The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (14 page)

And try if we help’d him or not: he wrong’d a man that weighs

Far more than he himself in worth; he forc’d from Thetis’ son

And keeps his prize still: nor think I, that mighty man hath won

The style of wrathful worthily; he’s soft, he’s too remiss,

Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries.’

Thus he the people’s pastor chid: but straight stood up to him

Divine Ulysses; who with looks exceeding grave and grim,

This bitter check gave: ‘Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein

On kings thus, though it serve thee well: nor think thou canst restrain,

With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree;

For not a worse of all this host, came with our king than thee,

To Troy’s great siege: then do not take into that mouth of thine

The names of kings; much less revile the dignities that shine

In their supreme states: wresting thus this motion for our home,

To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not what will come

Of these designments: if it be our good to stay, or go:

Nor is it that thou stand’st on; thou revil’st our general so,

Only because he hath so much, not given by such as thou,

But our heroes. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me vow,

(Which shall be curiously observ’d) if ever I shall hear

This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses bear

This head, nor be the father call’d of young Telemachus,

If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus

Whip thee to fleet from council; send with sharp stripes weeping hence,

This glory thou affect’st – to rail.’ This said, his insolence

He settled with his sceptre; struck his back and shoulders so,

That bloody wales rose; he shrunk round, and from his eyes did flow

Moist tears, and looking filthily, he sate, fear’d, smarted, dried

His blubber’d cheeks; and all the press, though griev’d to be denied

Their wish’d retreat for home, yet laugh’d delightsomely, and spake

Either to other: ‘O ye gods, how infinitely take

Ulysses’ virtues in our good! Author of counsels, great

In ordering armies, how most well this act became his heat,

To beat from council this rude fool. I think his saucy spirit

Hereafter will not let his tongue abuse the sov’reign merit,

Exempt from such base tongues as his.’ Thus spake the people: then

The city-razer Ithacus stood up to speak again,

Holding his sceptre. Close to him gray-eyed Minerva stood;

And like a herald, silence caus’d, that all the Achive brood

(From first to last) might hear and know the counsel; when (inclin’d

To all their good) Ulysses said: ‘Atrides, now I find

These men would render thee the shame of all men; nor would pay

Their own vows to thee, when they took their free and honour’d way

From Argos hither, that till Troy were by their brave hands rac’d,

They would not turn home: yet like babes, and widows, now they haste

To that base refuge. ’Tis a spite to see men melted so

In womanish changes. Though ’tis true, that if a man do go

Only a month to sea, and leave his wife far off, and he

Tortur’d with winter’s storms, and toss’d with a tumultuous sea,

Grows heavy, and would home; us then, to whom the thrice three year

Hath fill’d his revoluble orb since our arrival here,

I blame not to wish home much more: yet all this time to stay,

Out of our judgments, for our end, and now to take our way

Without it, were absurd and vile. Sustain then, friends; abide

The time set to our object: try if Calchas prophesied

True of the time or not. We know, ye all can witness well,

(Whom these late death-conferring fates have fail’d to send to hell)

That when in Aulis all our fleet assembled with a freight

Of ills to Ilion and her friends, beneath the fair grown height,

A platane bore, about a fount, whence crystal water flow’d,

And near our holy altar, we upon the gods bestow’d

Accomplish’d hecatombs; and there appear’d a huge portent,

A dragon with a bloody scale, horrid to sight, and sent

To light by great Olympius; which crawling from beneath

The altar, to the platane climb’d; and ruthless crash’d to death

A sparrow’s young, in number eight, that in a top-bough lay

Hid under leaves: the dam the ninth, that hover’d every way,

Mourning her lov’d birth; till at length, the serpent watching her,

Her wing caught, and devour’d her too. This dragon, Jupiter

(That brought him forth) turn’d to a stone, and made a powerful mean

To stir our zeals up, that admir’d when of a fact so clean

Of all ill as our sacrifice, so fearful an ostent

Should be the issue. Calchas then thus prophesied th’ event:

“Why are ye dumb-struck, fair-hair’d Greeks? Wise Jove is he hath shown

This strange ostent to us. ’Twas late, and passing lately done,

But that grace it foregoes to us, for suffering all the state

Of his appearance (being so slow), nor time shall end, nor fate.

As these eight sparrows, and the dam (that made the ninth) were eat

By this stern serpent, so nine years we are t’ endure the heat

Of ravenous war, and in the tenth, take in this broad-way’d town.”

Thus he interpreted this sign; and all things have their crown

As he interpreted, till now. The rest then, to succeed,

Believe as certain: stay we all, till that most glorious deed

Of taking this rich town, our hands are honour’d with.’ This said,

The Greeks gave an unmeasur’d shout; which back the ships repaid

With terrible echoes, in applause of that persuasion

Divine Ulysses us’d; which yet held no comparison

With Nestor’s next speech, which was this: ‘O shameful thing! Ye talk

Like children all, that know not war. In what air’s region walk

Our oaths, and covenants? Now I see, the fit respects of men

Are vanish’d quite; our right hands given, our faiths, our counsels vain,

Our sacrifice with wine; all fled, in that profaned flame

We made to bind all: for thus still, we vain persuasions frame,

And strive to work our end with words, not joining stratagemes

And hands together, though thus long the power of our extremes

Hath urg’d us to them. Atreus’ son, firm as at first hour stand:

Make good thy purpose; talk no more in councils, but command

In active field. Let two or three, that by themselves advise,

Faint in their crowning; they are such as are not truly wise.

They will for Argos ere they know if that which Jove hath said

Be false or true. I tell them all, that high Jove bow’d his head

As first we went aboard our fleet, for sign we should confer

These Trojans their due fate and death; almighty Jupiter

All that day darting forth his flames, in an unmeasur’d light,

On our right hands; let therefore none once dream of coward flight,

Till (for his own) some wife of Troy he sleeps withal, the rape

Of Helen wreaking, and our sighs, enforc’d for her escape.

If any yet dare dote on home, let his dishonour’d haste

His black and well-built bark but touch, that (as he first disgrac’d

His country’s spirit) fate and death may first his spirit let go.

But be thou wise, king, do not trust thyself, but others. Know

I will not use an abject word: see all thy men array’d

In tribes and nations, that tribes tribes, nations may nations aid:

Which doing, thou shalt know what chiefs, what soldiers play the men,

And what the cowards: for they all will fight in several then,

Easy for note. And then shalt thou, if thou destroy’st not Troy,

Know if the prophecies defect, or men thou dost employ

In their approv’d arts, want in war, or lack of that brave heat

Fit for the vent’rous spirits of Greece, was cause to thy defeat.’

To this the king of men replied: ‘O father, all the sons

Of Greece thou conquer’st in the strife of consultations.

I would to Jove, Athenia, and Phoebus, I could make

(Of all) but ten such counsellors; then instantly would shake

King Priam’s city, by our hands laid hold on, and laid waste.

But Jove hath order’d I should grieve, and to that end hath cast

My life into debates past end. Myself and Thetis’ son

(Like girls) in words fought for a girl, and I th’ offence begun:

But if we ever talk as friends, Troy’s thus deferred fall

Shall never vex us more one hour. Come then, to victuals all,

That strong Mars all may bring to field; each man his lance’s steel

See sharpen’d well, his shield well lin’d, his horses meated well,

His chariot carefully made strong, that these affairs of death

We all day may hold fiercely out: no man must rest, or breath.

The bosoms of our targeters must all be steep’d in sweat.

The lancer’s arm must fall dissolv’d; our chariot-horse with heat

Must seem to melt. But if I find one soldier take the chace,

Or stir from fight, or fight not still, fix’d in his enemy’s face,

Or hid a-shipboard, all the world for force nor price shall save

His hated life; but fowls amid dogs be his abhorred grave.’

He said, and such a murmur rose, as on a lofty shore

The waves make when the south wind comes, and tumbles them before

Against a rock, grown near the strand, which diversly beset

Is never free, but here and there with varied uproars beat.

All rose then, rushing to the fleet, perfum’d their tents, and eat,

Each of
f
’ring to th’ immortal gods, and praying to ’scape the heat

Of war and death. The king of men an ox of five years’ spring

T’ almighty Jove slew; call’d the peers, first Nestor, then the king

Idomenaeus; after them, th’ Ajaces, and the son

Of Tydeus; Ithacus the sixth, in counsel paragon

To Jove himself – All these he had, but at-a-martial-cry

Good Menelaus, since he saw his brother busily

Employ’d at that time, would not stand on invitation,

But of himself came. All about the off’ring overthrown

Stood round, took salt-cakes, and the king himself thus pray’d for all:

‘O Jove, most great, most glorious, that in that starry hall

Sitt’st drawing dark clouds up to air, let not the sun go down,

Darkness supplying it, till my hands the palace and the town

Of Priam overthrow and burn, the arms on Hector’s breast

Dividing, spoiling with my sword thousands (in interest

Of his bad quarrel) laid by him in dust, and eating earth.’

He pray’d; Jove heard him not, but made more plentiful the birth

Of his sad toils; yet took his gifts. Prayers past, cakes on they threw:

The ox then, to the altar drawn, they kill’d, and from him drew

His hide; then cut him up; his thighs (in two hewn) dubb’d with fat;

Prick’d on the sweetbreads; and with wood, leafless, and kindled at

Apposed fire, they burn the thighs; which done, the inwards, slit,

They broil’d on coals and eat. The rest in giggots cut, they spit,

Roast cunningly, draw, sit and feast: nought lack’d to leave allay’d

Each temperate appetite; which serv’d, Nestor began and said:

‘Atrides, most grac’d king of men, now no more words allow,

Nor more defer the deed Jove vows. Let heralds summon now

The brazen-coated Greeks, and us range everywhere the host,

To stir a strong war quickly up.’ This speech no syllable lost;

The high-voic’d heralds instantly he charg’d to call to arms

The curl’d-head Greeks; they call’d; the Greeks straight answer’d their alarms.

The Jove-kept kings about the king all gather’d, with their aid

Rang’d all in tribes and nations. With them the gray-eyed maid

Great Aegis (Jove’s bright shield) sustain’d, that can be never old,

Never corrupted, fring’d about with serpents forg’d of gold,

As many as suffic’d to make an hundred fringes, worth

An hundred oxen; every snake all sprawling, all set forth

With wondrous spirit. Through the host with this the goddess ran

In fury, casting round her eyes, and furnish’d every man

With strength, exciting all to arms, and fight incessant. None

Now liked their lov’d homes like the wars. And as a fire upon

A huge wood, on the heights of hills, that far off hurls his light,

So the divine brass shin’d on these, thus thrusting on for fight:

Their splendour through the air reach’d heaven: and as about the flood

Caïster, in an Asian mead, flocks of the airy brood,

Cranes, geese, or long-neck’d swans, here, there, proud of their pinions fly,

And in their falls lay out such throats, that with their spiritful cry

The meadow shrieks again: so here, these many-nation’d men

Flow’d over the Scamandrian field, from tents and ships: the din

Was dreadful, that the feet of men and horse beat out of earth.

And in the flourishing mead they stood, thick as the odorous birth

Of flow’rs, or leaves bred in the spring; or thick as swarms of flies

Throng then to sheep-cotes, when each swarm his erring wing applies

To milk ’dew’d on the milk-maid’s pails: all eagerly dispos’d

To give to ruin the Ilians. And as in rude heaps clos’d,

Though huge goatherds are at their food, the goatherds easily yet

Sort into sundry herds, so here the chiefs in battle set,

Here tribes, here nations, ordering all. Amongst whom shin’d the king,

With eyes like lightning-loving Jove; his forehead answering,