The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (67 page)

You wrestlers, that will prove for these.’ Out stepp’d the ample size

Of mighty Ajax, huge in strength; to him, Laertes’ son,

That crafty one, as huge in sleight. Their ceremony done

Of making ready, forth they stepp’d, catch elbows with strong hands;

And as the beams of some high house crack with a storm, yet stands

The house, being built by well-skill’d men: so crack’d their backbones, wrinch’d

With horrid twitches. In their sides, arms, shoulders (all bepinch’d)

Ran thick the wales red with the blood, ready to start out; both

Long’d for the conquest and the prize, yet show’d no play, being loth

To lose both; nor could Ithacus stir Ajax, nor could he

Hale down Ulysses, being more strong than with mere strength to be

Hurl’d from all vantage of his sleight. Tir’d then with tugging play,

Great Ajax Telamonius said: ‘Thou wisest man, or lay

My face up, or let me lay thine; let Jove take care for these.’

This said, he hoist him up to air, when Laertiades

His wiles forgat not; Ajax’ thigh he struck behind, and flat

He on his back fell; on his breast, Ulysses. Wonder’d at

Was this of all; all stood amaz’d. Then the-much-suffering-man

(Divine Ulysses) at next close the Telamonian

A little rais’d from earth – not quite, but with his knee implied

Lock’d legs; and down fell both on earth, close by each other’s side,

Both fill’d with dust, but starting up. The third close they had made,

Had not Achilles’ self stood up, restraining them, and bade:

‘No more tug one another thus, nor moil yourselves; receive

Prize equal; conquest crowns ye both, the lists to others leave.’

They heard, and yielded willingly; brush’d off the dust, and on

Put other vests. Pelides then, to those that swiftest run,

Propos’d another prize: a bowl, beyond comparison

(Both for the size and workmanship) past all the bowls of earth;

It held six measures, silver all, but had his special worth

For workmanship, receiving form from those ingenious men

Of Sidon: the Phoenicians made choice and brought it then

Along the green sea, giving it to Thoas; by degrees

It came t’ Euneus, Jason’s son, who young Priamides

(Lycaon) of Achilles’ friend bought with it; and this, here,

Achilles made best game for him that best his feet could bear.

For second he propos’d an ox, a huge one and a fat;

And half a talent gold for last. These thus he set them at:

‘Rise, you that will assay for these.’ Forth stepp’d Oïleades;

Ulysses answer’d, and the third was one esteem’d past these

For footmanship, Antilochus. All rank’d, Achilles show’d

The race-scope. From the start they glid; Oïleades bestow’d

His feet the swiftest; close to him flew god-like Ithacus;

And as a lady at her loom, being young and beauteous,

Her silk-shuttle close to her breast (with grace that doth inflame,

And her white hand) lifts quick and oft, in drawing from her frame

Her gentle thread, which she unwinds, with ever at her breast

Gracing her fair hand: so close still, and with such interest

In all men’s likings, Ithacus unwound, and spent the race

By him before; took out his steps, with putting in their place

Promptly and gracefully his own, sprinkled the dust before,

And clouded with his breath his head. So facilie he bore

His royal person, that he struck shouts from the Greeks, with thirst

That he should conquer; though he flew, yet ‘Come, come, O come first,’

Ever they cried to him, and this ev’n his wise breast did move

To more desire of victory; it made him pray, and prove

Minerva’s aid (his fautress still): ‘O goddess, hear,’ said he,

‘And to my feet stoop with thy help, now happy fautress be.’

She was; and light made all his limbs, and now (both near their crown)

Minerva tripp’d up Ajax’ heels, and headlong he fell down

Amids the ordure of the beasts, there negligently left

Since they were slain there; and by this, Minerva’s friend bereft

Oïleades of that rich bowl, and left his lips, nose, eyes,

Ruthfully smear’d. The fat ox yet he seiz’d for second prize,

Held by the horn, spit out the tail, and thus spake all besmear’d:

‘O villainous chance! This Ithacus so highly is endear’d

To this Minerva, that her hand is ever in his deeds:

She, like his mother, nestles him, for from her it proceeds

(I know) that I am us’d thus.’ This all in light laughter cast,

Amongst whom quick Antilochus laugh’d out his coming last,

Thus wittily: ‘Know, all my friends, that all times past, and now,

The gods most honour most-liv’d men. Oïleades ye know

More old than I, but Ithacus is of the foremost race,

First generation of men. Give the old man his grace.

They count him of the green-hair’d eld – they may, or in his flow’r,

For not our greatest flourisher can equal him in pow’r

Of foot-strife, but Aeacides.’ Thus sooth’d he Thetis’ son,

Who thus accepted it: ‘Well, youth, your praises shall not run

With unrewarded feet on mine. Your half a talent’s prize

I’ll make a whole one; take you, sir.’ He took, and joy’d. Then flies

Another game forth: Thetis’ son set in the lists a lance,

A shield, and helmet, being th’ arms Sarpedon did advance

Against Patroclus; and he priz’d. And thus he nam’d the address:

‘Stand forth two the most excellent, arm’d; and before all these

Give mutual onset to the touch and wounds of either’s flesh:

Who first shall wound, through other’s arms, his blood appearing fresh,

Shall win this sword, silver’d and hatch’d; the blade is right of Thrace,

Asteropaeus yielded it. These arms shall part their grace

With either’s valour; and the men I’ll liberally feast

At my pavilion.’ To this game, the first man that address’d

Was Ajax Telamonius; to him, king Diomed;

Both, in oppos’d parts of the press full arm’d, both entered

The lists amids the multitude, put looks on so austere,

And join’d so roughly, that amaze surpris’d the Greeks, in fear

Of either’s mischief. Thrice they threw their fierce darts, and clos’d thrice.

Then Ajax struck through Diomed’s shield, but did no prejudice;

His curets sav’d him. Diomed’s dart still over shoulders flew,

Still mounting with the spirit it bore. And now rough Ajax grew

So violent, that the Greeks cried: ‘Hold, no more; let them no more;

Give equal prize to either.’ Yet the sword propos’d before

For him did best, Achilles gave to Diomed. Then a stone

(In fashion of a sphere) he show’d, of no invention,

But natural, only melted through with iron. ’Twas the bowl

That king Eëtion us’d to hurl: but he, bereft of soul

By great Achilles, to the fleet, with store of other prize,

He brought it; and propos’d it now, both for the exercise

And prize itself. He stood, and said: ‘Rise you that will approve

Your arms’ strengths now in this brave strife: his vigour that can move

This furthest, needs no game but this, for reach he ne’er so far

With large fields of his own in Greece (and so needs for his car,

His plough, or other tools of thrift, much iron), I’ll able this

For five revolved years no need shall use his messages

To any town to furnish him, this only bowl shall yield

Iron enough for all affairs.’ This said, to try this field,

First Polypaetes issued, next Leontaeus, third

Great Ajax, huge Epeus fourth. Yet he was first that stirr’d

That mine of iron. Up it went, and up he toss’d it so,

That laughter took up all the field. The next man that did throw

Was Leontaeus; Ajax third, who gave it such a hand,

That far past both their marks it flew. But now ’twas to be mann’d

By Polypaetes, and as far as at an ox that strays

A herdsman can swing out his goad, so far did he outraise

The stone past all men; all the field rose in a shout to see’t.

About him flock’d his friends, and bore the royal game to fleet.

For archery he then set forth ten axes edg’d two ways,

And ten of one edge. On the shore, far off, he caus’d to raise

A ship-mast, to whose top they tied a fearful dove by th’ foot,

At which all shot, the game put thus: he that the dove could shoot,

Nor touch the string that fast’ned her, the two-edg’d tools should bear

All to the fleet. Who touch’d the string, and miss’d the dove, should share

The one-edg’d axes. This propos’d, king Teucer’s force arose,

And with him rose Meriones; and now lots must dispose

Their shooting first; both which let fall into a helm of brass;

First Teucer’s came, and first he shot; and his cross fortune was

To shoot the string, the dove untouch’d: Apollo did envy

His skill, since not to him he vow’d (being god of archery)

A first fall’n lamb. The bitter shaft yet cut in two the cord,

That down fell, and the dove aloft up to the welkin soar’d.

The Greeks gave shouts; Meriones first made a hearty vow

To sacrifice a first-fall’n lamb to him that rules the bow,

And then fell to his aim, his shaft being ready nock’d before.

He spied her in the clouds that here, there, everywhere did soar;

Yet at her height he reach’d her side, struck her quite through, and down

The shaft fell at his feet; the dove the mast again did crown.

There hung the head, and all her plumes were ruffled, she stark dead,

And there (far off from him) she fell. The people wondered,

And stood astonish’d, th’ archer pleas’d. Aeacides then shows

A long lance, and a cauldron new, engrail’d with twenty hues,

Priz’d at an ox. These games were show’d for men at darts, and then

Up rose the general of all, up rose the king of men;

Up rose late-crown’d Meriones. Achilles (seeing the king

Do him this grace) prevents more deed, his royal offering

Thus interrupting: ‘King of men, we well conceive how far

Thy worth superior is to all, how much most singular

Thy pow’r is, and thy skill in darts; accept then this poor prize

Without contention, and (your will pleas’d with what I advise)

Afford Meriones the lance.’ The king was nothing slow

To that fit grace. Achilles then the brass lance did bestow

On good Meriones. The king his present would not save,

But to renown’d Talthybius the goodly cauldron gave.

The end of the twenty-third book

Book 24

The Argument

Jove, entertaining care of Hector’s corse,

Sends Thetis to her son for his remorse,

And fit dismission of it. Iris then

He sends to Priam, willing him to gain

His son for ransom. He, by Hermes led,

Gets through Achilles’ guards, sleeps deep and dead

Cast on them by his guide. When, with access

And humble suit made to Aeacides,

He gains the body, which to Troy he bears,

And buries it with feasts, buried in tears.

Another Argument

Omega
sings the exequies,

And Hector’s redemptory prize.

Book 24

The games perform’d, the soldiers wholly dispers’d to fleet,

Supper and sleep their only care. Constant Achilles yet

Wept for his friend; nor sleep itself, that all things doth subdue,

Could touch at him. This way and that he turn’d, and did renew

His friend’s dear memory, his grace in managing his strength,

And his strength’s greatness – how life rack’d into their utmost length

Griefs, battles, and the wraths of seas, in their joint sufferance;

Each thought of which turn’d to a tear. Sometimes he would advance

(In tumbling on the shore) his side, sometimes his face, then turn

Flat on his bosom, start upright. Although he saw the morn

Show sea and shore his extasy, he left not till at last

Rage varied his distraction. Horse, chariot, in haste

He call’d for; and (those join’d) the corse was to his chariot tied,

And thrice about the sepulchre he made his fury ride,

Dragging the person. All this past, in his pavilion

Rest seiz’d him, but with Hector’s corse his rage had never done,

Still suffering it t’ oppress the dust. Apollo yet, even dead,

Pitied the prince, and would not see inhuman tyranny fed

With more pollution of his limbs, and therefore cover’d round

His person with his golden shield, that rude dogs might not wound

His manly lineaments (which threat Achilles cruelly

Had us’d in fury). But now heav’n let fall a general eye

Of pity on him; the blest gods persuaded Mercury

(Their good observer) to his stealth; and every deity

Stood pleas’d with it – Juno except, green Neptune, and the Maid

Grac’d with the blue eyes. All their hearts stood hatefully appaid

Long since, and held it as at first to Priam, Ilion,

And all his subjects, for the rape of his licentious son,

Proud Paris, that despis’d these dames in their divine access

Made to his cottage, and prais’d her that his sad wantonness

So costly nourish’d. The twelfth morn now shin’d on the delay

Of Hector’s rescue, and then spake the deity of the day

Thus to th’ immortals: ‘Shameless gods, authors of ill ye are,

To suffer ill. Hath Hector’s life at all times show’d his care

Of all your rights, in burning thighs of beeves and goats to you?

And are your cares no more of him? Vouchsafe ye not ev’n now

(Ev’n dead) to keep him, that his wife, his mother, and his son,

Father and subjects, may be mov’d to those deeds he hath done,

See’ng you preserve him that serv’d you, and sending to their hands

His person for the rites of fire? Achilles, that withstands

All help to others, you can help – one that hath neither heart

Nor soul within him that will move or yield to any part

That fits a man, but lion-like, uplandish, and mere wild,

Slave to his pride, and all his nerves being naturally compil’d

Of eminent strength, stalks out and preys upon a silly sheep:

And so fares this man – that fit ruth that now should draw so deep

In all the world being lost in him, and shame (a quality

Of so much weight that both it helps and hurts excessively

Men in their manners) is not known, nor hath the power to be,

In this man’s being. Other men a greater loss than he

Have undergone – a son, suppose, or brother of one womb –

Yet, after dues of woes and tears, they bury in his tomb

All their deplorings. Fates have given to all that are true men

True manly patience, but this man so soothes his bloody vein

That no blood serves it; he must have divine-soul’d Hector bound

To his proud chariot, and danc’d in a most barbarous round

About his lov’d friend’s sepulchre when he is slain: ’tis vile,

And draws no profit after it. But let him now awhile

Mark but our angers; his is spent; let all his strength take heed

It tempts not our wraths; he begets, in this outrageous deed,

The dull earth with his fury’s hate. White-wristed Juno said

(Being much incens’d): ‘This doom is one that thou wouldst have obey’d,

Thou bearer of the silver bow, that we in equal care

And honour should hold Hector’s worth with him that claims a share

In our deservings. Hector suck’d a mortal woman’s breast,

Aeacides a goddess’s; ourself had interest

Both in his infant nourishment and bringing up with state,

And to the human Peleus we gave his bridal mate,

Because he had th’ immortals love. To celebrate the feast

Of their high nuptials, every god was glad to be a guest,

And thou fedd’st of his father’s cates, touching thy harp in grace

Of that beginning of our friend, whom thy perfidious face

(In his perfection) blusheth not to match with Priam’s son,

O thou that to betray and shame art still companion.’

Jove thus receiv’d her: ‘Never give these broad terms to a god.

Those two men shall not be compar’d; and yet of all that trod

The well-pav’d Ilion, none so dear to all the deities

As Hector was, at least to me. For of
f
’
rings most of prize

His hands would never pretermit. Our altars ever stood

Furnish’d with banquets fitting us; odours and every good

Smok’d in our temples; and for this (foreseeing it) his fate

We mark’d with honour, which must stand; but to give stealth estate

In his deliv’rance, shun we that; nor must we favour one

To shame another. Privily, with wrong to Thetis’ son,

We must not work out Hector’s right. There is a ransom due,

And open course by laws of arms; in which must humbly sue

The friends of Hector. Which just mean if any god would stay

And use the other, ’twould not serve, for Thetis night and day

Is guardian to him. But would one call Iris hither, I

Would give directions that for gifts the Trojan king should buy

His Hector’s body, which the son of Thetis shall resign.’

This said, his will was done; the dame that doth in vapours shine,

Dewy and thin, footed with storms, jump’d to the sable seas

’Twixt Samos and sharp Imber’s cliffs; the lake groan’d with the press

Of her rough feet, and (plummet-like, put in an ox’s horn

That bears death to the raw-fed fish) she div’d, and found forlorn

Thetis, lamenting her son’s fate, who was in Troy to have

(Far from his country) his death serv’d. Close to her Iris stood,

And said: ‘Rise, Thetis; prudent Jove (whose counsels thirst not blood)

Calls for thee.’ Thetis answer’d her with asking: ‘What’s the cause

The great god calls? My sad pow’rs fear’d to break th’ immortal laws,

In going, fill’d with griefs, to heav’n. But he sets snares for none

With colour’d counsels; not a word of him but shall be done.’

She said, and took a sable veil – a blacker never wore

A heav’nly shoulder – and gave way. Swift Iris swum before,

About both roll’d the brackish waves. They took their banks, and flew

Up to Olympus, where they found Saturnius (far-of-view)

Spher’d with heav’n’s ever-being states. Minerva rose, and gave

Her place to Thetis, near to Jove, and Juno did receive

Her entry with a cup of gold, in which she drank to her,

Grac’d her with comfort; and the cup to her hand did refer.

She drank, resigning it. And then the sire of men and gods

Thus entertain’d her: ‘Com’st thou up to these our blest abodes,

Fair goddess Thetis, yet art sad, and that in so high kind

As passeth suf
f
’
rance? This I know, and tried thee, and now find

Thy will by mine rul’d, which is rule to all worlds’ government,

Besides this trial yet, this cause sent down for thy ascent,

Nine days contention hath been held amongst th’ immortals here,

For Hector’s person and thy son; and some advices were

To have our good spy Mercury steal from thy son the corse:

But that reproach I kept far off, to keep in future force

Thy former love and reverence. Haste then, and tell thy son

The gods are angry; and myself take that wrong he hath done

To Hector in worst part of all: the rather, since he still

Detains his person. Charge him then, if he respect my will

For any reason, to resign slain Hector; I will send

Iris to Priam to redeem his son, and recommend

Fit ransom to Achilles’ grace; in which right he may joy,

And end his vain grief.’ To this charge bright Thetis did employ

Instant endeavour. From heav’n’s tops she reach’d Achilles’ tent,

Found him still sighing, and some friends with all their compliments

Soothing his humour, other some with all contention

Dressing his dinner, all their pains and skills consum’d upon

A huge wool-bearer, slaughter’d there. His rev’rend mother then

Came near, took kindly his fair hand, and ask’d him: ‘Dear son, when

Will sorrow leave thee? How long time wilt thou thus eat thy heart,

Fed with no other food, nor rest?’ Twere good thou wouldst divert

Thy friend’s love to some lady; cheer thy spirits with such kind parts

As she can quit thy grace withal; the joy of thy deserts

I shall not long have; death is near, and thy all-conquering fate,

Whose haste thou must not haste with grief, but understand the state

Of things belonging to thy life, which quickly order. I

Am sent from Jove t’ advertise thee that every deity

Is angry with thee, himself most, that rage thus reigns in thee

Still to keep Hector. Quit him then, and for fit ransom free

His injur’d person.’ He replied: ‘Let him come that shall give

The ransom, and the person take. Jove’s pleasure must deprive

Men of all pleasures.’ This good speech, and many more, the son

And mother us’d, in ear of all the naval station.

And now to holy Ilion Saturnius Iris sent:

‘Go, swift-foot Iris, bid Troy’s king bear fit gifts, and content

Achilles for his son’s release; but let him greet alone

The Grecian navy, not a man excepting such a one

As may his horse and chariot guide, a herald, or one old,

Attending him; and let him take his Hector. Be he bold,

Discourag’d nor with death nor fear; wise Mercury shall guide

His passage till the prince be near. And (he gone) let him ride

Resolv’d, ev’n in Achilles’ tent. He shall not touch the state

Of his high person, nor admit the deadliest desperate

Of all about him. For (though fierce) he is not yet unwise,

Nor inconsiderate, nor a man past awe of deities,

But passing free and curious to do a suppliant grace.’

This said, the Rainbow to her feet tied whirlwinds, and the place

Reach’d instantly: the heavy court Clamour and Mourning fill’d,

The sons all set about the sire; and there stood Grief, and still’d

Tears on their garments. In the midst the old king sate, his weed

All wrinkled; head and neck dust fil’d, the princesses his seed,

The princesses his sons’ fair wives, all mourning by; the thought

Of friends so many and so good being turn’d so soon to nought

By Grecian hands consum’d their youth, rain’d beauty from their eyes.

Iris came near the king; her sight shook all his faculties,

And therefore spake she soft, and said: ‘Be glad, Dardanides.

Of good occurrents, and none ill, am I ambassadress.

Jove greets thee, who in care (as much as he is distant) deigns

Eye to thy sorrows, pitying thee. My embassy contains

This charge to thee from him; he wills thou shouldst redeem thy son,

Bear gifts t’ Achilles, cheer him so. But visit him alone;

None but some herald let attend, thy mules and chariot

To manage for thee. Fear nor death let daunt thee; Jove hath got

Hermes to guide thee; who as near to Thetis’ son as needs

Shall guard thee: and being once with him, nor his nor others’ deeds

Stand touch’d with, he will all contain. Nor is he mad, nor vain,

Nor impious; but with all his nerves studious to entertain

One that submits with all fit grace.’ Thus vanish’d she like wind.

He mules and chariot calls, his sons bids see them join’d, and bind

A trunk behind it; he himself down to his wardrobe goes,

Built all of cedar, highly roo
f
’
d, and odoriferous,

That much stuff, worth the sight, contain’d. To him he call’d his queen,

Thus greeting her: ‘Come, hapless dame, an angel I have seen,

Sent down from Jove, that bade me free our dear son from the fleet

With ransom pleasing to our foe. What holds thy judgment meet?

My strength and spirit lays high charge on all my being, to bear

The Greeks’ worst, vent’ring through their host.’ The queen cried out to hear

His vent’rous purpose, and replied: ‘O whither now is fled

The late discretion that renown’d thy grave and knowing head

In foreign and thine own rul’d realms, that thus thou dar’st assay

Sight of that man, in whose brow sticks the horrible decay

Of sons so many and so strong? Thy heart is iron, I think.

If this stern man (whose thirst of blood makes cruelty his drink)

Take, or but see thee, thou art dead. He nothing pities woe,

Nor honours age. Without his sight, we have enough to do

To mourn with thought of him; keep we our palace, weep we here,

Our son is past our helps. Those throes, that my deliverers were

Of his unhappy lineaments, told me they should be torn

With black-foot dogs. Almighty fate, that black hour he was born,