The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (106 page)

For wooers only. He was Dolius’ seed,

And call’d Melanthius. Who casting eye

On these two there, he chid them terribly,

And so past mean, that ev’n the wretched fate

Now on Ulysses he did irritate.

His fume to this effect he did pursue:

‘Why so, ’tis now at all parts passing true,

That ill leads ill, good evermore doth train

With like his like. Why, thou unenvied swain,

Whither dost thou lead this same victless leaguer,

This bane of banquets, this most nasty beggar,

Whose sight doth make one sad, it so abhors?

Who, with his standing in so many doors,

Hath broke his back; and all his beggary tends

To beg base crusts, but to no manly ends,

As asking swords, or with activity

To get a cauldron. Wouldst thou give him me,

To farm my stable, or to sweep my yard,

And bring browse to my kids, and that preferr’d,

He should be at my keeping for his pains

To drink as much whey as his thirsty veins

Would still be swilling (whey made all his fees);

His monstrous belly would oppress his knees.

But he hath learn’d to lead base life about,

And will not work, but crouch among the rout

For broken meat to cram his bursten gut.

Yet this I’ll say, and he will find it put

In sure effect, that if he enters where

Ulysses’ roofs cast shade, the stools will there

About his ears fly, all the house will throw,

And rub his ragged sides with cuffs enow.’

Past these reviles, his manless rudeness spurn’d

Divine Ulysses; who at no part turn’d

His face from him, but had his spirit fed

With these two thoughts: if he should strike him dead

With his bestowed staff, or at his feet

Make his direct head and the pavement meet.

But he bore all, and entertain’d a breast

That in the strife of all extremes did rest.

Eumaeus, frowning on him, chid him yet,

And, lifting up his hands to heav’n, he set

This bitter curse at him: ‘O you that bear

Fair name to be the race of Jupiter,

Nymphs of these fountains! If Ulysses ever

Burn’d thighs to you, that, hid in fat, did never

Fail your acceptance, of or lamb or kid,

Grant this grace to me: let the man thus hid

Shine through his dark fate, make some god his guide,

That, to thee, goatherd, this same palate’s pride

Thou driv’st afore thee, he may come and make

The scatterings of the earth, and overtake

Thy wrongs, with forcing thee to ever err

About the city, hunted by his fear.

And in the mean space may some slothful swains

Let lousy sickness gnaw thy cattle’s veins.’

‘O gods!’ replied Melanthius. ‘What a curse

Hath this dog bark’d out, and can yet do worse!

This man shall I have giv’n into my hands,

When in a well-built ship to far-off lands

I shall transport him, that, should I want here,

My sale of him may find me victuals there.

And, for Ulysses, would to heav’n his joy

The silver-bearing-bow god would destroy

This day, within his house, as sure as he

The day of his return shall never see.’

This said, he left them going silent on;

But he out-went them, and took straight upon

The palace royal, which he enter’d straight,

Sat with the wooers, and his trencher’s freight

The carvers gave him of the flesh there vented,

But bread the reverend butleress presented.

He took against Eurymachus his place,

Who most of all the wooers gave him grace.

And now Ulysses and his swain got near,

When round about them visited their ear

The hollow harp’s delicious-stricken string,

To which did Phemius, near the wooers, sing.

Then by the hand Ulysses took his swain,

And said: ‘Eumaeus, one may here see plain,

In many a grace, that Laertiades

Built here these turrets, and, ’mongst others these,

His whole court arm’d with such a goodly wall,

The cornice and the cope majestical,

His double gates and turrets, built too strong

For force or virtue ever to expugn.

I know the feasters in it now abound,

Their cates cast such a savour; and the sound

The harp gives argues an accomplish’d feast.

The gods made music banquet’s dearest guest.’

‘These things,’ said he,’ your skill may tell with ease,

Since you are grac’d with greater knowledges.

But now consult we how these works shall sort,

If you will first approach this praised court,

And see these wooers, I remaining here;

Or I shall enter, and yourself forbear?

But be not you too tedious in your stay,

Lest thrust ye be and buffeted away.

Brain hath no fence for blows;
look to ’t, I pray.’

‘You speak to one that comprehends,’ said he.

‘Go you before, and here adventure me.

I have of old been used to cuffs and blows;

My mind is harden’d, having borne the throes

Of many a sour event in waves and wars,

Where knocks and buffets are no foreigners.

And this same harmful belly by no mean

The greatest abstinent can ever wean.

Men suffer much bane by the belly’s rage;

For whose sake ships in all their equipage

Are arm’d, and set out to th’ untamed seas,

Their bulks full fraught with ills to enemies.’

Such speech they chang’d; when in the yard there lay

A dog call’d Argus, which, before his way

Assum’d for Ilion, Ulysses bred,

Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead,

As being too young, but, growing to his grace,

Young men made choice of him for every chace,

Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts.

But, his king gone, and he now past his parts,

Lay all abjectly on the stable’s store,

Before the ox-stall, and mules’ stable door,

To keep the clothes cast from the peasants’ hands,

While they laid compass on Ulysses’ lands,

The dog, with ticks (unlook’d to) overgrown.

But by this dog no sooner seen but known

Was wise Ulysses; who new enter’d there,

Up went his dog’s laid ears, and, coming near,

Up he himself rose, fawn’d, and wagg’d his stern,

Couch’d close his ears, and lay so; nor discern

Could ever more his dear-lov’d lord again.

Ulysses saw it, nor had power t’ abstain

From shedding tears; which (far-off seeing his swain)

He dried from his sight clean; to whom he thus

His grief dissembled: ‘Tis miraculous,

That such a dog as this should have his lair

On such a dunghill, for his form is fair.

And yet I know not if there were in him

Good pace or parts, for all his goodly limb,

Or he lived empty of those inward things,

As are those trencher-beagles tending kings,

Whom for their pleasure’s or their glory’s sake,

Or fashion, they into their favours take.’

‘This dog,’ said he, ‘was servant to one dead

A huge time since. But if he bore his head,

For form and quality, of such a height

As when Ulysses, bound for th’ Ilion fight,

Or quickly after, left him, your rapt eyes

Would then admire to see him use his thighs

In strength and swiftness. He would nothing fly,

Nor anything let ’scape. If once his eye

Seiz’d any wild beast, he knew straight his scent;

Go where he would, away with him he went.

Nor was there ever any savage stood

Amongst the thickets of the deepest wood

Long time before him, but he pull’d him down,

As well by that true hunting to be shown

In such vast coverts, as for speed of pace

In any open lawn. For in deep chace

He was a passing wise and well-nos’d hound.

And yet is all this good in him uncrown’d

With any grace here now, nor he more fed

Than any errant cur. His king is dead,

Far from his country; and his servants are

So negligent they lend his hound no care.

Where masters rule not, but let men alone,

You never there see honest service done.

That man’s half virtue Jove takes quite away,

That once is sun-burnt with the servile day.’

This said, he enter’d the well-builded towers,

Up bearing right upon the glorious wooers,

And left poor Argus dead; his lord’s first sight

Since that time twenty years bereft his light.

Telemachus did far the first behold

Eumaeus enter, and made signs he should

Come up to him. He, noting, came, and took

On earth his seat. And then the master cook

Served in more banquet; of which part he set

Before the wooers, part the prince did get;

Who sate alone, his table plac’d aside,

To which the herald did the bread divide.

After Eumaeus, enter’d straight the king,

Like to a poor and heavy aged thing,

Bore hard upon his staff, and was so clad

As would have made his mere beholder sad.

Upon the ashen floor his limbs he spread,

And ’gainst a cypress threshold stay’d his head,

The tree wrought smooth, and in a line direct

Tried by the plumb and by the architect.

The prince then bade the herdsman give him bread,

The finest there, and see that prostrated

At-all-parts plight of his giv’n all the cheer

His hands could turn to: ‘Take,’ said he, ‘and bear

These cates to him, and bid him beg of all

These wooers here, and to their festival

Bear up with all the impudence he can;

Bashful behaviour fits no needy man.’

He heard, and did his will. ‘Hold guest,’ said he,

‘Telemachus commends these cates to thee,

Bids thee bear up, and all these wooers implore.

Wit must make impudent whom fate makes poor.’

‘O Jove,’ said he, ‘do my poor pray’rs the grace

To make him blessed’st of the mortal race,

And every thought now in his generous heart

To deeds that further my desires convert.’

Thus took he in with both his hands his store,

And in the uncouth scrip, that lay before

His ill-shod feet, repos’d it; whence he fed

All time the music to the feasters play’d.

Both jointly ending, then began the wooers

To put in old act their tumultuous pow’rs;

When Pallas standing close did prompt her friend,

To prove how far the bounties would extend

Of those proud wooers, so to let him try

Who most, who least, had learn’d humanity.

However, no thought touch’d Minerva’s mind

That any one should ’scape his wreak design’d.

He handsomely became all, crept about

To every wooer, held a forc’d hand out,

And all his work did in so like a way

As he had practis’d begging many a day.

And though they knew all beggars could do this,

Yet they admir’d it as no deed of his

(Though far from thought of other), used expense

And pity to him, who he was, and whence,

Inquiring mutually. Melanthius then:

‘Hear me, ye wooers of the far-fam’d queen,

About this beggar. I have seen before

This face of his; and know for certain more,

That this swain brought him hither. What he is,

Or whence he came, flies me.’ Reply to this

Antinous made, and mock’d Eumaeus thus:

‘O thou renowned herdsman, why to us

Brought’st thou this beggar? Serves it not our hands,

That other land-leapers, and cormorands,

Profane poor knaves, lie on us, unconducted,

But you must bring them? So amiss instructed

Art thou in course of thrift, as not to know

Thy lord’s goods wrack’d in this their overflow?

Which think’st thou nothing, that thou call’st in these?’

Eumaeus answer’d: ‘Though you may be wise,

You speak not wisely. Who calls in a guest

That is a guest himsel
f
? None call to feast

Other than men that are of public use,

Prophets or poets, whom the gods produce,

Physicians for men’s ills, or architects.

Such men the boundless earth affords respects

Bounded in honour, and may call them well.

But poor men who calls? Who doth so excel

In others’ good to do himself an ill?

But all Ulysses’ servants have been still

Eyesores in your way more than all that woo,

And chiefly I. But what care I for you,

As long as these roofs hold as thralls to none

The wise Penelope and her godlike son?’

‘Forbear,’ said he, ‘and leave this tongue’s bold ill.

Antinous uses to be crossing still,

And give sharp words; his blood that humour bears,

To set men still together by the ears.

But,’ turning then t’ Antinous, ‘O,’ said he,

‘You entertain a father’s care of me,

To turn these eating guests out. ’Tis advice

Of needful use for my poor faculties.

But god doth not allow this; there must be

Some care of poor men in humanity.

What you yourselves take, give; I not envy,

But give command that hospitality

Be giv’n all strangers. Nor shall my pow’rs fear,

If this mood in me reach my mother’s ear –

Much less the servants’, that are here to see

Ulysses’ house kept in his old degree.

But you bear no such mind, your wits more cast

To fill yourself than let another taste.’

Antinous answer’d him: ‘Brave spoken man,

Whose mind’s free fire see check’d no virtue can!

If all we wooers here would give as much

As my mind serves, his largess should be such