Such then is the husband. The horse part of the female he made is most beautiful, with a strong resemblance to Thessalian fillies when they are still untamed and virgin. The top half is that of a very beautiful woman, apart from the ears, which alone of her features are those of a satyr. The union and junction of bodies whereby the horse part is fused with the woman part and joined to it is effected by a gradual change, with no abrupt transition; the eye, as it moves gradually from one to the other, is quite deceived by the subtle change. In the case of the young, their babyhood is wild and already fearsome in its gentleness—I thought this a wonderful touch. I admired too the very babylike way in




 

which both young were looking up at the lion cub as they sucked at the nipple, holding close and nestling against their mother.
 Zeuxis thought that this picture would send his viewers into raptures over his skill when they saw it. They certainly applauded it—what else could they do when they met a sight so lovely to gaze upon? But everyone’s warmest praise went to the points they praised in me too just recently; it was the strangeness of the idea, and the freshness of the sentiment of the work, quite unprecedented, that struck them. So when Zeuxis saw that the novelty of the subject was taking their attention and distracting them from the technique of the work, and that the accuracy of detail was taking second place, he said to his pupil: “Come on, Micio, cover up the picture and all of you pick it up and take it home. These spectators are praising only the mere clay of my work, but as to the effects of light, they do not worry much whether they are beautiful and skilfully executed, and the novelty of the subject goes for more than the accuracy of its parts.”
 That is what Zeuxis said, with too much anger perhaps. Antiochus—the one called the Saviour—is
said to have had a similar experience in the battle against the Galatians. If you agree I’ll tell you this story too. He knew that they were bold fighters and saw that there were many of them, and that their phalanx was compact and firm, with their bronze-clad warriors in the van and heavy-armed troops in the rear to a depth of twenty-four ranks, and that on either flank there were 20,000 cavalry,



 

while in the centre were eighty scythed chariots and twice as many two-horse chariots ready to make a sally. Antiochus then thought little of his chances of defeating such an invincible array. His own force had been hurriedly prepared and was not impressive or strong enough for the engagement. He had very few men, mostly targeteers and light-armed troops—light infantry made up over half of his force. Consequently he thought it prudent to make an immediate truce and to come to some honourable arrangement for putting an end to the war.
 He had with him, however, Theodotas of Rhodes, a fine soldier and skilful tactician, and this man’s presence restored his confidence. Now Antiochus had sixteen elephants, and Theodotas told him to keep them hidden as much as possible so they should not be seen towering above the troops; on the signal for battle just when the fighting was to start and the troops to come to grips and the enemy’s cavalry charged, the Galatians would open their phalanx and stand aside to let the chariots through; at that moment a group of four elephants should be sent against the cavalry on either flank, the remaining eight attacking the scythed and two-horse chariots. Such a movement, said Theodotas, would frighten their horses and turn them back in flight against the Galatian ranks. So it turned out. Neither the Galatians themselves nor their horses had previously seen an elephant and they were so confused by the unexpected sight that, while the beasts were still a long way off and they could only hear the trumpet, ing and see their tusks gleaming all the more brightly against their bodies dark all over and their trunks

 

raised like hooks, they turned and fled in a disorderly rout before they were within bowshot. Their infantry were impaled on each other’s spears and trampled underfoot as they were, by the cavalry, which came riding into them. The chariots too turned back against their own men and broke their ranks, not without bloodshed—in the words of Homer “the chariots clattered as they overturned.”
 Homer, Il . xvi, 379. 
 Once the horses had veered from their straight course in their fear of the elephants, they threw off their drivers and the “empty chariots rattled on,”
 Homer, Il . xi, 160. 
 actually tearing and cutting with their scythes any of their own men in their path. Many men were caught since there was utter confusion. The elephants followed, trampling on them, tossing them aloft in their trunks, snatching and piercing them with their tusks, and in the end these animals had presented Antiochus with an overwhelming victory.