So Cimon went away to the country, where one afternoon, whilst going about his rustic business on one of his father’s estates, with a stick on his shoulder, he chanced to enter a wood, renowned in those parts for its beauty, the trees of which were thickly leaved as it happened to be the month of May.2 As he was walking through the wood, guided as it were by Fortune, he came upon a clearing surrounded by very tall trees, in a corner of which there was a lovely cool fountain. Beside the fountain, lying asleep on the grass, he saw a most beautiful girl, attired in so flimsy a dress that scarcely an inch of her fair white body was concealed. From the waist downwards she was draped in a pure white quilt, no less diaphanous than the rest of her attire, and at her feet, also fast asleep, lay two women and a man, who were the young lady’s attendants.
On catching sight of this vision, Cimon stopped dead in his tracks, and, leaning on his stick, began to stare at her, rapt in silent admiration, as though he had never before set eyes upon the female form. And deep within his uncouth breast, which despite a thousand promptings had remained stubbornly closed to every vestige of refined sentiment, he sensed the awakening of a certain feeling which told his crude, uncultured mind that this girl was the loveliest object that any mortal being had ever seen. He now began to consider each of her features in turn, admiring her hair, which he judged to be made of gold, her brow, nose and mouth, her neck and arms; and especially her bosom, which was not yet very pronounced. Having suddenly been transformed from a country bumpkin into a connoisseur of beauty, he longed to be able to see her eyes, but they were closed in heavy slumber, from which the girl gave no apparent sign of awakening. Several times he was on the point of rousing her so that he might observe them, but as she seemed far more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen, he supposed that she might be a goddess, and he had sufficient mother wit to appreciate that divine things require more respect than those pertaining to earth. He therefore refrained, and waited for her to wake up of her own accord; and though he grew tired of waiting, he was filled with such strange sensations of pleasure that he was unable to tear himself away.
A long time elapsed before the girl, whose name was Iphigenia, raised her head and opened her eyes. Her attendants were still asleep, and on catching sight of Cimon standing before her, leaning on his stick, she was greatly astonished. She recognized him at once, for Cimon was known to almost everyone in those parts, not only because of the contrast between his handsome appearance and boorish manner, but also on account of his father’s rank and riches.
‘Cimon!’ she exclaimed. ‘What brings you here to the woods at this time of day?’
Cimon made no reply, but stood there gazing into her eyes, which seemed to shine with a gentleness that filled him with a feeling of joy such as he had never known before. When she saw him staring at her, Iphigenia was afraid that his rusticity might impel him to act in a way that would bring dishonour upon her, and having awakened her maidservants, she rose to her feet, saying:
‘Cimon, I bid you good day.’
‘I shall come with you,’ Cimon replied.
Still feeling somewhat apprehensive, the girl refused his company, but did not succeed in shaking him off till he had escorted her all the way to her door. He then proceeded to his father’s house, where he declared that he would on no account return to the country. His father and family were greatly displeased about this, but allowed him to stay in the hope of discovering what had caused him to change his mind.
Now that Cimon’s heart, which no amount of schooling had been able to penetrate, was pierced by Love’s arrow through the medium of Iphigenia’s beauty, he suddenly began to display a lively interest in one thing after another, to the amazement of his father, his whole family, and everyone else who knew him. He first of all asked his father’s permission to wear the same sort of clothes as his brothers, including all the frills with which they were in the habit of adorning themselves, and to this his father very readily agreed. He then began to associate with young men of excellence, observing the manners befitting a gentleman, more especially those of a gentleman in love, and within a very short space of time, to everyone’s enormous stupefaction, he not only acquired the rudiments of learning but became a paragon of intelligence and wit. Furthermore (and this again was a consequence of his love for Iphigenia), he abandoned his coarse and rustic accent, adopting a manner of speech that was more seemly and civilized, and even became an accomplished singer and musician, whilst in horse-riding and in martial prowess, whether on sea or land, he distinguished himself by his skill and daring.
In short, (without going into further detail about his various accomplishments), in the space of four years from the day he had fallen in love, he turned out to be the most graceful, refined, and versatile young man in the island of Cyprus.
What, then, are we to say, fair ladies, of this young man? Surely, all we need say is that the lofty virtues instilled by Heaven in Cimon’s valiant spirit were chained together and locked away by envious Fortune in a very small section of his heart, and that her mighty bonds had been shattered and torn apart by a much more powerful force, in other words that of Love. Being a rouser of sleeping talents, Love had rescued those virtues from the darkness in which they had lain so cruelly hidden, and forced them into the light, clearly displaying whence he draws, and whither he leads, those creatures who are subject to his rule and illumined by his radiance.
Although, in common with many another young man in love, Cimon was inclined in some ways to carry his love for Iphigenia to extremes, nevertheless Aristippus, on reflecting that Love had turned his son from an ass into a man, not only treated him with patience and tolerance but encouraged him to go further, and taste Love’s pleasures to the full. But Cimon (who refused to be called Galesus because he recalled that Iphigenia had addressed him by his nickname) was determined to achieve the object of his yearning by honourable means, and made several attempts to persuade Iphi-genia’s father, Cypsehus, to grant him her hand in marriage, only to be told on each occasion that Cypsehus had already promised her to Pasimondas, a young nobleman of Rhodes, and had no intention of breaking his word.
When the time came for Iphigenia’s marriage contract to be honoured, and her husband sent to fetch her, Cimon said to himself: ‘Ah, Iphigenia! Now is the time for me to prove how deeply I love you! Through you I have achieved manhood, and if I succeed in winning you, beyond doubt I shall achieve greater glory than any of the gods. And win you I certainly shall, or I shall perish.’ Being thus resolved, he furtively enlisted the help of certain young nobles who were friends of his, made secret arrangements to fit out a ship with everything one needed for a naval battle, and put out to sea, where he hove to and waited for the vessel which was to convey Iphigenia to her husband in Rhodes. And after her husband’s friends had been sumptuously entertained by her father, they escorted her aboard, pointed the ship’s prow in the direction of Rhodes, and departed.
On the following day, Cimon, who was very much on the alert, caught up with them in his own vessel, and standing on the prow, he hailed the crew of Iphigenia’s ship in a loud voice:
‘Lower your sails and heave to, or prepare to be overwhelmed and sunk!’
Cimon’s opponents had brought up weapons from below and were making ready to defend themselves, so he followed up his words by seizing a grappling-iron and hurling it on to the stern of the Rhodian ship as it was pulling swiftly away, thus bringing his bows hard up against the enemy’s poop. Without waiting to be joined by his comrades, he leapt aboard the Rhodians’ ship like a raging lion as though contemptuous of all opposition. Spurred on by his love, he set about his adversaries with astonishing vigour, striking them down with his cutlass, one after another, like so many sheep. On seeing this the Rhodians laid down their arms, and more or less in chorus gave themselves up as his prisoners.
Then Cimon said to them:
‘Young men, it was not the desire for plunder, nor any hatred towards you personally, that impelled me to leave Cyprus and
subject you to armed attack on the high seas. My motive was the acquisition of something which I value most highly, and which it is very easy for you to surrender to me peaceably. I refer to Iphigenia, whom I love more than anything else in the world. Since I was unable to obtain her from her father by friendly and peaceable means, Love has compelled me to seize her from you in this hostile fashion, by force of arms. And now I intend to be to her such as your master, Pasimondas, was to have been. Give her to me, then, and proceed with God’s grace on your voyage.’
The young men, more from necessity than the kindness of their hearts, handed over the weeping Iphigenia to her captor.
‘Noble lady,’ said Cimon, on perceiving her tears, ‘do not distress yourself. It is your Cimon that you see before you. The constant love I have borne you gives me far more right to possess you than the plighted troth of Pasimondas.’
Having seen that Iphigenia was taken aboard, he returned to his own ship and allowed the Rhodians to go with all their possessions intact.
The winning of so precious a prize made Cimon the happiest man on earth. After spending some time consoling his tearful mistress, he persuaded his companions that they should not return to Cyprus for the present, and they all agreed to steer their ship towards Crete, where Cimon and most of the others had family ties, both recently made and long established, as well as numerous friends and acquaintances. And for this very reason they thought it safe to go there with Iphigenia.
They had reckoned without the fickleness of Fortune, however, for no sooner had she handed the lady into Cimon’s keeping, than she converted the boundless joy of the enamoured youth into sad and bitter weeping.
Scarcely four hours had elapsed since Cimon and the Rhodians had parted company, when, with the approach of night, to which Cimon was looking forward with a keener pleasure than any he had ever experienced, an exceptionally violent storm arose, filling the sky with dark clouds and turning the sea into a raging cauldron. It thus became impossible for those aboard to see what they were doing or steer a proper course, or to keep their balance sufficiently long to perform their duties.
Needless to say, Cimon was greatly aggrieved by all this. The gods had granted his desire, but only, it seemed, to fill him with dread at the prospect of dying, which without Iphigenia he would have faced with cheerful indifference. His companions were equally woebegone, but the saddest one of all was Iphigenia, who was shedding copious tears and trembled with fear at every buffeting of the waves. Between her tears she bitterly cursed Cimon’s love and censured his temerity, declaring that this alone had brought about the raging tempest, though it could also have arisen because Cimon’s desire to marry her was contrary to the will of the gods, who were determined, not only to deny him the fruits of his presumptuous longing, but to make him witness her demise before he, too, died a miserable death.
These laments she continued to pour forth, along with others of still greater vehemence, until, with the wind blowing fiercer all the time, the seamen at their wits’ end, and everyone ignorant of the course they were steering, they arrived off the island of Rhodes. Not realizing where they were, they did everything in their power to make a good landfall, and thus prevent loss of life.
Fortune was kindly to their endeavours, and guided them into a tiny bay, to which the Rhodians released by Cimon on the previous day had brought their own vessel a little while before. Dawn was breaking as they entered the bay, turning the sky a little brighter, and no sooner did they become aware that they were at the island of Rhodes than they perceived the very ship from which they had parted company, lying no more than a stone’s throw away from their own. Cimon was dismayed beyond measure by this discovery, and fearing just such a fate as eventually overtook him, he called upon his crew to spare no effort in getting away from there and allowing Fortune to carry them wherever she pleased, since she could hardly choose a worse place than the one they were in. They strove with might and main to make good their escape, but without success, for a fierce gale was blowing directly against them, which not only prevented them from leaving the bay but drove them of necessity to the shore.
They eventually ran aground and were recognized by the Rhodian sailors, who by now were already ashore. One of these hurried off to inform the young Rhodian nobles, who had mean-while made their way to a nearby town, that the ship carrying Cimon and Iphigenia had, like their own, been driven into the bay by the storm.
Overjoyed by these tidings, the young Rhodians assembled a large number of the townspeople and instantly returned to the shore. Cimon and his companions had meanwhile disembarked, intending to seek refuge in some neighbouring woods, but before they could do so they were all seized, along with Iphigenia, and led away to the town. Here they were held until Lysimachus, the chief magistrate of Rhodes in that particular year, came from the city and marched them all off to prison under a specially heavy armed escort, as arranged by Pasimondas, who had lodged a complaint with the Senate of Rhodes as soon as the news had reached him.
And so it came about that the hapless Cimon lost his beloved Iphigenia almost as soon as he had won her, with nothing to show for his pains except one or two kisses. As for Iphigenia, she was given hospitality by various noble ladies of Rhodes, who restored her spirits from the shock of her abduction and the fatigue she had suffered in the tempest; and she remained with them until the day appointed for her wedding.
Pasimondas urged with all his eloquence that Cimon and his companions should be put to death, but their lives were spared on account of having set the young Rhodians at liberty on the previous day, and they were condemned to spend the rest of their lives in prison. And there, as may readily be imagined, they led a wretched existence, and despaired of ever knowing happiness again.
It was whilst Pasimondas was pressing zealously ahead with the preparations for his forthcoming marriage that Fortune, as though to make amends for the sudden blow she had dealt to Cimon’s hopes, devised a novel way of procuring him his liberty. Pasimondas had a brother, younger but no less eligible than himself, whose name was Ormisdas, and who for some time had been seeking to marry a beautiful young noblewoman of the city called Cassandra, with whom Lysimachus, the chief magistrate, was very deeply in love. But the marriage had been several times postponed because of some unexpected turn of events.
Now, seeing that he was about to hold a huge reception to celebrate his own wedding, Pasimondas thought it would be an excellent idea to arrange for Ormisdas to be married at the same time, thus avoiding a second round of spending and feasting. He therefore re-opened discussions with Cassandra’s kinsfolk and brought them to a successful conclusion, all the parties agreeing that on the day that Pasimondas married Iphigenia, Ormisdas should marry Cassandra.
Lysimachus, having heard of this arrangement, was greatly distressed, for it now appeared that all his hopes of marrying Cassandra, provided that Ormisdas did not marry her first, had suddenly vanished. He was wise enough, however, to conceal the agony he was suffering, and began to study various ways and means of preventing the marriage from taking place, eventually concluding that the only possible solution was to abduct her.
This seemed a feasible proposition because of the office he held, although if he had held no office at all he would have thought it a far less dishonourable course to take. But in short, after lengthy reflection his sense of honour gave way to his love, and he resolved, come what may, to carry Cassandra off. On giving thought to the sort of companions he would need for effecting his design, and planning the strategy he should adopt, he remembered that he was holding Cimon prisoner, together with all his men, and it occurred to him that for an enterprise such as this it would be impossible to find a better or more loyal accomplice.
So during the night he had Cimon secretly conveyed to his chamber, and introduced the subject in this fashion:
‘Not only, Cimon, do the gods most freely and generously distribute their largesse amongst men, they also have exceedingly subtle ways of putting our merits to the test
. And those whom they discover to be firm and constant in all circumstances, since they are the worthiest, are singled out for the highest rewards. The gods desired surer proofs of your excellence than you were able to display when living in the house of your father, whom I know to be immensely rich. And having first of all transformed you (or so I have been told) from an insensate beast into a man through the keen stimulus of Love, they are now intent upon seeing whether, after a severe ordeal and the discomforts of imprisonment, you are any less resolute than when you briefly enjoyed the spoils of victory. Nothing they have previously granted you, however, can have brought you so much joy and happiness as the thing which, if your courage has not deserted you, they are preparing to offer to you now. And in order to restore your strength, and put fresh heart into you, I intend to explain what it is.
‘Pasimondas, who gloats over your undoing and fervently advocates your death, is making every effort to bring forward the celebration of his nuptials to your beloved Iphigenia, and thus enjoy the prize which Fortune had no sooner been content to bestow upon you than she angrily snatched away from you again. If he should succeed, and if you are as deeply in love as I suspect, I can readily imagine the pain you will suffer, for on that same day his brother, Ormisdas, is proposing to do the same to me by marrying Cassandra, whom I love more dearly than anything else in the world. If we are to prevent Fortune from dealing us so heavy and calamitous a blow, it seems to me that she has left us with no other recourse except the stoutness of our hearts and the strength of our right hands, with which we must seize our swords and fight our way to our ladies, you to carry off Iphigenia for the second time and I to carry off Cassandra for the first. If, therefore, you value the prospect of recovering your lady (not to mention your liberty, which must in any case mean little to you without Iphigenia), the gods have placed the means within your reach, provided you will join me in my enterprise.’