dily along the veins and the members; the fibres
are called into action beneath the gelid breast, and the nerves once
more become instinct with life. Life and death are there at once. The
arteries beat; the muscles are braced; the body raises itself, not by
degrees, but at a single impulse, and stands erect. The eyelids unclose.
The countenance is not that of a living subject, but of the dead. The
paleness of the complexion, the rigidity of the lines, remain; and he
looks about with an unmeaning stare, but utters no sound. He waits on
the potent enchantress.

"Speak!" said she, "and ample shall be your reward. You shall not again
be subject to the art of the magician. I will commit your members to
such a sepulchre; I will burn your form with such wood, and will chaunt
such a charm over your funeral pyre, that all incantations shall
thereafter assail you in vain. Be it enough, that you have once been
brought back to life! Tripods, and the voice of oracles deal in
ambiguous responses; but the voice of the dead is perspicuous and
certain to him who receives it with an unshrinking spirit. Spare not!
Give names to things; give places a clear designation, speak with a full
and articulate voice."

Saying this, she added a further spell, qualified to give to him who was
to answer, a distinct knowledge of that respecting which he was about to
be consulted. He accordingly delivers the responses demanded of him;
and, that done, earnestly requires of the witch to be dismissed. Herbs
and magic rites are necessary, that the corpse may be again unanimated,
and the spirit never more be liable to be recalled to the realms of day.
The sorceress constructs the funeral pile; the dead man places himself
upon it; Erichtho applies the torch, and the charm is ended for ever.

III

OMENS AND PHANTASMS

XXXVIII

PATROKLOS

HOMER'S _Iliad_ (E.H. Blakeney's translation[13])

Then there came unto him the ghost of poor Patroklos, in all things like
unto the very man, in stature, and fair eyes, and voice; and he was
arrayed in vesture such as in life he wore. He stood above the hero's
head and challenged him:--

"Thou sleepest, Achilles, unmindful of me. Not in my lifetime wert thou
neglectful, but in death. Bury me with all speed; let me pass the gates
of Hades. Far off the souls, wraiths of the dead, keep me back, nor
suffer me yet to join them beyond the river; forlorn I wander up and
down the wide-doored house of Hades.