"Sed quæ mutatis inducitur, atque fovetur
Tot medicaminibus, coctæque siliginis offas,
Accipit et madidæ, facies dicetur, an ulcus."—Juv. vi. 471.
[68] "Omnibus autem mulierum omnium ungentis è puerorum sudoribus afflatus odor antecellet. Jam vero etiam ante venereos congressus palæstrâ cum iis decertare, palamque, ac sine rubore amplecti licet; neque ulla est carnis teneritas quæ complexuum tactioni cedat: sed corpora sibi mutuo resistunt ac voluptate contendunt. Basia quoque muliebrem illam diligentiam minime sapiunt, nec stulto errore labris illito decipiunt. Puer quemadmodum quidem novit, suavia dat, non ab arte aliquâ, sed à natura ipsâ proficiscentia; saneque basii puerilis imago ejusmodi est, ut si quis concretum, atque in labrà commutatum nectar oscularetur. Ex quo fieri ullo modo nequit, ut aliqua basiandi tibi satietas oriatur; quinimmo quo plus haurias, hoc vehementiore siti labores, neque os indè abstrahere possis, donec præ voluptate basia ipso refugias."
[BOOK III.]
On the third day of our voyage a sudden change took place in the weather; the sky, which had been clear, grew so black as quite to obscure the light of day, and a violent gale ploughing up the sea blew directly in our teeth. Upon this, the master ordered the yard to be brought round;[1] the sailors speedily obeyed, furling one-half of the sail by dint of great exertions, but were compelled by the violence of the wind to leave the other unfurled. In consequence of this manœuvre one side of the vessel began to heel, while the contrary side became proportionally elevated, so that we every moment expected to be capsized, as the gale continued to blow with undiminished fury. To prevent this, and to restore, if possible, the vessel's equilibrium, we all scrambled to the side highest out of water, but it was of no avail. We ourselves, indeed, were raised, but the position of the ship was in no way altered; after long and vain endeavours to right her, the wind suddenly shifted, almost submerging the side which had been elevated, and raising high out of the water that previously depressed. An universal shriek arose from those on board, and nothing remained but to hurry back to our former station. We repeated this several times, our movements keeping pace with the shifting of the vessel; indeed, we had scarcely succeeded in hurrying to one side, before we were obliged to hurry back in the contrary direction. Like those who run backwards and forwards in the course,[2] we continued these alternate movements during a great part of the day, momentarily expecting death, who, as it seemed, was not far off; for about noon the sun entirely disappeared, and we saw each other as if by moonlight; lightnings flashed from the clouds, the thunder rolled, filling the sky with its echoes, which were repeated from below by the strife of waters, while in the intermediate space was heard the shouts of the discordant winds,[3] so that the air seemed one mighty trumpet; the ropes breaking loose rattled against the sail and against each other till at last they were rent in pieces. We now began to be in no small fear that the vessel, from the shattered condition of her sides, would open and go to pieces; the bulwarks[4] too were flooded, being continually washed over by the waves. We however crawled under them for protection, and abandoning all hope resigned ourselves to Fortune. Tremendous billows following in quick succession tumbled one over the other, some in front, some at the sides of the ship, which as they approached was lifted high up as if upon a mountain, and when they retired was plunged down as into an abyss.[5] The most formidable were those which broke against the sides and made their way over the bulwarks, flooding all the vessel; even while approaching from a distance these were formidable enough, almost touching, as they did, the clouds; but when they neared and broke, you would have supposed that the ship must inevitably be swallowed up. We could scarcely keep our feet, so violent was the rolling of the vessel, and a confused din of sounds was heard;—the sea roared, the wind blustered, the women shrieked, the men shouted, the sailors called to one another: all was wailing and lamentation.[6]
At length the master ordered the cargo to be thrown overboard; no distinction was made between gold and silver, and the commonest articles,—all were pitched over the sides; many of the merchants with their own hands tumbling into the sea the goods on which all their hopes were centred. By these means the ship was lightened, but the storm did not in any degree abate. At length the master, wearied out and in despair, let go the tiller, abandoned the ship to the waves, and standing at the gangway ordered the boats to be got ready and the sailors to embark. Upon this a fearful scene of strife arose; the sailors in the boat were beginning to cut the rope which attached it to the ship. Seeing this, the passengers endeavoured to leap in, which the crew would not allow, threatening with their swords and axes any who should venture on the attempt. The others upon this arming themselves as best they could with shattered oars and broken benches, showed a determination to retaliate, for in a storm might, not right, must settle matters. A novel kind of sea-fight now commenced; they in the boat, fearful of being swamped by the numbers who were descending from the vessel, laid about them in good earnest with their swords and axes; which the passengers as they leaped in were not backward in returning with their poles and oars, and some scarcely touched the boat before they fell into the water; others, who had succeeded in getting in, were struggling with the sailors to maintain their ground. The laws of friendship or neighbourly regard were no longer heeded; each looked to his own preservation, careless of the safety of any other; for the effect of pressing danger is, that it dissolves even the tenderest ties. One of the passengers, a robust young fellow, succeeded at last in getting hold of the rope and dragging the boat towards the vessel; every one on board holding himself ready to leap in. A few succeeded in the endeavour, though not without receiving injuries; many in their attempt were plunged into the sea. The crew without further delay, cutting the rope with their axes, put off, and committed themselves to the mercy of the winds; those on board in the meantime having used every exertion to sink the boat. The vessel, after continuing for some time to pitch and roll upon the waves, was carried upon a sunken rock, when she struck and soon went to pieces, the mast falling over on one side and hastening her destruction. They who were at once swallowed up in the briny waves experienced a happier lot than their companions, in not having to remain with death before their eyes; for at sea the anticipation of drowning kills even before death actually arrives; the eye, bewildered by the expanse of waters, can set no limits to its fears: this it is which gives death so much more bitterness, and makes it regarded with dread proportioned to the vast nature of the sea itself.[7]
Upon the present occasion some were dashed against rocks and perished, others were pierced by pieces of broken oars, and some were seen swimming in a half-exhausted state. When the vessel was wrecked, some good genius preserved a portion of the prow, upon which I and Leucippe being seated, were carried along by the current; Menelaus, Satyrus, and some other passengers, had thrown themselves across the mast; Clinias at no great distance was swimming supported by the yard, and we could hear him calling out, "Hold on, Clitopho!" In a moment a wave washed over him; at which sad spectacle we shrieked aloud. Boiling onward in our direction, it happily passed us, and we again caught sight of the yard, and Clinias riding upon its crest. "O, mighty Neptune," exclaimed I, with a deep groan, "take pity on us, and spare the remnants of this shipwreck; our terror has caused us already to die many deaths; if it be thy will to destroy us, do not divide us in our deaths; let one wave overwhelm us; or if we are fated to become food for the monsters of the deep let one devour us;—let us have one common death, one common tomb." I had not long uttered this prayer before the violence of the wind abated and the roughness of the waves subsided, and the surface of the sea was seen covered with floating bodies. Menelaus and his companions were thrown by the waves upon a part of the coast of Egypt which was at that time the general haunt of buccaneers. Late in the evening, Leucippe and I contrived to reach Pelusium, and upon getting to land thanked the gods for our escape; nor did we omit bewailing Clinias and Satyrus, believing them to have been drowned.
In the temple of Casian[8] Jupiter, at Pelusium, there is the statue of a youth very like Apollo; his hand is stretched out and holds a pomegranate, which has a mystic meaning.[9] After praying to this deity, and asking tidings of Clinias and Satyrus (for the god is believed to be prophetic) we walked about the temple; in the treasury[10] at the rear of this edifice we saw two pictures by the artist Evanthes. The subject of one was Andromeda, of the other, Prometheus. Both were represented as bound, for which reason probably the painter had associated them together. They furnished other points of resemblance also; both had a rock for their prison house, and savage beasts for their executioners, the one being a bird of prey, the other a sea monster. The champions also who came to their rescue were both Grecians, Hercules and Perseus. The former is represented standing on the ground and aiming his arrow at the bird of Jove; the latter poised in air directs his attack against the fish. The rock is hollowed out, so as to suit the size of the maiden's body, and the rugged surface given it by the painter, plainly showed that it is intended to represent a production of nature, not the work of art; the maiden is fixed in the hollow of this rock, her lovely form giving her the appearance of a wondrously-carved statue,[11] but the chains and the sea-monster betokening a hastily-planned tomb.[12] Beauty and fear are mingled in her countenance, yet the pallor of her cheeks is not wholly untinged with colour, while the brightness of her eyes is tempered by a languor such as is seen in violets when they begin to fade; thus had the painter imparted to her the expression of comely fear.[13] Her arms, extended on either side, are chained against the rock, the wrists and fingers hanging down like the clusters from the vine; her arms are of spotless white, but approaching to a livid hue, and her fingers appear bloodless. Bound in this fashion she is awaiting death. Her attire is bridal, of white, and reaching to the feet, of a texture so fine as to resemble a spider's web, the production not of the wool of sheep, but of the down of winged insects whose webs Indian women gather from the trees and weave.[14] The monster is emerging from the sea opposite the maiden; his head alone appears above the waves, but the outline of his body is distinguishable beneath the water: the junctures of his scales, the curvature of his back, the ridge of his spines, the twisting of his tail; his immense jaws are expanded as far as his shoulders, and to the very entrance of his maw. In the intermediate space is seen Perseus descending from the sky, his body naked, with the exception of a mantle about his shoulders, winged sandals upon his feet, and a cap resembling Pluto's helmet[15] upon his head; in his left hand he grasps the Gorgon's head, holding it forth in the manner of a shield; the face is fearful to behold, and even on the painter's canvas seems to glare with its eyes, to bristle up its locks, to shake its serpents. His right hand is armed with a weapon between a straight sword and a scimitar; from the hilt to the middle it is a sword, it then partakes of both, remaining sharp so as to inflict a wound, and becoming curved in order to follow up and improve the stroke. Such was the "Andromeda."
Next to it, as I before remarked, was a painting of Prometheus bound to the rock. Hercules stands near him, armed with his bow and arrows. The vulture is feasting upon his side, in which it has inflicted a lacerating wound, and with its beak inserted in the opening, seems to be digging after the liver, of which the painter allows a portion to be visible.[16] The talons of the bird are firmly planted upon the thigh of Prometheus, who shrinks with agony, contracts his side, and draws back his leg to his own hurt, for the movement brings the eagle nearer to his liver. The other leg is stretched out straight before him, and the tension of the muscles is visible to the extreme point of the toes;[17] his whole appearance is that of acute suffering, his eyebrows are contracted, his lips drawn in, and his teeth appear; you could almost compassionate the painting, as though itself felt pain. In his misery, Hercules is come to his aid, and is preparing to transfix his tormentor; already the arrow is on the bow, which he extends with his left hand, while with his right hand he draws the string to his breast; in doing which the elbow is seen shortened from behind. The stretching of the bow, the drawing back the string, the hand touching the breast, all seemed the work of a single moment.[18] Prometheus appears divided between hope and fear; he looks partly at his wounded side, partly at Hercules; fain would he fix his eyes upon him alone; but his agony turns them back, in part, upon himself.