The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (113 page)

And dull these wooers with thy wretched cheer?

Not gone for ever yet? Why, now I see

This strife of cuffs betwixt the beggary,

That yesterday assay’d to get thee gone,

And thy more roguery, needs will fall upon

My hands to arbitrate. Thou wilt not hence

Till I set on thee; thy ragg’d impudence

Is so fast-footed. Are there not beside

Other great banquetants, but you must ride

At anchor still with us?’ He nothing said,

But thought of ill enough, and shook his head.

Then came Philoetius, a chief of men,

That to the wooers’ all-devouring den

A barren steer drave, and fat goats; for they

In custom were with traffickers by sea,

That who they would sent, and had utterance there.

And for these likewise the fair porches were

Hurdles and sheep-pens, as in any fair.

Philoetius took note in his repair

Of seen Ulysses, being a man as well

Giv’n to his mind’s use as to buy and sell,

Or do the drudg’ry that the blood desir’d,

And, standing near Eumaeus, this enquir’d:

‘What guest is this that makes our house of late

His entertainer? Whence claims he the state

His birth in this life holds? What nation?

What race? What country stands his speech upon?

O’er-hardly portion’d by the terrible fates,

The structure of his lineaments relates

A king’s resemblance in his pomp of reign,

Ev’n thus in these rags. But poor erring men,

That have no firm home, but range here and there

As need compels, god keeps in this earth’s sphere

As under water, and this tune he sings,

When he is spinning ev’n the cares of kings.’

Thus coming to him, with a kind of fear

He took his hand, and, touch’d exceeding near

With mere imagination of his worth,

This salutation he sent loudly forth:

‘Health, father stranger! In another world

Be rich and happy, though thou here art hurl’d

At feet of never such insulting need.

O Jove, there lives no one god of thy seed

More ill to man than thou. Thou tak’st no ruth –

When thou thyself hast got him in most truth –

To wrap him in the straits of most distress,

And in the curse of others’ wickedness.

My brows have swet to see it, and mine eyes

Broke all in tears, when this being still the guise

Of worthiest men, I have but only thought,

That down to these ills was Ulysses wrought,

And that, thus clad, even he is error-driv’n,

If yet he lives and sees the light of heav’n.

But, if now dead, and in the house of hell,

O me! O good Ulysses, that my weal

Did ever wish, and when, but half a man

Amongst the people Cephallenian,

His bounty to his oxen’s charge preferr’d

One in that youth; which now is grown a herd

Unspeakable for number, and feed there

With their broad heads, as thick as of his ear

A field of corn is to a man. Yet these

Some men advise me that this noted prease

Of wooers may devour, and wish me drive

Up to their feasts with them, that neither give

His son respect, though in his own free roof,

Nor have the wit to fear th’ infallible proof

Of heav’nly vengeance, but make offer now

The long-lack’d king’s possessions to bestow

In their self-shares. Methinks the mind in me

Doth turn as fast as in a flood or sea

A raging whirlpit doth, to gather in

To fishy death those swimmers in their sin;

Or feeds a motion as circular

To drive my herds away. But while the son

Bears up with life, ’twere heinous wrong to run

To other people with them, and to trust

Men of another earth. And yet more just

It were to venture their laws, the main right

Made still their masters, than at home lose quite

Their right and them, and sit and grieve to see

The wrong authoriz’d by their gluttony.

And I had long since fed, and tried th’ event

With other proud kings, since more insolent

These are than can be borne, but that ev’n still

I had a hope that this, though born to ill,

Would one day come from some coast, and their last

In his roofs strew with ruins red and vast.’

‘Herdsman,’ said he, ‘because thou art in show

Nor lewd nor indiscreet, and that I know

There rules in thee an understanding soul,

I’ll take all oath, that in thee shall control

All doubt of what I swear: be witness, Jove,

That sway’st the first seat of the thron’d above,

This hospitable table, and this house,

That still hold title for the strenuous

Son of Laertes, that – if so you please –

Your eyes shall witness Laertiades

Arriv’d at home, and all these men that reign

In such excesses here shall here lie slain!’

He answer’d: ‘Stranger! Would just Jove would sign

What you have sworn! In your eyes’ beams should shine

What pow’rs I manage, and how these my hands

Would rise and follow where he first commands.’

So [too] Eumaeus, praying all the sky

That wise Ulysses might arrive and try.

Thus while they vow’d, the wooers sat as hard

On his son’s death, but had their counsels scarr’d,

For on their left hand did an eagle soar,

And in her seres a fearful pigeon bore.

Which seen, Amphinomus presag’d: ‘O friends,

Our counsels never will receive their ends

In this man’s slaughter. Let us therefore ply

Our bloody feast, and make his oxen die.’

Thus came they in, cast off on seats their cloaks,

And fell to giving sacrificing strokes

Of sheep and goats, the chiefly fat and great,

Slew fed-up swine, and from the herd a neat.

The innards roasted, they dispos’d betwixt

Their then observers, wine in flagons mix’d.

The bowls Eumaeus brought, Philoetius bread,

Melanthius fill’d the wine. Thus drank and fed

The feastful wooers. Then the prince, in grace

Of his close project, did his father place

Amidst the paved entry, in a seat

Seemless and abject, a small board and meat

Of th’ only innards; in a cup of gold

Yet sent him wine, and bade him now drink bold,

All his approaches he himself would free

’Gainst all the wooers, since he would not see

His court made popular, but that his sire

Built it to his use. Therefore all the fire

Blown in the wooers’ spleens he bade suppress,

And that in hands nor words they should digress

From that set peace his speech did then proclaim.

They bit their lips and wonder’d at his aim

In that brave language; when Antinous said:

‘Though this speech, Grecians, be a mere upbraid,

Yet this time give it pass. The will of Jove

Forbids the violence of our hands to move,

But of our tongues we keep the motion free,

And, therefore, if his further jollity

Tempt our encounter with his braves, let’s check

His growing insolence, though pride to speak

Fly passing high with him.’ The wise prince made

No more spring of his speech, but let it fade.

And now the heralds bore about the town

The sacred hecatomb; to whose renown

The fair-hair’d Greeks assembled, and beneath

Apollo’s shady wood the holy death

They put to fire; which made enough, they drew,

Divided all, that did in th’ end accrue

To glorious satisfaction. Those that were

Disposers of the feast did equal cheer

Bestow on wretched Laertiades,

With all the wooers’ souls, it so did please

Telemachus to charge them. And for these

Minerva would not see the malices

The wooers bore too much contain’d, that so

Ulysses’ mov’d heart yet might higher flow

In wreakful anguish. There was wooing there,

Amongst the rest, a gallant that did bear

The name of one well-learn’d in jests profane,

His name Ctesippus, born a Samian;

Who, proud because his father was so rich,

Had so much confidence as did bewitch

His heart with hope to wed Ulysses’ wife;

And this man said:
‘
Hear me, my lords in strife

For this great widow. This her guest did share

Ev’n feast with us, with very comely care

Of him that order’d it; for ’tis not good

Nor equal to deprive guests of their food,

And specially whatever guest makes way

To that house where Telemachus doth sway;

And therefore I will add to his receipt

A gift of very hospitable weight,

Which he may give again to any maid

That bathes his grave feet, and her pains see paid,

Or any servant else that the divine

Ulysses’ lofty battlements confine.’

Thus snatch’d he with a valiant hand, from out

The poor folks’ common basket, a neat’s foot,

And threw it at Ulysses; who his head

Shrunk quietly aside, and let it shed

His malice on the wall – the suffering man

A laughter raising most Sardinian,

With scorn and wrath mix’d, at the Samian.

Whom thus the prince reproved: ‘Your valour won

Much grace, Ctesippus, and hath eas’d your mind

With mighty profit, yet you see it find

No mark it aim’d at; the poor stranger’s part

Himself made good enough, to ’scape your dart.

But should I serve thee worthily, my lance

Should strike thy heart through, and, in place t’advance

Thyself in nuptials with his wealth, thy sire

Should make thy tomb here, that the foolish fire

Of all such valours may not dare to show

These foul indecencies to me. I now

Have years to understand my strength, and know

The good and bad of things, and am no more

At your large suf
f
’
rance, to behold my store

Consum’d with patience, see my cattle slain,

My wine exhausted, and my bread in vain

Spent on your license; for to one then young

So many enemies were match too strong.

But let me never more be witness to

Your hostile minds, nor those base deeds ye do;

For, should ye kill me in my offer’d wreak,

I wish it rather, and my death would speak

Much more good of me, than to live and see

Indignity upon indignity,

My guests provok’d with bitter words and blows,

My women servants dragg’d about my house

To lust and rapture.’ This made silence seize

The house throughout; till Damastorides

At length the calm brake, and said: ‘Friend, forbear

To give a just speech a disdainful ear;

The guest no more touch, nor no servant here.

Myself will to the prince and queen commend

A motion grateful, if they please to lend

Grateful receipt. As long as any hope

Left wise Ulysses any passage ope

To his return in our conceits, so long

The queen’s delays to our demands stood strong

In cause and reason, and our quarrels thus

With guests, the queen, or her Telemachus,

Set never foot amongst our liberal feast;

For should the king return, though thought deceas’d,

It had been gain to us, in finding him,

To lose his wife. But now, since nothing dim

The days break out that show he never more

Shall reach the dear touch of his country shore,

Sit by your mother, in persuasion

That now it stands her honour much upon

To choose the best of us, and, who gives most,

To go with him home. For so, all things lost

In sticking on our haunt so, you shall clear

Recover in our no more concourse here,

Possess your birthright wholly, eat and drink,

And never more on our disgraces think.’

‘By Jove, no, Agelaus! For I swear

By all my father’s sorrows, who doth err

Far off from Ithaca, or rests in death,

I am so far from spending but my breath

To make my mother any more defer

Her wished nuptials, that I’ll counsel her

To make her free choice; and besides will give

Large gifts to move her. But I fear to drive

Or charge her hence; for god will not give way

To any such course, if I should assay.’

At this, Minerva made for foolish joy

The wooers mad, and rous’d their late annoy

To such a laughter as would never down.

They laugh’d with others’ cheeks, ate meat o’erflown

With their own bloods, their eyes stood full of tears

For violent joys; their souls yet thought of fears,

Which Theoclymenus express’d, and said:

‘O wretches! Why sustain ye, well apaid,

Your imminent ill? A night, with which death sees

Your heads and faces hides beneath your knees;

Shrieks burn about you; your eyes thrust out tears;

These fixed walls, and that main beam that bears

The whole house up, in bloody torrents fall;

The entry full of ghosts stands; full the hall

Of passengers to hell; and under all

The dismal shades; the sun sinks from the poles;

And troubled air pours bane about your souls.’

They sweetly laugh’d at this. Eurymachus

To mocks dispos’d, and said: ‘This new-come-t’us

Is surely mad, conduct him forth to light

In th’ open market-place; he thinks ’tis night

Within the house.’ ‘Eurymachus,’ said he,

‘I will not ask for any guide of thee.

I both my feet enjoy, have ears and eyes,

And no mad soul within me; and with these

Will I go forth the doors, because I know