Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Service Manual 73125943

Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Service Manual 73125943

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Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Service Manual 73125943
Size: 215 MB
Format: PDF
Language: English
Brand: Fiat Allis
Type of Machine: Motograder
Type of document: Service Manual
Model: Fiat Allis 65B Motograder
Form Number: 73125943
Content:
Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Engine Related Components
73125173
Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Transmission 73122741
Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Rear Axle, Tandems and
Brakes 73123076
Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Service Specifications
73119389
Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Hydraulics, Front end &
Implements 73123077
Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Electrical System 73146366

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Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Engine 73121213
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Fiat Allis Motograder 65B Service Manual 73125943

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The rough figure takes life and precision.
 Afterwards, he arranges the legs, one stretched out stiffly on one
side, the other with the knee raised and the heel almost touching
the croup. He rectifies a few details, turns over the waist a little to
the left, straightens out the right foot and takes off the bracelets,
the necklaces and the rings, in order not to mar by a single
dissonance the pure and complete harmony of feminine nudity.

The Model has taken the pose.

Demetrios casts the dark lump of clay upon the table. He presses
it, kneads it, lengthens it out into human form: a sort of barbarous
monster takes shape under his burning fingers: he looks.
The motionless corpse preserves its attitude of passion. But a thin
thread of blood trickles from the right nostril, flows upon the lip, and
falls, drop by drop, under the half-opened mouth.
Demetrios continues. The rough figure takes life and precision. A
prodigious left arm circles over the body as if it were clasping
someone in a tight embrace. The muscles of the thigh stand out
violently. The heels are bent upwards.

When night mounted from the earth and darkened the low
chamber, Demetrios had finished the statue.
He had it carried to his studio by four slaves. That very evening,
by lamplight, he had a block of Parian marble rough-hewed, and a
year after that day he was still working at the marble.
 IV
PITY
“Gaoler, open! Gaoler, open!”
Rhodis and Myrtocleia knocked at the closed door.
The door opened half way.
“What do you want?”
“To see our friend,” said Myrto. “To see Chrysis, poor Chrysis, who
died this morning.”
“It is not allowed; go away!”
“Oh, let us enter. No one will know. We will tell no one. She was
our friend, let us see her once more. We will go out again. We will
go out again quickly. We will make no noise.”
“And supposing I am caught, my little girls? Supposing I am
punished on your account? You will not pay the fine?”
“You will not be caught. You are alone here. There are no other
inmates of the prison. You have sent away the soldiers. We know
this. Let us enter.”
“Well, well! Do not stay too long. Here is the key. It is the third
door. Tell me when you go away. It is late and I want to go to bed.”
The kindly old man handed them a key of beaten iron which hung
from his girdle, and the two little virgins ran immediately, on their
noiseless sandals, along the obscure corridors.
Then the gaoler re-entered his lodge, and did not insist any
further upon a useless surveillance. The penalty of imprisonment
was not applied in Greek Egypt, and the little white house that was
placed under the care of the gentle old man served merely for the
reception of culprits condemned to death. In the interval between
executions it remained almost deserted.
 The moment the great key entered the lock, Rhodis arrested her
friend’s hand:
“I do not know whether I dare see her,” she said. “I loved her
well, Myrto . . . I am afraid . . . Go in first, will you?”
Myrtocleia pushed open the door; but as soon as she had cast a
glance into the chamber she cried:
“Do not enter, Rhodis! Wait for me here.”
“Oh! What is there? You are afraid too . . . What is there on the
bed? Is she not dead?”
“Yes, wait for me . . . I will tell you . . . Stay in the corridor and do
not look.”

The body was still in the ecstatic attitude in which Demetrius had
arranged it for his Statue of Immortal Life. But the transports of
extreme joy confine upon the convulsions of extreme pain, and
Myrtocleia asked herself what atrocious sufferings, what agonies had
produced such an upheaval in the corpse.
 She approached the bed on tiptoe.
The thread of blood continued to flow from the diaphanous nostril.
The skin of the body was perfectly white; the pale tips of the breasts
receded like delicate navels; not a single rose-coloured reflection
gave life to the ephemeral recumbent statue; but some emerald-
coloured spots that tinted the smooth belly signified that millions of
new lives were germinating in the scarcely-cold flesh, and were
demanding “the right of succession!”
Myrtocleia took the dead arm and laid it flat along the hip. She
tried also to pull out the left leg; but the knee was almost rigid, and
she did not succeed in pulling it out completely.
“Rhodis,” she said, in a troubled voice, “come; you can enter now.”

The trembling child penetrated into the chamber. Her features

contracted, her eyes opened wide.
As soon as they felt that there were two of them, they fell into
one another’s arms and burst into long-drawn sobs.
“Poor Chrysis! Poor Chrysis!” repeated the child.
They kissed one another on the cheek with a desperate affection
from which all sensuality had disappeared and the taste of the tears
upon their lips filled their forlorn little souls with bitterness.
They wept, and wailed, they looked at one another other with
anguish, and sometimes they spoke both together in a hoarse voice
of agony, and their words ended in sobs.
“How we loved her! She was not a friend for us. She was a little
mother for both of us . . .”
Rhodis repeated:
“Like a little mother . . .”
And Myrto, dragging her to the side of the dead woman, said in a
low voice:
“Kiss her.”
They both bent down, and placed their hands upon the bed, as,
with fresh sobs, they touched the icy forehead with their lips.

And Myrto took the head between her two hands, buried them in
the hair, and spoke to her thus:
 “Chrysis, my Chrysis, you who were the most beautiful and the
most adored of women, who were so like the goddess that the
people took you for her, where are you now, what have they done
with you? You lived to impart beneficent joy. No fruit was ever
sweeter than your mouth, no light brighter than your eyes; your skin
was a glorious robe that you would not veil; voluptuousness floated
upon it like a perpetual odour; and when you unclasped your hair, all
desires flowed from it; and when you clasped your naked arms, one
implored the gods for permission to die.”

Rhodis sat huddled up on the ground, sobbing.

“Chrysis, my Chrysis.” pursued Myrtocleia, “but yesterday you

were living, and young, and hoping for length of days, and now you
are dead, and no power on earth can induce you to speak a word to
us. You have closed your eyes, and we were not there. You have
suffered and you did not know that we wept for you behind the
walls. Your dying eyes looked for someone and did not meet our
eyes stricken with sorrow and pity.”
The flute-girl wept continually. The singing girl took her by the
hand.

“Chrysis, my Chrysis, you once told us that one day, thanks to

you, we should marry. Our union is one of tears, and sad is the
betrothal of Rhodis and Myrtocleia. But sorrow, rather than love,
welds together two enclasped hands. Those who have once wept
together will never desert one another. We are going to lay your
dear body under the ground, Chrysidion, and we will both of us cut
off our hair upon your tomb.”

She enveloped the beautiful body and then she said to Rhodis:
“Help me.”

They lifted her up gently; but the burden was a heavy one for the
little musicians, and they laid it down upon the ground.
“Let us take off our sandals,” said Myrto. “Let us walk bare-footed
in the corridors. The gaoler is surely asleep. If we do not wake him
we shall pass, but if he sees us he will prevent us . . . To-morrow
matters not: when he sees the empty bed, he will say to the Queen’s
soldiers that he has thrown the body into a ditch, according to the
law. Let us fear nothing, Rhodis! . . . Put your sandals in your girdle,
like me. And come! Take the body under the knees. Let the feet
hang behind. Walk without noise, slowly, slowly . . .”
 V
PIETY
After the turning of the second street, they laid the body down a
second time in order in put on their sandals. Rhodis’s feet, too
delicate to walk naked, were torn and bleeding.
The night was full of brilliancy. The town was full of silence. The
iron-coloured shadows lay in square blocks in the middle of the
streets, according to the profile of the houses.
The little virgins resumed their load.
“Where are we going to?” asked the child. “Where are we going to
bury it?”
“In the cemetery of Hermanubis. It is always deserted, it will be in
peace there.”
“Poor Chrysis! Could I ever have thought that on her last day, I
should bear her body without torches and without funeral car,
secretly, like a thing stolen.”

Then both began to talk volubly as if they were afraid of the

silence, cheek by jowl with the corpse. The last day of Chrysis’s life
filled them with astonishment. Where had she got the mirror, the
necklace and the comb? She could not have taken the pearls of the
goddess herself. The temple was too well guarded for a courtesan to
be able to enter it. Then somebody must have acted for her? But
who? She was not known to possess any lover amongst the Stolists
to whom the guard of the divine statue was entrusted. And then, if
someone had acted for her, why had she not denounced him? And,
in any case, why these three crimes? Of what had they availed her,
except to deliver her over to punishment? A woman does not
commit such follies without an object, unless she be in love? Was
Chrysis in love? and who could it be?
“We shall never know”, concluded the flute-player. “She has taken
her secret with her, and even if she had an accomplice he would be
the last to enlighten us.”
At this point, Rhodis, who had been resting for several instants,
sighed:
The little virgins resumed their load
 “I cannot carry her any longer, Myrto. I shall fall down on my
knees, I am broken with fatigue and grief.”
Myrtocleia took her by the neck:
“Try again, my darling. We must carry her. Her nether life is at
stake. If she has no sepulture and no obol in her hand, she will roam
eternally on the banks of the river of hell, and when we in our turn,
Rhodis, go down to the dead, she will reproach us with our impiety,
and we shall not know what to answer her.”
But the child, overcome with weakness, burst into tears.
“Quickly, quickly!” exclaimed Myrtocleia.
“Somebody is coming along the end of the street. Place yourself in
front of the body with me. Let us hide it behind our tunics . . . If it is
seen, all is lost . . .”
She stooped short.
“It is Timon. I recognise him. Timon with four women. Ah, gods!
what is going to happen? He laughs at everything and will mock us .
. . But no, stay here, Rhodis; I will speak to him.”
And, inspired by a sudden thought, she ran down the street to
meet the little group.
“Timon,” she said, and her voice was full of supplication; “Timon,
stop. I have grave words to utter to you alone.”
“My poor little thing,” said the young man, “how excited you are!
Have you lost your shoulder-knot or have you dropped your doll and
broken its nose? This would be an irreparable disaster.”
The girl threw him a look of anguish; but the four women, Philotis,
Seso of Cnidos, Callistion, and Tryphera, were already clamouring
round her with impatience.
“Get away, little idiot!” said Tryphera, “if you have dried up your
nurse’s teats, we cannot help it, we have no milk. It is almost
daylight, you ought to be in bed; what business have children to
roam about in the moonlight?”
“Her nurse?” said Philotis. “She wants to steal away Timon.”
 “The whip! She deserves the whip!” said Callistion, who put one
arm round Myrto’s waist, lifting her off the ground and raising her
little blue tunic, But Seso interposed:
“You are mad,” she cried. “Myrto has never known a man. If she
calls Timon, it is not to sleep with him. Let her alone, and let us
have done with it!”
“Come,” said Timon, “what do you want with me? Come here.
Whisper in my ear. Is it really serious?”
“The body of Chrysis is there, in the street,” said the young girl
tremblingly. “We are carrying into the cemetary, my little friend and
I, but it is heavy, and we ask you if you will help us. It will not take
long. Immediately afterwards you can rejoin your women . . .”
Timon’s look reassured her.
“Poor girls! To think that I laughed! You are better than we are . .
. Certainly I will help you. Go and join your friend and wait for me, I
am coming.”
Turning to the four women . . .
“Go to my house,” he said, “by the street of the Potters. I shall be
there in a short time. Do not follow me.”
Rhodis was still sitting in front of the corpse. When she saw Timon
coming, she implored him:
“Do not tell! We have stolen it to save her shade. Keep our secret,
we will love you, Timon.”
“Have no fears,” said the young man.
He took the body under the shoulders and Myrto took it under the
knees, and they walked on in silence, with Rhodis tottering along
behind.
Timon said not a word. For the second time in two days, human
passion had carried off one of the transitory guests of his bed, and
he marvelled at the unreason that drove people out of the
enchanted road that leads to perfect happiness.
“Impassivity,” he thought, “indifference, quietude, voluptuous
serenity! who amongst men will appreciate you? We fight, we
struggle, we hope, when one thing only is worth having: namely, to
extract from the fleeting moment all the joys it is capable of
affording, and to leave one’s bed as little as possible.”
They reached the gate of the ruined necropolis.
“Where shall we put it?” said Myrto.
“Near the god.”
“Where is the statue? I have never been in here before. I was
afraid of the tombs and the inscriptions. I do not know the
Hermanubis. It is probably in the centre of the little garden. Let us
look for it. I once came here before when I was a child, in quest of a
lost gazelle. Let us follow the alley of white sycamores. We cannot
fail to discern it.”
Nor did they fail to find it.
Dawn mingled its delicate violets with the moonbeams on the
monuments. A vague and distant harmony floated in the cypress
branches. The regular rustling of the palms, so similar to tiny drops
of falling rain, cast an illusion of freshness.
Timon opened with difficulty a pink stone imbedded in the earth.
The sepulture was excavated beneath the hands of the funerary
god, whose attitude was that of the embalmer. It must have
contained a body, formerly; but at present nothing was to be found
but a handful of brownish dust.
They passed the limp body to Timon.
 The young man jumped into the grave, as far as his waist, and
held out his arms:
“Give it to me,” he said to Myrto. “I am going to lay it at the far
end, and we will close up the tomb again.”
But Rhodis threw herself on the body.
“No, do not bury her so quickly! I want to see her again! One last
time! One last time! Chrysis! My poor Chrysis! Ah! the horror of it . .
. How she has changed! . . .”

Myrtocleia had just disarranged the blanket which covered the

dead woman, and the sight of the sudden change the face had
undergone made the two girls recoil. The cheeks had become
square, the eyelids and lips were puffed out like half-a-dozen white
pads. Nothing was left of all that superhuman beauty. They drew the
thick winding-sheet over her again: but Myrto slipped her hand
under the stuff and placed an obol for Charon in her fingers.
Then, shaken by interminable sobs, they passed the limp inert
body to Timon.
And when Chrysis was laid in the bottom of the sandy tomb,
Timon opened the winding-sheet again. He fixed the silver obol
tightly in the nerveless hand; he propped up the head with a flat
stone; he spread the long deep-gold hair over her body from the
forehead to the knees.
Then he left the tomb, and the musicians, kneeling before the
yawning opening, cut off their young hair, bound it together in one
sheaf, and buried it with the dead.

ΤΟΙΝΔΕ ΠΕΡΑΣ ΕΣΧΕ ΤΟ ΣΥΝΤΑΓΜΑ

ΤΩΝ ΠΕΡΙ ΧΡΥΣΙΔΑ ΚΑΙ ΔΗΜΗΤΡΙΟΝ
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