by Charles Swan
He sent for the overseer of the women, and desired him to array Tharsia in the most splendid apparel, and proclaim around the city the price of her dishonour.* The overseer did as he was ordered; and on the third day a crowd of people arrived, preceded by the pimp with music. But Athanagoras came first in a mask, and Tharsia, looking despairingly upon him, threw herself at his feet. “Pity me, my lord; pity me, for the love of Heaven. By that Heaven I adjure you to save me from dishonour. Hear my story; and knowing from whom I sprung, respect my descent and defend my innocence.” She then detailed the whole fortunes of her life; and Athanagoras, confused and penitent, exclaimed, “Alas! and I too have a daughter, whom fate may in like manner afflict. In your misfortunes I may apprehend hers. Here are twenty gold pieces; it is more than your barbarous master exacts from you. Eelate your narrative to the next comers, and it will insure your freedom.” Full of gratitude for the generous treatment she experienced, Tharsia returned him thanks, but entreated that her story might not be communicated to others. “To none but my own daughter,” said he, “for it will be replete with moral advantage.” So saying, and shedding some tears over her fallen estate, he departed. As he went out he met a friend, who stopped him and asked how the girl had behaved. “None better,” returned the prince; “but she is very sorrowful.” The youth entered, and she closed the door as on the former occasion. “How much has the prince given you ? “asked he. “Forty pieces,” answered the girl.
“Here, then; take the whole pound of gold.” † Tharsia took the present, but falling at his feet, explained her situation. Aporiatus (for that was the young man’s name) answered, “Rise, lady; we are men. All of us are subject to misfortunes.” He went out, and observing Athanagoras laughing, said to him, “You are a fine fellow ! Have you nobody to pledge in tears but me ?” Afraid that these words should betray the matter, they gave another turn to the discourse,* and awaited the coming of some other person. Great numbers appeared, but they all returned in tears, having given her sums of money. Tharsia having obtained the sum which the pimp had fixed as the price of her dishonour, presented it to him. “Take care,” said the monster, “that you bring me whatever money is presented to you.” But the next day, understanding that she yet preserved her honour, his rage knew no bounds; and he immediately commissioned the overseer of the women to complete the iniquity. When he appeared, the poor girl’s tears flowed in profusion. “Pity me, sir,” she said, falling at his feet; “my misfortunes have created the compassion of others, and surely you will not alone spurn my request. I am the daughter of a king; do not dishonour me.” “This pimp,” replied he, “is avaricious: I know not what I can do.” “Sir,” answered Tharsia, “I have been educated in liberal pursuits. I understand music; if, therefore, you will lead me to the forum, you shall hear my performance.† Propose questions to the people, and I will expound them; I have no doubt but I shall receive money enough.” “Well,” said the fellow, “I will do as you would have me.”
Proclamation being made, the people crowded to the forum; and her eloquence and beauty impressed them all. Whatever question they proposed, she lucidly answered; and by these means drew much wealth from the curious citizens.‡ Athanagoras, also, watched over her with much anxiety—with little less, indeed, than he showed to his only child. He recommended her to the care of the overseer, and bought him to his interest by valuable presents.
Let us now return to Apollonius. After a lapse of fourteen years, he again made his appearance at the house of Stranguilio and Dionysias, in the city of Tharsus: no sooner had the former beheld him, than he strode about like a madman. “Woman,” said he, addressing his wife, “what wilt thou do now ? Thou hast said that Apollonius was shipwrecked and dead. Behold, he seeks his daughter; what answer shall we make ?” “Foolish man,” returned she, “let us resume our mourning, and have recourse to tears. He will believe that his child died a natural death.” As she said this, Apollonius entered. Observing their funeral habiliments, he asked, “Do you grieve at my return ? Those tears, I fear, are not for yourselves, but for me.” “Alas!” replied the woman, “I would to Heaven that another, and not me or my husband, had to detail to you what I must say. Your daughter Tharsia is suddenly dead!” Apollonius trembled through every limb, and then stood fixed as a statue.
“Oh, woman, if my daughter be really as you describe, have her money and clothes also perished ?” “Some part of both,” replied Dionysius, “is of course expended; but that you may not hesitate to give faith to our assurances, we will produce testimony in our behalf. The citizens, mindful of your munificence, have raised a brazen monument to her memory, which your own eyes may see.” Apollonius, thus imposed upon, said to his servants, “Go ye to the ship; I will visit the grave of my unhappy child.” There he read the inscription, as we have detailed above, and then, as if imprecating a curse upon his own eyes, he exclaimed in a paroxysm of mental agony, “Hateful, cruel sources of perception, do ye now refuse tears to the memory of my lamented girl.” With expressions like these, he hastened to his ship, and entreated his servants to cast him into the sea.*
They set sail for Tyre, and for a time the breezes blew prosperously; but changing, they were driven considerably out of their course. Guided by the good providence of God, they entered the port of Machilena,* where his daughter still abode. The pilot and the rest of the crew-shouted loudly on their approach to land, and Apollonius sent to inquire the cause. “My lord,” answered the pilot, “the people of Machilena are engaged in celebrating a birthday.” Apollonius groaned, “All can keep their birthdays except me. But it is enough that I am miserable; I give my attendants ten pieces of gold, and let them enjoy the festival. And whosoever presumes to utter my name, or rejoice in my hearing, command that his legs be immediately broken.”† The steward took the necessary sums, and having purchased supplies, returned to the ship. Now, the bark which contained Apollonius being more honourable than the rest, the feast was celebrated there more sumptuously. It happened that Athanagoras, who was enamoured of the fair Tharsia, walked upon the sea-shore near the king’s ship. “Friends,” said he to those who accompanied him, “that vessel pleases me.” The sailors with which she was manned, hearing him applaud their vessel, invited him on board. He went accordingly; and laying down ten gold pieces upon the table, observed, “You have not invited me for nothing.” They thanked him; and, in answer to certain questions he had put, informed the prince that their lord was in great affliction, and wished to die: they added, that he had lost a wife and daughter in a foreign country. “I will give you two pieces of gold,” said Athanagoras to Ardalius, one of the servants, “if you will go and say to him that the prince of this city desires a conference.” “Two gold pieces,” answered the person he spoke to, “will not repair my broken legs. I pray you send another; for he has determined thus to punish any one who approaches him.” “He made this law for you,” returned the prince, “but not, I think, for me : I will descend myself; tell me his name.” They told him—Apollonius. “Apollonius ? “said he to himself; “so Tharsia calls her father.”
He hastened into his presence, and beheld a forlorn and desolate person. His beard was of great length, and his head in the wildest disorder. In a low, subdued tone of voice, he said,” Hail, Apollonius! “Apollonius, supposing it to be one of his own people, fixed on him a furious look, but, seeing an honourable and handsome man, remained silent. “You are doubtless surprised,” said the prince, “at my intrusion. I am called Athanagoras, and am prince of this city. Observing your fleet riding at anchor from the shore, I was attracted by it; and amongst other things, being struck with the superior structure of this vessel, your sailors invited me on board. I inquired for their lord, and they answered that he was overwhelmed with grief. I have therefore ventured hither, in the hope of administering comfort to you, and drawing you once more into the light of joy. I pray God that it may prove so.” Apollonius raised his head. “Whomsoever yoti are, go in peace. I am unworthy to appear at the banquet; and I do n
ot desire to live.” Perplexed, yet anxious to console the unhappy king, Athanagoras returned upon deck; and despatched a messenger to the pimp, to require the immediate presence of Tharsia, whose musical skill and eloquence, he thought, could not but produce some effect.* She came, and received instructions from the prince. “If you succeed,” said he, “in softening this royal person’s affliction, I will present to you thirty gold sestertia, and as many of silver; moreover, for thirty days, redeem you from the power of your master.” * The girl accordingly prepared herself for the task. Approaching the mourner, “Heaven keep you,” said she, in a low plaintive voice, “and make you happy; a virgin that hath preserved her honour amid her misfortunes salutes you.” She then sang to an instrument, with such a sweet and ravishing melody, that Apollonius was enchanted. Her song† related to the fortunes she had experienced, and was to the following effect:—That she fell into the hands of dishonest people, who sought to traffic with her virtue; but that she passed innocent through all her trials. “Thus,” continued she, “the rose is protected by its thorns. They who bore me off beat down the sword of the smiter. I preserved my virtue when attacked by my brutal owner. The wounds of the mind linger, and tears fail. In me behold the only offspring of a royal house. Contain your tears, and limit your anxiety. Look up to heaven, and raise your thoughts above. The Creator and Supporter of mankind is God; nor will He permit the tears of His virtuous servants to be shed in vain.” As she concluded, Apollonius fixed his eyes upon the girl, and groaned deeply. “Wretched man that I am,” said he, “how long shall I struggle with my sorrows ? But I am grateful for your attentions; and if again permitted to rejoice in the zenith of my power, your memory will support me. You say you are royally descended ?—who are your parents ? But begone; here are a hundred gold pieces; take them, and speak to me no more. I am consumed with new afflictions.” The girl received his donation, and would have left the ship; but Athanagoras stopped her. “Whither are you going ?” said he; “you have as yet done no good: is your heart so pitiless that you can suffer a man to destroy himself, without striving to prevent it?” “I have done everything that I could,” answered Tharsia: “he gave me a hundred gold pieces, and desired me to depart.”
“I will give you two hundred pieces if you will return the money to him, and say, ‘My lord, I seek your safety, not your money.’”
Tharsia complied, and seating herself near to the king, said, “If you are determined to continue in the squalid state to which you have accustomed yourself, give me leave to reason with you. I will propose a question: if you can answer it, I will depart; if not, I will return your present and go.”
“Keep what I have given; I will not deny your request. For though my evils admit of no cure, yet I determine to hearken to you. Put your question, then, and depart.”
“Hear me; there is a house in a certain part of the world which bounds and rebounds, but it is closed against mankind. This house loudly echoes, but its inhabitant is ever silent; and both—the house and inhabitant—move forward together.* Now, if you are a king, as you aver, you should be wiser than I am. Resolve the riddle.”
“To prove to you that I am no impostor,” said Apollonius, “I will reply. The house which bounds and rebounds and echoes is the wave; the mute inhabitant is a fish, which glides along with its residence.” * Tharsia continued, “I am borne rapidly along by the tall daughter of the grove, which equally encloses an innumerable company. I glide over various paths, and leave no footstep.”† “When I have answered your questions,” said Apollonius, “I will show you much that you know not. Yet I am astonished that one so young should be endowed with wit so keen and penetrating. The tree enclosing a host, and passing through various ways without a trace, is a ship.”
“A person passes through circumferences and temples without injury. There is a great heat in the centre which no one removes. The house is not uncovered, but it suits a naked inhabitant. If you would allay pain, you must enter into fire.”
“I would enter, then, into a bath, where fire is introduced by means of round tables. ‡ The covered house suits a naked inhabitant; and he who is naked in this situation will perspire.” §
When she had said these and similar things, the girl threw herself before Apollonius, and drawing aside his hands, embraced him. “Hear,” said she, “the voice of your supplicant: regard a virgin’s prayers. It is wicked in men of so much wisdom to destroy themselves. If you lament your lost wife, the mercy of God can restore her to you; if your deceased child, you may yet find her. You ought to live and be glad.” Apollonius, irritated at the girl’s pertinacity, arose and pushed her from him with his foot. She fell and cut her cheek, from which the blood copiously flowed. Terrified at the wound she had received, she burst into tears, and exclaimed, “0 thou eternal Architect of the heavens! look upon my afflictions. Born amid the waves and storms of the ocean, my mother perished in giving life to her daughter. Denied rest even in the grave, she was deposited in a chest, with twenty gold sestertia, and thrown into the sea. But I, unhappy, was delivered by my remaining parent to Stranguilio and Dionysius, with the ornaments befitting a royal extraction. I was by them devoted to death; but whilst I invoked the assistance of God, a number of pirates rushed in and the murderer fled. I was brought hither; and in His own good time God will restore me to my father Apollonius.” (26) Here she concluded, and the royal mourner, struck with her relation, shouted with a loud voice, “Merciful God! Thou who lookest over heaven and earth, and revealest that which is hidden, blessed be Thy holy name.” Saying this, he fell into the arms of his daughter. Tenderly he embraced her, and wept aloud for joy. “My best and only child,” said he; “half of my own soul! I shall not die for thy loss. I have found thee, and I wish to live.” Exalting his voice yet more, “Run hither, my servants, my friends! all of ye; my misery is at an end. I have found what I had lost—my child, my only daughter!” Hearing his exclamations, the attendants ran in, and with them the prince Athanagoras. They discovered the enraptured king weeping upon his daughter’s neck. “See, see,” said he, “this is she whom I lamented. Half of my soul.! now will I live.” Participating in their master’s happiness, they all wept.
Apollonius now divested himself of his mourning dress, and attired himself in regal habiliments. “Oh, my lord,” said his followers, “how much your daughter resembles you! Were there no other guide, that would indicate her birth.” * The delighted girl overwhelmed her recovered parent with kisses. “Blessed be God,” cried she, “who has been so gracious to me, and given me to see, and live, and die with you.” Then, entering into a more detailed account of her adventures, she related what she had endured from the wretched pimp, and how the Almighty had protected her.
Athanagoras, fearing lest another might demand her in marriage, threw himself at the king’s feet, and modestly intimating how instrumental he had been in promoting their happy reunion, besought him to bestow his child upon him. “I cannot deny you,” returned Apollonius, “for you have alleviated her sorrows, and been the means of my present and future happiness. Take her. But deeply shall that rascal feel my vengeance.” Athanagoras immediately returned to the city, and convoked an assembly of the people. “Let not our city perish,” said he, addressing them, “for the crimes of one impious wretch. Know that King Apollonius, the father of the beautiful Tharsia, has arrived. Behold where his navy rides. He threatens us with instant destruction, unless the scoundrel who would have prostituted his daughter be given up to him.” Scarcely had he spoken when the whole population, men and women, hurried off to implore the king’s clemency. “I advise you,” said Athanagoras, “to take the wretch with you.” Seizing the execrable man, they tied his hands to his back, and carried him along to the presence of offended majesty. Apollonius, clad in royal robes, his hair shorn, and crowned, ascended the tribunal with his daughter. The citizens stood round, in expectation of his address. “Men of Machylena,” said he, “to-day I have recovered my daughter, whom that villainous pimp would have corrupt
ed. Neither pity, nor prayers, nor gold could prevail with him to desist from his atrocious purposes. Do ye, therefore, avenge my daughter.” The people, with one voice, answered, “Let him be burnt alive, and his wealth given to the lady.” Instantly the wretch was brought forward and burnt. “I give you your liberty,” said Tharsia to the overseer, “because, by your kindness and the kindness of the citizens, I remained unsullied. I also present to you two hundred gold sestertia.” Turning to the other girls, she added, “Be free, and forget your past habits.”
Apollonius, again addressing the people, returned them thanks for their kindness to him and his daughter, and bestowed on them a donation of five hundredweight of gold. Shouts and applause followed; and they immediately set about erecting a statue to their benefactor in the midst of the city. Upon the base was the following inscription:—
TO APOLLONIUS, OF TYRE,
THE PRESERVER OF OUR STATE;
AND TO THE MOST HOLY THARSIA,
HIS VIRGIN DAUGHTER.
A few days after the lady was espoused to Athanagoras, amid the universal joy of the city.
Intending to sail with his daughter, and son-in-law, and followers to his own country by way of Tharsus, an angel admonished him in a dream to make for Ephesus,* and there, entering the temple with his daughter and her husband, relate in a loud voice all the varied turns of fortune to which he had been subject from his earliest youth. Accordingly, he sailed for Ephesus. Leaving his ship, he sought out the temple to which his long-lost wife had retired. When his wife heard that a certain king had come to the temple with his daughter, she arrayed herself in regal ornaments, and entered with an honourable escort. The surrounding multitude was much struck with her beauty and modesty, and said there never was so lovely a virgin. Apollonius, however, knew her not; but such was her splendour that he and his companions fell at her feet, almost fancying her to be Diana, the goddess. He placed on the shrine precious gifts, and then, as the angel had ordained, he commenced his history. “I was born,” said he, “a king. I am of Tyre, and my name is Apollonius. I solved the riddle of the impious Antiochus, who sought to slay me as the detector of his wickedness. I fled, and, by the kindness of King Altistrates, was espoused to his daughter. On the death of Antiochus, I hastened with my wife to ascend his throne; but she died on the passage, after giving birth to this my daughter. I deposited her in a chest, with twenty gold sestertia, and committed her to the waves. I placed my daughter under the care of those whose subsequent conduct was base and villainous, and I departed to the higher parts of Egypt. After fourteen years I returned to see my daughter. They told me she was dead; and crediting it, I endured the deepest anguish of mind. But my child was at length restored to me.” (27)