The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (109 page)

And that at this day I had double spear

And shield, and steel casque fitting for my brows

At this work likewise, ’midst the foremost blows,

Your eyes should note me, and get little cause

To twit me with my belly’s sole applause.

But you affect t’ affect with injury,

Your mind ungentle, seem in valour high,

Because ’gainst few, and those not of the best,

Your conversation hath been still profess’d.

But if Ulysses, landed on his earth,

And enter’d on the true right of his birth,

Should come and front ye, straight his ample gates

Your feet would hold too narrow for your fates.’

He frowned, raged, call’d him wretch, and vow’d

To be his death, since he durst prove so proud

Amongst so many, to tell him so home

What he affected; ask’d, if overcome

With wine he were, or, as his minion said,

Talk’d still so idly, and were palsied

In his mind’s instruments, or was proud because

He gat from Irus off with such applause?

With all which, snatching up a stool, he threw;

When old Ulysses to the knees withdrew

Of the Dulichian lord, Amphinomus,

As if he fear’d him – his dart missing thus

His aged object – and his page’s hand

(A boy that waited on his cup’s command,

Now holding of an ew’r to him) he smit.

Down fell the sounding ew’r, and after it

The guiltless page lay sprawling in the dust,

And crying out. When all the wooers thrust

A tumult up amongst them, wishing all

The rogue had perish’d in some hospital,

Before his life there stirr’d such uproars up,

And with rude speeches spice their pleasures’ cup.

And all this for a beggar to fulfil

A filthy proverb: ‘Good still yields to ill.’

The prince cried out on them, to let the bad

Obscure the good so; told them they were mad,

Abus’d their banquet, and affirm’d some god

Tried mast’ries with them; bade them take their load

Of food and wine, sit up, or fall to bed

At their free pleasures; and since he gave head

To all their freedoms, why should they mistake

Their own rich humours for a beggar’s sake?

All bit their lips to be so taken down,

And taught the course that should have been their own,

Admir’d the prince, and said he bravely spoke.

But Nisus’ son then struck the equal stroke,

And said: ‘O friends, let no man here disdain

To put up equal speeches, nor maintain

With serious words an humour, nor with stroke

A stranger in another’s house provoke,

Nor touch the meanest servant, but confine

All these dissensions in a bowl of wine;

Which fill us, cup-bearer, that having done

Our nightly sacrifice, we may atone

Our pow’rs with sleep, resigning first the guest

Up to the prince, that holds all interest

In his disposure here, the house being his

In just descent, and all the faculties.’

This all approv’d; when noble Mulius,

Herald in chief to lord Amphinomus,

The wine distributed with reverend grace

To every wooer; when the gods giv’n place

With service fit, they serv’d themselves, and took

Their parting cups, till, when they all had shook

The angry humour off, they bent to rest,

And every wooer to several roofs address’d.

The end of the eighteenth book

Book 19

The Argument

Ulysses and his son eschew

Offending of the wooers’ view

With any armour. His birth’s seat,

Ulysses tells his queen, is Crete.

Euryclea the truth yet found,

Discover’d by a scar-healed wound,

Which in Parnassus’ tops a boar,

Struck by him in his chase, did gore.

Another Argument

Tau

The king, still hid

By what he said,

By what he did

Informs his maid.

Book 19

Yet did divine Ulysses keep his roof,

And with Minerva plotted still the proof

Of all the wooers’ deaths; when thus his son

He taught with these fore-counsels: ‘We must run

A close course with these arms, and lay them by,

And to the wooers make so fair a sky

As it would never thunder. Let me then,

That you may well retain, repeat again

What in Eumaeus’ cottage I advis’d:

If when they see no leisure exercis’d

In fetching down your arms, and ask what use

Your mind will give them, say, ’tis their abuse

With smoke and rust that makes you take them down,

This not being like the armory well known

To be the leavings of Laertes’ son

Consorting the design for Ilion;

Your eyes may see how much they are infected,

As all fires’ vapours ever since reflected

On those sole arms. Besides, a graver thought

Jove graves within you, lest, their spirits wrought

Above their pitch with wine, they might contend

At some high banquet, and to wounds transcend,

Their feast inverting; which, perhaps, may be

Their nuptial feast with wise Penelope.

The ready weapon, when the blood is up,

Doubles the uproar heighten’d by the cup.

Wrath’s means for act curb all the ways ye can.

As loadstones draw the steel, so steel draws man.

Retain these words; nor what is good think, thus

Receiv’d at second hand, superfluous.’

The son, obeying, did Euryclea call,

And bade her shut in th’ outer porches all

The other women, till himself brought down

His father’s arms, which all were overgrown

By his neglect with rust, his father gone,

And he too childish to spend thoughts upon

Those manly implements; but he would now

Reform those young neglects, and th’ arms bestow

Past reach of smoke. The loving nurse replied:

‘I wish, O son, your pow’rs would once provide

For wisdom’s habit, see your household were

In thrifty manage, and tend all things there.

But if these arms must down, and every maid

Be shut in outer rooms, who else should aid

Your work with light?’ He answer’d: ‘This my guest.

There shall no one in my house taste my feast,

Or join in my nave, that shall idly live,

However far hence he his home derive.’

He said, and his words stood. The doors she shut

Of that so well-fill’d house. And th’ other put

Their thoughts in act; best shields, helms, sharpen’d lances,

Brought down; and Pallas before both advances

A golden cresset, that did cast a light

As if the day sat in the throne of night.

When, half amaz’d, the prince said: ‘O my father,

Mine eyes my soul’s pow’rs all in wonder gather,

For though the walls and goodly wind-beams here,

And all these pillars that their heads so rear,

And all of fir, they seem yet all of fire.

Some god is surely with us.’ His wise sire

Bade peace, and keep the counsels of the gods,

Nor ask a word: ‘These pow’rs, that use abodes

Above the stars, have pow’r from thence to shine

Through night and all shades to earth’s inmost mine.

Go thou for sleep, and leave me here to wake

The women and the queen, whose heart doth ache

To make inquiry for myself of me.’

He went to sleep where lights did endlessly

Burn in his night-rooms; where he feasted rest,

Till day’s fair weed did all the world invest.

Thus was divine Ulysses left alone

With Pallas, plotting foul confusion

To all the wooers. Forth then came the queen;

Phoebe, with golden Cytherea seen,

Her port presented. Whom they set a chair

Aside the fire, the fashion circular,

The substance silver and rich elephant;

Whose fabric did the cunning finger vaunt

Of great Icmalius, who besides had done

A footstool for her that did suit her throne,

On which they cast an ample skin, to be

The cushion for her other royalty.

And there she sat; about whom came her maids,

Who brought upon a table store of breads,

And bowls that with the wooers’ wine were crown’d.

The embers then they cast upon the ground

From out the lamps, and other fuel added,

That still with cheerful flame the sad house gladded.

Melantho seeing still Ulysses there,

Thus she held out her spleen: ‘Still, stranger, here?

Thus late in night? To see what ladies do?

Avaunt you, wretch; hence, go without doors, go;

And quickly, too, lest ye be singed away

With burning firebrands.’ He, thus seeing their fray

Continu’d by her with such spleen, replied:

‘Minion! What makes your angry blood thus chide

My presence still? Is it because you see

I shine not in your wanton bravery,

But wear these rags? It fits the needy fate

That makes me beg thus of the common state.

Such poor souls, and such beggars, yet are men;

And ev’n my mean means means had to maintain

A wealthy house, and kept a manly press,

Was counted blessed, and the poor access

Of any beggar did not scorn, but feed

With often hand, and any man of need

Reliev’d as fitted; kept my servants, too,

Not few, but did with those additions go

That call choice men “The Honest”, who are styl’d

The rich, the great. But what such great ones build

Jove oft pulls down, as thus he ruin’d me;

His will was such, which is his equity.

And therefore, woman, bear you fitting hand

On your behaviour, lest your spirit thus mann’d,

And cherish’d with your beauties, when they wane,

Comes down, your pride now being then your bane;

And in the mean space shun the present danger,

Lest your bold fashion breed your sovereign’s anger,

Or lest Ulysses come, of whom ev’n yet

Hope finds some life in fate. Or, be his seat

Amongst the merely ruin’d, yet his son,

Whose life’s heat Phoebus saves, is such a one

As can discover who doth well deserve

Of any woman here his years now serve.’

The queen gave ear, and thus suppress’d the flame:

‘Thou quite without a brow, past female shame,

I hear thy monstrous boldness, which thy head

Shall pay me pains for. Thou hast heard it said,

And from myself too, and at every part

Thy knowledge serves thee, that to ease my heart

So punish’d in thy witness, my desire

Dwelt on this stranger, that I might inquire

My lost friend’s being. But ’tis ever tried,

Both man and god are still forgot with pride.

Eurynome, bring here this guest a seat

And cushion on it, that we two may treat

Of the affair in question. Set it near,

That I may softly speak, yet he well hear.’

She did this little freely; and he sat

Close by the queen, who ask’d him, whence, and what

He was himsel
f
? And what th’ inhabited place

Where liv’d his parents? Whence he fetch’d his race?

‘O woman,’ he replied, ‘with whom no man,

That moves in earth’s unbounded circle, can

Maintain contention for true honour giv’n,

Whose fame hath reach’d the fairly-flowing heav’n,

Who, like a never-ill-deserving king,

That is well spoke of, first for worshipping,

And striving to resemble god in empire;

Whose equal hand impartially doth temper

Greatness and goodness; to whom therefore bears

The black earth store of all grain, trees confers

Cracking with burthen, long-liv’d herds creates,

All which the sea with her sorts emulates;

And all this feeds beneath his powerful hand

Men valiant, many, making strong his land

With happy lives led; nothing else the cause

Of all these blessings but well-order’d laws:

Like such a king are you, in love, in fame,

And all the bliss that deifies a dame.

And therefore do not mix this with a moan

So wretched as is now in question;

Ask not my race nor country, lest you fill

My heart yet fuller with repeated ill;

For I must follow it with many tears,

Though ’tis not seemly to sit wounding ears

In public roofs with our particular life.

Time’s worst expense is still-repeated grief.

I should be irksome to your ladies here,

And you yourself would say you urg’d your ear

To what offends it, my still-broken eyne

Supposing wounded with your too-much wine.’

‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘you fear your own excess

With giving me too great a nobleness.

The gods my person, beauty, virtue too,

Long since subverted, when the Ilion woe

The Greek design attempted; in which went

My praise and honour. In his government

Had I deserv’d your utmost grace, but now

Sinister deity makes dishonour woo,

In show of grace, my ruin. All the peers –

Sylvan Zacynthus’ and Dulichius’ spheres,

Samos and Ithaca – strange strifes have shown

To win me, spending on me all mine own;

Will wed me, in my spite; and these are those

That take from me all virtue to dispose

Or guest or suppliant, or take any course

Amongst my heralds, that should all disburse,

To order anything. Though I need none

To give me grief at home, abroad errs one

That my veins shrink for, whom these holding gone,

Their nuptials hasten, and find me as slow.

Good spirits prompted me to make a show

Of undertaking a most curious task,

That an unmeasur’d space of time would ask;

Which they enduring long would often say,

“When ends thy work?” I soon had my delay,

And pray’d their stay; for though my lord were dead,

His father’s life yet matter ministred

That must employ me; which, to tell them true,

Was that great work I nam’d. For now near drew

Laertes’ death, and on my hand did lie

His funeral-robe, whose end, being now so nigh,

I must not leave, and lose so much begun,

The rather lest the Greek dames might be won

To tax mine honour, if a man so great

Should greet his grave without his winding sheet.

Pride made them credulous, and I went on;

When whatsoever all the day had done

I made the night help to undo again,

Though oil and watch it cost, and equal pain.

Three years my wit secur’d me undiscern’d,

Yet, when the fourth came, by my maids discern’d,

False careless wenches, how they were deluded;

When, by my light discern’d, they all intruded,

Us’d threat’ning words, and made me give it end.

And then could I to no more length extend

My linger’d nuptials; not a counsel more

Was to be stood upon; my parents bore

Continual hand on me to make me wed;

My son grew angry that so ruined

His goods were by them. He is now a man

Wise in a great degree, and one that can

Himself give order to his household fare –

And Jove give equal glory to his care.

But thus you must not pass me; I must know,

It may be for more end, from whence doth grow

Your race and you; for I suppose you none

Sprung of old oak, or justled out of stone.’

He answer’d: ‘O Ulysses’ reverend wife!

Yet hold you purpose to inquire my life?

I’ll tell you, though it much afflict me more

Than all the sorrows I have felt before –

As worthily it may, since so long time

As I have wander’d from my native clime

Through human cities, and in suf
f
’
rance still,

To rip all wounds up, though of all their ill

I touch but part, must actuate all their pain.

But, ask you still, I’ll tell, though still sustain.

In middle of the sable sea there lies

An isle call’d Crete, a ravisher of eyes,

Fruitful, and mann’d with many an infinite store;

Where ninety cities crown the famous shore,

Mix’d with all-languag’d men. There Greeks survive,

There the great-minded Eteocretans live,

There the Dorensians never out of war,

The Cydons there, and there the singular

Pelasgian people. There doth Cnossus stand,

That mighty city, where had most command

Great Jove’s disciple, Minos, who nine years

Conferr’d with Jove, both great familiars

In mutual counsels. And this Minos’ son,

The mighty-minded king Deucalion,

Was sire to me and royal Idomen,

Who with Atrides went to Ilion then,

My elder brother and the better man,

My name Aëthon. At that time began

My knowledge of Ulysses, whom my home

Receiv’d with guest-rites. He was thither come

By force of weather, from the Malean coast

But new got off, where he the navy lost,

Then under sail for Troy, and wind-bound lay

Long in Amnisus, hardly got away

From horrid storms, that made him anchor there,

In hav’ns that sacred to Lucina were,

Dreadful and dangerous, in whose bosom crept

Lucina’s cavern. But in my roof slept

Ulysses, shor’d in Crete; who first inquir’d

For royal Idomen, and much desir’d

To taste his guest-rites, since to him had been

A welcome guest my brother Idomen.

The tenth or ’leventh light on Ulysses shin’d

In stay at Crete, attending then the wind

For threaten’d Ilion. All which time my house

With love and entertainments curious