the leg, for there they are open. They hold it a great ornament
to be bald, for hairy persons are abhorred with them, and yet among
the stars that are comets it is thought commendable, as some that have
travelled those coasts reported unto us. Such beards as they have are
growing a little above their knees. They have no nails on their feet,
for their whole foot is all but one toe. Every one of them at the point
of his rump hath a long colewort growing out instead of a tail, always
green and flourishing, which though a man fall upon his back, cannot
be broken. The dropping of their noses is more sweet than honey. When
they labour or exercise themselves, they anoint their body with milk,
wherein to if a little of that honey chance to drop, it will be turned
into cheese. They make very fat oil of their beans, and of as delicate
a savour as any sweet ointment. They have many vines in those parts,
which yield them but water: for the grapes that hang upon the clusters
are like our hailstones: and I verily think that when the vines there
are shaken with a strong wind, there falls a storm of hail amongst us
by the breaking down of those kind of berries. Their bellies stand them
instead of satchels to put in their necessaries, which they may open
and shut at their pleasure, for they have neither liver nor any kind
of entrails, only they are rough and hairy within, so that when their
young children are cold, they may be enclosed therein to keep them
warm. The rich men have garments of glass, very soft and delicate: the
poorer sort of brass woven, whereof they have great plenty, which they
enseam with water to make it fit for the workman, as we do our wool.
If I should write what manner of eyes they have, I doubt I should be
taken for a liar in publishing a matter so incredible: yet I cannot
choose but tell it: for they have eyes to take in and out as please
themselves: and when a man is so disposed, he may take them out and lay
them by till he have occasion to use them, and then put them in and see
again: many when they have lost their own eyes, borrow of others, for
the rich have many lying by them. Their ears are all made of the leaves
of plane-trees, excepting those that come of acorns, for they only have
them made of wood.