This is a modern-English version of Lucian's True History, originally written by Lucian, of Samosata.
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and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
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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)
ILLUSTRATION LIST.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__ (Clark)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__ (Beardsley)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__ (Clark)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__ (Clark)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__ (Clark)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__ (Clark)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__ (Beardsley)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_13__ (Clark)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_14__ (Strang)
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_15__ (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.
It's commonly said that Lucian was the first modern writer, but the truth is he's close to our time because, among the ancients, he feels the most relevant. He and Petronius recognized that everyday life, with all its complexities and imperfections, provides rich material for literature—that to an attentive observer, individuals are far more colorful and intricate than the simplistic portrayals of poets. He replaced the respected traditions of his predecessors with observations that are more vivid and less academic than a naturalist’s notes. He presented the world in the harsh light of truth, and since human vanity is a constant across ages, almost every page of Lucian's work feels fresh and not dated. His characters are as relatable today as they were in the second century because, with his relentless drive to unravel the tangled web of human foolishness, he always saw their true nature. His wide-ranging interests are as vibrant as his insights. Nothing was beneath his eager curiosity. For the first time in literary history (with the possible exception of Cicero), we find a writer whose unending activity encompassed the entire world. While others claimed to be poets, historians, or philosophers, Lucian presented himself as a man of letters. If he were living today, he would have edited a newspaper, written opinion pieces, and kept his name constantly in the public eye through magazines. He had the qualities of a journalist but avoided their pitfalls. His phrases weren't worn down to triviality; his sentences avoided common associations; his style remained uniquely his own, suitable for expressing personal views. He depicted the types and situations that generate immediate, lasting appeal, and studying him shows that literature and journalism don't have to be separate.
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.
The profession was new, and Lucian, the innovator, never tired of creating new genres. Romance, criticism, satire—he excelled in all of them. In Toxaris and The Ass, he shows how delicately and thoughtfully he could handle the story. His unfortunate apprenticeship with a sculptor gave him a taste and appreciation for art that he used to great effect. He was, in fact, the first art critic, and he approached the craft with a carefree awareness of the legacy he left behind. True, he doesn't talk about the technical practices of the Greeks; it's true he leaves us deeply ignorant of Zeuxis's art, whose secrets he might have revealed had he not been so focused on writing. But he found in painting and sculpture an opportunity for elegant expression, and we would overlook a thousand shortcomings for beautiful inspirations like the smile of Sosandra: to τὸ μειδίαμα σεμνὸν καὶ λεληθὸς. In literary criticism, he was on firmer ground, leaving the past behind here as well. His knowledge of Greek poetry was deep; he had Homer memorized, and with every page, he reveals his sympathies through subtle allusions or precise quotes. His treatise on the Writing of History[1] remains powerful even after seventeen centuries, and the wisdom of the ages hasn’t questioned or altered his clear arguments. With a humble wit, he compares himself to Diogenes, who, when he saw his fellow citizens preparing for war, gathered his robes and rolled his tub back and forth. So Lucian, not ambitious about writing history, kept himself away from "the waves and the smoke," choosing instead to offer others the best advice. Yet, ironically, while Lucian’s criticism has outlasted the masterpieces of Zeuxis, historians have gained immortality from his critiques; and let it be noted for his honor that he used Thucydides as a tool to expose impostors. However, such important matters didn’t always consume his humor, and in The Illiterate Book-buyer[2], he satirizes a fleeting trend with a courage and harshness that cuts to the truth. How well he captures his target! And how familiar that same target is in its modern form! You recognize the very streets he prowls; you know the exact shops where he goes to buy his silly treasures; you see that Lucian has preserved every single trait of his model. In yet another surprising instance, Lucian anticipated today’s journalist. Although his followers don't know it, he invented the interview. In that famous visit to the Elysian Fields, which is a standout moment in his masterpiece The True History, he "went to talk with Homer the Poet, our leisure serving us both well," and he asked exactly the questions that a modern reporter, notebook in hand, would want to resolve. First, recalling the seven cities, he would ask Homer which homeland he claimed, and when the poet "said he was indeed a Babylonian, and among his own people, not called Homer but Tigranes," Lucian immediately "questioned him about those verses in his books that are disallowed as not being his work;" to which Homer replied with an appropriate condemnation of Zenodotus and Aristarchus. And you wonder whether Lucian is criticizing his contemporaries or looking prophetically 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.
But even more impressive than his wide-ranging interests is Lucian's understanding. He was, in a sense, a perfect intellect accidentally placed in an age filled with superstition and gullibility. It’s not just that he knew everything; he saw everything in its true context. If the Pagan world had never been aware of itself before, it had no excuse to hold onto illusions after his arrival. Mr. Pater mentions the intellectual light he cast on dark places, and indeed, no aspect of life was untouched by his insight. Gods, philosophers, and necromancers revealed their secrets to his inquiries. With relentless logic, he scrutinized their excesses and pretensions; and actively anticipating the essence of modern science, he accepted no fact and endorsed no theory that he hadn't examined with a cool, unbiased perspective.
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?
Indeed, he was Skepticism in human form, but since his weapon of choice is always sarcasm and he never takes himself or his victims too seriously, you can enjoy his attack, even if you don’t care which side wins the fight. His wit was as sharp as Heine’s own;—is it crazy to suggest that Lucian might have had Hebrew blood too?—yet even when the criticism is harsh, he still remains joyful. A light-hearted disdain, not a bitter hatred, is the hallmark of his satire. And precisely because his skepticism was palpable, stemming from a close familiarity with the foolishness of his own time, it feels fresh and relatable to an era that doesn't know Zeus. Not even the Dialogues of the Gods are outdated, because while we no longer worship Olympus, we still blink at the spark of mockery. And could not the Philopseudes, that brilliant examination of ghostly fears, and could not Alexander the False Prophet, have been written just 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."
And so we come to Lucian's flaw. Despite its cleverness and sarcasm, his skepticism can sometimes be too clever for its own good. His good sense is so spot-on that it's almost baffling; his sanity is so unquestionable that you wish for a moment of irrationality. The liveliness of his wit and the sharpness of his imagination soften the constant accuracy of his judgment. But it's true that despite his keen sense of ridicule, he held a misguided admiration for the truth. If only he had understood the joy of self-deception, if only he had more frequently grasped (as he did in The Ass) the pleasure of disregarding probability, we would have had a more consistent affection for him. His major flaw came from a lack of the robust humor that should occasionally have led him astray. And yet, ironically, it was this very love of truth that inspired The True History, that enduring masterpiece of fantasy. Setting out to expose his disdain for the lies of others, he ends up as the greatest liar of them all on his journey. "The father and founder of all this foolishness was Homer's Ulysses," he writes in his Preface, admitting that in a spirit of imitation he "changed his style to publish untruths," but with a more honest intention, "for this one thing I boldly declare as truth, that I lie." Such is the spirit of the work, and it’s undeniable that once Lucian set sail on his adventure, he drifted from his ideal to enjoy lying for its own sake. If The True History fails as a parody, it's because we care nothing for Ctesias, Iambulus, and the others at whom the satire is directed. Its charm, in fact, comes from those same qualities that its author pretended to disdain in others. The effortless variety of its invention is hard to match in literature, and the lies are told with such delightful indifference that believing them is never a challenge. The narrative never slows down, ending as it begins in a grand level of falsehood. The credibility is heightened by the consistent harmony of each individual lie. At the start, the traveler discovers a river of wine, and immediately travels upstream to find its source, and "when we arrived at the head" (to quote Hickes's translation), "no spring at all appeared, but mighty vine trees of countless number, which from their roots distilled pure wine, making the river flow so abundantly." The explanation is so conclusive that you would only question it had the stream been water. And how amusing is the detail that anyone who ate fish from the river became drunk! Then, by a pleasant progression, you are taken from the Hippogypians, or the Riders of Vultures, whose feathers are larger and longer than a tall ship's mast, to the fleas as big as twelve elephants, to giant spiders, each of which was bigger than an island in the Cyclades. "These were tasked with spinning a web in the air between the Moon and the Morning Star, which they accomplished in an instant, creating a flat plain where the army was stationed." Truly a colossal fabrication, but Lucian's ingenuity is both vast and unending, and the mighty Whale is his masterpiece of audacity. For he "measured in size fifteen hundred furlongs"; his teeth were taller than beech trees, and when he swallowed the travelers, he demonstrated himself far superior to Jonah's fish, as ship and all sailed down his throat, and fortunately, he didn’t catch the tiny boat between his jaws. And the geographical divisions of the Whale's belly, along with Lucian's adventures inside, are they not recorded with diligent detail? Then there’s the episode of the frozen ship and the sea of milk, with its well-pressed cheese serving as an island, which reminds one of the Elizabethan madrigal: "If there were O an Hellespont of Cream." Moreover, the believability is heightened by a carefully simple style. No sooner does the preface on lying conclude than Lucian transitions into pure narrative. A wealth of meticulously considered detail lends an air of reality to the most monstrous impossibility; the smallest facts are explicitly revealed; the distant elements described with order and impact; so that even the wildest invention seems plausible, even inevitable, and you realize you are in the presence of the very genius of fabrication. Nor does this wild diversity of invention suggest romance. It remains classic in tone and shape; not a phrase nor a word is wasted; and expression, as always in the classics, is simplified to its essence. But when the travelers reach the Islands of the Blessed, the style takes on a vibrancy and beauty that it lacked before. A fragrant air embraced them, as if of "roses, daffodils, gillyflowers, lilies, violets, myrtles, bays, and blossoms of vines." The Isle was also a joy to behold: 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 encompassing the whole country." Where will you find a more vivid impression of elegance and peace? Or where compare "the melody of the branches, like the sound of wind instruments in a quiet place" (ἀπὸ τῶν κλάδων κινουμένον τερπνὰ καὶ συνεχῆ μέλη ἀπεσυρίξετο ἐοικότα τοῖς ἐπ' ἐρημίας αὐλήμασι τῶν πλαγίων αὐλῶν)? And when the splendor of the city unfolds before you, with its emeralds, cinnamon trees, amethysts, ivory, and beryl, the opulent exoticism calls to mind Solomon's Temple or the City of the Revelation. Its inhabitants provide endless opportunities for humor, and time and again, Lucian pokes fun at the philosophers, his greatest adversaries. Socrates is at risk of being cast out by Rhadamanthus, ἤν φλυαρῇ καὶ μὴ ἐθέλῃ ἀφεὶς τὴν εἰρωνείαν εὐωχεῖσθαι, while Diogenes the Sinopean has changed so drastically from his old self that he has married Lais the Harlot. The journey to Hell serves as another chance to mock historians. The harshest punishments were inflicted, says Lucian, upon Ctesias the Cnidian, Herodotus, and many others, which the writer witnessing "gave me great hope that I would never have anything to do there, for I do not believe I have ever spoken an untruth in my life." And yet with all his irony, all his scorn, Lucian always casts a sideways glance at literature. The verses of Homer are always on his lips, and it is from Homer that the Gods take their songs in the Elysian fields. Again, when the traveler visits the city of Nephelococcygia, it is just to reflect on the poet Aristophanes, "how wise he was, and how truthful his reports, and how little reason there is to question his fidelity for what he has 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.
Such is the work that, being a masterpiece itself, has served as a model and example for others. If Utopia and its countless rivals come from Plato, every Imaginary Traveler is based on Lucian. The True History was essentially the start of a new literature. Not only was its structure borrowed, not only was its use of fantastical names faithfully imitated, but the followers, like their mentor, turned their journeys into satire. Rabelais made the first adaptation; while Epistemon's descent into Hell was definitely inspired by Lucian, Pantagruel's voyage is a substantial parody of The True History, and Lanternland, home to the Lychnobii, is simply Lychnopolis, Lucian's own City of Lights. In the seventeenth century, Cyrano de Bergerac emerged as another imitator, and his mediocre Voyage dans la Lune is noteworthy mainly because it's a link connecting Lucian to Swift. However, the book was hugely popular, and Cyrano's biographer had little to say about the original traveler, except that he told his story "with much less likelihood and creativity than Mr. de Bergerac." An astonishing judgment for sure, which time has already reversed. Then came Gulliver's Travels, undoubtedly the greatest descendant of The True History. The excellent way Swift followed Lucian is evident in the remarkable plausibility of his narrative and the sharpness of his satire. Like Lucian, he openly disdained philosophers and mathematicians; unlike Lucian, he used his imaginary journey to fiercely criticize kings and politicians. But the narrative is so masterfully crafted and the realities of Lilliput and Brobdignag are so convincing that Gulliver continues to captivate our imagination, even though the meaning of its satire has long faded. Swift's work astonished the world in 1727, and about fourteen years later, Holberg amazed Denmark's intellectuals with a satire shaped in Lucian's style. Nicolai Klimii Iter Subterraneum—that was the title, and the book was translated from Latin into every known language. The city of walking trees, the home of the Potuans, and many other inventions, highlight Holberg's debt to the author of The True History. And if the genre is dead today, it is dead because even the boldest humorist would hesitate to follow 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.
Lucky with his imitators, Lucian isn't completely unlucky with his translators. Even envy can't find fault with Francis Hickes, whose English version of The True History is being reprinted here. The book was published under the guidance of Hickes's son in 1634, four years after the translator's death. The title page describes it as: "Certain Select Dialogues of Lucian together with his True Historie, translated from the Greek into English by Mr. Francis Hickes. Whereunto is added the Life of Lucian gathered out of his own Writings, with brief Notes and Illustrations upon each Dialogue and Book, by T. H. Master of Arts, of Christ Church in Oxford. Oxford, Printed by William Turner. 1634." Written with a certain dignity, it is dedicated "to the Right Worshipful Dr. Duppa, Dean of Christ-Church, and Vice-Chancellor of the famous University in Oxford." The work brings a healthy glory to the distinguished University. It showcases the work of a scholar who was fluent in both languages. While his language may lack the spirit and color that marked the brilliant translations of North and Holland, he was much more aware of his original than those prose masters. Unlike North, he translated directly from the Greek, staying loyal and patient with his source material. In short, his version of Lucian is remarkably suitable. The straightforward simplicity of Hickes superbly matches the classical restraint of The True History. Just as the Greek is a model of storytelling, you can't read the English version without thinking of the unparalleled Hakluyt. Thirty years after the initial publication of the translation, Jasper Mayne released his "Part of Lucian made English," in which he added several of his own translations to the work already done by Francis Hickes. In his "Epistle Dedicatory," he discusses the art of translation with an insight that shows how deeply he understood the quality of Hickes's version. "For just like a painter," Mayne writes, "who wants to depict a man with a bald head, crumpled forehead, copper nose, piggy eyes, and an unattractive face, does not succeed in capturing the subject accurately if he makes him less deformed or ugly than he truly is; or like the painter who tries to portray a beautiful, charming lady but ends up with a flawed rendering if he doesn't give her the right features and qualities: in the same way, in translating books, someone who makes a dull author seem elegant and lively, or someone who takes a sharp, elegant author and turns them dull, rustic, and unrefined is committing the same sin—they're not translating, they're transforming." That's sound reasoning, and judged by Jasper Mayne's high standards, Francis Hickes has truly proven 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.
He was the son of Richard Hickes, an arras weaver from Barcheston, Warwickshire. After earning his bachelor’s degree at the University of Oxford, which he joined in 1579 at the age of thirteen, he was redirected (according to his son Thomas) "by a rural retreat." From that point on, he dedicated his life to agriculture and studying Greek. In addition to Lucian, he translated Thucydides and Herodian, and the manuscripts are said to still exist in the library of Christ Church. It’s possible that his extended seclusion led to a somewhat pedantic mindset. In his isolated garden, it’s only natural that he would exaggerate the significance of the knowledge gained through solitary study. It’s certain, however, that the notes he added in the margins showcase a remarkable level of irrelevant scholarship. When Lucian describes the famous cobwebs, each as large as an island in the Cyclades, Hickes tries to clarify the text with this astonishingly unrelated remark: "They are in the Aegean Sea, in number 13." This quirk is harmless, even enjoyable, and aligns with the character of the learned recluse. Thus lived Francis Hickes, silent and unknown, until he died in 1630 at a relative’s house in Sutton, Gloucestershire. You can’t help but feel regret that his recognition came only after his death. For, despite being a pedant, he introduced his fellow countrymen to the adversary of all pedants and translated a Greek masterpiece into English with a soundness and scholarship that stands among the best of any translator of his time.
[1] Πῶς δεΐ ἰστορίαύ συγγράΦειν.
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.
Even as champions and wrestlers work on their strength and agility, they are not only careful to maintain good health and stick to their regular exercise routines, but they also take breaks to refresh themselves, viewing this as a key part of their training. Similarly, I believe it's important for students and those dedicated to learning, after spending a long time reading serious texts, to take a little time to relax their minds so they can better handle a consistent study routine.
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.
And this kind of rest will be more fitting and serve their purpose better if it's spent reading works that not only provide simple enjoyment with their pleasing and well-crafted style but also prompt some thoughtful speculation. I believe I've achieved that with these books of mine. In them, it's not just the originality of the topic or the engaging nature of the project that might delight the reader, or even the way so many well-known falsehoods are presented convincingly like truths, but because everything I've included here humorously references various old poets, historians, and philosophers who have documented many outrageous and unbelievable falsehoods. I would name them, but I know that doing so would reveal 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.
Ctesias, the son of Ctesiochus from Cnidus, wrote about the land of the Indians and the situation in those countries, subjects he never witnessed himself or heard from anyone else. Iambulus also wrote about many bizarre wonders of the great sea, which everyone recognized as lies and inventions, yet they were crafted in such a way that they were still entertaining. Many others have chosen similar themes, some publishing their own travels and journeys, where they described the size of animals, the savage nature of people, and their strange, unfamiliar lifestyles. However, the original creator of all this nonsense was Homer’s Ulysses, who spins a long story for Alcinous about the winds being enslaved, one-eyed cannibals who ate raw flesh, multi-headed beasts, and his friends being transformed by magical potions, all of which he made the gullible Phaeacians believe as truth.
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.
Upon reviewing this, I couldn’t blame ordinary people for lying when I noticed it also among those who are considered philosophical. Still, I couldn’t help but be amazed that, while writing such obvious falsehoods, they thought they wouldn’t be caught. This inspired me to create a legacy for myself so I wouldn’t be the only one exempt from this freedom to lie. Since I had no true stories to write about (nothing has happened to me that’s worth telling), I decided to write falsehoods, but with a more sincere approach than others have taken. For this one thing, I confidently state as a truth: I lie. I hope this serves as an excuse for everything else when I admit my flaws, as I write about things I neither experienced nor endured, nor have I heard from others; they don’t exist and were never possible to begin with. So let no one believe any of it.
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.
Setting sail from the Pillars of Hercules, with the wind just right for my plans, I headed into the Western Ocean. The reason that inspired me to embark on this journey was simply my curiosity, a desire for new experiences, and a wish to discover the limits of the ocean and the people living on distant shores. To prepare for this, I stocked up on plenty of food and fresh water, gathered fifty like-minded companions to join me on my travels, equipped myself with plenty of supplies, paid a good amount to an experienced pilot who could guide us, and had a tall ship newly rigged and repaired to endure a long and challenging journey.
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."
So we sailed on for a day and a night with a favorable wind, and as long as we could see land, we didn't rush our journey. But the next morning at sunrise, the wind picked up, the waves grew high, and darkness fell over us, making it impossible to strike our sails. We surrendered our ship to the wind and weather, and we were tossed in this storm for a total of sixty-nine days. On the fortieth day, the sun suddenly broke through, and we spotted an island not far from us, full of mountains and woods, where the sea was calmer, as the storm had eased up. We entered the island, went ashore, and lay on the ground for a long time, completely exhausted from our suffering at sea. Eventually, we got up and split into groups: thirty stayed to guard the ship, while I and twenty others went to explore the island. We hadn’t walked more than three furlongs from the shore through the woods when we saw a bronze pillar set up, with Greek letters engraved on it, although they were now worn and hard to read, saying, “Thus far traveled Hercules and Bacchus.”
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.
There were also two carvings in a rock near the place, one the size of an acre, the other smaller. I figured the smaller one was Bacchus and the larger one was Hercules. After giving them the respect they deserved, we continued on our journey. We hadn’t gone far when we reached a river, which flowed with wine as rich as any produced in Chios, and was wide enough in some spots to carry a ship. This made me trust the inscription on the pillar even more when I saw such clear signs of Bacchus’s travels. We decided to follow the river upstream to find its source. When we got to the beginning, there was no spring visible, only a vast number of huge vine trees, which dripped pure wine from their roots, causing the river to flow abundantly. The water was also full of fish, which tasted and looked much like wine, but anyone who ate them ended up drunk; when we opened them up, we discovered they were full of sediment. Later, we mixed in some freshwater fish to lessen the strong taste of the wine. We then crossed the river where it was shallow enough and found ourselves among an incredible number of vines, with strong trunks growing towards the ground. But the tops of these vines were women from the hips up, perfectly proportioned, just like how artists depict Daphne, who turned into a tree when Apollo caught up with her. From their fingertips sprouted branches filled with grapes, and their hair was just winding vines and leaves with clusters of grapes. When we approached them, they greeted us, held hands with us, and spoke some in Lydian, some in Indian, but most in Greek. They also kissed us, and anyone who was kissed became drunk and lost their senses for a while. They couldn’t stand having any fruit picked from them and would scream and cry if someone tried. Some of them wanted to be intimate with us, and two from our group dared to accept their offer and were never able to get away from them, becoming permanently intertwined at their lower parts, growing together and taking root. Their fingers began to sprout branches and twisted vines as if they were about to bear fruit. So, we abandoned them and rushed back to our ships, informing the others about what had happened, how our companions were tangled, and their coupling with the vines. We then took some of our vessels and filled them with water and wine from the river, and settled down for the night near the shore.
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?
The next day, we set sail again, with a light wind at our back. Around noon, after losing sight of the island, a sudden whirlwind caught us. It spun our ship around and lifted us about three thousand furlongs into the air, not allowing us to settle back down into the sea. Instead, we hung in the air, driven by a strong wind that filled our sails. For seven days and nights, we were carried along like this, and on the eighth day, we saw a huge country in the sky that looked like a shining island, round in shape and gleaming with light. As we approached, we landed and explored the area, which we found to be both inhabited and cultivated. Throughout the day, there was little to see, but at night, many other islands appeared—some large, some small—all glowing with shades of fire, revealing another kind of land beneath, with cities, seas, rivers, woods, and mountains that we guessed to be the Earth we lived on. As we ventured deeper into the land, we were met and captured by people known as the Hippogypians. These Hippogypians rode on gigantic vultures instead of horses, each having three heads. You could imagine their size, as every feather in their wings was larger and longer than the mast of a tall ship. Their role was to fly around the country and bring any strangers they found to the king. Our misfortune was that they seized us, and we were presented to him. As soon as he saw us, he guessed our nationality from our clothing and asked, “Aren't you strangers from Greece?” When we confirmed this, he added, “How did you manage to travel through so much air to get here?”
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.
Then we shared the whole story of our experiences with him; after that, he began to tell us about his own adventures. He introduced himself as Endymion, a man who had been taken from the earth while he was asleep and brought here. He explained that he had become king of this land, which he described as the region that we below call the moon. He urged us to be cheerful and not fear any danger, assuring us that we would lack for nothing. If the war he was currently fighting against the sun went well, we would live with him in great happiness. We then asked him about his enemies and the reason for the conflict. He replied that Phaethon, the king of the inhabitants of the sun (which is also populated like the moon), had been at war with them for a long time for this reason: I once gathered all the poor and needy people in my realm with the intention of sending a colony to inhabit the Morning Star since it was uninhabited and deserted. Phaethon, envious of my plan, sent his Hippomyrmicks to intercept us midway, catching us off guard, and we had to retreat. Now I plan to declare war again and start a settlement there. If you want to join us in this mission, I will provide each of you with a top-quality vulture and all the armor needed for battle, as we must set out tomorrow. “With all our hearts," I said, “if you wish.” We were feasted and stayed with him, and in the morning, we got ready for battle because our scouts had informed us that the enemy was approaching. Our forces totaled around a hundred thousand, not counting those carrying supplies and engineers, and the foot soldiers and various additional troops: among these, eighty thousand were Hippogypians and twenty thousand rode on Lachanopters, which are large birds covered thickly with wort leaves instead of feathers; however, their wing feathers resembled lettuce leaves. Joining us were the Cenchrobolians and the Scorodomachians. We also expected reinforcements from the Bear Star: thirty thousand Psyllotoxotans and fifty thousand Anemodromians. The Psyllotoxotans rode on enormous fleas, each flea being as large as a dozen elephants. The Anemodromians were foot soldiers who could fly in the air without feathers; each man wore a long mantle that extended to his feet, which inflated like a sail with the wind, propelling them as if they were boats; most of them used shields in battle. It was also said that reinforcements were expected from the stars over Cappadocia, consisting of seventy thousand Struthobalanians and five thousand Hippogeranians, but I didn't see them; they hadn't arrived yet, so I didn't dare write anything, even though there were amazing and unbelievable stories circulating about them. This was the size of Endymion's army; their equipment was all similar. Their helmets were made of large, strong bean hulls; their breastplates were made of lupin shells cut into scales, which they fastened together, creating impenetrable armor as tough as horn; their shields and swords looked like ours in Greece. When the time for battle came, the forces were arranged this way: the right wing was made up of the Hippogypians, where the king himself led the best soldiers in the army, among whom we were also placed; the Lachanopters formed the left wing, and the allies were stationed in the main battle according to their fortune. The foot soldiers, numbering about six thousand myriads, were arranged like this: there are many enormous spiders in those parts, each one larger than any of the Cyclades Islands. These were assigned to spin a web in the air between the Moon and the Morning Star, which they did in an instant, creating a flat plain on which the foot soldiers were positioned, led by Nycterion, the son of Eudianax, along with two other leaders.
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.
But on the enemy's side, the left wing was made up of the Hippomyrmicks, including Phaethon himself: these are massive, winged beasts that resemble our ants but are enormous in size; the largest were as big as two acres. Not only did the riders serve as soldiers, but they also caused a lot of damage with their horns: there were about fifty thousand of them. The right wing consisted of the Aeroconopes, also numbering around fifty thousand, all archers riding on large gnats. Next were the Aerocardakes, lightly armed foot soldiers who were good fighters, hurling huge turnips from slings at a distance. Anyone hit by them didn’t live long after, instead dying from the stench of their wounds; it’s said they used poison from mallows to coat their projectiles. Then came the Caulomycetes, about fifty thousand men-at-arms skilled in close combat; they’re called Caulomycetes because their shields were made of mushrooms and their spears from asparagus stalks. Nearby were the Cynobalanians, sent from the Dogstar to assist him: these were men with dog faces, riding winged acorns. However, the slingers from Via Lactea and the Nephelocentaurs didn’t arrive in time to help, as the battle was over before they got there, so they were of no use. In fact, the slingers never showed up at all, leading to Phaethon punishing their land in anger. These were the forces that Phaethon brought into battle: when they engaged, after the signal was given and the donkeys on both sides brayed (which served as their trumpets), the fight began; the left wing of the Heliotans, or Sun soldiers, quickly fled and didn’t stand to face the Hippogypians but turned their backs immediately, with many being killed. Meanwhile, the right wing proved too strong for our left wing and pushed them back until they met our foot soldiers, who joined in and made the enemies also retreat and flee, especially when they saw their own left wing being overrun. Thus they were completely defeated on all fronts; many were captured, and many were killed; a lot of blood was spilled; some fell onto the clouds, giving them a reddish hue, similar to what we see at sunset; some fell to the ground, making me think of the occasion when Homer believed Jupiter rained blood for the death of his son Sarpedon. After the pursuit, we set up two trophies: one for the ground battle, placed on a spider's web, and the other for the aerial battle, raised among the clouds. Once this was done, our scouts informed us that the Nephelocentaurs were approaching, who should have come to Phaethon before the fight. As they drew near enough for us to see them clearly, it was a strange sight to witness such monsters, made up of flying horses and humans: the part resembling humans, from the waist up, was as tall as the Colossus of Rhodes, while the part resembling a horse was as large as a big cargo ship. There were so many of them that I feared to record their number, lest it be considered a lie; their leader was Sagittarius from the Zodiac. When they learned that their allies had been defeated, they sent a messenger to Phaethon to revive the battle: then they arranged themselves and attacked the Selenitans, or Moon soldiers, who were unsettled and disorganized from the chase, scattering as they gathered their spoils, and put them all to flight, pursuing the king into his city, killing most of his birds, tearing down the trophies he had erected, and dominating the entire region spun by the spiders. I and two companions were captured alive. When Phaethon arrived, they erected more trophies as a sign of victory, and the next day we were taken as prisoners to the Sun, our hands bound behind us with a piece of cobweb. They did not lay siege to the city but rather returned and built a wall in the midst of the air to block the Sun's light from reaching the Moon, making it a double wall entirely made of clouds, resulting in a clear eclipse of the Moon and plunging all things into perpetual night. This caused such distress for Endymion that he sent ambassadors to ask for the wall's removal and pleaded with Phaethon not to condemn them to live in darkness, promising to pay him tribute, become his friend and ally, and never again act against him. Phaethon's council met twice to consider this offer; in their first meeting, they refused to change their anger, but by the next day, they reconsidered and agreed to new terms.
"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.
The Heliotans and their allies made peace with the Selenitans and their associates under these conditions: the Heliotans would tear down the wall and release the prisoners they had taken for a fair ransom; the Selenitans would allow the other stars to remain free and not wage war against the Heliotans, but would support each other if either was attacked; the king of the Selenitans would pay the king of the Heliotans a tribute of ten thousand vessels of dew each year and provide ten thousand of their people as tokens of their loyalty; both sides would jointly supply the colony to be sent to the Morning Star and would allow anyone else who wanted to participate; these peace terms would be engraved on a pillar of amber, to be placed in the air at the border of their territory; and the Heliotans who swore to uphold this were Pyronides, Therites, and Phlogius, while the Selenitans were Nyctor, Menius, and Polylampes. Thus, the peace was agreed upon, the wall was immediately torn down, and we prisoners were set free. When we returned to the Moon, Endymion and all his friends came out to greet us, embracing us with tears and asking us to stay with him and be part of the colony, promising to give me his own son in marriage (since there are no women among them), which I absolutely refused, requesting instead to be released back into the sea. After trying for seven days to convince us, and finding it impossible to change our minds, he finally allowed us to leave.
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.
Now, let me share some strange things I noticed while I was there. First, they aren’t born from women, but from humans: they only have male marriages—women are completely unknown to them. Until they turn twenty-five, they are married off to others; after that, they choose their own partners. When a baby is conceived, the leg starts to swell, and when it's time for birth, they use a lance to deliver it dead. Then, they expose it with its mouth open to the wind, and that’s how it comes to life. The Greeks refer to it as the belly of the leg because that’s where they carry their children instead of in a belly. Let me tell you something even stranger. There are a group of men among them called Dendritans, conceived in this way: they remove the right testicle from a man and plant it in the ground, from which a large tree of flesh grows, with branches and leaves, producing a kind of fruit similar to an acorn, but a foot long. When the fruit is ripe, they gather it and carve men out of it. Their genitals can be attached and removed as needed: wealthy men have them made of ivory, while poorer men use wood, which they use to reproduce and be with their partners.
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.
When a man reaches full adulthood, he doesn’t die but dissolves like smoke and becomes air. They all share one type of food, as they build a fire and roast frogs over the coals, which are everywhere, flying in the air. While they roast them, they sit around as if at a table, enjoying the smoke that rises and feasting on it; this is their only nourishment. For drinks, they have air beaten in a mortar, which produces a moisture similar to dew. They have no way of disposing of waste, either urine or feces, nor do they have any need for it like we do. Their boys engage in copulation, not like ours, but in their thighs, just above the calf, as that’s where they are open. They consider it a great distinction to be bald, as hairy individuals are despised by them. Yet among the comets, it's thought to be commendable, according to some travelers’ reports. Their beards grow a little above their knees. They have no nails on their feet because their whole foot is basically one toe. Each of them has a long colewort growing from their backside instead of a tail, always green and thriving, which cannot be broken even if someone falls on their back. The droppings from their noses are sweeter than honey. When they work or exercise, they anoint their bodies with milk, which will turn into cheese if a bit of honey happens to fall in. They make very rich oil from their beans, with a fragrance as delightful as any sweet ointment. There are many vines in those areas, which only yield water, since the grapes hanging in clusters resemble our hailstones. I genuinely believe that when the vines are shaken by strong winds, hailstorms fall on us due to those berries breaking off. Their bellies serve as pouches for storing their necessities, which they can open and close at will, as they have no liver or any internal organs; instead, they are rough and hairy inside, allowing them to wrap their cold young children inside to keep them warm. Wealthy individuals wear garments made of glass, which are very soft and delicate, while the poorer folk wear brass woven into clothes, of which there is plenty. They soak it in water to make it manageable for the craftsmen, just like we do with wool. If I were to describe the kind of eyes they have, I fear I might be thought a liar for sharing something so unbelievable; yet I must mention it: they can take their eyes in and out at will. When someone wishes to, they can remove them and put them aside until needed, then put them back in to see again. Many, when they lose their own eyes, borrow others, as the rich have plenty to spare. Their ears are made of leaves from plane trees, except those made from acorns, which are the only ones made of wood.
I saw also another strange thing in the same court: a mighty great glass lying upon the top of a pit of no great depth, whereinto, if any man descend, he shall hear everything that is spoken upon the earth: if he but look into the glass, he shall see all cities and all nations as well as if he were among them. There had I the sight of all my friends and the whole country about: whether they saw me or not I cannot tell: but if they believe it not to be so, let them take the pains to go thither themselves and they shall find my words true. Then we took our leaves of the king and such as were near him, and took shipping and departed: at which time Endymion bestowed upon me two mantles made of their glass, and five of brass, with a complete armour of those shells of lupins, all which I left behind me in the whale: and sent with us a thousand of his Hippogypians to conduct us five hundred furlongs on our way. In our course we coasted many other countries, and lastly arrived at the Morning Star now newly inhabited, where we landed and took in fresh water: from thence we entered the Zodiac, passing by the Sun, and, leaving it on our right hand, took our course near unto the shore, but landed not in the country, though our company did much desire it, for the wind would not give us leave: but we saw it was a flourishing region, fat and well watered, abounding with all delights: but the Nephelocentaurs espying us, who were mercenary soldiers to Phaethon, made to our ship as fast as they could, and finding us to be friends, said no more unto us, for our Hippogypians were departed before. Then we made forwards all the next night and day, and about evening-tide following we came to a city called Lychnopolis, still holding on our course downwards. This city is seated in the air between the Pleiades and the Hyades, somewhat lower than the Zodiac, and arriving there, not a man was to be seen, but lights in great numbers running to and fro, which were employed, some in the market place, and some about the haven, of which many were little, and as a man may say, but poor things; some again were great and mighty, exceeding glorious and resplendent, and there were places of receipt for them all; every one had his name as well as men; and we did hear them speak. These did us no harm, but invited us to feast with them, yet we were so fearful, that we durst neither eat nor sleep as long as we were there. Their court of justice standeth in the midst of the city, where the governor sitteth all the night long calling every one by name, and he that answereth not is adjudged to die, as if he had forsaken his ranks. Their death is to be quenched. We also standing amongst them saw what was done, and heard what answers the lights made for themselves, and the reasons they alleged for tarrying so long: there we also knew our own light, and spake unto it, and questioned it of our affairs at home, and how all did there, which related everything unto us. That night we made our abode there, and on the next morrow returned to our ship, and sailing near unto the clouds had a sight of the city Nephelococcygia, which we beheld with great wonder, but entered not into it, for the wind was against us. The king thereof was Coronus, the son of Cottyphion: and I could not choose but 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.
I also saw something strange in the same court: a huge glass lying on top of a shallow pit. If anyone goes down there, they can hear everything that's said on the surface. If they look into the glass, they can see all the cities and nations as if they were right there among them. I saw all my friends and the whole area around us: I can't say if they saw me or not, but if they don’t believe me, they can make the effort to go there themselves and they'll find I'm telling the truth. Then we said our goodbyes to the king and those close to him, boarded a ship, and left. At that time, Endymion gave me two cloaks made from their glass, five made of brass, and a complete suit of armor made from lupin shells, all of which I left behind in the whale. He also sent a thousand of his Hippogypians to guide us for five hundred furlongs. On our journey, we passed by many other lands and finally arrived at the newly settled Morning Star, where we landed to get fresh water. After that, we entered the Zodiac, passing by the Sun, which we kept on our right, traveling close to the shore but unable to land in the country, even though our crew really wanted to. The wind wouldn’t allow it, but we could see it was a thriving region, lush and well-watered, full of delights. However, the Nephelocentaurs—mercenary soldiers for Phaethon—spotted us and hurried to our ship. When they realized we were friends, they didn’t say much since our Hippogypians had already left. We continued on through the night and the next day, and around evening, we reached a city called Lychnopolis, still heading downward. This city is situated in the air between the Pleiades and the Hyades, a bit lower than the Zodiac. When we arrived, there wasn’t a person in sight, just countless lights darting back and forth—some busy in the marketplace and others around the harbor. Many of those lights were small and, you could say, insignificant, while others were large and magnificent, shining brightly. There were places for all of them, each having a name like people do, and we heard them speak. They didn’t harm us but invited us to feast with them. Yet we were so scared that we didn’t dare eat or sleep while we were there. Their court of justice is in the center of the city, where the governor sits all night long calling everyone by name, and if someone doesn’t respond, they’re sentenced to death as if they’ve abandoned their ranks. Their sentence is final. We watched and heard what the lights said in their defense, and the reasons they gave for taking so long. There, we recognized our own light and spoke to it, asking about our affairs at home, and it told us everything. We stayed there that night and the next morning returned to our ship. As we sailed near the clouds, we caught sight of the city Nephelococcygia, which amazed us, but we didn’t enter because the wind was against us. The king there was Coronus, the son of Cottyphion, and I couldn’t help but think of the poet Aristophanes—how wise he was, how accurately he reported things, and how little reason there is to doubt his honesty in what he wrote.
The third after, the ocean appeared plainly unto us, though we could see no land but what was in the air, and those countries also seemed to be fiery and of a glittering colour. The fourth day about noon, the wind gently forbearing, settled us fair and leisurely into the sea; and as soon as we found ourselves upon water, we were surprised with incredible gladness, and our joy was unexpressible; we feasted and made merry with such provision as we had; we cast ourselves into the sea, and swam up and down for our disport, for it was a calm. But oftentimes it falleth out that the change to the better is the beginning of greater evils: for when we had made only two days' sail in the water, as soon as the third day appeared, about sun-rising, upon a sudden we saw many monstrous fishes and whales: but one above the rest, containing in greatness fifteen hundred furlongs, which came gaping upon us and troubled the sea round about him, so that he was compassed on every side with froth and foam, showing his teeth afar off, which were longer than any beech trees are with us, all as sharp as needles, and as white as ivory: then we took, as we thought, our last leaves one of another, and embracing together, expected our ending day. The monster was presently with us, and swallowed us up ship and all; but by chance he caught us not between his chops, for the ship slipped through the void passages down into his entrails. When we were thus got within him we continued a good while in darkness, and could see nothing till he began to gape, and then we perceived it to be a monstrous whale of a huge breadth and height, big enough to contain a city that would hold ten thousand men: and within we found small fishes and many other creatures chopped in pieces, and the masts of ships and anchors and bones of men and luggage. In the midst of him was earth and hills, which were raised, as I conjectured, by the settling of the mud which came down his throat, for woods grew upon them and trees of all sorts and all manner of herbs, and it looked as if it had been husbanded. The compass of the land was two hundred and forty furlongs: there were also to be seen all kind of sea fowl, as gulls, halcyons and others that had made their nests upon the trees. Then we fell to weeping abundantly, but at the last I roused up my company, and propped up our ship and struck fire. Then we made ready supper of such as we had, for abundance of all sort of fish lay ready by us, and we had yet water enough left which we brought out of the Morning Star.
On the third day after, the ocean came clearly into view, although we could see no land except for what was floating in the air, and those lands looked fiery and sparkled in color. By the fourth day around noon, the wind calmed down and allowed us to settle comfortably into the sea; as soon as we found ourselves on the water, we felt an overwhelming joy we couldn't express; we celebrated and enjoyed what little food we had; we threw ourselves into the sea and swam around for fun since it was peaceful. But often, a good change leads to greater troubles: after only two days of sailing, when the third day dawned and the sun rose, suddenly, we saw many gigantic fish and whales; but one in particular stood out, stretching a good fifteen hundred furlongs, which approached us with its mouth open and stirred up the sea all around it, surrounded by froth and foam, showing off its teeth from a distance, which were longer than any beech trees we know, all sharp like needles and as white as ivory. At that moment, we thought we were saying our last goodbyes to each other, and embracing tightly, we prepared for the end. The monster quickly reached us and swallowed us, ship and all; however, by chance, it didn't catch us between its jaws, as the ship slipped through the open spaces down into its belly. Once we were inside it, we stayed a while in darkness and couldn't see anything until it opened its mouth, revealing itself to be a massive whale, wide and tall enough to fit a city that could hold ten thousand people: inside, we found small fish and many other creatures chopped up, along with ship masts, anchors, bones of men, and various belongings. In the center of it, there was dirt and hills that seemed to have formed from mud that got stuck in its throat, with woods growing on them, trees of all kinds, and all sorts of herbs, as if it had been cultivated. The area of land measured two hundred and forty furlongs, and we could also see all kinds of sea birds, like gulls and kingfishers, nesting in the trees. Then we started crying a lot, but eventually I gathered my crew, propped up our ship, and made a fire. We prepared dinner with what we had, since there was plenty of fish nearby, and we still had enough water left from the Morning Star.
The next morrow we rose to watch when the whale should gape: and then looking out, we could sometimes see mountains, sometimes only the skies, and many times islands, for we found that the fish carried himself with great swiftness to every part of the sea. When we grew weary of this, I took seven of my company, and went into the wood to see what I could find there, and we had not gone above five furlongs but we light upon a temple erected to Neptune, as by the title appeared, and not far off we espied many sepulchres and pillars placed upon them, with a fountain of clear water close unto it: we also heard the barking of a dog, and saw smoke rise afar off, so that we judged there was some dwelling thereabout. Wherefore making the more haste, we lighted upon an old man and a youth, who were very busy in making a garden and in conveying water by a channel from the fountain into it: whereupon we were surprised both with joy and fear: and they also were brought into the same taking, and for a long time remained mute. But after some pause, the old man said, What are ye, you strangers? any of the sea spirits? or miserable men like unto us? for we that are men by nature, born and bred in the earth, are now sea-dwellers, and swim up and down within the Continent of this whale, and know not certainly what to think of ourselves: we are like to men that be dead, and yet believe ourselves to be alive. Whereunto I answered, For our parts, father, we are men also, newly come hither, and swallowed up ship and all but yesterday: and now come purposely within this wood which is so large and thick: some good angel, I think, did guide us hither to have the sight of you, and to make us know that we are not the only men confined within this monster: tell us therefore your fortunes, we beseech you, what you are, and how you came into this place. But he answered, You shall not hear a word from me, nor ask any more questions until you have taken part of such viands as we are able to afford you. So he took us and brought us into his house, which was sufficient to serve his turn: his pallets were prepared, and all things else made ready. Then he set before us herbs and nuts and fish, and filled out of his own wine unto us: and when we were sufficiently satisfied, he then demanded of us what fortunes we had endured, and I related all things to him in order that had betide unto us, the tempest, the passages in the island, our navigation in the air, our war, and all the rest, even till our diving into the whale. Whereat he wondered exceedingly, and began to deliver also what had befallen to him, and said, By lineage, O ye strangers, I am of the isle Cyprus, and travelling from mine own country as a merchant, with this my son you see here, and many other friends with me, made a voyage for Italy in a great ship full fraught with merchandise, which perhaps you have seen broken in pieces in the mouth of the whale. We sailed with fair weather till we were as far as Sicily, but there we were overtaken with such a boisterous storm that the third day we were driven into the ocean, where it was our fortune to meet with this whale which swallowed us all up, and only we two escaped with our lives; all the rest perished, whom we have here buried and built a temple to Neptune. Ever since we have continued this course of life, planting herbs and feeding upon fish and nuts: here is wood enough, you see, and plenty of vines which yield most delicate wine: we have also a well of excellent cool water, which it may be you have seen: we make our beds of the leaves of trees, and burn as much wood as we will: we chase after the birds that fly about us, and go out upon the gills of the monster to catch after live fishes: here we bathe ourselves when we are disposed, for we have a lake of salt water not far off, about some twenty furlongs in compass, full of sundry sorts of fish, in which we swim and sail upon it in a little boat of mine own making. This is the seven-and-twentieth year of our drowning, and with all this we might be well enough contented if our neighbours and borderers about us were not perverse and troublesome, altogether insociable and of stern condition. Is it so, indeed, said I, that there should be any within the whale but yourselves? Many, said he, and such as are unreconcilable towards strangers, and of monstrous and deformed proportions. The western countries and the tail-part of the wood are inhabited by the Tarychanians that look like eels, with faces like a lobster: these are warlike, fierce, and feed upon raw flesh: they that dwell towards the right side are called Tritonomendetans, which have their upper parts like unto men, their lower parts like cats, and are less offensive than the rest. On the left side inhabit the Carcinochirians and the Thinnocephalians, which are in league one with another: the middle region is possessed by the Paguridians, and the Psettopodians, a warlike nation and swift of foot: eastwards towards the mouth is for the most part desert, as overwashed by the sea: yet am I fain to take that for my dwelling, paying yearly to the Psettopodians in way of tribute five hundred oysters.
The next morning, we got up to see when the whale would open its mouth. Looking out, we sometimes saw mountains, sometimes just the sky, and often islands, since the fish moved quickly through every part of the sea. When we got tired of this, I took seven of my crew and went into the woods to see what we could find. We hadn’t gone more than five furlongs when we stumbled upon a temple dedicated to Neptune, as the title suggested, and not far off we spotted many tombs and pillars placed on them, with a clear water fountain nearby. We also heard a dog barking and saw smoke rising in the distance, so we figured there might be some kind of dwelling nearby. So, hurrying along, we came across an old man and a young man who were busy making a garden and channeling water from the fountain into it. We were both excited and scared, and they seemed equally taken aback, staying silent for a long time. Finally, the old man asked, "Who are you, strangers? Are you sea spirits, or are you just poor souls like us? We are men by nature, born and raised on land, but now we live in the sea, swimming within the belly of this whale, not really knowing what to think of ourselves; it's like we're dead yet believe we’re alive.” I replied, “As for us, sir, we are also men, just arrived here, swallowed along with our ship just yesterday. We came intentionally into this vast, thick wood. I think some good angel guided us here to see you and realize that we are not the only men trapped inside this creature. Please tell us your story; we beg you—what are you and how did you end up here?” But he said, “You won’t hear a word from me or ask any more questions until you’ve eaten some of our food.” He then took us to his home, which was sufficient for his needs; he had beds prepared and everything else ready. He served us herbs, nuts, and fish, pouring us some of his own wine. Once we were satisfied, he asked us about our experiences, and I told him everything that had happened to us in order: the storm, our travels on the island, our flight through the air, our battles, and all that led to us diving into the whale. He was greatly astonished and then began to share what had happened to him, saying, “By heritage, fellow travelers, I’m from the island of Cyprus. Traveling from my homeland as a merchant with my son here and several friends, we embarked on a voyage to Italy in a large ship filled with cargo, which you may have seen wrecked in the whale's mouth. We had fair weather until we reached Sicily, but there we were caught in a violent storm and, on the third day, were hurled into the ocean, where we encountered this whale that swallowed us all. Only my son and I survived; everyone else perished, and we buried them here, building a temple to Neptune. Since then, we’ve lived this way, planting herbs and eating fish and nuts. As you can see, there’s plenty of wood and vines yielding delightful wine. We also have a well of excellent cool water nearby, which you might have noticed. We make our beds from tree leaves and can burn as much wood as we like. We hunt the birds that fly around us and venture out on the whale's gills to catch live fish. We bathe when we want in a lake of saltwater not far off, about twenty furlongs wide, filled with different kinds of fish, where we swim and sail in a small boat I made. This is the twenty-seventh year since we were taken in, and we might be quite content if it weren’t for our neighbors, who are hostile and troublesome—unfriendly and harsh. Is it true, I asked, that you are the only ones in the whale? “No,” he said, “there are many others, and they are unfriendly towards outsiders, grotesquely deformed. The western regions and the tail end of the woods are home to the Tarychanians, who resemble eels with lobster-like faces. They are fierce warriors and eat raw meat. To the right side live the Tritonomendetans, who have human-like upper bodies and cat-like lower bodies, and they’re less dangerous than the others. On the left side dwell the Carcinochirians and the Thinnocephalians, who are allied with each other. The middle area is occupied by the Paguridians and the Psettopodians, a warrior race known for their speed. The eastern side near the mouth is mostly deserted, washed over by the sea. Yet, I take that as my home, paying the Psettopodians an annual tribute of five hundred oysters.”
Of so many nations doth this country consist. We must therefore devise among ourselves either how to be able to fight with them, or how to live among them. What number may they all amount unto? said I. More than a thousand, said he. And what armour have they? None at all, said he, but the bones of fishes. Then were it our best course, said I, to encounter them, being provided as we are, and they without weapons, for if we prove too hard for them we shall afterward live out of fear. This we concluded upon, and went to our ship to furnish ourselves with arms. The occasion of war we gave by non-payment of tribute, which then was due, for they sent their messengers to demand it, to whom he gave a harsh and scornful answer, and sent them packing with their arrant. But the Psettopodians and Paguridians, taking it ill at the hands of Scintharus, for so was the man named, came against us with great tumult: and we, suspecting what they would do, stood upon our guard to wait for them, and laid five-and-twenty of our men in ambush, commanding them as soon as the enemy was passed by to set upon them, who did so, and arose out of their ambush, and fell upon the rear. We also being five-and-twenty in number (for Scintharus and his son were marshalled among us) advanced to meet with them, and encountered them with great courage and strength: but in the end we put them to flight and pursued them to their very dens. Of the enemies were slain an hundred threescore and ten, and but one of us besides Trigles, our pilot, who was thrust through the back with a fish's rib. All that day following and the night after we lodged in our trenches, and set on end a dry backbone of a dolphin instead of a trophy.
This country is made up of many nations. We need to figure out among ourselves whether to fight them or learn to coexist. How many are they, I asked. More than a thousand, he replied. And what kind of armor do they have? None at all, he answered, just fish bones. Then the best course for us would be to confront them, I said, since we are armed and they are not. If we defeat them, we can live without fear afterward. We agreed and went to our ship to gather weapons. We sparked the conflict by refusing to pay the tribute that was due; they had sent their messengers to demand it, to whom he gave a harsh and scornful response, sending them away empty-handed. However, the Psettopodians and Paguridians were unhappy with Scintharus, as he was named, and came at us with a loud uproar. Anticipating their attack, we prepared ourselves and hid twenty-five of our men in ambush, instructing them to strike as soon as the enemy passed by. They did just that, emerging from their hiding place and attacking the rear. We, also numbering twenty-five (for Scintharus and his son were among us), moved to confront them, meeting them with great courage and strength. In the end, we drove them into a retreat and chased them back to their dens. We killed one hundred seventy of the enemy, while only one of us fell, aside from Trigles, our pilot, who was stabbed in the back with a fish rib. The following day and night, we camped in our trenches and propped up a dry dolphin backbone as a trophy.
The next morrow the rest of the country people, perceiving what had happened, came to assault us. The Tarychanians were ranged in the right wing, with Pelamus their captain: the Thinnocephalians were placed in the left wing: the Carcinochirians made up the main battle: for the Tritonomendetans stirred not, neither would they join with either part. About the temple of Neptune we met with them, and joined fight with a great cry, which was answered with an echo out of the whale as if it had been out of a cave: but we soon put them to flight, being naked people, and chased them into the wood, making ourselves masters of the country. Soon after they sent ambassadors to us to crave the bodies of the dead and to treat upon conditions of peace; but we had no purpose to hold friendship with them, but set upon them the next day and put them all to the sword except the Tritonomendetans, who, seeing how it fared with the rest of their fellows, fled away through the gills of the fish, and cast themselves into the sea. Then we travelled all the country over, which now was desert, and dwelt there afterwards without fear of enemies, spending the time in exercise of the body and in hunting, in planting vineyards and gathering fruit of the trees, like such men as live delicately and have the world at will, in a spacious and unavoidable prison. This kind of life led we for a year and eight months, but when the fifth day of the ninth month was come, about the time of the second opening of his mouth (for so the whale did once every hour, whereby we conjectured how the hours went away), I say about the second opening, upon a sudden we heard a great cry and a mighty noise like the calls of mariners and the stirring of oars, which troubled us not a little. Wherefore we crept up to the very mouth of the fish, and standing within his teeth, saw the strangest sight that ever eye beheld—men of monstrous greatness, half a furlong in stature, sailing upon mighty great islands as if they were upon shipboard. I know you will think this smells like a lie, but yet you shall have it. The islands were of a good length indeed, but not very high, containing about an hundred furlongs in compass; every one of these carried of those kind of men eight-and-twenty, of which some sat on either side of the island and rowed in their course with great cypress trees, branches, leaves and all, instead of oars. On the stern or hinder part, as I take it, stood the governor, upon a high hill, with a brazen rudder of a furlong in length in his hand: on the fore-part stood forty such fellows as those, armed for the fight, resembling men in all points but in their hair, which was all fire and burnt clearly, so that they needed no helmets. Instead of sails the wood growing in the island did serve their turns, for the wind blowing against it drave forward the island like a ship, and carried it which way the governor would have it, for they had pilots to direct them, and were as nimble to be stirred with oars as any long-boat. At the first we had the sight but of two or three of them: afterwards appeared no less than six hundred, which, dividing themselves in two parts, prepared for encounter, in which many of them by meeting with their barks together were broken in pieces, many were turned over and drowned: they that closed, fought lustily and would not easily be parted, for the soldiers in the front showed a great deal of valour, entering one upon another, and killed all they could, for none were taken prisoners. Instead of iron grapples they had mighty great polypodes fast tied, which they cast at the other, and if they once laid hold on the wood they made the isle sure enough for stirring. They darted and wounded one another with oysters that would fill a wain, and sponges as big as an acre. The leader on the one side was Æolocentaurus, and of the other Thalassopotes. The quarrel, as it seems, grew about taking a booty: for they said that Thalassopotes drave away many flocks of dolphins that belonged to Æolocentaurus, as we heard by their clamours one to another, and calling upon the names of their kings: but Æolocentaurus had the better of the day and sunk one hundred and fifty of the enemy's islands, and three they took with the men and all. The rest withdrew themselves and fled, whom the other pursued, but not far, because it grew towards evening, but returned to those that were wrecked and broken, which they also recovered for the most part, and took their own away with them: for on their part there were no less than fourscore islands drowned. Then they erected a trophy for a monument of this island fight, and fastened one of the enemy's islands with a stake upon the head of the whale. That night they lodged close by the beast, casting their cables about him, and anchored near unto him: their anchors are huge and great, made of glass, but of a wonderful strength. The morrow after, when they had sacrificed upon the top of the whale, and there buried their dead, they sailed away, with great triumph and songs of victory. And this was the manner of the islands' fight.
The next morning, the rest of the locals, realizing what had happened, came to attack us. The Tarychanians were positioned on the right wing, led by Captain Pelamus; the Thinnocephalians were on the left wing; and the Carcinochirians made up the main force. The Tritonomendetans stayed completely out of it and wouldn’t join either side. We met them by the temple of Neptune and fought with a loud shout, which echoed back from the whale as if it came from a cave. But we quickly routed them, as they were unarmed, and we chased them into the woods, gaining control of the area. Shortly after, they sent envoys to us asking for the bodies of the dead and to negotiate peace terms; however, we had no intention of being friendly, so we attacked them again the next day and killed them all except the Tritonomendetans, who, seeing how their fellow tribesmen were faring, fled through the gills of the fish and threw themselves into the sea. We then explored the now deserted country, living there without fear of enemies, spending our time exercising our bodies, hunting, planting vineyards, and harvesting fruits, like those who live lives of luxury with the world at their command, in a vast and inescapable prison. We lived this way for a year and eight months, but when the fifth day of the ninth month arrived, around the time of the whale's second mouth opening (which it did once every hour, letting us know how time was passing), we suddenly heard a loud cry and a powerful noise like sailors calling out and the sound of oars, which disturbed us greatly. So, we crept up to the very mouth of the fish, standing between its teeth, and witnessed the strangest sight ever seen—huge men, half a furlong tall, sailing on massive islands as if they were on ships. I know you might think this sounds unbelievable, but it's true. The islands were quite large but not very tall, measuring about a hundred furlongs in circumference; each carried twenty-eight of those giant men, some on either side, rowing with large cypress trees, branches, leaves and all, instead of oars. At the back, as I understand, stood the leader on a high hill, holding a bronze rudder a furlong long: at the front stood forty similar figures, armed for battle, resembling men in every way except for their hair, which was all fiery and burnt cleanly, so they didn’t need helmets. Instead of sails, the wood growing on the island served as sails; the wind blew against it, propelling the island like a ship, maneuvered as directed by the pilot, and they moved as easily with oars as any longboat. At first, we saw only two or three of them; soon afterward, no less than six hundred appeared, splitting into two groups, preparing for combat, during which many of them crashed into each other’s crafts, breaking apart; some were turned over and drowned. Those who engaged fought fiercely and wouldn't easily separate, as the soldiers in the front displayed a lot of courage, charging into one another and killed as many as they could, with no prisoners taken. Instead of iron grapples, they used massive tentacles, which they threw at their opponents, and if they grabbed hold of the wood, they secured the island for movement. They hurled and injured one another with oysters big enough to fill a wagon, and sponges as large as an acre. The leader on one side was Æolocentaurus, and on the other, Thalassopotes. The conflict seemed to arise over raiding rights; they claimed that Thalassopotes had driven away many schools of dolphins belonging to Æolocentaurus, as we could hear them shouting to each other, calling out their kings' names. In the end, Æolocentaurus prevailed, sinking one hundred and fifty of the enemy's islands, and captured three along with the men. The rest fled, pursued by the others, but not for long, as evening was approaching, and returned to tend to their wreckage, most of which they recovered, taking their own back with them; there were about eighty islands lost on their side. They then set up a trophy to commemorate this island battle, securing one of the enemy's islands to the whale's head with a stake. That night, they camped close to the creature, wrapping their ropes around it, and anchored near it; their anchors were huge and made of glass, yet incredibly strong. The next morning, after sacrificing on top of the whale and burying their dead there, they sailed away, celebrating with songs of victory. And that’s how the island battle unfolded.
LUCIAN
HIS TRUE HISTORY.
THE SECOND BOOK.
Upon this we began to be weary of our abode in the whale, and our tarriance there did much trouble us. We therefore set all our wits a-work to find out some means or other to clear us from our captivity. First, we thought it would do well to dig a hole through his right side and make our escape that way forth, which we began to labour at lustily; but after we had pierced him five furlongs deep and found it was to no purpose, we gave it over. Then we devised to set the wood on fire, for that would certainly kill him without all question, and being once dead, our issue would be easy enough. This we also put in practice, and began our project at the tail end, which burnt seven days and as many nights before he had any feeling of our fireworks: upon the eighth and ninth days we perceived he began to grow sickly: for he gaped more dully than he was wont to do, and sooner closed his mouth again: the tenth and eleventh he was thoroughly mortified and began to stink: upon the twelfth day we bethought ourselves, though almost too late, that unless we underpropped his chops when he gaped next to keep them from closing, we should be in danger of perpetual imprisonment within his dead carcase and there miserably perish.
We started to get tired of being stuck in the whale, and our time there troubled us greatly. So, we put our heads together to figure out a way to escape. At first, we thought it would be a good idea to dig a hole through his right side and escape that way, which we began to work on vigorously. But after digging five furlongs deep and realizing it was hopeless, we gave up on that. Next, we came up with the idea to set the wood on fire, knowing that would definitely kill him, and once he was dead, escaping would be easy. We put this plan into action and started at his tail end, which burned for seven days and nights before he even noticed our efforts. By the eighth and ninth days, he seemed to start getting sick; he opened his mouth less than usual and closed it more quickly. By the tenth and eleventh days, he was completely decayed and began to smell. On the twelfth day, we realized, almost too late, that unless we propped his jaws open the next time he gaped, we might end up trapped forever inside his dead body and die miserably there.
We therefore pitched long beams of timber upright within his mouth to keep it from shutting, and then made our ship in a readiness, and provided ourselves with store of fresh water, and all other things necessary for our use, Scintharus taking upon him to be our pilot, and the next morrow the whale died. Then we hauled our ship through the void passages, and fastening cables about his teeth, by little and little settled it into the sea, and mounting the back of the whale, sacrificed to Neptune, and for three days together took up our lodging hard by the trophy, for we were becalmed. The fourth day we put to sea, and met with many dead corpses that perished in the late sea-fight, which our ship hit against, whose bodies we took measure of with great admiration, and sailed for a few days in very temperate weather. But after that the north wind blew so bitterly that a great frost ensued, wherewith the whole sea was all frozen up, not only superficially upon the upper part, but in depth also the depth of four hundred fathoms, so that we were fain to forsake our ship and run upon the ice. The wind sitting long in this corner, and we not able to endure it, put this device in practice, which was the invention of Scintharus:—with mattocks and other instruments we made a mighty cave in the water, wherein we sheltered ourselves forty days together: in it we kindled fire, and fed upon fish, of which we found great plenty in our digging. At the last, our provision falling short, we returned to our frozen ship, which we set upright, and spreading her sails, went forward as well as if we had been upon water, leisurely and gently sliding upon the ice; but on the fifth day the weather grew warm, and the frost brake, and all was turned to water again. We had not sailed three hundred furlongs forwards but we came to a little island that was desert, where we only took in fresh water (which now began to fail us), and with our shot killed two wild bulls, and so departed. These bulls have their horns growing not upon their heads but under their eyes, as Momus thought it better. Then we entered into a sea, not of water but of milk, in which appeared a white island full of vines. This island was only a great cheese well pressed (as we afterwards found when we fed upon it), about some five-and-twenty furlongs in bigness: the vines were full of clusters of grapes, out of which we could crush no wine, but only milk: in the midst of the island there was a temple built dedicated to Galatea, one of the daughters of Nereus, as by the inscription appeared. As long as we remained there the soil yielded us food and victuals, and our drink was the milk that came out of the grapes: in these, as they said, reigneth Tyro, the daughter of Salmoneus, who, after her departure, received this guerdon at the hands of Neptune.
We set up long beams of timber upright in his mouth to keep it from closing, then got our ship ready and stocked up on fresh water and everything else we needed, with Scintharus taking on the role of our pilot. The next day, the whale died. We pulled our ship through the empty spaces, wrapped cables around its teeth, and slowly lowered it into the sea. Climbing onto the whale's back, we sacrificed to Neptune, and for three days we stayed near the trophy because we were stuck without wind. On the fourth day, we set sail and encountered many dead bodies from the recent sea battle that our ship bumped into. We measured them with great amazement and sailed for a few days in very mild weather. However, after that, a fierce north wind blew, bringing a severe frost that froze the entire sea, not just the surface but down to four hundred fathoms deep. We had to abandon our ship and run onto the ice. As the wind lingered in that corner and we couldn't bear it, we put into action a plan from Scintharus: with picks and other tools, we dug a large cave in the ice where we sheltered for forty days. Inside, we made a fire and lived on fish we found in our digging. Eventually, our supplies ran low, so we went back to our frozen ship, propped it up, and spread the sails, moving forward as if we were on water, gently gliding over the ice. But on the fifth day, the weather warmed up, the frost broke, and everything turned back to water. We hadn’t traveled three hundred furlongs when we arrived at a deserted little island, where we took on fresh water (which was running low) and killed two wild bulls with our shots before leaving. These bulls had their horns growing not on their heads but beneath their eyes, which Momus thought was better. Then we entered a sea not of water but of milk, where a white island full of vines appeared. This island was actually a large cheese that was well-pressed (as we discovered when we ate it), about twenty-five furlongs wide: the vines were heavy with grape clusters, but we could only squeeze out milk, not wine. In the middle of the island, there was a temple built in honor of Galatea, one of the daughters of Nereus, as the inscription revealed. While we stayed there, the soil provided us with food, and we drank the milk that came from the grapes; they said Tyro, the daughter of Salmoneus, ruled here, receiving this gift from Neptune after she left.
In this island we rested ourselves five days, and on the sixth put to sea again, a gentle gale attending us, and the seas all still and quiet. The eighth day, as we sailed onward, not in milk any longer, but in salt and azure water, we saw many men running upon the sea, like unto us every way forth, both in shape and stature, but only for their feet, which were of cork, whereupon, I suppose, they had the name of Phellopodes.
On this island, we took a break for five days, and on the sixth day, we set out to sea again, with a gentle breeze helping us, and the waters calm and peaceful. On the eighth day, as we continued sailing—not in fresh water anymore, but in salt and blue water—we saw many men running across the sea, looking quite like us in every way except for their feet, which were made of cork. That's probably why they were called Phellopodes.
We marvelled much when we saw they did not sink, but keep above water, and travel upon it so boldly. These came unto us, and saluted us in the Grecian language, and said they were bound towards Phello, their own country, and for a while ran along by us, but at last turned their own way and left us, wishing us a happy and prosperous voyage. Within a while after many islands appeared, and near unto them, upon our left hand, stood Phello, the place whereunto they were travelling, which was a city seated upon a mighty great and round cork. Further off, and more towards the right hand, we saw five other islands, large and mountainous, in which much fire was burning; but directly before us was a spacious flat island, distant from us not above five hundred furlongs: and approaching somewhat near unto it, a wonderful fragrant air breathed upon us, of a most sweet and delicate smell, such as Herodotus, the story-writer, saith ariseth out of Arabia the happy, consisting of a mixture of roses, daffodils, gillyflowers, lilies, violets, myrtles, bays, and blossoms of vines: such a dainty odoriferous savour was conveyed unto us.
We were amazed when we saw they didn’t sink but stayed afloat and moved across the water so confidently. They came to us, greeted us in Greek, and said they were heading to Phello, their homeland. They traveled alongside us for a while before eventually going their own way, wishing us a happy and successful journey. Before long, many islands appeared, and on our left was Phello, the place they were headed, which was a city built on a huge round cork. Further off to our right, we saw five other large, mountainous islands with lots of fire burning on them; directly in front of us was a broad flat island, no more than five hundred furlongs away. As we got closer, a wonderfully fragrant breeze blew toward us, filled with a sweet and delicate scent, like what Herodotus, the historian, described as coming from the happy Arabia, a mix of roses, daffodils, gillyflowers, lilies, violets, myrtles, bays, and vine blossoms: such a delightful and fragrant smell reached us.
Being delighted with this smell, and hoping for better fortunes after our long labours, we got within a little of the isle, in which we found many havens on every side, not subject to overflowing, and yet of great capacity, and rivers of clear water emptying themselves easily into the sea, with meadows and herbs and musical birds, some singing upon the shore, and many upon the branches of trees, a still and gentle air compassing the whole country. When pleasant blasts gently stirred the woods the motion of the branches made a continual delightsome melody, like the sound of wind instruments in a solitary place: a kind of clamour also was heard mixed with it, yet not tumultuous nor offensive, but like the noise of a banquet, when some do play on wind instruments, some commend the music, and some with their hands applaud the pipe, or the harp. All which yielded us so great content that we boldly entered the haven, made fast our ship and landed, leaving in her only Scintharus and two more of our companions behind us. Passing along through a sweet meadow we met with the guards that used to sail about the island, who took us and bound us with garlands of roses (which are the strictest bands they have), to be carried to their governor: from them we heard, as we were upon the way, that it was the island of those that are called blessed, and that Rhadamanthus was governor there, to whom we were brought and placed the fourth in order of them that were to be judged.
Delighted by the smell and hoping for better luck after our long journey, we approached the island, where we found many sheltered bays all around, not prone to flooding, yet spacious. Clear rivers flowed easily into the sea, surrounded by meadows, herbs, and singing birds—some on the shore and many in the trees—enveloped by a calm and gentle breeze. When the pleasant winds gently rustled the trees, the movement created a continuous, delightful melody, reminiscent of wind instruments played in solitude. We also heard a pleasant clamor mixed in, not chaotic or unpleasant, but more like the sound of a celebration, where some play wind instruments, others praise the music, and some clap in time with the pipe or harp. This brought us such joy that we confidently entered the harbor, secured our ship, and landed, leaving Scintharus and two of our companions aboard. As we walked through a lovely meadow, we encountered the guards who patrolled the island. They took us and bound us with garlands of roses (the strongest bonds they had) to take us to their governor. Along the way, we learned that this was the island of the blessed, ruled by Rhadamanthus, to whom we were brought and placed fourth in line to be judged.
The first trial was about Ajax, the son of Telamon, whether he were a meet man to be admitted into the society of the Heroes or not: the objections against him were his madness and the killing of himself: and after long pleading to and fro, Rhadamanthus gave this sentence, that for the present he should be put to Hippocrates, the physician of Cos, to be purged with helleborus, and upon the recovery of his wits to have admittance.
The first trial was about Ajax, the son of Telamon, and whether he should be allowed into the society of the Heroes. The objections against him were his madness and that he had killed himself. After a long back-and-forth debate, Rhadamanthus ruled that for now he should be sent to Hippocrates, the physician from Cos, to be treated with helleborus, and once he recovered his sanity, he could be admitted.
The second was a controversy of love, Theseus and Menelaus contending which had the better right to Helen; but Rhadamanthus gave judgment on Menelaus' side, in respect of the manifold labours and perils he had incurred for that marriage' sake, whereas Theseus had wives enough beside to live withal—as the Amazon, and the daughters of Minos. The third was a question of precedency between Alexander, the son of Philip, and Hannibal, the Carthaginian, in which Alexander was preferred, and his throne placed next to the elder Cyrus the Persian.
The second was a love dispute, with Theseus and Menelaus arguing about who had the better claim to Helen. However, Rhadamanthus ruled in favor of Menelaus due to the numerous hardships and dangers he faced for the sake of that marriage, while Theseus had plenty of other wives to live with, like the Amazon and the daughters of Minos. The third issue was about precedence between Alexander, the son of Philip, and Hannibal, the Carthaginian, where Alexander was favored, and his throne was placed next to the elder Cyrus the Persian.
In the fourth place we appeared, and he demanded of us what reason we had, being living men, to take land in that sacred country, and we told him all our adventures in order as they befell us: then he commanded us to stand aside, and considering upon it a great while, in the end proposed it to the benchers, which were many, and among them Aristides the Athenian, surnamed the Just: and when he was provided what sentence to deliver, he said that for our busy curiosity and needless travels we should be accountable after our death; but for the present we should have a time limited for our abode, during which we should feast with the Heroes and then depart, prefixing us seven months' liberty to conclude our tarriance, and no more. Then our garlands fell off from us of themselves, and we were set loose and led into the city to feast with the blessed.
In the fourth place we showed up, and he asked us why, as living men, we thought we had the right to take land in that sacred country. We told him about all our adventures, in the order they happened. He then told us to step aside and thought about it for a long time before finally suggesting it to the judges, many of whom were there, including Aristides the Athenian, known as the Just. Once he was ready to deliver his verdict, he said that because of our restless curiosity and unnecessary travels, we would be accountable after we die; however, for now, we would be allowed a limited time to stay, during which we could feast with the Heroes before leaving. He granted us seven months of freedom to wrap up our stay, and no longer. Then our garlands fell off by themselves, and we were released and led into the city to celebrate with the blessed.
The city was all of gold, compassed with a wall made of the precious stone smaragdus, which had seven gates, every one cut out of a whole piece of timber of cinnamon-tree: the pavement of the city and all the ground within the walls was ivory: the temples of all the gods are built of beryl, with large altars made all of one whole amethyst, upon which they offer their sacrifices: about the city runneth a river of most excellent sweet ointment, in breadth an hundred cubits of the larger measure, and so deep that a man may swim in it with ease. For their baths they have great houses of glass, which they warm with cinnamon: and their bathing-tubs are filled with warm dew instead of water. Their only garments are cobwebs of purple colour; neither have they any bodies, but are intactile and without flesh, a mere shape and presentation only: and being thus bodiless, they yet stand, and are moved, are intelligent, and can speak: and their naked soul seemeth to wander up and down in a corporal likeness: for if a man touch them not he cannot say otherwise, but that they have bodies, altogether like shadows standing upright, and not, as they are, of a dark colour. No man waxeth any older there than he was before, but of what age he comes thither, so he continues. Neither is there any night with them, nor indeed clear day: but like the twilight towards morning before the sun be up, such a kind of light do they live in. They know but one season of the year which is the spring, and feel no other wind but Zephyrus. The region flourisheth with all sorts of flowers, and with all pleasing plants fit for shade: their vines bear fruit twelve times a year, every month once: their pomegranate-trees, their apple-trees, and their other fruit, they say, bear thirteen times in the year, for in the month called Minous they bear twice. Instead of wheat their ears bear them loaves of bread ready baked, like unto mushrooms. About the city are three hundred three-score and five wells of water, and as many of honey, and five hundred of sweet ointment, for they are less than the other. They have seven rivers of milk and eight of wine.
The city was made entirely of gold, surrounded by a wall made of emerald stone, which had seven gates, each carved from a single piece of cinnamon wood. The streets and all the land within the walls were paved with ivory. The temples dedicated to all the gods were built from beryl, with large altars made entirely of one solid piece of amethyst, where they offered their sacrifices. Surrounding the city was a river of exquisite sweet oil, a hundred cubits wide and deep enough for a person to swim in easily. For their baths, they had large glass houses warmed with cinnamon, and their bathing tubs were filled with warm dew instead of water. Their only clothing was made of purple silk, and they had no physical bodies but were intangible and without flesh, merely shapes that presented themselves. Even without bodies, they stood, moved, were intelligent, and could speak. Their naked souls seemed to wander in a bodily form, as without touching them, one could only assume they had bodies, resembling upright shadows, not as they truly were, which had a dark color. No one ages there; they remain as they were when they arrived. There is no night or clear day; instead, they live in a light similar to early morning twilight before the sun rises. They experience only one season of the year, which is spring, and they feel no wind except for the gentle Zephyr. The region is abundant with all kinds of flowers and pleasant shade plants. Their vines produce fruit twelve times a year, once each month; their pomegranate and apple trees bear fruit thirteen times a year, as in the month known as Minous, they bear fruit twice. Instead of wheat, their fields produce baked loaves of bread that resemble mushrooms. Around the city, there are three hundred sixty-five wells of water, as many of honey, and five hundred of sweet oil, as those are fewer than the others. They have seven rivers of milk and eight of wine.
They keep their feast without the city in a field called Elysium, which is a most pleasant meadow, environed with woods of all sorts, so thick that they serve for a shade to all that are invited, who sit upon beds of flowers, and are waited upon, and have everything brought unto them by the winds, unless it be to have the wine filled: and that there is no need of: for about the banqueting place are mighty great trees growing of clear and pure glass, and the fruit of those trees are drinking-cups and other kind of vessels of what fashion or greatness you will: and every man that comes to the feast gathers one or two of those cups, and sets them before him, which will be full of wine presently, and then they drink. Instead of garlands the nightingales and other musical birds gather flowers with their beaks out of the meadows adjoining, and flying over their heads with chirping notes scatter them among them.
They celebrate their feast outside the city in a field called Elysium, which is a lovely meadow surrounded by all kinds of trees, so dense that they provide shade for all the guests. They sit on beds of flowers, have everything brought to them by the winds, except for filling their wine glasses, which isn't necessary because there are huge trees around the banquet area made of clear, pure glass. The fruit of those trees is drinking cups and all sorts of vessels in any shape or size you want. Each guest gathers one or two of those cups and places them in front of themselves, and they will instantly be filled with wine, so they can drink. Instead of garlands, nightingales and other musical birds pick flowers with their beaks from the nearby meadows, flying overhead with cheerful chirps, scattering them among the guests.
They are anointed with sweet ointment in this manner: sundry clouds draw that unguent out of the fountains and the rivers, which settling over the heads of them that are at the banquet, the least blast of wind makes a small rain fall upon them like unto a dew. After supper they spend the time in music and singing: their ditties that are in most request they take out of Homer's verses, who is there present himself and feasteth among them, sitting next above Ulysses: their choirs consist of boys and virgins, which were directed and assisted by Eunomus the Locrian, and Arion the Lesbian, and Anacreon, and Stesichorus, who hath had a place there ever since his reconcilement with Helena. As soon as these have done there enter a second choir of swans, swallows, and nightingales; and when they have ended, the whole woods ring like wind-instruments by the stirring of the air.
They are anointed with sweet oil like this: various clouds draw that oil from the fountains and rivers, which settles over the heads of those at the feast. A light breeze causes a gentle rain to fall on them like dew. After dinner, they enjoy music and singing; their most popular songs come from Homer’s verses, who is there himself, feasting alongside them, sitting just above Ulysses. Their choirs are made up of boys and young women, guided and supported by Eunomus the Locrian, Arion the Lesbian, Anacreon, and Stesichorus, who has had a spot there ever since he reconciled with Helena. Once they finish, a second choir of swans, swallows, and nightingales enters; and when they are done, the entire woods sound like wind instruments stirred by the breeze.
But that which maketh most for their mirth are two wells adjoining to the banqueting place, the one of laughter, the other of pleasure: of these every man drinks to begin the feast withal, which makes them spend the whole time in mirth and laughter.
But what really adds to their happiness are two wells next to the banquet area, one filled with laughter and the other with pleasure. Everyone drinks from these to kick off the feast, which keeps them in high spirits and laughter the whole time.
I will also relate unto you what famous men I saw in that association. There were all the demigods, and all that fought against Troy, excepting Ajax the Locrian: he only, they told me, was tormented in the region of the unrighteous. Of barbarians there was the elder and the younger Cyrus, and Anacharsis the Scythian, Zamolxis the Thracian, and Numa the Italian. There was also Lycurgus the Lacedæmonian, and Phocion and Tellus the Athenians, and all the Wise Men, unless it were Periander.
I will also tell you about the famous people I saw in that group. There were all the demigods and everyone who fought against Troy, except Ajax the Locrian; they said he alone was suffering in the land of the unjust. Among the barbarians, there were the elder and younger Cyrus, Anacharsis the Scythian, Zamolxis the Thracian, and Numa the Italian. I also saw Lycurgus the Spartan, Phocion, and Tellus the Athenians, along with all the Wise Men, except for Periander.
I also saw Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, prattling with Nestor and Palamedes, and close by him stood Hyacinthus the Lacedæmonian, and the gallant Narcissus and Hylas, and other beautiful and lovely youths, and for aught I could gather by him he was far in love with Hyacinthus, for he discoursed with him more than all the rest: for which cause, they said, Rhadamanthus was offended at him, and often threatened to thrust him out of the island if he continued to play the fool in that fashion, and not give over his idle manner of jesting, when he was at their banquet. Only Plato was not present, for they said he dwelled in a city framed by himself, observing the same rule of government and laws as he had prescribed for them to live under.
I also saw Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, chatting with Nestor and Palamedes, and nearby was Hyacinthus from Lacedæmon, along with the brave Narcissus and Hylas, and other beautiful and charming young men. From what I could tell, he was very much in love with Hyacinthus, as he talked to him more than anyone else. For this reason, they said Rhadamanthus was upset with him and often threatened to kick him off the island if he didn’t stop acting foolishly and joking around during their banquet. Only Plato wasn’t there, as they said he lived in a city that he had created himself, following the same system of government and laws that he had set for them to follow.
Aristippus and Epicurus are prime men amongst them, because they are the most jovial good fellows and the best companions. Diogenes the Sinopean was so far altered from the man he was before that he married with Lais the harlot, and was many times so drunk that he would rise and dance about the room as a man out of his senses. Æsop the Phrygian served them for a jester. There was not one Stoic in company but were still busied in ascending the height of virtue's hill: and of Chrysippus we heard that it was not lawful for him by any means to touch upon the island until he have the fourth time purged himself with helleborus. The Academics, they say, were willing enough to come, but that they yet are doubtful and in suspense, and cannot comprehend how there should be any such island; but indeed, I think, they were fearful to come to be judged by Rhadamanthus, because themselves have abolished all kind of judgment: yet many of them, they say, had a desire, and would follow after those that were coming hither, but were so slothful as to give it over because they were not comprehensive, and therefore turned back in the midst of their way.
Aristippus and Epicurus stand out among them as the most cheerful good friends and the best companions. Diogenes from Sinope changed so much from who he used to be that he married Lais the prostitute and often got so drunk that he would get up and dance around the room like a madman. Æsop from Phrygia served as their jester. Not one Stoic in the group was not busy trying to climb the hill of virtue: and we heard that it was not allowed for Chrysippus to step foot on the island until he had cleansed himself with hellebore for the fourth time. The Academics supposedly wanted to come, but they were still unsure and couldn’t understand how there could be such an island; however, I think they were afraid to face judgment from Rhadamanthus, since they have dismissed all forms of judgment themselves. Yet many of them, they say, were eager and wanted to follow those coming here, but they were too lazy to pursue it because they didn’t understand, so they turned back midway.
These were all the men of note that I saw there; and amongst them all Achilles was held to be the best man, and next to him Theseus. For their manner of venery and copulation thus it is: they couple openly in the eyes of all men, both with females and male kind, and no man holds it for any dishonesty. Only Socrates would swear deeply that he accompanied young men in a cleanly fashion, and therefore every man condemned him for a perjured fellow: and Hyacinthus and Narcissus both confessed otherwise for all his denial.
These were all the notable men I saw there; among them, Achilles was considered the best, followed closely by Theseus. As for their way of romance and intimacy, it goes like this: they engage openly in front of everyone, with both women and men, and no one thinks of it as shameful. The only exception was Socrates, who insisted he interacted with young men in a respectful manner, and because of that, everyone condemned him as a liar; meanwhile, Hyacinthus and Narcissus both admitted otherwise despite his denial.
The women there are all in common, and no man takes exception at it, in which respect they are absolutely the best Platonists in the world: and so do the boys yield themselves to any man's pleasure without contradiction.
The women there are all alike, and no man minds that; in this way, they are truly the best Platonists in the world. The boys also submit to any man's wishes without arguing.
After I had spent two or three days in this manner, I went to talk with Homer the poet, our leisure serving us both well, and to know of him what countryman he was, a question with us hard to be resolved, and he said he could not certainly tell himself, because some said he was of Chios, some of Smyrna, and many to be of Colophon; but he said indeed he was a Babylonian, and among his own countrymen not called Homer but Tigranes, and afterwards living as an hostage among the Grecians, he had therefore that name put upon him. Then I questioned him about those verses in his books that are disallowed as not of his making, whether they were written by him or not, and he told me they were all his own, much condemning Zenodotus and Aristarchus, the grammarians, for their weakness in judgment.
After spending a couple of days like this, I went to chat with Homer the poet, since we both had some free time, and I wanted to find out where he was from, a question that was hard for us to figure out. He said he couldn’t say for sure either because some claimed he was from Chios, others from Smyrna, and many thought he was from Colophon. But he said he was actually a Babylonian and among his people, he wasn’t known as Homer but as Tigranes. He later lived as a hostage among the Greeks, which is why he ended up with that name. Then I asked him about the verses in his works that people say he didn’t write, whether they were his or not, and he told me they were all his own, strongly criticizing Zenodotus and Aristarchus, the grammarians, for their poor judgment.
When he had satisfied me in this, I asked him again why he began the first verse of his poem with anger: and he told me it fell out so by chance, not upon any premeditation. I also desired to know of him whether he wrote his Odysseys before his Iliads, as many men do hold: but he said it was not so. As for his blindness which is charged upon him, I soon found it was far otherwise, and perceived it so plainly that I needed not to question him about it.
When he had satisfied me in this, I asked him again why he started the first line of his poem with anger. He told me it happened by chance, not by planning. I also wanted to know if he wrote his Odysseys before his Iliads, as many people believe. He said that wasn’t the case. As for his blindness that is often attributed to him, I soon realized it was quite different, and I saw it clearly enough that I didn’t need to ask him about it.
Thus was I used to do many days when I found him idle, and would go to him and ask him many questions, which he would give me answer to very freely: especially when we talked of a trial he had in the court of justice, wherein he got the better: for Thersites had preferred a bill of complaint against him for abusing him and scoffing at him in his Poem, in which action Homer was acquitted, having Ulysses for his advocate.
This was my routine for many days when I found him doing nothing. I would go to him and ask him lots of questions, and he would answer me quite willingly, especially when we discussed a trial he had in court, which he won. Thersites had filed a complaint against him for insulting and mocking him in his poem, and Homer was acquitted, with Ulysses as his advocate.
About the same time came to us Pythagoras the Samian, who had changed his shape now seven times, and lived in as many lives, and accomplished the periods of his soul. The right half of his body was wholly of gold; and they all agreed that he should have place amongst them, but were doubtful what to call him, Pythagoras or Euphorbus. Empedocles also came to the place, scorched quite over, as if his body had been broiled upon the embers; but could not be admitted for all his great entreaty.
About the same time, Pythagoras from Samos joined us. He had transformed his shape seven times and experienced as many lives, completing the cycles of his soul. The right side of his body was entirely made of gold. Everyone agreed he should be included among them, but they were unsure whether to call him Pythagoras or Euphorbus. Empedocles also arrived, completely scorched, as if he had been roasted over hot coals, but despite his desperate pleas, he couldn't be accepted.
The time passing thus along, the day of prizes for masteries of activity now approached, which they call Thanatusia. The setters of them forth were Achilles the fifth time, and Theseus the seventh time. To relate the whole circumstance would require a long discourse, but the principal points I will deliver. At wrestling Carus, one of the lineage of Hercules, had the best, and wan the garland from Ulysses. The fight with fists was equal between Arius the Ægyptian, who was buried at Corinth, and Epius, that combated for it. There was no prize appointed for the Pancratian fight: neither do I remember who got the best in running: but for poetry, though Homer without question were too good for them all, yet the best was given to Hesiodus. The prizes were all alike, garlands plotted of peacocks' feathers.
As time went on, the day for the rewards for skills in various activities approached, which they called Thanatusia. The event was organized by Achilles for the fifth time and Theseus for the seventh time. Telling the whole story would take a long time, but I’ll share the main points. In wrestling, Carus, a descendant of Hercules, performed best and won the garland from Ulysses. The boxing match ended in a draw between Arius the Egyptian, who was buried in Corinth, and Epius, who fought for it. There was no prize set for the Pancratium fight, and I don’t remember who won the running event. However, in poetry, although Homer was undoubtedly superior to them all, the best prize went to Hesiodus. All the prizes were the same, garlands made of peacock feathers.
As soon as the games were ended, news came to us that the damned crew in the habitation of the wicked had broken their bounds, escaped the gaolers, and were coming to assail the island, led by Phalaris the Agrigentine, Busyris the Ægyptian, Diomedes the Thracian, Sciron, Pituocamptes, and others: which Rhadamanthus hearing, he ranged the Heroes in battle array upon the sea-shore, under the leading of Theseus and Achilles and Ajax Telamonius, who had now recovered his senses, where they joined fight; but the Heroes had the day, Achilles carrying himself very nobly. Socrates also, who was placed in the right wing, was noted for a brave soldier, much better than he was in his lifetime, in the battle at Delium: for when the enemy charged him, he neither fled nor changed countenance: wherefore afterwards, in reward of his valour, he had a prize set out for him on purpose, which was a beautiful and spacious garden, planted in the suburbs of the city, whereunto he invited many, and disputed with them there, giving it the name of Necracademia.
As soon as the games ended, we heard that the cursed crew from that wicked place had broken their bonds, escaped their jailers, and were coming to attack the island, led by Phalaris from Agrigentum, Busyris from Egypt, Diomedes from Thrace, Sciron, Pituocamptes, and others. Hearing this, Rhadamanthus lined up the heroes in battle formation on the shore, led by Theseus, Achilles, and Ajax Telamonius, who had now regained his senses. They engaged in battle, and the heroes emerged victorious, with Achilles demonstrating remarkable bravery. Socrates, positioned on the right flank, was recognized as a courageous soldier, much braver than he had been in life, during the fight at Delium. When the enemy charged him, he neither ran away nor flinched. As a reward for his bravery, they set up a prize for him: a beautiful and spacious garden planted in the outskirts of the city, where he invited many people and debated with them, calling it Necracademia.
Then we took the vanquished prisoners, and bound them, and sent them back to be punished with greater torments.
Then we took the defeated prisoners, tied them up, and sent them back to be punished with even greater torments.
This fight was also penned by Homer, who, at my departure, gave me the book to show my friends, which I afterwards lost and many things else beside: but the first verse of the poem I remember was this: "Tell me now, Muse, how the dead Heroes fought."
This battle was also written by Homer, who, when I left, gave me the book to share with my friends, but I later lost it along with many other things: however, I still remember the first line of the poem, which was: "Tell me now, Muse, how the dead Heroes fought."
When they overcome in fight, they have a custom to make a feast with sodden beans, wherewith they banquet together for joy of their victory: only Pythagoras had no part with them, but sat aloof off, and lost his dinner because he could not away with beans.
When they win a battle, they have a tradition of throwing a feast with boiled beans, where they celebrate their victory together: only Pythagoras did not join them, but sat off to the side and missed his meal because he couldn’t stand beans.
Six months were now passed over, and the seventh halfway onwards, when a new business was begot amongst us. For Cinyras the son of Scintharus, a proper tall young man, had long been in love with Helena, and it might plainly be perceived that she as fondly doted upon him, for they would still be winking and drinking one to another whilst they were a-feasting, and rise alone together, and wander up and down in the wood. This humour increasing, and knowing not what course to take, Cinyras' device was to steal away Helena, whom he found as pliable to run away with him, to some of the islands adjoining, either to Phello, or Tyroessa, having before combined with three of the boldest fellows in my company to join with them in their conspiracy; but never acquainted his father with it, knowing that he would surely punish him for it.
Six months had passed, and we were halfway through the seventh, when a new situation arose among us. Cinyras, the son of Scintharus, a tall and handsome young man, had been in love with Helena for a long time, and it was clear that she was just as infatuated with him. They would often wink at each other and drink together while feasting, and they would sneak off alone to wander through the woods. As their affection grew, and unsure of what to do next, Cinyras came up with a plan to run away with Helena. He found her willing to escape with him to one of the nearby islands, either Phello or Tyroessa, after secretly teaming up with three of the boldest guys in my group for their scheme. However, he never told his father about it, knowing that he would certainly be punished.
Being resolved upon this, they watched their time to put it in practice: for when night was come, and I absent (for I was fallen asleep at the feast), they gave a slip to all the rest, and went away with Helena to shipboard as fast as they could. Menelaus waking about midnight, and finding his bed empty, and his wife gone, made an outcry, and calling up his brother, went to the court of Rhadamanthus.
Determined to do this, they waited for the right moment to put their plan into action: when night fell and I was asleep (having dozed off at the feast), they slipped away from everyone else and hurried to the ship with Helena. Menelaus woke up around midnight, discovered his bed empty, and realized his wife was gone. He shouted in alarm and called his brother, then went to the court of Rhadamanthus.
As soon as the day appeared, the scouts told them they had descried a ship, which by that time was got far off into the sea. Then Rhadamanthus set out a vessel made of one whole piece of timber of asphodelus wood, manned with fifty of the Heroes to pursue after them, which were so willing on their way, that by noon they had overtaken them newly entered into the milky ocean, not far from Tyroessa, so near were they got to make an escape. Then took we their ship and hauled it after us with a chain of roses and brought it back again.
As soon as the day broke, the scouts told them they had spotted a ship, which had already drifted far out into the sea. Then Rhadamanthus launched a boat made from a single piece of asphodel wood, crewed by fifty heroes to chase after them. They were so eager that by noon they had caught up with the ship, just as it was entering the milky ocean, not far from Tyroessa, and they were really close to making an escape. Then we took their ship and towed it back with a chain of roses.
Rhadamanthus first examined Cinyras and his companions whether they had any other partners in this plot, and they confessing none, were adjudged to be tied fast by the privy members and sent into the place of the wicked, there to be tormented, after they had been scourged with rods made of mallows. Helena, all blubbered with tears, was so ashamed of herself that she would not show her face. They also decreed to send us packing out of the country, our prefixed time being come, and that we should stay there no longer than the next morrow: wherewith I was much aggrieved and wept bitterly to leave so good a place and turn wanderer again I knew not whither: but they comforted me much in telling me that before many years were past I should be with them again, and showed me a chair and a bed prepared for me against the time to come near unto persons of the best quality.
Rhadamanthus first questioned Cinyras and his friends to see if they had any other accomplices in this scheme. When they admitted they didn’t, they were sentenced to be tied up by their private parts and sent to the place of the damned, where they would be tortured after being whipped with rods made from mallows. Helena, who was tear-streaked and embarrassed, wouldn’t show her face. They also decided to expel us from the country, as our time there was up, and that we would have to leave by the next morning. This upset me greatly, and I cried hard at the thought of leaving such a wonderful place and becoming a wanderer again, not knowing where I would go. But they comforted me by saying that in a few years, I would be with them again, and they showed me a chair and a bed prepared for me for that future time, close to people of high status.
Then went I to Rhadamanthus, humbly beseeching him to tell me my future fortunes, and to direct me in my course; and he told me that after many travels and dangers, I should at last recover my country, but would not tell me the certain time of my return: and showing me the islands adjoining, which were five in number, and a sixth a little further off, he said, Those nearest are the islands of the ungodly, which you see burning all in a light fire, but the other sixth is the island of dreams, and beyond that is the island of Calypso, which you cannot see from hence. When you are past these, you shall come into the great continent, over against your own country, where you shall suffer many afflictions, and pass through many nations, and meet with men of inhuman conditions, and at length attain to the other continent.
Then I went to Rhadamanthus, humbly asking him to tell me about my future and guide me on my journey. He told me that after many travels and dangers, I would eventually return to my homeland, but he wouldn’t specify the exact time of my return. He pointed out the nearby islands, five in total, plus a sixth one a bit farther away. He said, "The closest ones are the islands of the wicked, which you see burning with a bright fire. The sixth one is the island of dreams, and beyond that is the island of Calypso, which you can't see from here. Once you get past these, you will enter the great mainland, opposite your country, where you will face many hardships, travel through various nations, encounter cruel people, and finally reach the other continent."
When he had told me this, he plucked a root of mallows out of the ground, and reached it to me, commanding me in my greatest perils to make my prayers to that: advising me further neither to rake in the fire with my knife, nor to feed upon lupins, nor to come near a boy when he is past eighteen years of age: if I were mindful of this, the hopes would be great that I should come to the island again.
When he told me this, he pulled a mallow root out of the ground and handed it to me, urging me in my toughest times to pray with it. He also warned me not to poke around in the fire with my knife, not to eat lupins, and to stay away from boys over eighteen. If I kept this in mind, there would be a good chance I’d return to the island again.
Then we prepared for our passage, and feasted with them at the usual hour, and next morrow I went to Homer, entreating him to do so much as make an epigram of two verses for me, which he did: and I erected a pillar of berylstone near unto the haven, and engraved them upon it. The epigram was this:
Then we got ready for our journey and had a feast with them at the usual time. The next morning, I went to Homer and asked him if he could write a two-line epigram for me, which he did. I set up a pillar of berylstone near the harbor and had it engraved with the lines. The epigram was this:
Lucian, the gods' belov'd, did once attain
To see all this, and then go home again.
Lucian, the beloved of the gods, once got to
See all of this, and then went home again.
After that day's tarrying, we put to sea, brought onward on our way by the Heroes, where Ulysses closely coming to me that Penelope might not see him, conveyed a letter into my hand to deliver to Calypso in the isle of Ogygia. Rhadamanthus also sent Nauplius, the ferryman, along with us, that if it were our fortune to put into those islands, no man should lay hands upon us, because we were bent upon other employments.
After that day spent waiting, we set sail, guided by the Heroes, when Ulysses came close to me so Penelope wouldn't see him. He handed me a letter to deliver to Calypso on the island of Ogygia. Rhadamanthus also sent Nauplius, the ferryman, with us so that if we happened to land on those islands, no one would bother us since we were focused on other matters.
No sooner had we passed beyond the smell of that sweet odour but we felt a horrible filthy stink, like pitch and brimstone burning, carrying an intolerable scent with it as if men were broiling upon burning coals: the air was dark and muddy, from which distilled a pitchy kind of dew. We heard also the lash of the whips, and the roarings of the tormented: yet went we not to visit all the islands, but that wherein we landed was of this form: it was wholly compassed about with steep, sharp, and craggy rocks, without either wood or water: yet we made a shift to scramble up among the cliffs, and so went forwards in a way quite overgrown with briars and thorns through a most villainous ghastly country, and coming at last to the prison and place of torment we wondered to see the nature and quality of the soil, which brought forth no other flowers but swords and daggers, and round about it ran certain rivers, the first of dirt, the second of blood, and the innermost of burning fire, which was very broad and unpassable, floating like water, and working like the waves of the sea, full of sundry fishes, some as big as firebrands, others of a less size like coals of fire, and these they call Lychniscies.
No sooner had we moved past that sweet smell than we were hit by a horrible, filthy stench, like burning pitch and sulfur, carrying an unbearable scent as if men were cooking over flames: the air was dark and muddy, with a kind of pitchy dew dripping from it. We also heard the crack of whips and the cries of the tortured: yet we didn’t explore all the islands, only the one where we landed, which was shaped like this: it was completely surrounded by steep, sharp, craggy rocks, without any wood or water. Still, we managed to climb up among the cliffs and continued on a path overgrown with briars and thorns through a truly dreadful, eerie landscape. When we finally arrived at the prison and place of torment, we were shocked by the nature of the land, which produced no flowers but swords and daggers. Surrounding it were several rivers: the first was filled with dirt, the second with blood, and the innermost was a wide, impassable river of burning fire, flowing like water and churning like ocean waves, full of strange fish, some as big as brands of fire, others smaller like glowing coals, and these are called Lychniscies.
There was but one narrow entrance into it, and Timon of Athens appointed to keep the door, yet we got in by the help of Nauplius, and saw them that were tormented, both kings and private persons very many, of which there were some that I knew, for there I saw Cinyras tied by private members, and hanging up in the smoke. But the greatest torments of all are inflicted upon them that told any lies in their lifetime, and wrote untruly, as Ctesias the Cnidian, Herodotus, and many other, which I 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. We therefore returned speedily to our ship (for we could endure the sight no longer), and taking our leaves of Nauplius, sent him back again.
There was only one narrow entrance into it, and Timon of Athens had been assigned to keep the door, but we managed to get in with the help of Nauplius. We saw many people being tormented, both kings and regular folks, including some I recognized; I saw Cinyras tied by his private parts and hung up in the smoke. The worst punishments were inflicted on those who had lied during their lives or wrote falsehoods, like Ctesias the Cnidian, Herodotus, and many others. Seeing this, I felt a strong hope that I would never end up there, since I don't think I've ever told a lie in my life. So, we quickly returned to our ship (we couldn’t bear to watch any longer) and said our goodbyes to Nauplius, sending him back.
A little after appeared the Isle of Dreams near unto us, an obscure country and unperspicuous to the eye, endued with the same quality as dreams themselves are: for as we drew, it still gave back and fled from us, that it seemed to be farther off than at the first, but in the end we attained it and entered the haven called Hypnus, and adjoined to the gate of ivory, where the temple of Alectryon stands, and took land somewhat late in the evening.
A little later, the Isle of Dreams appeared nearby, a mysterious land that was unclear to the eye, sharing the same nature as dreams themselves: as we approached, it consistently receded and seemed farther away than before. But eventually, we reached it and entered the harbor called Hypnus, next to the gate of ivory, where the temple of Alectryon is located, and we landed a bit late in the evening.
Entering the gate we saw many dreams of sundry fashions; but I will first tell you somewhat of the city, because no man else hath written any description of it: only Homer hath touched it a little, but to small purpose.
Entering the gate, we saw many dreams in various styles; but first, let me share a bit about the city, because no one else has written a description of it: only Homer mentioned it briefly, but it was of little significance.
It is round about environed with a wood, the trees whereof are exceeding high poppies and mandragoras, in which an infinite number of owls do nestle, and no other birds to be seen in the island: near unto it is a river running, called by them Nyctiporus, and at the gates are two wells, the one named Negretus, the other Pannychia. The wall of the city is high and of a changeable colour, like unto the rainbow, in which are four gates, though Homer speak but of two: for there are two which look toward the fields of sloth, the one made of iron, the other of potter's clay, through which those dreams have passage that represent fearful, bloody, and cruel matters: the other two behold the haven and the sea, of which the one is made of horn, the other of ivory, which we went in at.
It is surrounded by a forest, with extremely tall trees, poppies, and mandrakes, where countless owls nest, and no other birds are found on the island. Nearby, there's a river called Nyctiporus, and at the gates, there are two wells, one named Negretus and the other Pannychia. The city wall is high and changes color like a rainbow, and it has four gates, though Homer only mentions two. Two of the gates face the fields of laziness, one is made of iron, and the other of pottery, through which dreams that show terrifying, violent, and cruel scenes pass. The other two gates look out onto the harbor and the sea, one made of horn and the other of ivory, which we entered through.
As we entered the city, on the right hand stands the temple of the Night, whom, with Alectryon, they reverence above all the gods: for he hath also a temple built for him near unto the haven. On the left hand stands the palace of sleep, for he is the sovereign king over them all, and hath deputed two great princes to govern under him, namely, Taraxion, the son of Matogenes, and Plutocles, the son of Phantasion.
As we entered the city, on the right side is the temple of Night, which, along with Alectryon, they honor above all the gods: for there is also a temple built for him near the harbor. On the left side is the palace of Sleep, as he is the supreme ruler over them all, and has appointed two great princes to govern under him, namely, Taraxion, the son of Matogenes, and Plutocles, the son of Phantasion.
In the middest of the market-place is a well, by them called Careotis, and two temples adjoining, the one of falsehood, the other of truth, which have either of them a private cell peculiar to the priests, and an oracle, in which the chief prophet is Antiphon, the interpreter of dreams, who was preferred by Sleep to that place of dignity.
In the middle of the marketplace is a well, known as Careotis, and two nearby temples—one dedicated to falsehood and the other to truth. Each has its own private area for the priests and an oracle, where the main prophet is Antiphon, the dream interpreter, who was chosen by Sleep for that prestigious position.
These dreams are not all alike either in nature or shape, for some of them are long, beautiful, and pleasing: others again are as short and deformed. Some make show to be of gold, and others to be as base and beggarly. Some of them had wings, and were of monstrous forms: others set out in pomp, as it were in a triumph, representing the appearances of kings, gods, and other persons.
These dreams are not all the same in nature or form; some are long, beautiful, and pleasant, while others are short and misshapen. Some seem to be made of gold, while others appear cheap and shabby. Some of them had wings and were bizarre in appearance; others displayed grandeur, like a triumph, depicting kings, gods, and other figures.
Many of them were of our acquaintance, for they had been seen of us before, which came unto us and saluted us as their old friends, and took us and lulled us asleep, and feasted us nobly and courteously, promising beside all other entertainment which was sumptuous and costly, to make us kings and princes. Some of them brought us home to our own country to show us our friends there, and come back with us the next morrow.
Many of them were familiar to us, as we had seen them before. They greeted us like old friends, took us in, lulled us to sleep, and treated us to a lavish meal, promising us all sorts of luxurious entertainment. They even vowed to make us kings and princes. Some of them took us back to our own country to introduce us to our friends there and promised to return with us the next day.
Thus we spent thirty days and as many nights among them, sleeping and feasting all the while, until a sudden clap of thunder awakened us all, and we starting up, provided ourselves of victuals, and took sea again, and on the third day landed in Ogygia. But upon the way I opened the letter I was to deliver, and read the contents, which were these:
Thus, we spent thirty days and nights with them, sleeping and feasting all the while, until a sudden clap of thunder woke us all up. We quickly grabbed some food and set out to sea again, and on the third day, we landed in Ogygia. But on the way, I opened the letter I was supposed to deliver and read its contents, which were these:
"Ulysses to Calypso sendeth greeting. This is to give you to understand that after my departure from you in the vessel I made in haste for myself, I suffered shipwreck, and hardly escaped by the help of Leucothea into the country of the Phæacks, who sent me to mine own home, where I found many that were wooers to my wife, and riotously consumed my means; but I slew them all, and was afterwards killed myself by my son Telegonus, whom I begat of Circe, and am now in the island of the blessed, where I daily repent myself for refusing to live with you, and forsaking the immortality proffered me by you; but if I can spy a convenient time, I will give them all the slip and come to you."
"Ulysses sends greetings to Calypso. I want you to know that after I left you on the ship I quickly made for myself, I was shipwrecked and barely escaped with the help of Leucothea to the land of the Phaeacians, who sent me back home. There, I found many suitors after my wife, wasting my wealth, but I killed them all. Later, I was killed by my son Telegonus, whom I had with Circe. Now, I am in the island of the blessed, where I regret turning down the chance to live with you and the immortality you offered me. But if I find the right moment, I will slip away and come to you."
This was the effect of the letter, with some addition concerning us, that we should have entertainment: and far had I not gone from the sea but I found such a cave as Homer speaks of, and she herself working busily at her wool. When she had received the letter, and brought us in, she began to weep and take on grievously, but afterwards she called us to meat, and made us very good cheer, asking us many questions concerning Ulysses and Penelope, whether she was so beautiful and modest as Ulysses had often before bragged of her.
This was the impact of the letter, along with some extra info about us, that we would be entertained: and before I had traveled far from the sea, I discovered a cave just like the one Homer described, and she herself was busy working with her wool. After she received the letter and welcomed us in, she started to cry and seemed very upset, but then she invited us to eat and made sure we were happy, asking us lots of questions about Ulysses and Penelope, wondering if she was as beautiful and modest as Ulysses had often boasted.
And we made her such answer as we thought would give her best content: and departing to our ship, reposed ourselves near unto the shore, and in the morning put to sea, where we were taken with a violent storm, which tossed us two days together, and on the third we fell among the Colocynthopiratans. These are a wild kind of men, that issue out of the islands adjoining, and prey upon passengers, and for their shipping have mighty great gourds six cubits in length, which they make hollow when they are ripe, and cleanse out all that is within them, and use the rinds for ships, making their masts of reeds, and their sails of the gourd leaves.
And we gave her the response that we thought would make her happiest. Afterward, we went back to our ship, rested near the shore, and set sail in the morning. We were caught in a violent storm that tossed us around for two days, and on the third day, we encountered the Colocynthopiratans. These are a wild group of men who come from the nearby islands and attack travelers. They use gigantic gourds, six cubits long, for their boats. They hollow them out when they are ripe, clean out the insides, and use the rinds as boats, making their masts from reeds and their sails from gourd leaves.
These set upon us with two ships furnished and fought with us, and wounded many, casting at us instead of stones the seeds of those gourds. The fight was continued with equal fortune until about noon, at which time, behind the Colocynthopiratans, we espied the Caryonautans coming on, who, as it appeared, were enemies to the other, for when they saw them approach, they forsook us and turned about to fight with them; and in the mean space we hoist sail and away, leaving them together by the ears, and no doubt but the Caryonautans had the better of the day, for they exceeded in number, having five ships well furnished, and their vessels of greater strength, for they are made of nutshells cloven in the midst and cleansed, of which every half is fifteen fathom in length.
They attacked us with two ships and fought fiercely, injuring many of us by throwing the seeds of gourds instead of stones. The battle went on evenly until about noon, when we noticed the Caryonautans approaching behind the Colocynthopiratans. It seemed they were enemies because when they saw the Caryonautans coming, they abandoned us to fight them instead. Meanwhile, we quickly set sail and left them to their conflict, and it was clear that the Caryonautans had the upper hand since they had more ships—five well-equipped ones— and their vessels were stronger, made from halved and cleaned nutshells, each half measuring fifteen fathoms in length.
When we were got out of sight we were careful for the curing of our hurt men, and from that time forwards went no more unarmed, fearing continually to be assaulted on the sudden: and good cause we had: for before sun-setting some twenty men or thereabouts, which also were pirates, made towards us, riding upon monstrous great dolphins, which carried them surely: and when their riders gat upon their backs, would neigh like horses. When they were come near us, they divided themselves, some on the one side, and some on the other, and flung at us with dried cuttle-fishes and the eyes of sea-crabs: but when we shot at them again and hurt them, they would not abide it, but fled to the island, the most of them wounded.
When we were out of sight, we focused on taking care of our injured men, and from then on, we never went unarmed, constantly fearing a sudden attack. And we had good reason for that: before sunset, about twenty men who were also pirates approached us, riding on huge dolphins that carried them effortlessly. When they climbed onto the dolphins' backs, the creatures would neigh like horses. As they got closer, they split into two groups, one on each side, and started throwing dried cuttlefish and the eyes of sea crabs at us. But when we shot back and hit them, they couldn't take it and ran back to the island, most of them injured.
About midnight, the sea being calm, we fell before we were aware upon a mighty great halcyon's nest, in compass no less than threescore furlongs, in which the halcyon herself sailed, as she was hatching her eggs, in quantity almost equalling the nest, for when she took her wings, the blast of her feathers had like to have overturned our ship, making a lamentable noise as she flew along.
About midnight, with the sea calm, we unexpectedly stumbled upon a huge halcyon nest, measuring at least sixty furlongs in circumference. The halcyon was there, tending to her eggs, which were almost as numerous as the nest itself. When she spread her wings, the force of her feathers almost capsized our ship, creating a heartrending sound as she flew away.
As soon as it was day, we got upon it, and found it to be a nest, fashioned like a great lighter, with trees plaited and wound one within another, in which were five hundred eggs, every one bigger than a tun of Chios measure, and so near their time of hatching that the young chickens might be seen and began to cry. Then with an axe we hewed one of the eggs in pieces, and cut out a young one that had no feathers, which yet was bigger than twenty of our vultures.
As soon as it was daylight, we got to work and discovered a nest, shaped like a large boat, made from trees intertwined with each other. Inside, there were five hundred eggs, each larger than a tun from Chios, so close to hatching that we could see the chicks moving and starting to cry. We then used an axe to break one of the eggs and pulled out a featherless chick, which was still bigger than twenty of our vultures.
When we had gone some two hundred furlongs from this nest, fearful prodigies and strange tokens appeared unto us, for the carved goose, that stood for an ornament on the stern of our ship, suddenly flushed out with feathers and began to cry. Scintharus, our pilot, that was a bald man, in an instant was covered with hair: and which was more strange than all the rest, the mast of our ship began to bud out with branches and to bear fruit at the top, both of figs and great clusters of grapes, but not yet ripe. Upon the sight of this we had great cause to be troubled in mind, and therefore besought the gods to avert from us the evil that by these tokens was portended.
When we had traveled about two hundred miles from this place, strange and fearful signs appeared before us. The carved goose that was an ornament on the back of our ship suddenly burst into feathers and started to squawk. Scintharus, our bald pilot, instantly sprouted hair. Even stranger, the mast of our ship began to grow branches and produce fruit at the top, including figs and large clusters of grapes, though they weren’t ripe yet. Seeing this, we were quite disturbed and prayed to the gods to protect us from the bad omen these signs suggested.
And we had not passed full out five hundred furlongs, but we came in view of a mighty wood of pine-trees and cypress, which made us think it had been land, when it was indeed a sea of infinite depth, planted with trees that had no roots, but floated firm and upright, standing upon the water. When we came to it and found how the case stood with us, we knew not what to do with ourselves. To go forwards through the trees was altogether impossible: they were so thick and grew so close together: and to turn again with safety was as much unlikely.
And we hadn't gone even five hundred miles when we saw a huge forest of pine and cypress trees. It made us think we were looking at land, but it was really an endless sea, with trees that had no roots but floated upright on the water. When we got closer and realized how things actually were, we didn’t know what to do. It was impossible to go forward through the trees since they were so dense and packed closely together, and turning back safely seemed just as unlikely.
I therefore got me up to the top of the highest tree to discover, if I could, what was beyond; and I found the breadth of the wood to be fifty furlongs or thereabout, and then appeared another ocean to receive us. Wherefore we thought it best to assay to lift up our ship upon the leaves of the trees which were thick grown, and by that means pass over, if it were possible, to the other ocean: and so we did: for fastening a strong cable to our ship, we wound it about the tops of the trees, and with much ado poised it up to the height, and placing it upon the branches, spread our sails, and were carried as it were upon the sea, dragging our ship after us by the help of the wind which set it forwards. At which time a verse of the poet Antimachus came to my remembrance, wherein he speaks of sailing over tops of trees.
I climbed to the top of the tallest tree to see if I could figure out what was beyond, and I discovered that the width of the forest was about fifty furlongs, after which another ocean appeared to greet us. So, we thought it best to try to lift our ship onto the thick branches of the trees and, if possible, pass over to the other ocean. We did just that: we secured a strong cable to our ship, wrapped it around the tops of the trees, and with a lot of effort, we lifted it to the height, placed it on the branches, spread our sails, and were carried as if we were on the sea, dragging our ship along with the wind pushing us forward. At that moment, a line from the poet Antimachus came to mind, where he talks about sailing over the tops of trees.
When we had passed over the wood, and were come to the sea again, we let down our ship in the same manner as we took it up. Then sailed we forwards in a pure and clear stream, until we came to an exceeding great gulf or trench in the sea, made by the division of the waters as many times is upon land, where we see great clefts made in the ground by earthquakes and other means. Whereupon we struck sail and our ship stayed upon a sudden when it was at the pit's brim ready to tumble in: and we stooping down to look into it, thought it could be no less than a thousand furlongs deep, most fearful and monstrous to behold, for the water stood as it were divided into two parts, but looking on our right hand afar off, we perceived a bridge of water, which to our seeming, did join the two seas together and crossed over from the one to the other. Wherefore we laboured with oars to get unto it, and over it we went and with much ado got to the further side beyond all our expectation.
Once we crossed over the woods and reached the sea again, we lowered our ship just like we had when we first took it up. Then we sailed forward in a clear and calm stream until we encountered a vast gulf or trench in the sea, created by the separation of the waters, much like how we see deep cracks forming in the ground from earthquakes and other causes. At that point, we dropped our sails, and our ship suddenly stopped at the edge, ready to fall in. We bent down to look into it and thought it must be at least a thousand furlongs deep, a truly terrifying sight, as the water appeared to be divided into two parts. Looking to our right in the distance, we noticed a bridge of water that seemed to connect the two seas, allowing passage from one to the other. So, we rowed hard to reach it, and after a lot of effort, we managed to get to the other side beyond all our expectations.
Then a calm sea received us, and in it we found an island, not very great, but inhabited with unsociable people, for in it were dwelling wild men named Bucephalians, that had horns on their heads like the picture of Minotaurus, where we went ashore to look for fresh water and victuals, for ours was all spent: and there we found water enough, but nothing else appeared; only we heard a great bellowing and roaring a little way off, which we thought to have been some herd of cattle, and going forwards, fell upon those men, who espying us, chased us back again, and took three of our company: the rest fled towards the sea.
Then a calm sea welcomed us, and we came across an island, not very large, but populated by unfriendly people. The island was home to wild men called Bucephalians, who had horns on their heads like the image of the Minotaur. We went ashore to search for fresh water and food because our supplies were all gone. We found plenty of water, but nothing else appeared; we only heard loud bellowing and roaring nearby, which we thought was a herd of cattle. As we moved closer, we encountered those men, who spotted us and chased us back, capturing three of our crew while the rest fled towards the sea.
Then we all armed ourselves, not meaning to leave our friends unrevenged, and set upon the Bucephalians as they were dividing the flesh of them that were slain, and put them all to flight, and pursued after them, of whom we killed fifty, and two we took alive, and so returned with our prisoners; but food we could find none.
Then we all got ready for a fight, not wanting to leave our friends unavenged, and attacked the Bucephalians while they were dividing the flesh of those who had been killed. We drove them all away and chased after them, killing fifty and capturing two alive, and then we returned with our prisoners; however, we couldn't find any food.
Then the company were all earnest with me to kill those whom we had taken; but I did not like so well of that, thinking it better to keep them in bonds until ambassadors should come from the Bucephalians to ransom them that were taken, and indeed they did: and I well understood by the nodding of their heads, and their lamentable lowing, like petitioners, what their business was.
Then the company all urged me to kill those we had captured; however, I wasn't too keen on that idea, believing it would be better to keep them in captivity until ambassadors arrived from the Bucephalians to negotiate their ransom. And indeed they did come: I could tell by the nodding of their heads and their sorrowful lowing, like supplicants, what they were there for.
So we agreed upon a ransom of sundry cheeses and dried fish and onions and four deer with three legs apiece, two behind and one before. Upon these conditions we delivered those whom we had taken, and tarrying there but one day, departed.
So we agreed on a ransom of various cheeses, dried fish, onions, and four deer, each with three legs—two in the back and one in the front. Under these terms, we released those we had captured and, after staying for just one day, left.
Then the fishes began to show themselves in the sea, and the birds flew over our heads, and all other tokens of our approach to land appeared unto us. Within a while after we saw men travelling the seas, and a new found manner of navigation, themselves supplying the office both for ship and sailor, and I will tell you how. As they lie upon their backs in the water and their privy members standing upright, which are of a large size and fit for such a purpose, they fasten thereto a sail, and holding their cords in their hands, when the wind hath taken it, are carried up and down as please themselves.
Then the fish started to appear in the sea, and the birds flew overhead, and all other signs of our approach to land became visible to us. Soon after, we saw people navigating the seas in a new way, taking on the roles of both ship and sailor themselves, and I’ll explain how. They lie on their backs in the water with their legs held up, which are of a good size for this purpose, attach a sail to them, and hold onto cords in their hands. When the wind catches the sail, they’re carried around as it suits them.
After these followed others riding upon cork, for they yoke two dolphins together, and drive them on (performing themselves the place of a coachman), which draw the cork along after them. These never offered us any violence, nor once shunned our sight; but passed along in our company without fear, in a peaceable manner, wondering at the greatness of our ship, and beholding it on every side.
After them came others riding on cork, as they paired two dolphins together and acted as their coachman, having them pull the cork along behind. They never attacked us or avoided our presence; instead, they moved alongside us without fear, peacefully amazed by the size of our ship, looking at it from every angle.
At evening we arrived upon a small island, inhabited, as it seemed, only by women, which could speak the Greek language; for they came unto us, gave us their hands, and saluted us, all attired like wantons, beautiful and young, wearing long mantles down to the foot: the island was called Cabbalusa and the city Hydramardia. So the women received us, and every one of them took aside one of us for herself, and made him her guest. But I pausing a little upon it (for my heart misgave me), looked narrowly round about, and saw the bones of many men, and the skulls lying together in a corner; yet I thought not good to make any stir, or to call my company about me, or to put on arms; but taking the mallow into my hand, made my earnest prayers thereto that I might escape out of those present perils.
In the evening, we reached a small island that seemed to be inhabited only by women who spoke Greek. They approached us, greeted us with handshakes, and welcomed us, all dressed provocatively, beautiful and young, wearing long robes that went all the way to their feet. The island was called Cabbalusa and the city was Hydramardia. The women welcomed us, and each one chose a man to entertain as her guest. But I hesitated (as I felt uneasy), looked around carefully, and saw the bones of many men and skulls gathered in a corner; yet I thought it best not to make a scene, call my companions, or arm myself. Instead, I picked the mallow in my hand and earnestly prayed to escape the dangers I faced.
Within a while after, when the strange female came to wait upon me, I perceived she had not the legs of a woman, but the hoofs of an ass. Whereupon I drew my sword, and taking fast hold of her, bound her, and examined her upon the point: and she, though unwillingly, confessed that they were sea-women, called Onosceleans, and they fed upon strangers that travelled that way. For, said she, when we have made them drunk, we go to bed to them, and in their sleep, make a hand of them.
Not long after that, when the strange woman came to serve me, I noticed she didn’t have the legs of a woman but the hooves of a donkey. So, I drew my sword, grabbed her firmly, tied her up, and questioned her about it. Though she was hesitant, she admitted that they were sea-women called Onosceleans, and they fed on travelers who passed that way. She said that when we get them drunk, we go to bed with them, and while they sleep, we take advantage of them.
I hearing this, left her bound in the place where she was, and went up to the roof of the house, where I made an outcry, and called my company to me, and when they were come together, acquainted them with all that I had heard, and showed them the bones, and brought them into her that was bound, who suddenly was turned into water, and could not be seen. Notwithstanding, I thrust my sword into the water to see what would come of it, and it was changed into blood.
Hearing this, I left her tied up where she was and went up to the roof of the house, where I shouted and called my friends to join me. When they gathered, I told them everything I had heard, showed them the bones, and brought them to the one who was tied up. Suddenly, she transformed into water and vanished. Nevertheless, I plunged my sword into the water to see what would happen, and it turned into blood.
Then we made all the haste we could to our ship, and got us away, and as soon as it was clear day, we had sight of the mainland, which we judged to be the country opposite to our continent. Whereupon we worshipped, and made our prayers, and took council what was now to be done. Some thought it best only to go a-land and so return back again: others thought it better to leave our ship there and march into the mid-land to try what the inhabitants would do: but whilst we were upon this consultation a violent storm fell upon us, which drave our ship against the shore, and burst it all in pieces, and with much ado we all swam to land with our arms, every man catching what he could lay hands on.
Then we hurried as fast as we could to our ship and got away. As soon as it was light, we saw the mainland, which we believed to be the land opposite our continent. So we prayed and sought advice on what to do next. Some thought it was best to go ashore and then return, while others thought it would be better to leave our ship and head inland to see how the locals would react. But while we were discussing this, a violent storm hit us, smashing our ship against the shore and breaking it to pieces. With great effort, we all swam to land, each person grabbing whatever they could hold on to.
These are all the occurrences I can acquaint you withal, till the time of our landing, both in the sea, and in our course to the islands, and in the air, and after that in the whale; and when we came out again what betid unto us among the Heroes and among the dreams, and lastly among the Bucephalians and the Onosceleans. What passed upon land the next books shall deliver.
These are all the events I can share with you up until we landed, both at sea and on our journey to the islands, in the air, and afterward in the whale. Once we emerged, I'll tell you what happened with the Heroes and the dreams, and lastly with the Bucephalians and the Onosceleans. What occurred on land will be covered in the next books.
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