Book 5

1.1. After three days' sailing we came to Alexandria. As I went up by the gate they call the Gate of the Sun, the beauty of the city flashed upon me at once, and filled my eyes with delight.

1.2. A row of columns ran straight on either side, from the Gate of the Sun to the Gate of the Moon; for these are the city's gatekeepers. Between the rows of columns lay the open heart of the city.

1.3. The road through it was long, and to walk it was like a journey abroad at home. Going forward a few stades from the city, I came to the place named after Alexander. From there I saw another city, and the beauty split in two.

1.4. For as great as was the line of columns running straight ahead, just so great was another running crosswise. Dividing my eyes among all the streets, I was a spectator who could not be satisfied, and could not take in the whole of its beauty at all.

1.5. Some things I was looking at, some I was about to look at, some I was hurrying to see, and some I did not wish to pass by. What I saw held my gaze; what I expected drew it onward. So I led myself round through all the streets, and, sick with longing for the sight, I said at last, wearied: "My eyes,

1.6. we are beaten." I saw two things strange and out of all reckoning: a rivalry of size with beauty, and a contest of the people with the city, and both were winning. For the city was larger than a continent, the people more numerous than a nation; and if I looked to the city, I doubted whether any populace could fill it, and if I gazed at the people, I marvelled whether any city could hold them. Such was the balance of the scales.

2.1. It happened, as fortune would have it, to be the sacred festival of the great god whom the Greeks call Zeus and the Egyptians Serapis. There was also a torch-procession of fire, and this was the greatest sight I beheld.

2.2. For it was evening, and the sun was setting, and yet there was no night anywhere; instead another sun rose, broken into countless pieces. Then I saw a city contending with heaven for beauty. I also beheld the temple of Zeus the Gracious and of Zeus of the Heavens.

2.3. So we prayed to the great god and besought him to put an end at last to our troubles, and went to the lodging that Menelaus had hired for us. But it seemed the god did not consent to our prayers; another trial of Fortune was waiting for us.

3.1. For Chaereas had long been secretly in love with Leucippe, and it was for this reason that he had revealed the remedy, partly to gain himself a foothold of intimacy, partly to save the girl for himself.

3.2. Knowing then that it was beyond his power to win her, he laid a plot, gathering together a band of robbers who shared his trade, since he was a man of the sea; and after settling with them what was to be done, he invited us to a feast on Pharos, on the pretext that he was keeping his birthday.

3.3. As we came out of doors, an evil omen met us: a hawk in pursuit of a swallow struck Leucippe on the head with its wing. Troubled at this, I looked up to heaven and said, "Zeus, what is this portent you show us? But if this bird is truly yours, show us some clearer

3.4. omen." Turning round—for I happened to be standing near a painter's workshop—I saw a picture set up that hinted at something like it. For it had the ravishing of Philomela, the violence of Tereus, and the cutting out of her tongue. The whole story of the drama was there:

3.5. the robe, Tereus, the table. A maidservant stood holding the robe outspread. Philomela stood beside it, laying her finger on the robe and pointing to the pictures woven into the cloth. Procne had bent forward at her pointing, and was looking fierce and angry. Tereus the Thracian was woven in beside Philomela, wrestling the wrestling of love.

3.6. The woman's hair was torn, her girdle loosed, her tunic rent; she was half bare to the breast; her right hand she thrust against the eyes of Tereus, and with her left she drew the torn pieces of her tunic over her breasts. Tereus held Philomela in his arms, drawing her body to himself as far as he could, and crushing the embrace flesh to flesh.

3.7. So did the painter weave the picture of the robe; the rest of the painting showed the women displaying to Tereus, in a basket, the remnants of the meal, a child's head and hands, and they were laughing and afraid at once.

3.8. Tereus was painted leaping up from the couch and drawing his sword against the women; his leg was braced against the table; and the table neither stood nor had fallen, but showed the very moment of an impending crash.

4.1. Menelaus then said: "It seems to me we should hold off our journey to Pharos. You see two ill-boding signs: the wing of the bird turned against us, and the threat of the picture. The interpreters of signs bid us look to the stories of the pictures, if they meet us as we set out on some undertaking, and to liken what will happen to the tale they tell.

4.2. You see, then, with how many evils the painting is full—of lawless love, of shameless adultery, of women's misfortunes. So I urge that we put off the outing." This seemed to me to be reasonable, and I excused myself to Chaereas for that day. He went off greatly vexed, saying he would come for us the next day.

5.1. Then Leucippe said to me—for womankind is somehow fond of stories—"What does the tale of the picture mean, and who are these birds, and who are these women, and who is that shameless man?" And I began to tell: "A nightingale, a swallow, and a hoopoe;

5.2. all of them human beings, and all of them birds. The hoopoe is the man; the two women are Philomela the swallow and Procne the nightingale. Their city is Athens. Tereus is the man, and Procne is the wife of Tereus. To barbarians, it seems, one woman is not enough for love, especially when the occasion gives them leave to riot in outrage.

5.3. So the occasion that gave this Thracian leave to indulge his nature was Procne's natural affection. For she sent her husband Tereus to fetch her sister. He went off still Procne's husband, but he returned Philomela's lover, and on the journey he made Philomela into another Procne for himself.

5.4. He feared Philomela's tongue, and as a bridal gift he gave her the gift of speaking no more, and cut down the flower of her voice. But he gained nothing by it: for Philomela's art found a silent voice.

5.5. She wove a robe to be her messenger, and plaited the drama into the threads; her hand imitated her tongue, and revealed to Procne's eyes what should have come to her ears, telling her in the shuttle what she had suffered.

5.6. Procne heard of the violence from the robe, and sought to take vengeance upon her husband beyond all measure. Two angers, and two women breathing as one, mingling jealousy with outrage, devised a feast more wretched than the marriage.

5.7. And the feast was the child of Tereus, whose mother, before her anger, was Procne, though now she forgot her birth-pangs. So the pangs of jealousy overcome even the womb. For when women in love wish only to grieve the one who has wronged their bed, even though they suffer no less evil in what they do, they reckon the calamity of suffering against the pleasure of doing.

5.8. Tereus ate the feast of the Furies, and the women carried in, in a basket, the remnants of the child, laughing in their terror. Tereus saw the remnants of the child and mourned the meal, and knew he was the father of his own banquet. Knowing it, he went mad, drew his sword, and ran at the women, whom the air received; and Tereus rose up after them and became a bird. And to this day they still keep the image of their suffering.

5.9. The nightingale flees, and Tereus pursues. So has the hatred been preserved even into their wings."

6.1. For the moment, then, we thus escaped the plot; but we gained nothing more than a single day. For at dawn the next day Chaereas was there, and we, ashamed to refuse, had no answer. So we went aboard a boat and came to Pharos, while Menelaus stayed behind,

6.2. saying he was not well. First Chaereas led us to the tower and showed us its construction, a marvellous and astonishing thing.

6.3. It was a mountain set in the midst of the sea, touching the very clouds, with water flowing beneath the structure; it stood, as it were, hanging above the sea. On the summit of this mountain there rose, like a sun, the steersman of the ships. After this he led us to his house, which lay at the far end of the island, on the very edge of the sea.

7.1. When evening came, Chaereas slipped away, making his belly the excuse. A little later there was a sudden shout at the doors, and at once men rushed in, large and many, with knives drawn, and all made for the girl.

7.2. When I saw my dearest one being carried off, I could not bear it, and flung myself among the swords; and someone struck me on the thigh with a knife, and I sank down. As I fell, streaming with blood, they put the girl into their boat and made off.

7.3. There was an uproar and shouting, as happens with robbers, and the commander of the island appeared; he had become known to me from the camp. I showed him my wound and begged him to pursue the robbers; many boats lay at anchor in the city. Boarding one of these, the commander gave chase with the guard he had at hand, and I went up with him, carried aboard on a litter.

7.4. When the robbers saw the ship now coming up for a sea-fight, they set the girl upon the deck with her hands bound behind her, and one of them cried in a great voice, "Here is your prize!" and cut off her head, and thrust the rest of the body into the sea.

7.5. When I saw it, I cried out and wailed, and rushed to throw myself after her; but when those present held me back, I begged them to stop the ship and let someone leap into the sea, in the hope that I might at least recover the girl's body for burial.

7.6. The commander consented and stopped the ship, and two of the sailors flung themselves overboard, and seizing the body, brought it up. Meanwhile the robbers rowed all the more strongly; and when we were again near, they sighted another ship, and recognizing it, called it to their aid: it was a pirate ship of the Red Sea.

7.7. When the commander saw two ships now against him, he was afraid and backed water; for the pirates, too, turning from flight, were challenging us to battle.

7.8. When we had turned back to land, I stepped from the boat, threw myself upon the body, and wept. "Now, Leucippe, you have truly died for me a double death, divided between land and sea. For I hold the remnant of your body, but you yourself I have lost.

7.9. The portion is not equal between the sea and the land: a small part of you is left to me in the sight of the greater; but the sea holds the whole of you in its little share. Yet since Fortune has begrudged me the kisses of your face, let me kiss the wound of your throat."

8.1. When I had finished this lament and had buried the body, I went back to Alexandria, and, though unwilling, had my wound tended, and, with Menelaus comforting me, I held out and went on living.

8.2. By now six months had passed for me, and the greater part of my grief was beginning to fade—for time is the remedy of sorrow, and ripens the wounds of the soul; the sun is full of pleasure, and what grieves us, even if it is beyond measure, boils up for as long as the soul is on fire, but, mastered by the soothing of the day, is cooled. And as I walked behind someone in the marketplace, he suddenly took me by the hand, turned me about, and, saying nothing, embraced me and kissed me again and again.

8.3. At first I did not know who it was, but stood astonished, receiving the onset of his greetings as the target of kisses; but when he drew back a little and I saw his face—it was Cleinias—I cried out for joy, embraced him in turn, and returned the same embraces, and afterward we went up to my lodging. He told me his own story, how he had survived the shipwreck, and I told him everything about Leucippe.

9.1. "At once," he said, "when the ship broke up, I sprang to the yardarm, and barely getting hold of its tip, since it was already crowded with men, I threw my arms about it and tried to cling on, hanging from it. After we had drifted a little out to sea, a great wave lifted the timber and dashed it upright against a submerged rock on one side, the very side from which I was hanging.

9.2. The timber, driven against the rock by force, sprang back again like a catapult and flung me off as from a sling. From then on I swam for the rest of the day, no longer having any hope of safety.

9.3. By now exhausted, and giving myself up to fortune, I saw a ship bearing down upon me, and raising my hands as best I could, I made a suppliant's gesture with my nods. Whether out of pity, or because the wind drove them down, they came toward me, and one of the sailors threw me a rope as the ship ran past; and I caught it, and they hauled me up from the very gates of death. The ship was sailing for Sidon; and some who recognized me cared for me."

10.1. "After two days' sailing we reached the city, and I begged the Sidonians on the ship—Xenodamas the merchant and Theophilus his father-in-law—not to tell any of the Tyrians, should they meet them, that I had survived a shipwreck, so that they might not learn I had gone abroad with you.

10.2. For I hoped to escape notice, if all this could be kept quiet, since only five days had come between, in which I happened not to have been seen; and to the people of my own household, as you know, I had given out, to any who asked, that I had gone away to a village for ten whole days.

10.3. And I found that this story had taken hold concerning me. Your father had not yet come from Palestine, but did so two days later, and on arriving found letters that had been sent from Leucippe's father—letters that happened to have been delivered one day after our flight—in which Sostratus betroths his daughter to you.

10.4. He was beset by mingled misfortunes when he read the letters and heard of your flight: partly because he had lost the prize the letter offered, partly because Fortune had so set the matter within a hair's breadth; for none of this would have happened, had the letters come sooner.

10.5. He thought it best for the present to write nothing of what had happened to his brother, and even asked the girl's mother to hold off for the time being.

10.6. 'For perhaps we shall find them,' he said, 'and Sostratus need not learn of the misfortune that has befallen. And gladly, wherever they may be, will they learn of the betrothal and return, if they may openly possess that for which they fled.'

10.7. He inquired with all his might whither you had gone. And a little before these days came Diophantus the Tyrian, who had sailed from Egypt, and he told your father that he had seen you here. And I, when I learned it, just as I was, at once went aboard a ship, and this is the eighth day that I have gone round the whole city looking for you. You must take counsel about this, for your father, too, will perhaps be coming here."

11.1. Hearing this, I groaned at Fortune's play and said, "O divine power, now Sostratus gives me Leucippe and sends me a wedding out of the midst of war, measuring the days precisely so as not to come too late for my flight.

11.2. O blessings out of season! O happy was I—but by a single day! After death, marriage; after lament, the wedding-song. What bride does Fortune give me? One she has not even given me whole, but dead."

11.3. "This is no time for laments," said Cleinias; "rather let us consider whether you should now make your way home, or wait for your father here." "Neither," I said; "for with what face could I look upon my father, having fled so shamefully, and having besides destroyed the trust his brother placed in him? It only remains, then, to flee from here before he comes."

11.4. At this Menelaus came in, and Satyrus with him, and they embraced Cleinias and learned from us all that had happened. And Satyrus said, "But it is in your power to settle the present matter well, and to have pity on a soul that is burning for you;

11.5. and let Cleinias hear it too. For Aphrodite has bestowed a great good upon this man, and he will not take it. She has driven a woman wild for him, very beautiful, so that, seeing her, you would call her a statue—an Ephesian by birth,

11.6. by name Melite; great is her wealth, and her age is young. Her husband died lately at sea, and she wishes to have this man for her lord—for I will not say her husband—and gives herself and all her substance to him; for on his account she has now spent four months here, begging him to follow her. But he, I know not what has come over him, scorns her, thinking that Leucippe will come back to life for him."

12.1. And Cleinias said, "It seems to me that Satyrus does not speak amiss. For if beauty and wealth and love have come together upon you, there is no place for delay or hesitation. Beauty gives pleasure, wealth gives ease, love gives reverence; and the god hates the arrogant.

12.2. Come, be persuaded by Satyrus, and gratify the god." And I, with a groan, said, "Lead me where you will, if this seems good to Cleinias too; only let the woman give me no trouble by pressing me to the deed,

12.3. until we reach Ephesus. For I have already sworn here not to come together with her, where I lost Leucippe." Hearing this, Satyrus ran off to Melite with the good news; and after a little while he came back again, saying that the woman, on hearing it, had nearly let go her soul for pleasure, and begged me to come to her to dine that day, as a prelude to the wedding.

13.1. I was persuaded and went. When she saw me, she sprang up and embraced me and filled all my face with kisses. And she was truly beautiful: you would have said her face was anointed with milk, and a rose was set within her cheeks.

13.2. Her glance gleamed with a glance of love; her hair was abundant and thick and golden in hue, so that I thought I looked upon the woman not without pleasure.

13.3. The dinner was lavish; but she, touching the dishes set before her so as to seem to eat, could not take a proper meal, and looked only at me; for to lovers nothing is sweet except the beloved. Love, seizing the whole soul, leaves no room even for food.

13.4. The pleasure of the sight, flowing in through the eyes, settles in the breast; and drawing the image of the beloved, it stamps it forever upon the mirror of the soul and shapes the form anew. The outflow of beauty, drawn by unseen rays to the loving heart, seals its shadow there below.

13.5. So, understanding, I said to her, "But you partake of none of your own dishes; you are like those who eat in pictures." And she said, "What dish could be more lavish for me, or what wine more precious, than the sight of you?" And as she spoke she kissed me, and I received her kisses not unwillingly; then, drawing back, she said, "This is my food."

14.1. So for the moment we were thus engaged; and when evening came, she tried to keep me there to sleep, but I excused myself, saying what I had already told Satyrus. So, grieving, she barely let me go.

14.2. For the next day it was agreed between us to meet at the temple of Isis, to converse with each other and to pledge ourselves with the goddess as witness; and Menelaus and Cleinias were present with us. And we swore, I to love her without deceit, and she to make me her husband and to declare me lord of all.

14.3. "But the agreement," I said, "shall begin with our arrival at Ephesus; for there, as I said, you will yield place to Leucippe." So a lavish dinner was prepared for us, and the name of the dinner was a wedding, but in fact it was agreed to be held in reserve.

14.4. And I remember something amusing too at Melite's feast. For as those present were calling out good wishes for the wedding, she nodded to me quietly and said, "I alone have suffered something strange. I have seen a cenotaph, but never an empty wedding." So she jested in earnest.

15.1. The next day we made ready for the voyage; and as fortune would have it, the wind too called us on. Menelaus came as far as the harbor, and after embracing us and saying that we now had a luckier sea, he turned back again—a young man altogether worthy and deserving of the gods, and at the same time filled with tears; and tears fell from all of us.

15.2. Cleinias resolved not to leave me, but to sail with me as far as Ephesus, and after spending some time in the city, to return,

15.3. if he should find my affairs in good order. The wind came at our stern; it was evening, and after dining we lay down to sleep; and a kind of cabin, fenced about, had been set apart on the boat for me and Melite.

15.4. So, embracing me, she kissed me and claimed the marriage, saying, "Now we have passed beyond Leucippe's bounds, and we have reached the limit of our agreement; from here begins the appointed time. Why must I wait now for Ephesus? Uncertain are the chances of the sea, and untrustworthy the changes of the winds.

15.5. Believe me, Clitophon, I am on fire. Would that I could show you the flame, would that it were of the same nature as common fire, that I might pour myself about you and burn you up! But as it is, this fire, beyond all others, has its own peculiar fuel, and, kindled in the embraces of lovers, fierce as it is, it spares those it embraces.

15.6. O fire of mystery, fire whose torch is lit in secret, fire unwilling to flee its own bounds! Let us, then, dearest, be initiated into the mysteries of Aphrodite."

16.1. And I said, "Do not force me to break the sacred law of the dead. We have not yet passed beyond the bounds of that unhappy girl, until we set foot on another land. Did you not hear that she died at sea? I am still sailing over Leucippe's grave; perhaps her ghost wanders even now about the ship.

16.2. They say that the souls of those who die in the water do not go down into Hades at all, but wander there about the water, and perhaps she will come upon us as we embrace. Does this place seem to you suitable for a marriage—a marriage upon the waves, a marriage borne beneath the sea? Do you wish our bridal chamber to be one that does not stay still?"

16.3. "You are too clever, dearest," she said; "for to lovers every place is a bridal chamber, and nothing is untrodden for the god. And is not the sea most akin to Love and to the mysteries of Aphrodite? Aphrodite is the daughter of the Sea.

16.4. Let us gratify the goddess of marriage; let us honor her mother with a marriage. Indeed, the present seems to me full of marriage-tokens. This yardarm hangs above our heads, and ropes are stretched about the sailyard. Fair, my lord, are the omens: the chamber lies beneath a yoke, and we are bound with cables. And the rudder, too, is near the chamber.

16.5. See, Fortune steers our wedding, and Poseidon and the chorus of Nereids will be our bridal escort; for here Poseidon himself weds Amphitrite. The wind, too, pipes shrill about the ropes; the music of the winds seems to me to be singing the wedding-hymn.

16.6. And you see, too, the sail bellied out like a pregnant belly: this, too, is a favorable omen for me. You will soon make me a mother as well."

16.7. Seeing her so insistent, I said, "Let us be philosophers, lady, until we touch land. For I swear to you by the sea itself and by the fortune of our voyage that I too have been eager. But the sea also has its laws.

16.8. I have often heard from those more skilled in seafaring that ships must be kept pure of love, perhaps because they are sacred, perhaps that no one may take his pleasure in the midst of so great a danger. Let us not, dearest, do violence to the sea; let us not mingle marriage with fear at once. Let us keep our pleasure pure for ourselves." So saying, and softening her with kisses, I won her over, and we slept the rest of the night thus.

17.1. After completing the voyage in five more days, we came to Ephesus. The house was great and the first among those there, with a large household and the rest of the establishment lavish.

17.2. She ordered the most splendid dinner possible to be prepared. "Meanwhile," she said, "let us go out to the country estate." It was four stades from the city. So, mounting a carriage, we went out.

17.3. As soon as we arrived, we were walking along the rows of plants when suddenly a woman fell at our knees, bound with thick fetters, holding a mattock, her head shorn, her body filthy, girt in a wretched tunic, and she said, "Have pity on me, mistress—woman upon woman—free, as I was born, but now a slave, as it seems good to Fortune," and with that she fell silent.

17.4. Melite then said, "Rise, woman; tell me who you are and from where, and who put this iron upon you; for even in your wretchedness your form cries out your noble birth." "Your servant," she said, "because I would not serve him in his bed.

17.5. My name is Lacaena, by race a Thessalian, and I bring you this fortune of mine as a suppliant's plea. Free me from the calamity that has come upon me; grant me safety until I can pay back the two thousand pieces, for at that price Sosthenes bought me from the robbers.

17.6. We will provide it, be assured, with all speed; and if not, I will be your slave. See, too, with how many blows he has scourged me." And with that she opened her tunic and showed her back, marked out still more piteously.

17.7. When we heard this, I was confounded; for she seemed to have something of Leucippe. And Melite said, "Take heart, woman; we will free you from these men and send you home with a dowry. Let someone

17.8. summon Sosthenes for us." So she was at once freed from her bonds, and he came, troubled. Then Melite said, "You wretched creature, when, even among the most worthless of our servants, have you ever seen one so abused in our house? Who is this? Tell me, and lie not at all."

17.9. "I do not know, mistress," he said, "except that a certain merchant, by name Callisthenes, sold her to me, saying that he had bought her from robbers, but that she was free;

17.10. and the merchant called her by the name Lacaena." Then Melite removed him from the stewardship he held, and handed the woman over to her maids, ordering them to bathe her and clothe her in clean garments and bring her to the town; and after settling some of the country affairs for which she had come, she mounted the carriage with me, and we returned to the city and turned to the dinner.

18.1. As I was feasting, in the midst of it Satyrus signaled to me with a nod to get up first, and his face was full of urgency. So, pretending to be pressed by some need of the belly, I rose; and when I had come out,

18.2. he said nothing, but held out a letter. Taking it, before I read it, I was at once astounded; for I recognized Leucippe's handwriting. And it was written thus: "LEUCIPPE TO CLITOPHON, MY MASTER.

18.3. For so I must call you, since you are husband even to my mistress. What I have suffered on your account, you know; but now I must remind you.

18.4. For your sake I left my mother and chose to wander; for your sake I suffered shipwreck and endured robbers; for your sake I became a sacrificial victim and an offering of purification, and have already died a second time; for your sake I was sold and bound in iron and carried a mattock and dug the earth and was scourged—so that you might become to another woman what you became, and I to another man?

18.5. May it not be so! But I held out under so many compulsions, while you, unsold, unscourged, take a bride. If, then, any thanks are owing for what I have suffered on your behalf, beg your wife to send me away, as she promised; and as for the two thousand pieces that Sosthenes laid down on my account, trust us and pledge to Melite that we will send them; for Byzantium is near.

18.6. And if you should pay them yourself, count it as a wage you have given me for my labors on your behalf. Farewell, and may you have joy of your new marriage. As for me, I write this to you still a virgin."

19.1. Reading this, I became everything at once: I was inflamed, I went pale, I marveled, I disbelieved, I rejoiced,

19.2. I grieved. So I said to Satyrus, "Have you come from Hades bringing this letter, or what does this mean? Has Leucippe come back to life again?" "Most certainly," he said, "and she is the one you saw in the country. Then indeed no one else who saw her would have recognized her, she had so become a stripling; for the shearing of her hair

19.3. had changed her." "And do you stand there," I said, "amid such great blessings, and gladden me only as far as the ears, and do not show the good to my eyes as well?" "Do not, by any means," said Satyrus; "but hold yourself in, that you do not lose everything, until we take counsel more safely about this.

19.4. You see the first lady of Ephesus mad for you, and us forlorn in the midst of the snares." "But I cannot," I said; "for joy comes upon me by every path of the body.

19.5. But look, by her letter she reproaches me." And taking up the letter once more, as if seeing her through it, and reading word by word, I said, "You reproach me justly, dearest. You have suffered everything for my sake;

19.6. I have been the cause of many evils to you." And when I came to the scourgings and the tortures that Sosthenes had inflicted on her, I wept as if seeing the very tortures of her; for my reason, sending the eyes of the soul to the report of the letter, showed me what was told as if it were being done. And I blushed deeply at the reproaches she made me for the marriage, as a man caught in adultery red-handed. So ashamed was I even of the letter.

20.1. "Alas, how shall I defend myself, Satyrus?" I said; "we are caught. Leucippe has condemned us; and perhaps we are even hated. But how was she saved? Tell me, and whose body did we bury?" "She herself will tell you in due time; but for now," said Satyrus, "you must write back and appease the girl.

20.2. For I, too, swore to her that you married against your will." "Did you say I married?" I said; "you have undone me." "What simplicity! Does not the whole city know of the marriage?" "But I did not marry, by Heracles, Satyrus, and by my present fortune."

20.3. "You jest, good sir; you sleep with her." "I know I am saying things hard to believe, but it has not yet been done. Clitophon is pure of Melite to this very day.

20.4. But what shall I write? Tell me; for the event has so astounded me that I am at a loss." "I am no wiser than you," said Satyrus; "but Love himself will dictate it to you. Only do it quickly."

21.1. So I began to write: "Greetings to you, my lady Leucippe. I am unfortunate in the very things in which I am fortunate, because, present to you, I see you, who are present, as if abroad, through a letter. If, then, you will await the truth, and not condemn me beforehand, you will learn that I have imitated your virginity, if there is any virginity among men too; but if, without a hearing, you already hate me, I swear to you by the gods who saved you that in a little while I will defend my conduct to you. Farewell to me, dearest, and be gracious." I gave the letter to Satyrus and begged him to say what was fitting to her on my behalf; and I went back again to the banquet, filled at once with pleasure and grief. For I knew that Melite would not let me off that night without our wedding taking place; and for me, having recovered Leucippe, it was impossible even to look upon another woman as a wife.

21.2. So I forced my face to show nothing different from before; but I could not master it altogether. As I was overcome, I pretended that a shivering had come over me. She understood that I was making excuses against my promise, but she could not refute the excuse.

21.3. So I rose without dinner to go to bed, and she rose at my heels, just as she was, leaving the dinner half-finished. When we came into the chamber, I strained the pretense of my illness still more, while she pleaded and said, "Why do you do this? How long will you destroy me? Look, we have crossed the sea; look, Ephesus is the appointed time for the wedding.

21.4. For what day do we still wait? How long shall we sleep together as in a temple? You set a great river beside me and forbid me to drink; having water so long, I thirst while sleeping at the very spring; such a bed I have

21.5. as Tantalus had his food." This she said, and wept, laying her head on my breast so piteously that I felt something in my soul. And I did not know what to do with myself; for it seemed to me that her reproaches were just.

21.6. So I said to her, "I swear to you, dearest, by the gods of my fathers, that I, too, am most eager to requite your eagerness. But I do not know," I said, "what has come over me; for an illness has suddenly fallen upon me.

21.7. And you know that without health there is no Aphrodite." And as I spoke I wiped away her tears and pledged her with other oaths that before long she would attain what she desired.

22.1. So for the moment, and only with great difficulty, she bore it; but the next day she called the maidservants to whom she had entrusted the care of Leucippe, and asked first whether they had treated her worthily; and when they said that nothing needful was lacking to her, she ordered the woman to be brought to her.

22.2. When she came, Melite said, "How my own conduct toward you has been full of kindness, it is needless to tell you, who know it; but in whatever you can, repay me an equal favor. I hear that you Thessalian women so bewitch those you love that the man no longer inclines to any other woman, but holds toward the one who bewitches him as if she were everything to him.

22.3. Grant me this, dearest—for I am on fire—as a remedy. Did you see the young man who walked with me yesterday?" "You mean your husband?" said Leucippe, taking her up very maliciously; "for I have heard this from those in the house." "What husband?" said Melite; "there is nothing in common between me and the stones.

22.4. But a dead woman outshines me; for he can forget the name of Leucippe neither while eating nor while sleeping—for so he calls her. And I, my dear, spent four months in Alexandria on his account, begging, entreating, promising—what did I not say,

22.5. what did I not do of what might please him? But he was like one of iron or wood toward my entreaties, and only with time was he persuaded; and he was persuaded only as far as the eyes. For I swear to you by Aphrodite herself that, sleeping with him now for the fifth day, I rose as from a eunuch. I seem to be in love with a picture; for only as far as the eyes do I hold my beloved.

22.6. I beg of you, woman to woman, the same request that you, too, made of me yesterday: give me something against this arrogant man; for you will save my soul, which is already melting away." When Leucippe heard this,

22.7. she seemed pleased that nothing had been done with me by the woman, and saying that she would search out a remedy, if Melite would allow her, by gathering herbs in the country, she went off. For she did not think she would be believed if she refused; and that, I suppose, is why she made the promise.

22.8. So Melite was somewhat eased, even by hope alone; for pleasant things, even if not yet present, delight us with hopes.

23.1. And I, knowing all this, was not at all downcast, considering how I might both put off the woman for the coming night, and how I might find a way to meet Leucippe.

23.2. And it seemed to me that she, too, was equally eager to go off to the country on her own account, and to come again toward evening. She was to give Leucippe a carriage, and we went off to the drinking.

23.3. But we had scarcely reclined when a great uproar was heard through the men's hall, and a rushing together, and one of the servants ran in, panting, and

23.4. saying, "Thersander is alive and is here." This Thersander was Melite's husband, whom she supposed to have died at sea. For some of the servants who had been with him, when the boat capsized, had been saved, and, supposing him to have perished, had brought this report. As soon as the servant spoke, Thersander himself came rushing in at his heels; for, having learned everything about me on the road, he had hastened to come and catch me.

23.5. Melite leaped up, astonished at the unlooked-for event, and tried to embrace her husband; but he thrust her off, just as she was, very violently, and seeing me and saying, "Here is the adulterer," sprang at me and struck me across the cheek a blow full of fury, and dragging me by the hair, threw me to the ground, and falling upon me, cut me down with blows.

23.6. And I, as in some mystery, knowing nothing—neither who the man was nor for what reason he was striking me—and suspecting that he was mad, was afraid to defend myself, though I was able to.

23.7. When we were both wearied—he with striking, I with playing the philosopher—I rose and said to him, "Who are you, sir, and why have you abused me so?" But he, all the more angered that I had even uttered a sound, struck me again and called for chains and fetters. So they bound me and led me away to a chamber.

24.1. While this was happening, Leucippe's letter slipped from me unnoticed; for I happened to have it tied inside my little tunic to the fringes of the linen; and Melite picked it up unseen, for she feared it might be one of her own letters to me.

24.2. But when she read it, having gone apart by herself, and found Leucippe's name, she was at once struck to the heart, recognizing the name; yet she did not think it was Leucippe herself, since she had often heard that she was dead.

24.3. But as she went on and came upon the rest of what was written, and learned the whole truth, her soul was divided at once among many feelings—shame and anger and love and jealousy. She was ashamed before her husband, she was angered at the letter, love withered her anger, jealousy kindled her love, and in the end love prevailed.

25.1. It was toward evening, and Thersander happened to have rushed off, in his first anger, to a friend among the people of the place. And Melite, after speaking with the man who had been entrusted with my guard, came in to me unseen by the others, having set two servants before the chamber,

25.2. and found me thrown down on the ground. Standing beside me, she wished to say everything at once; the look of her face held as much as she wished to say. "O unhappy that I am, who have looked upon you to my own undoing! First I loved you to no purpose and with utter folly—I, who, even hated, love the one who hates me, and, pained, pity the one who pains me, and not even outrage stops my love.

25.3. O pair of sorcerers against me, man and woman! He so long mocked me, and she went off to fetch me a love-charm; and I, ill-starred, knew not that I was asking, from my bitterest enemies,

25.4. a drug against myself." And with that she threw Leucippe's letter to me. Seeing and recognizing it, I shuddered and looked at the ground as one convicted; while she played out her tragedy again: "Alas, wretched me, for my woes! For I have lost my husband through you, nor could I have you for the rest of time, even to the empty eyes alone,

25.5. since you could do no more than that. I know that my husband hates me and has condemned me of adultery with you—a fruitless adultery, an adultery without love, of which I have reaped only the reproach. For other women have, as the wage of their shame, the pleasure of their desire; but I, unhappy, have reaped the shame,

25.6. and of the pleasure nothing at all. Faithless and barbarous man! You dared so to waste away a woman who loved you—and that, too, when you are Love's slave! Did you not fear his wrath? Did you not reverence his fire? Did you not honor his mysteries? Did these weeping eyes not break you down?

25.7. O crueler than the robbers! For even a robber is shamed by tears. Nothing roused you to love even once—not entreaty, not time, not the embracing of bodies; but, most insolent of all, even while touching me, while kissing me, you rose up as another woman.

25.8. What shadow of a marriage is this? You did not, indeed, sleep with an old woman, nor with one who turned away from your embraces, but with one young and loving—another would say, beautiful too. Eunuch and man-woman, envious of beauty, I lay upon you a most just curse: so may Love avenge me upon your own."

26.1. This she said, and wept at the same time; and as I kept silent, bowed down, after a little pause she changed her tone and said, "What I have said, dearest, anger and grief were saying; but what I am now about to say, love says. Even when I am angry,

26.2. I burn; even when I am outraged, I love. Make peace, even now; have pity. I no longer ask for many days, or for a long marriage, of which, unhappy, I dreamed with you; a single embrace is enough for me. I ask a small remedy for so great a sickness. Quench for me a little of the fire; and if I have been too rashly bold with you, forgive me,

26.3. dearest; love in misfortune is even mad. I know that I am behaving unseemly, but I am not ashamed to declare the mysteries of Love. I speak to a man who has been initiated; you know what I suffer. To other men the god's arrows are unseen, and no one could point out his shafts; only lovers know the wounds of their like.

26.4. I have only this one day left; I claim the promise. Remember Isis; reverence the oaths sworn there. For if you had even been willing to live with me, as you swore, I would not have cared for a thousand Thersanders; but since, now that you have found Leucippe, marriage to another woman is impossible for you, I willingly yield this to you. I know I am defeated; I do not ask for more than I can attain; for against me everything is strange—even the dead come back to life.

26.5. O sea, you saved me as I sailed, but, having saved me, you have rather destroyed me, sending two dead against me; for it was enough that Leucippe alone lived, that Clitophon might grieve no more; but now savage Thersander too is here with us.

26.6. You have been beaten before my eyes, and I, unhappy, could not help you; upon this face the blows fell, O gods. I think Thersander was blind.

26.7. But I beg you, Clitophon my master—for you are master of my soul—give yourself to me today, first and last; and for me these few hours are many days. So may you never again lose Leucippe; so may she never again die, even falsely.

26.8. Do not dishonor my love, through which you enjoy the greatest blessings. It was this that gave Leucippe back to you. For if I had not loved you, if I had not brought you here, Leucippe would still be dead to you.

26.9. There are also gifts of Fortune, Clitophon. Many a man, coming upon a treasure, has honored the place of finding, raised an altar, offered sacrifice, crowned the ground; but you, finding with me a treasure of Love, dishonor your benefactress.

26.10. Imagine that Love says to you through me: 'Grant me this, Clitophon, your initiator; do not depart leaving Melite uninitiated; for her fire, too, is mine.' And hear how I care for the rest of your affairs too.

26.11. For you will presently be freed from your bonds, even if Thersander does not wish it; and you will have lodging for as many days as you like with my foster-brother; and at dawn expect Leucippe to be here as well.

26.12. For she said she would spend the night in the country gathering herbs, that she might collect them in the light of the moon. So she mocked me; for I asked her, as a Thessalian, for a charm against you. What else could I do, having failed, but seek herbs and drugs? For this is the refuge of those unlucky in love.

26.13. And Thersander—that you may take heart about this too—has rushed off to a friend of his, giving up the house to me in his anger; and it seems to me that some god has driven him out from here, that I might be able to obtain these last favors from you. But give yourself to me."

27.1. Having played the philosopher thus—for Love teaches even speeches—she loosed my bonds and kissed my hands, and pressed them to her eyes and to her heart, and said, "Do you see how it leaps and throbs with a quick throbbing, full of anguish and of hope"—and may there be pleasure too—"and

27.2. it seems to entreat you with its beating." So when she had loosed me and embraced me, weeping, I felt something human, and truly feared Love, lest some wrath should come upon me from the god; and besides, because I had recovered Leucippe, and because after this I was to be rid of Melite, and because what was now being done was not even a marriage,

27.3. but rather a remedy, as it were, for a sick soul. So, when she embraced me, I endured it, and when she clung to me, I did not oppose her embraces; and there came to pass all that Love willed, with no need of bed or of anything else for the equipment of love.

27.4. For Love is his own craftsman and an improvising adept, and makes every place a mystery for himself. And what is unstudied in love is sweeter than the elaborate; for it has its pleasure self-grown.