Book 2

From this time our life in the whale became insupportable to me; I chafed against our imprisonment, and sought some device that would make escape possible. My first idea was to dig through the right side and make our way out, and we began the excavation. But when we had advanced as much as a thousand yards and accomplished nothing, we gave over digging, and decided to set fire to the forest, for this would kill the whale, and if he should die we could easily get out. Accordingly, we set fire to it, beginning from the tail, and for seven days and as many nights he paid no attention to the burning. But on the eighth and ninth days we saw he felt ill—at least he opened his mouth more languidly, and when he did open it, shut it again on the instant. On the tenth and eleventh days he grew rigid, and began to smell.

On the twelfth we perceived just in time that, unless we propped his teeth open when he yawned so that they could not close again, we were in danger of being shut up in the corpse and perishing with him. When we had accordingly propped the mouth open with great beams we got the ship ready, and put in as much water as we could and the other provisions. Skintharos was to be captain. Next day the whale died. We dragged the ship up, guided it through the openings between the teeth, and lowering it by ropes attached to them, sank gently into the sea. We disembarked on the whale's back, sacrificed to Poseidon, and encamped there three days beside the trophy, for there was no wind. On the third day we sailed away. In the neighborhood we fell in with a number of bodies from the sea-fight. We pushed our way through them, and took their measure with amazement. For some days we sailed with a temperate wind;

but then it came on to blow violently from the north, a great frost prevailed, and the whole sea froze, not on the surface only, but to a depth of four hundred fathoms, so that we could disembark and run on the ice. But as the wind continued and we were no longer able to endure it, we devised the following plan-Skintharos was the author of it: We dug a great cave in the ice, and there we dwelt for thirty days, building a fire and living on fish, which we found by digging. When at last our food failed we came out, and hauled the frozen ship out of the ice. Then we spread the sails and swept along as if we were sailing, gliding smoothly and gently over the ice. On the fifth day it grew warm, the ice melted, and everything became water again.

After we had sailed as much as thirty-four miles we touched at a small uninhabited island, where we took in water-for ours had already given out-and shot two wild bulls, and set sail again. These bulls did not have their horns on their foreheads but beneath their eyes, as Momos thought they ought to be. Shortly after we entered a sea, not of water, but of milk, and we sighted a white island in it covered with vines. This island was an enormous cheese, very compact, as we learned later by eating of it. It was three miles in circumference. The vines were full of grapes; but it was milk, not wine, that we squeezed from them and drank.

There was a temple in the middle of the island erected to Galatea the Nereid, as we learned from the inscription. As long as we stayed there the earth supplied us with food, both substantial and light, and for drink we had the milk from the grapes. Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus, was said to be queen of these parts, having been thus honored by Poseidon after her death.

We stayed five days in the island, and set sail on the sixth with a favorable wind and a smooth sea. On the eighth day, when we had sailed out of the milk and into salt, blue water, we perceived a number of persons running on the sea, like ourselves in every detail of body and stature, except only their feet, for these were of cork. I suppose that is why they were called Corkfeet. We were astonished when we saw they did not sink, but skimmed over the waves and serenely pursued their course. They approached us and even greeted us, and told us in Greek that they were hurrying to Cork, their native land. Accordingly, they accompanied us some distance, running alongside; then they turned from our course and went off, wishing us a fair voyage. Shortly after we sighted a number of islands, among them Cork, whither they were hastening. It was near us on the left hand, and was a city set on a high round cork. Farther on, and more to the right, were five very large, high islands, with great fires blazing up from them.

But off our bow there lay a single island, broad and low, not less than sixty miles in extent. As soon as we came near it a wonderful air breathed about us, sweet and fragrant, such an odor as the historian Herodotus says comes from Araby the Blest. It was like the fragrance of roses and narcissus and hyacinths and lilies and violets, with myrtle and laurel and grape-blossoms added, such a sweetness it was that fell upon us. As this fragrance reached our senses and raised in us hopes of the best of fortune after our long distresses, we drew little by little nearer to the island. Then we perceived that it was girt with harbors where no waves broke, and that great, clear rivers rolled quietly into the sea. We saw meadows, too, and woods, and tuneful birds, some singing on the beach and many more in the branches. And the land was steeped in a light, gentle-breathing air. Certain sweet breezes blew softly through the wood and shook it, and even the branches as they moved gave forth a pleasant, continuous sound like the strains of flutes left hanging in the trees. There was a sound, too, of many mingled voices, not discordant, but such as you would hear at a banquet when the flutes are heard and some of the guests speak out their praise, and some applaud with their hands, in accord with the flute or the cither.

Enchanted by all this we ran our ship in, anchored her, and went ashore, leaving Skintharos and two of our comrades aboard. As we were advancing through the flowery meadows we came upon the sentinels and coastguards, who bound us with garlands of roses for these are the heaviest bonds they use-and led us before the ruler. On the road we learned from them that this was called the Island of the Blest, ruled by Rhadamanthos of Krete. When we were brought into his presence our case was the fourth in order for decision.

The first was that of Telamonian Ajax, to decide whether or not it was fitting for him to dwell with the heroes. The charge against him was that he had slain himself in frenzy. At last, after much debate, Rhadamanthos decided thus: for the present he was to be handed over to Hippokrates of Kos, the doctor, to drink hellebore, and afterwards, when he should have regained his senses, he was to be admitted to the feasts of the heroes.

The second was a sentimental case, in which Theseus and Menelaos disputed which had a right to Helen. Rhadamanthos decided that she belonged to Menelaos, because he had undergone such toils and dangers on account of his marriage with her. And he pointed out that Theseus.

on the other hand, had other wives, the Amazon and the daughters of Minos.

The third case was a question of precedence between Alexander, son of Philip, and Hannibal the Carthaginian. It was decided that the pas belonged to Alexander, and a chair was set for him beside Cyros the Elder, of Persia.

As the fourth case we were brought forward. He asked what circumstances had brought us, still living men, within sacred precincts, and we told him the whole story in order. He then sent us aside for some time and considered our case, discussing it with his colleagues; for many others were on the bench with him, and among them Aristides the Just, of Athens. He announced his decision as follows: we were to pay, after death, the penalty for our curiosity and our voyage; but for the period fixed by him we might stay in the island and dwell with the heroes, and then take ourselves off. He set the day of our departure at not more than seven months' distance.

Thereupon the garlands fell from us of their own accord, leaving us free, and we were led into the city, and to the banquet-hall of the blest. The city itself is all of gold, but the wall around it is of emerald. There were seven gates, each a single piece of cinnamon. But the streets of the city and the ground within the walls were ivory. The temples of all the gods were built of beryll stone, and the great altars in them, on which hecatombs are offered, are single amethysts. Around the city flows a river of the sweetest unguents, fifty yards broad and twenty-five deep, so that one may swim in it pleasantly. The baths of this country are great buildings of crystal filled with the fragrance of burning cinnamon. But, instead of water, there is warm dew in the pools.

For garments the people wear delicate purple spiders' webs. They themselves have no bodies; they are impalpable and fleshless, and present to the eye nothing but a shape, a contour. But although they are thus disembodied, they yet have consistency, move, reason, and utter speech. In fact, it is just as though their naked souls were walking about, wearing the likeness of their bodies. At any rate, unless you should lay hold of one of them, you would not detect that what your eye rested on was incorporeal. They are like shadows, except that they are upright and not dark. No one grows old; each remains at the age he had when he came. Nor is there any night with them, or very bright day either, for the light that pervades the land is like that white radiance of dawn before the sun has risen. Moreover, they know only one time of year, for it is always spring there, and the south wind is the only one that blows.

The country blooms with all sorts of flowers and of green things, too, cultivated plants and shady forest-trees. The vines bear twelve times a year, bringing forth their fruit every month. But the pears and apples and other fruits are said to come thirteen times yearly, for in one month, called there the month of Minos, the trees bear twice. Instead of grain the ears bear loaves, ready for eating, on their heads like mushrooms. There are three hundred and sixty-five springs of water about the city, as many more of honey, and five hundred of perfumed oil; but these are smaller. There are seven rivers of milk and eight of wine.

The place of their banquets is outside the city, in what is called the Elysian Field. It is a very beautiful meadow surrounded by a dense wood of all sorts of trees, which shade the guests as they lie beneath them on beds of blossoms. The winds wait upon the guests and serve them with everything but wine. This they need not serve, for surrounding the place are great trees of the clearest crystal, and the fruits of these trees are wine-cups of every sort of workmanship and size. So that, when any one comes to table, he gathers one or two of the cups and sets them beside him, and they are straightway filled with wine. This, then, is the manner of their drinking, and as for garlands, they have none, but the nightingales and other tuneful birds gather flowers from the neighboring meadows in their beaks, and let them fall like snow as they fly over the guests, singing the while. And I will tell you how they are anointed with perfumes. Thick clouds draw up perfume from the springs and the river; then they station themselves above the banquet, and when the winds gently press them they let fall a light rain like dew.

At the feast they amuse themselves with music and singing, and their favorites are the songs of Homer; for he is there in person and feasts with them, sitting next above Odysseus. The choruses are composed of youths and maidens, and Eunomos of Lokris, Arion of Lesbos, Anakreon and Stesichoros conduct them and sing with them. For Stesichoros, too, I saw there, as Helen had already made it up with him. When these cease singing a second chorus comes forward, composed of swans and swallows and nightingales. As soon as they begin to sing, the whole forest, set going by the winds, accompanies them on the flute.

But the greatest incentive they have to good cheer is this: there are two springs near the feasting-place, one of laughter and the other of pleasure. Every one drinks from each of these at the beginning of the merry-making, and the rest of the time is spent with pleasure and laughter.

I wish to tell you, also, what famous persons I saw there. There were all the demi-gods and the heroes who went on the Trojan expedition, with the exception of Lokrian Ajax; he, they said, was being punished in the realm of the wicked. Among the barbarians there were both the Cyruses, Anacharsis the Scythian, Zamolxis the Thracian, and Numa the Italian. Sparta was represented by Lykourgos, and Athens by Phokion, Tellos, and all the sages except Periander. I also saw Sokrates, son of Sophroniskos, gossipping with Nestor and Palamedes. Round him were Hyakinthos of Lacedaemon, Narkissos of Thespiae, Hylas, and many other handsome lads, and it seemed to me that he was fond of Hyakinthos. At all events, he often put him down in argument. It was rumored that Rhadamanthos was out of temper with Sokrates, and had often threatened to banish him from the island if he continued his nonsense and was not willing to stop revelling in his irony. Plato only was not there, and I was told that he was living himself in the city he had fashioned, under the constitution and laws with which he endowed it in his writings.

Aristippos, however, and Epicuros held the greatest honors there, because they were charming and agreeable and most convivial. Aesop the Phrygian was there, too, and held the office of court-jester. Diogenes of Sinope had so altered his ways as to marry Lais, the courtesan, and was given to getting up and dancing when he was drunk, and playing other drunken tricks. Not one of the Stoics was there, for they were said to be still climbing the steep hill of "the higher life." And I heard this of Chrysippos himself, that it was not permitted to him to come to the island until he had completed his fourth course of hellebore-treatment. They said that the Academics wished to come, but were still suspending their judgment and considering the matter, for they had not yet an apprehension even of this, whether there be any such island or no. I imagine they particularly dreaded the judgment of Rhadamanthos, for by their principles they deny any standard for forming judgments. They asserted that many of their number set out to follow these who actually arrived, but were so deliberate that they were left behind, and turned back when they had come half-way.

These, then, were the most noteworthy people there. The person most looked up to was Achilles, and next after him Theseus.

Before more than two or three days had passed I approached Homer, the poet, when we were both at leisure, and asked him several questions; among others, what his birthplace was, telling him that this was a great subject of research among us to this day. He said he was aware already that some believe he was born in Chios, some in Smyrna, and many in Colophon. He was, however (he said), a Babylonian, and in his own country was called not Homer, but Tigranes. But when later he made his home in Greece as a hostage he changed his name. I also asked him about those verses in his poems rejected by the critics, whether they were written by him or not, and he declared they were all his. As you will imagine, this filled me with contempt for the callous criticism of the commentators Zenodotos and Aristarchos. When he had satisfied me on these points, I asked what in the world was his reason for beginning his poem with the word "wrath." He said that was the way it came into his head, and he took no pains about it. I was eager to know this, too: whether he wrote the Odyssey before the Iliad, as most critics declare; but he said he did not. As to that other story about him, that he was blind, I very soon perceived that it was false, for he saw, so that there was no need even to put the question. I repeated my action frequently when I saw him unoccupied, going up to him and interrogating him. He answered me cordially, especially after he had won his lawsuit. An indictment for slander had been brought against him by Thersites, on the ground of the scoffs against him in Homer's poems. But Homer won the suit, having Odysseus as counsel.

During this same time Pythagoras of Samos also put in an appearance after his seventh transformation, his lives in the forms of as many animals, and his completion of the cycles of the soul. His whole right thigh was of gold. He was judged worthy to dwell with the others, but there was doubt whether he ought to be called Pythagoras or Euphorbos. Empedokles also came, done to a turn, with his whole body roasted. He, however, was not admitted, though he begged hard.

Some time after this their games were held in honor of the Festival of the Dead. Achilles presided for the fifth time and Theseus for the seventh. A full description would be too lengthy, but I will narrate the most important events. Karos, of the line of Hercules, won the wrestling prize, although he had Odysseus for a competitor. The boxing-match was a tie between Areion the Egyptian, who is buried in Corinth, and Epeios, who contended together. For the all-round contest they offer no prize there, and as for the footrace, I no longer remember who was the winner. Among the poets Homer was easily the real victor, but nevertheless Hesiod won the prize. The prize for all alike was a wreath woven of peacock's feathers.

Hardly were the games at an end when word was brought that the criminals who were being punished in the realm of the wicked had broken their chains and overpowered the guard, and were marching against the island. Phalaris of Agrigentum was in command, the report said, with Busiris the Egyptian, the Thracian Diomede, and Skeiron and the Pine-bender, with their followers. When Rhadamanthos heard these tidings he marshalled the heroes on the beach, the commanders being Theseus, Achilles, and Telamonian Ajax, who had by this time recovered his wits. The forces joined battle and the heroes were victorious, owing chiefly to the exploits of Achilles. Sokrates, too, distinguished himself in the right wing much more than at the battle of Delium, while he was living. For when the enemy advanced he kept his place with unflinching front. As a reward for his bravery a prize was bestowed on him later in the shape of a very large and beautiful garden in the suburbs, where he assembled his followers and conversed with them, calling the place the Academy of the Dead.

The vanquished were collected, of course, and sent back again in irons to still greater punishments. Homer wrote an account of this battle, too, and presented me with a copy on my departure for me to carry to men in this land, but I lost it afterwards, with my other belongings. The first line of the poem was this:

Sing to me now, O Muse, the wars of the shades of the heroes.

Their next proceeding was to cook some beans, according to their custom after a successful war, and hold a festival of victory with a great banquet. But Pythagoras alone would not partake. He sat a distance fasting, and filled with loathing at the eating of beans.

Six months had already gone by and half of the seventh when a disaster happened. Kinyras, Skintharos's son, tall and handsome, had for some time already been in love with Helen, who, on her side, made no secret of her lively passion for the youth. At any rate, they were constantly making signs to one another at table and pledging each other as they drank their wine, and then they would rise and wander off alone in the forest. Well, at last Kinyras, urged on by his passion and his helpless condition, conceived the plan of stealing Helen and running off with her. She, too, approved the idea of going off to one of the neighboring islands, either Cork or Cheeseland. They had some time ago taken three of my most valiant comrades into the conspiracy, but Kinyras had not mentioned it to his father, for he knew he would hinder him. They carried out their preconcerted plan. The night came. I was not at hand, for I happened to be asleep in the banquet-hall. The conspirators eluded the others, captured Helen, and set sail in haste.

About midnight Menelaus awoke, and, finding his wife gone, he gave the alarm and went with his brother to the king, Rhadamanthos. At daybreak the watchmen brought word that they could make out the ship at a great distance. Accordingly Rhadamanthos ordered fifty of the heroes into a vessel made of a single log of asphodel, and bade them give chase. They rowed with a will, and overtook the fugitives towards noon just as they were entering the sea of milk in the neighborhood of Cheeseland; so near were they to getting off! They made the ship fast to their own with a chain of roses and sailed back, Helen weeping for shame behind her veil. Kinyras and his followers were first asked by Rhadamanthos whether they had any other accomplices, and when they said they had not, he bound them, flogged them with mallows, and sent them off to the realm of the wicked.

They decided that we, too, must be sent out of the island on short notice, giving us only the following day. Thereupon I burst into lamentations and wept at the thought of leaving so many delights and setting forth on my wanderings again. But the heroes heartened me by saying that before many years I should return to them, and they showed me a chair and a couch made ready against that day near the noblest. I went to Rhadamanthos and begged and besought him to read the future for me and map out my voyage, and he told me I should return to my native land after many wanderings and dangers, but he persisted in refusing to set the time of my arrival. However, he pointed out the neighboring islands, of which five were visible, with a sixth in the distance, and told me these were the islands of the wicked, these nearer ones, “from which," said he, "you see the great fires flaming up, and the sixth, yonder, is the City of Dreams. Beyond this is Kalypso's island, but you cannot see it from here. When you have sailed past these you will come to the great continent which is opposite your own. There you will have many adventures and pass among all sorts of tribes, and visit barbarous people, and in time you will come to the other continent."

So much he told me; and, plucking a mallow-root from the earth, he handed it to me, bidding me call upon this in my greatest perils. He also laid these injunctions on me in case I should ever get back to this country: never to stir the fire with my sword, never to eat beans, and never to kiss a girl more than eighteen years old. If I should keep these rules in mind I might confidently hope to return to the island. After this I made ready for the voyage, and when the time was come I feasted together with them. The next morning I went to Homer, the poet, to ask him to write me a distich for an inscription, and when he had composed it I erected a pillar of beryll stone above the harbor, and inscribed it as follows:

Lucian, beloved of the gods who dwell in bliss everlasting,

Saw these realms, and then returned to the land of his fathers.

This was our last day; on the next we set forth, escorted by the heroes. At this juncture Odysseus, too, came to me unbeknownst to Penelope, and gave me a letter to carry to Kalypso in the island of Ogygia.

[The first land made by Lucian on this voyage was one of the Islands of the Wicked, where Timon of Athens was gate-keeper. Here he saw Kinyras and others in torment, but the severest punishments were reserved for liars and inaccurate historians, among whom he saw Ktesias the Knidian and Herodotus. Thence he sailed to the Island of Dreams, and so to Ogygia.]

On the third day thereafter we made the island of Ogygia and went ashore, but first I opened the letter and read the contents. It ran as follows:

ODYSSEUS GREETS KALYPSO.

Know that as soon as I sailed away from your island on the raft I had built I suffered shipwreck, and was only just saved by Leukothea and brought to the country of the Phaeacians. They conveyed me to my own land, where I found my wife's numerous suitors revelling at my expense. I killed them all, but was afterwards taken off by Telegonos, my son by Circe. At present I am in the Island of the Blest, repenting deeply that I left your hospitality and the immortality you offered me, and as soon as I get a chance I will make my escape and come to you."

This was what the letter said, together with a request that she would show us hospitality.

When I had advanced a short distance from the sea I found a cave such as Homer described, and the lady herself spinning wool. When she had taken the letter and read it through she burst into tears and wept a long time, but after a while she invited us to dinner and feasted us nobly. She asked questions about Odysseus and about Penelope, what she was like to look at, and whether her good sense was so remarkable as Odysseus used to boast it. We made such answers as we thought would be agreeable to her. Then we went off to the ship and bivouacked near by on the beach.

These, then, were my adventures on the sea, during my voyage among the islands, in the air, afterwards in the whale and when we had escaped thence, and among the heroes... until I reached the opposite continent. What happened to me on land I will describe in the following books.