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[94]
“Happy was the mother who bore such a son as
you,” he said, “be good and prosper. Beauty and wisdom make a rare
conjunction. And do not think that all your words have been wasted. In me you
have found a lover. I will do justice to your worth in verse. I will teach and
protect you, and follow you even where you do not bid me. I do Encolpius no
wrong; he loves another.”
That soldier who took away my sword did Eumolpus a good turn too; otherwise I would
have appeased the wrath raised in me against Ascyltos with the blood of Eumolpus.
Giton was not blind to this. So he went out of the room on a pretence of fetching
water, and[p. 189] quenched my wrath by his tactful departure. Then, as my
fury cooled a little, I said, “I would prefer even that you should talk poetry
now, Eumolpus, rather than harbour such hopes. I am choleric, and you are
lecherous: you understand that these dispositions do not suit each other. Well,
regard me as a maniac, yield to my infirmity, in short, get out quick.”
Eumolpus was staggered by this attack, and never asked why I was angry, but went out
of the room at once and suddenly banged the door, taking me completely by surprise
and shutting me in. He pulled out the key in a moment and ran off to look for Giton.
I was locked in. I made up my mind to hang myself and die. I had just tied a belt to
the frame of a bed which stood by the wall, and was pushing my neck into the noose,
when the door was unlocked, Eumolpus came in with Giton, and called me back to light
from the very bourne of death. Nay, Giton passed from grief to raving madness, and
raised a shout, pushed me with both hands and threw me on the bed, and
cried,“Encolpius, you are wrong if you suppose you could possibly die
before me. I thought of suicide first; I looked for a sword in Ascyltos's
lodgings. If I had not found you I would have hurled myself to death over a
precipice. I will show you that death stands close by those who seek him: behold
in your turn the scene you wished me to behold.”
With these words he snatched a razor from Eumolpus's servant, drew it once, twice
across his throat, and tumbled down at our feet. I gave a cry of horror, rushed to
him as he fell, and sought the road of death with the same steel. But Giton was not
marked with any trace of a wound, and I did not feel the least pain. The razor was
untempered, and specially blunted[p. 191] in order to give boy pupils the
courage of a barber: and so it had grown a sheath. So the servant had not been
alarmed when the steel was snatched from him, and Eumolpus did not interrupt our
death-scene.
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