The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (105 page)

Of Jove approve it, I myself will be

The man shall kill him, and this company

Exhort to that mind; if the gods remain

Adverse, and hate it, I advise, refrain.’

This said Amphinomus, and pleas’d them all;

When all arose, and in Ulysses’ hall

Took seat again. Then to the queen was come

The wooers’ plot, to kill her son at home,

Since their abroad design had miss’d success,

The herald Medon (who the whole address

Knew of their counsels) making the report.

The goddess of her sex, with her fair sort

Of lovely women, at the large hall’s door

(Her bright cheeks clouded with a veil she wore)

Stood, and directed to Antinous

Her sharp reproof, which she digested thus:

‘Antinous! Compos’d of injury!

Plotter of mischief! Though reports that fly

Amongst our Ithacensian people say

That thou, of all that glory in their sway,

Art best in words and counsels, th’ art not so.

Fond, busy fellow, why plott’st thou the woe

And slaughter of my son, and dost not fear

The presidents of suppliants, when the ear

Of Jove stoops to them? ’Tis unjust to do

Slaughter for slaughter, or pay woe for woe.

Mischief for kindness, death for life sought, then,

Is an injustice to be loath’d of men.

Serves not thy knowledge to remember when

Thy father fled to us? Who (mov’d to wrath

Against the Taphian thieves) pursu’d with scathe

The guiltless Thesprots; in whose people’s fear,

Pursuing him for wreak, he landed here,

They after him, professing both their prize

Of all his chiefly valued faculties

And more priz’d life. Of all whose bloodiest ends

Ulysses curb’d them, though they were his friends.

Yet thou, like one that no law will allow

The least true honour, eat’st his house up now

That fed thy father, woo’st for love his wife,

Whom thus thou griev’st, and seek’st her sole son’s life!

Cease, I command thee, and command the rest

To see all thought of these foul fashions ceas’d.’

Eurymachus replied: ‘Be confident,

Thou all-of-wit-made, the most fam’d descent

Of king Icarius. Free thy spirits of fear.

There lives not any one, nor shall live here

Now, nor hereafter, while my life gives heat

And light to me on earth, that dares intreat

With any ill touch thy well-lov’d son,

But here I vow, and here will see it done,

His life shall stain my lance. If on his knees

The city-raser, Laertiades,

Hath made me sit, put in my hand his food,

And held his red wine to me, shall the blood

Of his Telemachus on my hand lay

The least pollution, that my life can stay?

No! I have ever charg’d him not to fear

Death’s threat from any. And, for that most dear

Love of his father, he shall ever be

Much the most lov’d of all that live to me.

Who kills a guiltless man from man may fly,

From god his searches all escapes deny.’

Thus cheer’d his words, but his affections still

Fear’d not to cherish foul intent to kill

Ev’n him whose life to all lives he preferr’d.

The queen went up, and to her love appear’d

Her lord so freshly, that she wept, till sleep

(By Pallas forc’d on her) her eyes did steep

In his sweet humour. When the ev’n was come,

The godlike herdsman reach’d the whole way home.

Ulysses and his son for supper drest

A year-old swine, and ere their host and guest

Had got their presence, Pallas had put by

With her fair rod Ulysses’ royalty,

And render’d him an aged man again,

With all his vile integuments, lest his swain

Should know him in his trim, and tell his queen,

In these deep secrets being not deeply seen.

He seen, to him the prince these words did use:

‘Welcome, divine Eumaeus! Now what news

Employs the city? Are the wooers come

Back from their scout dismay’d? Or here at home

Will they again attempt me?’ He replied:

‘These touch not my care. I was satisfied

To do, with most speed, what I went to do;

My message done, return. And yet, not so

Came my news first; a herald (met with there)

Forestall’d my tale, and told how safe you were.

Besides which merely necessary thing,

What in my way chanc’d I may over-bring,

Being what I know, and witness’d with mine eyes.

Where the Hermaean sepulchre doth rise

Above the city, I beheld take port

A ship, and in her many a man of sort;

Her freight was shields and lances; and methought

They were the wooers; but, of knowledge, nought

Can therein tell you.’ The prince smil’d, and knew

They were the wooers, casting secret view

Upon his father. But what they intended

Fled far the herdsman; whose swain’s labours ended,

They dress’d the supper, which, past want, was eat.

When all desire suffic’d of wine and meat,

Of other human wants they took supplies

At Sleep’s soft hand, who sweetly clos’d their eyes.

The end of the sixteenth book

Book 17

The Argument

Telemachus, return’d to town,

Makes to his curious mother known,

In part, his travels. After whom

Ulysses to the court doth come,

In good Eumaeus’ guide, and press’d

To witness of the wooers’ feast;

Whom, though twice ten years did bestow

In far-off parts, his dog doth know.

Another Argument

Rho

Ulysses shows

Through all disguise.

Whom his dog knows;

Who knowing dies.

Book 17

But w
h
e
n air’s rosy birth, the Morn, arose,

Telemachus did for the town dispose

His early steps; and took to his command

His fair long lance, well sorting with his hand,

Thus parting with Eumaeus: ‘Now, my friend,

I must to town, lest too far I extend

My mother’s moan for me, who, till her eyes

Mine own eyes witness, varies tears and cries

Through all extremes. Do then this charge of mine,

And guide to town this hapless guest of thine,

To beg elsewhere his further festival.

Give they that please, I cannot give to all,

Mine own wants take up for myself my pain.

If it incense him, he the worst shall gain.

The lovely truth I love, and must be plain.’

‘Alas, friend,’ said his father, ‘nor do I

Desire at all your further charity.

’Tis better beg in cities than in fields,

And take the worst a beggar’s fortune yields.

Nor am I apt to stay in swine-sties more,

However; ever the great chief before

The poor ranks must to every step obey.

But go; your man in my command shall sway,

Anon yet too, by favour, when your fires

Have comforted the cold heat age expires,

And when the sun’s flame hath besides corrected

The early air abroad, not being protected

By these my bare weeds from the morning’s frost,

Which (if so much ground is to be engross’d

By my poor feet as you report) may give

Too violent charge to th’ heat by which I live.’

This said, his son went on with spritely pace,

And to the wooers studied little grace.

Arriv’d at home, he gave his javelin stay

Against a lofty pillar, and bold way

Made further in. When having so far gone

That he transcended the fair porch of stone,

The first by far that gave his entry eye

Was nurse Euryclea: who th’ embrodery

Of stools there set was giving cushions fair;

Who ran upon him, and her rapt repair

Shed tears for joy. About him gather’d round

The other maids, his head and shoulders crown’d

With kisses and embraces. From above

The queen herself came, like the queen of love,

Or bright Diana; cast about her son

Her kind embraces, with effusion

Of loving tears; kiss’d both his lovely eyes,

His cheeks, and forehead; and gave all supplies

With this entreaty: ‘Welcome, sweetest light!

I never had conceit to set quick sight

On thee thus soon, when thy lov’d father’s fame

As far as Pylos did thy spirit inflame,

In that search ventur’d all unknown to me.

O say, by what pow’r cam’st thou now to be

Mine eyes’ dear object?’ He return’d reply:

‘Move me not now, when you my ’scape descry

From imminent death, to think me fresh entrapp’d,

The fear’d wound rubbing, felt before I ’scap’d.

Double not needless passion on a heart

Whose joy so green is, and so apt t’ invert;

But pure weeds putting on, ascend and take

Your women with you, that ye all may make

Vows of full hecatombs in sacred fire

To all the godheads, if their only sire

Vouchsafe revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he

Is to protect as being their deity.

My way shall be directed to the hall

Of common concourse, that I thence may call

A stranger, who from off the Pylian shore

Came friendly with me; whom I sent before

With all my soldiers, but in chief did charge

Piraeus with him, wishing him t’ enlarge

His love to him at home, in best affair,

And utmost honours, till mine own repair.’

Her son thus spoken, his words could not bear

The wings too easily through her either ear,

But putting pure weeds on, made vows entire

Of perfect hecatombs in sacred fire

To all the deities, if their only sire

Vouchsa
f
’
d revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he

Was to protect as being their deity.

Her son left house, in his fair hand his lance,

His dogs attending, and, on every glance

His looks cast from them, Pallas put a grace

That made him seem of the celestial race.

Whom, come to concourse, every man admir’d.

About him throng’d the wooers, and desir’d

All good to him in tongues, but in their hearts

Most deep ills threaten’d to his most deserts.

Of whose huge rout once free, he cast glad eye

On some that, long before his infancy,

Were with his father great and gracious,

Grave Halitherses, Mentor, Antiphus;

To whom he went, took seat by them, and they

Inquir’d of all things since his parting day.

To them Piraeus came, and brought his guest

Along the city thither, whom not least

The prince respected, nor was long before

He rose and met him. The first word yet bore

Piraeus from them both, whose haste besought

The prince to send his women to see brought

The gifts from his house that Atrides gave,

Which his own roofs, he thought, would better save.

The wise prince answer’d: ‘I can scarce conceive

The way to these works. If the wooers reave

By privy stratagem my life at home,

I rather wish Piraeus may become

The master of them, than the best of these.

But, if I sow in their fields of excess

Slaughter and ruin, then thy trust employ,

And to me joying bring thou those with joy.’

This said, he brought home his grief-practis’d guest;

Where both put off, both oil’d, and did invest

Themselves in rich robes, wash’d, and sate, and eat.

His mother, in a fair chair taking seat

Directly opposite, her loom applied;

Who, when her son and guest had satisfied

Their appetites with feast, said: ‘O my son,

You know that ever since your sire was won

To go in Agamemnon’s guide to Troy,

Attempting sleep, I never did enjoy

One night’s good rest, but made my quiet bed

A sea blown up with sighs, with tears still shed

Embrew’d and troubled; yet, though all your miss

In your late voyage hath been made for this,

That you might know th’ abode your father made,

You shun to tell me what success you had.

Now then, before the insolent access

The wooers straight will force on us, express

What you have heard.’ ‘I will,’ said he, ‘and true.

We came to Pylos, where the studious due

That any father could afford his son

(But new arriv’d from some course he had run

To an extreme length, in some voyage vow’d)

Nestor, the pastor of the people, show’d

To me arriv’d, in turrets thrust up high,

Where not his brave sons were more lov’d than I.

Yet of th’ unconquer’d ever-sufferer,

Ulysses, never he could set his ear,

Alive or dead, from any earthy man.

But to the great Lacedaemonian,

Atrides, famous for his lance, he sent,

With horse and chariots, me, to learn th’ event

From his relation; where I had the view

Of Argive Helen, whose strong beauties drew,

By wills of gods, so many Grecian states,

And Trojans, under such laborious fates.

Where Menelaus ask’d me, what affair

To Lacedaemon render’d my repair.

I told him all the truth, who made reply:

‘O deed of most abhorr’d indecency!

A sort of impotents attempt his bed

Whose strength of mind hath cities levelled!

As to a lion’s den, when any hind

Hath brought her young calves, to their rest inclin’d,

When he is ranging hills and herby dales,

To make of feeders there his festivals,

But, turning to his luster, calves and dam

He shows abhorr’d death, in his anger’s flame:

So, should Ulysses find this rabble hous’d

In his free turrets, courting his espous’d,

Foul death would fall them. O, I would to Jove,

Phoebus, and Pallas, that, when he shall prove

The broad report of his exhausted store

True with his eyes, his nerves and sinews wore

That vigour then that in the Lesbian tow’rs,

Provok’d to wrestle with the iron pow’rs

Philomelides vaunted, he approv’d;

When down he hurl’d his challenger, and mov’d

Huge shouts from all the Achives then in view.

If, once come home, he all those forces drew

About him there to work, they all were dead,

And should find bitter his attempted bed.

But what you ask and sue for, I, as far

As I have heard the true-spoke mariner,

Will tell directly, nor delude your ear:

He told me that an island did ensphere,

In much discomfort, great Laertes’ son;

And that the nymph Calypso, overrun

With his affection, kept him in her caves,

Where men, nor ship of pow’r to brook the waves,

Were near his convoy to his country’s shore,

And where herself importun’d evermore

His quiet stay; which not obtain’d, by force

She kept his person from all else recourse.’

This told Atrides, which was all he knew.

Nor stay’d I more, but from the gods there blew

A prosperous wind, that set me quickly here.’

This put his mother quite from all her cheer;

When Theoclymenus the augur said:

‘O woman honour’d with Ulysses’ bed,

Your son, no doubt, knows clearly nothing more;

Hear me yet speak, that can the truth uncore,

Nor will be curious. Jove then witness bear,

And this thy hospitable table here,

With this whole household of your blameless lord,

That at this hour his royal feet are shor’d

On his lov’d country earth, and that ev’n here

Coming, or creeping, he will see the cheer

These wooers make, and in his soul’s field sow

Seeds that shall thrive to all their overthrow.

This, set a-shipboard, I knew sorted thus,

And cried it out to your Telemachus.’

Penelope replied: ‘Would this would prove,

You well should witness a most friendly love,

And gifts such of me, as encount’ring Fame

Should greet you with a blessed mortal’s name.’

This mutual speech past, all the wooers were

Hurling the stone, and tossing of the spear,

Before the palace, in the paved court,

Where otherwhiles their petulant resort

Sat plotting injuries. But when the hour

Of supper enter’d, and the feeding pow’r

Brought sheep from field, that fill’d up every way

With those that us’d to furnish that purvey,

Medon, the herald (who of all the rest

Pleas’d most the wooers, and at every feast

Was ever near) said: ‘You whose kind consort

Make the fair branches of the tree our court,

Grace it within now, and your suppers take.

You that for health, and fair contention’s sake,

Will please your minds, know, bodies must have meat;

Play’s worse than idleness in times to eat.’

This said, all left, came in, cast by on thrones

And chairs their garments. Their provisions

Were sheep, swine, goats, the chiefly great and fat,

Besides an ox that from the herd they gat.

And now the king and herdsman, from the field,

In good way were to town; ’twixt whom was held

Some walking conference, which thus begun

The good Eumaeus: ‘Guest, your will was won,

Because the prince commanded, to make way

Up to the city, though I wish’d your stay,

And to have made you guardian of my stall;

But I, in care and fear of what might fall

In after-anger of the prince, forbore.

The checks of princes touch their subjects sore.

But make we haste, the day is nearly ended,

And cold airs still are in the ev’n extended.’

‘I know’t,’ said he, ‘consider all; your charge

Is giv’n to one that understands at large.

Haste then. Hereafter, you shall lead the way;

Afford your staff too, if it fit your stay,

That I may use it, since you say our pass

Is less friend to a weak foot than it was.’

Thus cast he on his neck his nasty scrip,

All patch’d and torn; a cord, that would not slip

For knots and bracks about the mouth of it,

Made serve the turn; and then his swain did fit

His forc’d state with a staff. Then plied they hard

Their way to town, their cottage left in guard

To swains and dogs. And now Eumaeus led

The king along, his garments to a thread

All bare, and burn’d, and he himself hard bore

Upon his staff, at all parts like a poor

And sad old beggar. But when now they got

The rough highway, their voyage wanted not

Much of the city, where a fount they reach’d,

From whence the town their choicest water fetch’d,

That ever overflow’d, and curious art

Was shown about it; in which three had part,

Whose names Neritus and Polyctor were,

And famous Ithacus. It had a sphere

Of poplar, that ran round about the wall;

And into it a lofty rock let fall

Continual supply of cool clear stream.

On whose top, to the nymphs that were supreme

In those parts’ loves, a stately altar rose,

Where every traveller did still impose

Devoted sacrifice. At this fount found

These
silly travellers a man renown’d

For guard of goats, which now he had in guide,

Whose huge-stor’d herd two herdsmen kept beside,

For all herds it excell’d, and bred a feed