The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (73 page)

With timely sleep, and that her wooers did rouse

Rude tumult up through all the shady house,

Dispos’d to sleep because their widow was)

Telemachus this new-giv’n spirit did pass

On their old insolence: ‘Ho! You that are

My mother’s wooers! Much too high ye bear

Your petulant spirits; sit, and while ye may

Enjoy me in your banquets, see ye lay

These loud notes down, nor do this man the wrong,

Because my mother hath dislik’d his song,

To grace her interruption. ’Tis a thing

Honest, and honour’d too, to hear one sing

Numbers so like the gods in elegance

As this man flows in. By the morn’s first light

I’ll call ye all before me in a court,

That I may clearly banish your resort,

With all your rudeness, from these roofs of mine.

Away, and elsewhere in your feasts combine.

Consume your own goods, and make mutual feast

At either’s house. Or if ye still hold best,

And for your humours’ more sufficed fill,

To feed, to spoil, because unpunish’d still,

On other findings, spoil; but here I call

Th’ eternal gods to witness, if it fall

In my wish’d reach once to be dealing wreaks

By Jove’s high bounty, these your present checks

To what I give in charge shall add more reins

To my revenge hereafter; and the pains

Ye then must suffer shall pass all your pride

Ever to see redress’d, or qualified.’

At this all bit their lips, and did admire

His words sent from him with such phrase and fire;

Which so much mov’d them that Antinous,

Eupitheus’ son, cried out: ‘Telemachus!

The gods, I think, have rapt thee to this height

Of elocution, and this great conceit

Of self-ability. We all may pray

That Jove invest not in this kingdom’s sway

Thy forward forces, which I see put forth

A hot ambition in thee for thy birth.’

‘Be not offended,’ he replied, ‘if I

Shall say, I would assume this empery,

If Jove gave leave. You are not he that sings:

The rule of kingdoms is the worst of things
.

Nor is it ill at all to sway a throne;

A man may quickly gain possession

Of mighty riches, make a wondrous prize

Set of his virtues; but the dignities

That deck a king, there are enough beside

In this circumfluous isle that want no pride

To think them worthy of, as young as I,

And old as you are. An ascent so high

My thoughts affect not. Dead is he that held

Desert of virtue to have so excell’d.

But of these turrets I will take on me

To be the absolute king, and reign as free

As did my father over all his hand

Left here in this house slaves to my command.’

Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,

To this made this reply: ‘Telemachus!

The girlond of this kingdom let the knees

Of deity run for; but the faculties

This house is seized of, and the turrets here,

Thou shalt be lord of, nor shall any bear

The least part off of all thou dost possess,

As long as this land is no wilderness,

Nor ruled by outlaws. But give these their pass,

And tell me, best of princes, who he was

That guested here so late? From whence? And what

In any region boasted he his state?

His race? His country? Brought he any news

Of thy returning father? Or for dues

Of moneys to him made he fit repair?

How suddenly he rush’d into the air,

Nor would sustain to stay and make him known!

His port show’d no debauch’d companion.’

He answer’d: ‘The return of my lov’d sire

Is past all hope; and should rude Fame inspire

From any place a flattering messenger

With news of his survival, he should bear

No least belief off from my desperate love.

Which if a sacred prophet should approve,

Call’d by my mother for her care’s unrest,

It should not move me. For my late fair guest,

He was of old my father’s, touching here

From sea-girt Taphos, and for name doth bear

Mentas, the son of wise Anchialus,

And governs all the Taphians studious

Of navigation.’ This he said, but knew

It was a goddess. These again withdrew

To dances and attraction of the song;

And while their pleasures did the time prolong,

The sable ev’n descended, and did steep

The lids of all men in desire of sleep.

Telemachus into a room built high

Of his illustrious court, and to the eye

Of circular prospect, to his bed ascended,

And in his mind much weighty thought contended.

Before him Euryclea (that well knew

All the observance of a handmaid’s due,

Daughter to Opis Pisenorides)

Bore two bright torches; who did so much please

Laërtes in her prime, that for the price

Of twenty oxen, he made merchandise

Of her rare beauties; and love’s equal flame

To her he felt as to his nuptial dame,

Yet never durst he mix with her in bed,

So much the anger of his wife he fled.

She, now grown old, to young Telemachus

Two
torches bore, and was obsequious

Past all his other maids, and did apply

Her service to him from his infancy.

His well-built chamber reach’d, she op’d the door,

He on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore

Put off, and to the diligent old maid

Gave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid,

And hung them on a beam-pin near the bed,

That round about was rich embroidered.

Then made she haste forth from him, and did bring

The door together with a silver ring,

And by a string a bar to it did pull.

He, laid, and cover’d well with curled wool

Wov’n in silk quilts, all night employ’d his mind

About the task that Pallas had design’d.

The end of the first book

Book 2

The Argument

Telemachus to court doth call

The wooers, and commands them all

To leave his house; and taking then

From wise Minerva ship and men,

And all things fit for him beside

That Euryclea could provide

For sea-rites, till he found his sire,

He hoists sail; when heav’n stoops his fire.

Another Argument

Beta

The old Maid’s store

The voyage cheers.

The ship leaves shore,

Minerva steers.

Book 2

Now when with rosy fingers, th’ early born

And thrown through all the air, appear’d the Morn,

Ulysses’ lov’d son from his bed appear’d,

His weeds put on, and did about him gird

His sword that thwart his shoulders hung, and tied

To his fair feet fair shoes, and all parts plied

For speedy readiness; who, when he trod

The open earth, to men show’d like a god.

The heralds then he straight charg’d to consort

The curl’d-head Greeks, with loud calls, to a court.

They summon’d; th’ other came in utmost haste.

Who all assembled, and in one heap plac’d,

He likewise came to council, and did bear

In his fair hand his iron-headed spear.

Nor came alone, nor with men troops prepar’d,

But two fleet dogs made both his train and guard.

Pallas supplied with her high wisdom’s grace,

That all men’s wants supplies, state’s painted face.

His ent’ring presence all men did admire;

Who took seat in the high throne of his sire,

To which the grave peers gave him reverend way.

Amongst whom, an Egyptian heroë

(Crooked with age, and full of skill) begun

The speech to all; who had a loved son

That with divine Ulysses did ascend

His hollow fleet to Troy; to serve which end,

He kept fair horse, and was a man at arms,

And in the cruel Cyclops’ stern alarms

His life lost by him in his hollow cave,

Whose entrails open’d his abhorred grave,

And made of him, of all Ulysses’ train,

His latest supper, being latest slain;

His name was Antiphus. And this old man,

This crooked-grown, this wise Egyptian,

Had three sons more; of which one riotous

A wooer was, and call’d Eurynomus;

The other two took both his own wish’d course.

Yet both the best fates weigh’d not down the worse,

But left the old man mindful still of moan;

Who, weeping, thus bespake the session:

‘Hear, Ithacensians, all I fitly say:

Since our divine Ulysses’ parting day

Never was council call’d, nor session,

And now by whom is this thus undergone?

Whom did necessity so much compel,

Of young or old? Hath any one heard tell

Of any coming army, that he now

May openly take boldness to avow,

First having heard it? Or will any here

Some motion for the public good prefer?

Some worth of note there is in this command;

And, methinks, it must be some good man’s hand

That’s put to it, that either hath direct

Means to assist, or, for his good affect,

Hopes to be happy in the proof he makes;

And that Jove grant, whate’er he undertakes.’

Telemachus (rejoicing much to hear

The good hope and opinion men did bear

Of his young actions) no longer sat,

But long’d t’ approve what this man pointed at,

And make his first proof in a cause so good;

And in the council’s chief place up he stood;

When straight Pisenor (herald to his sire,

And learn’d in counsels) felt his heart on fire

To hear him speak, and put into his hand

The sceptre that his father did command;

Then, to the old Egyptian turn’d, he spoke:

‘Father, not far he is that undertook

To call this council; whom you soon shall know.

Myself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show,

Am he that author’d this assembly here.

Nor have I heard of any army near,

Of which, being first told, I might iterate,

Nor for the public good can aught relate,

Only mine own affairs all this procure,

That in my house a double ill endure:

One, having lost a father so renown’d,

Whose kind rule once with your command was crown’d;

The other is, what much more doth augment

His weighty loss, the ruin imminent

Of all my house by it, my goods all spent.

And of all this the wooers, that are sons

To our chief peers, are the confusions,

Importuning my mother’s marriage

Against her will; nor dares their blood’s bold rage

Go to Icarius’, her father’s, court,

That, his will ask’d in kind and comely sort,

He may endow his daughter with a dow’r,

And, she consenting, at his pleasure’s pow’r

Dispose her to a man that, thus behav’d,

May have fit grace, and see her honour sav’d;

But these, in none but my house, all their lives

Resolve to spend, slaught’ring my sheep and beeves,

And with my fattest goats lay feast on feast,

My generous wine consuming as they list.

A world of things they spoil, here wanting one

That, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone

These peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war;

Whom my powers are unfit to urge so far,

Myself immartial. But, had I the pow’r,

My will should serve me to exempt this hour

From out my life-time. For, past patience,

Base deeds are done here, that exceed defence

Of any honour. Falling is my house,

Which you should shame to see so ruinous.

Reverence the censures that all good men give,

That dwell about you; and for fear to live

Exposed to heaven’s wrath (that doth ever pay

Pains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray,

Or Themis, both which pow’rs have to restrain

Or gather councils, that ye will abstain

From further spoil, and let me only waste

In that most wretched grief I have embrac’d

For my lost father. And though I am free

From meriting your outrage, yet if he,

Good man, hath ever with a hostile heart

Done ill to any Greek, on me convert

Your like hostility, and vengeance take

Of his ill on my life, and all these make

Join in that justice; but to see abus’d

Those goods that do none ill but being ill us’d,

Exceeds all right. Yet better ’tis for me

My whole possessions and my rents to see

Consum’d by you, than lose my life and all;

For on your rapine a revenge may fall,

While I live; and so long I may complain

About the city, till my goods again,

Oft ask’d, may be with all amends repaid.

But in the mean space your misrule hath laid

Griefs on my bosom, that can only speak,

And are denied the instant power of wreak.’

This said, his sceptre ’gainst the ground he threw,

And tears still’d from him; which mov’d all the crew,

The court struck silent, not a man did dare

To give a word that might offend his ear.

Antinous only in this sort replied:

‘High spoken, and of spirit unpacified,

How have you sham’d us in this speech of yours!

Will you brand us for an offence not ours?

Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause.

Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws,

Since first she mock’d the peers Achaian.

All she made hope, and promis’d every man,

Sent for us ever, left love’s show in nought,

But in her heart conceal’d another thought

Besides, as curious in her craft, her loom

She with a web charg’d, hard to overcome,

And thus bespake us: ‘Youths, that seek my bed,

Since my divine spouse rests amongst the dead,

Hold on your suits but till I end, at most,

This funeral weed, lest what is done be lost.

Besides, I purpose, that when th’ austere fate

Of bitter death shall take into his state

Laertes the heroë, it shall deck

His royal corse, since I should suffer check

In ill report of every common dame,

If one so rich should show in death his shame.’

This speech she used; and this did soon persuade

Our gentle minds. But this a work she made

So hugely long, undoing still in night,

By torches, all she did by day’s broad light,

That three years her deceit div’d past our view,

And made us think that all she feign’d was true.

But when the fourth year came, and those sly hours

That still surprise at length dames’ craftiest pow’rs,

One of her women, that knew all, disclos’d

The secret to us, that she still unloos’d

Her whole day’s fair affair in depth of night.

And then no further she could force her sleight,

But, of necessity, her work gave end.

And thus by me doth every other friend,

Professing love to her, reply to thee,

That ev’n thyself, and all Greeks else, may see

That we offend not in our stay, but she.

To free thy house then, send her to her sire,

Commanding that her choice be left entire

To his election, and one settled will.

Nor let her vex with her illusions still

Her friends that woo her, standing on her wit,

Because wise Pallas hath given wills to it

So full of art, and made her understand

All works in fair skill of a lady’s hand.

But (for her working mind) we read of none

Of all the old world, in which Greece hath shown

Her rarest pieces, that could equal her:

Tyro, Alcmena and Mycena were

To hold comparison in no degree,

For solid brain, with wise Penelope.

And yet, in her delays of us, she shows

No prophet’s skill with all the wit she owes;

For all this time thy goods and victuals go

To utter ruin; and shall ever so,

While thus the gods her glorious mind dispose.

Glory herself may gain, but thou shalt lose

Thy longings ev’n for necessary food;

For we will never go where lies our good,

Nor any other where, till this delay

She puts on all, she quits with th’ endless stay

Of some one of us, that to all the rest

May give free farewell with his nuptial feast.’

The wise young prince replied: ‘Antinous!

I may by no means turn out of my house

Her that hath brought me forth and nourish’d me.

Besides, if quick or dead my father be

In any region, yet abides in doubt;

And ’twill go hard, my means being so run out,

To tender to Icarius again,

If he again my mother must maintain

In her retreat, the dow’r she brought with her.

And then a double ill it will confer,

Both from my father and from god on me,

When, thrust out of her house, on her bent knee,

My mother shall the horrid Furies raise

With imprecations, and all men dispraise

My part in her exposure. Never then

Will I perform this counsel. If your spleen

Swell at my courses, once more I command

Your absence from my house; some other’s hand

Charge with your banquets; on your own goods eat,

And either other mutually intreat,

At either of your houses, with your feast.

But if ye still esteem more sweet and best

Another’s spoil, so you still wreakless live,

Gnaw, vermin-like, things sacred, no laws give

To your devouring; it remains that I

Invoke each ever-living deity,

And vow, if Jove shall deign in any date

Pow’r of like pains for pleasure so past rate,

From thenceforth look, where ye have revell’d so

Unwreak’d, your ruins all shall undergo.’

Thus spake Telemachus; t’ assure whose threat,

Far-seeing Jove upon their pinions set

Two eagles from the high brows of a hill,

That, mounted on the winds, together still

Their strokes extended; but arriving now

Amidst the council, over every brow

Shook their thick wings and, threat’ning death’s cold fears,

Their necks and cheeks tore with their eager seres;

Then, on the court’s right-hand away they flew,

Above both court and city. With whose view,

And study what events they might foretell,

The council into admiration fell.

The old heroë Halitherses then,

The son of Nestor, that of all old men,

His peers in that court, only could foresee

By flight of fowls man’s fixed destiny,

’Twixt them and their amaze this interpos’d:

‘Hear, lthacensians, all your doubts disclos’d.

The wooers most are touch’d in this ostent,

To whom are dangers great and imminent;

For now not long more shall Ulysses bear

Lack of his most lov’d, but fills some place near,

Addressing to these wooers fate and death.

And many more this mischief menaceth

Of us inhabiting this famous isle.

Let us consult yet, in this long forewhile,

How to ourselves we may prevent this ill.

Let these men rest secure, and revel still,

Though they might find it safer, if with us

They would in time prevent what threats them thus,

Since not without sure trial I foretell

These coming storms, but know their issue well.

For to Ulysses all things have event,

As I foretold him, when for Ilion went

The whole Greek fleet together, and with them

Th’ abundant-in-all-counsels took the stream.

I told him that, when much ill he had pass’d,

And all his men were lost, he should at last,

The twentieth year, turn home, to all unknown;

All which effects are to perfection grown.’

Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,

Opposed this man’s presage, and answer’d thus:

‘Hence, great in years, go prophesy at home;

Thy children teach to shun their ills to come.

In these superior far to thee am I.

A world of fowls beneath the sun-beams fly

That are not fit t’ inform a prophecy.

Besides, Ulysses perish’d long ago;

And would thy fates to thee had destin’d so,