The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (26 page)

His sisters, nor t’ implore the ruth of Pallas on their lives,

But (she advertis’d of the bane Troy suffer’d, and how vast

Conquest had made herself for Greece) like one distraught, made haste

To ample Ilion with her son and nurse; and all the way

Mourn’d, and dissolv’d in tears for him. Then Hector made no stay,

But trod her path, and through the streets, magnificently built,

All the great city past, and came where (seeing how blood was spilt)

Andromache might see him come; who made as he would pass

The ports without saluting her, not knowing where she was.

She, with his sight, made breathless haste to meet him: she, whose grace

Brought him withal so great a dow’r, she that of all the race

Of king Aëtion, only liv’d: Aëtion, whose house stood

Beneath the mountain
Placius
, environ’d with the wood

Of Theban Hippoplace, being court to the Cilician land.

She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand,

Her son, borne in his nurse’s arms: when like a heavenly sign,

Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine

Whom Hector call’d Scamandrius, but whom the town did name

Astyanax, because his sire did only prop the same.

Hector, though grief bereft his speech, yet smil’d upon his joy.

Andromache cried out, mix’d hands, and to the strength of Troy

Thus wept forth her affection: ‘O noblest in desire!

Thy mind, inflam’d with others’ good, will set thyself on fire:

Nor pitiest thou thy son, nor wife, who must thy widow be

If now thou issue: all the field will only run on thee.

Better my shoulders underwent the earth, than thy decease;

For then would earth bear joys no more, then comes the black increase

Of griefs (like Greeks on Ilion). Alas! What one survives

To be my refuge? One black day bereft seven brothers’ lives,

By stern Achilles; by his hand my father breath’d his last,

His high-wall’d rich Cilician Thebes sack’d by him, and laid wast:

The royal body yet he left unspoil’d – religion charm’d

That act of spoil – and all in fire he burn’d him complete arm’d,

Built over him a royal tomb, and to the monument

He left of him th’ Oreades (that are the high descent

Of Aegis-bearing Jupiter), another of their own

Did add to it, and set it round with elms, by which is shown

(In theirs) the barrenness of death: yet might it serve beside

To shelter the said monument from all the ruffinous pride

Of storms and tempests, us’d to hurt things of that noble kind.

The short life yet my mother liv’d, he sav’d, and serv’d his mind

With all the riches of the realm; which not enough esteem’d,

He kept her prisoner, whom small time, but much more wealth redeem’d:

And she in sylvan Hyppoplace Cilicia rul’d again,

But soon was over-rul’d by death: Diana’s chaste disdain

Gave her a lance, and took her life. Yet all these gone from me,

Thou amply render’st all; thy life makes still my father be,

My mother, brothers: and besides thou art my husband too,

Most lov’d, most worthy. Pity then, dear love, and do not go;

For thou gone, all these go again: pity our common joy,

Lest – of a father’s patronage, the bulwark of all Troy –

Thou leav’st him a poor widow’s charge. Stay, stay then, in this tow’r,

And call up to the wild fig-tree all thy retired pow’r:

For there the wall is easiest scal’d, and fittest for surprise,

And there th’ Ajaces, Idomen, th’ Atrides, Diomed, thrice

Have both survey’d and made attempt, I know not if induc’d

By some wise augury, or the fact was naturally infus’d

Into their wits, or courages.’ To this, great Hector said:

‘Be well assur’d, wife, all these things in my kind cares are weigh’d.

But what a shame and fear it is, to think how Troy would scorn

(Both in her husbands and her wives, whom long-train’d gowns adorn)

That I should cowardly fly off! The spirit I first did breathe

Did never teach me that; much less, since the contempt of death

Was settled in me, and my mind knew what a worthy was;

Whose office is to lead in fight, and give no danger pass

Without improvement. In this fire must Hector’s trial shine;

Here must his country, father, friends, be in him made divine.

And such a stormy day shall come (in mind and soul I know)

When sacred Troy shall shed her tow’rs, for tears of overthrow,

When Priam, all his birth and pow’r, shall in those tears be drown’d.

But neither Troy’s posterity so much my soul doth wound,

Priam, nor Hecuba herself, nor all my brothers’ woes

(Who though so many, and so good, must all be food for foes)

As thy sad state, when some rude Greek shall lead thee weeping hence,

These free days clouded, and a night of captive violence

Loading thy temples; out of which thine eyes must never see,

But spin the Greek wives webs of task, and their fetch-water be

To Argos, from Messeides, or clear Hyperia’s spring:

Which, howsoever thou abhorr’st, Fate’s such a shrewish thing

She will be mistress; whose curst hands, when they shall crush out cries

From thy oppressions, being beheld by other enemies,

Thus they will nourish thy extremes: “This dame was Hector’s wife,

A man, that at the wars of Troy did breathe the worthiest life

Of all their army.” This again will rub thy fruitful wounds,

To miss the man that to thy bands could give such narrow bounds.

But that day shall not wound mine eyes; the solid heap of night

Shall interpose, and stop mine ears, against thy plaints and plight.’

This said, he reach’d to take his son: who of his arms afraid,

And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid,

Nodded so horribly, he cling’d back to his nurse, and cried.

Laughter affected his great sire, who dof
f
’d and laid aside

His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about it light;

Then took and kiss’d his loving son, and (balancing his weight

In dancing him) these loving vows to living Jove he us’d,

And all the other bench of gods: ‘O you that have infus’d

Soul to this infant, now set down this blessing on his star.

Let his renown be clear as mine, equal his strength in war;

And make his reign so strong in Troy, that years to come may yield

His facts this fame, when rich in spoils, he leaves the conquer’d field

Sown with his slaughters: these high deeds exceed his father’s worth,

And let this echo’d praise supply the comforts to come forth

Of his kind mother, with my life.’ This said, th’ heroic sire

Gave him his mother; whose fair eyes fresh streams of love’s salt fire

Billow’d on her soft cheeks, to hear the last of Hector’s speech,

In which his vows compris’d the sum of all he did beseech

In her wish’d comfort. So she took into her odorous breast

Her husband’s gift; who, mov’d to see her heart so much oppress’d,

He dried her tears, and thus desir’d: ‘Afflict me not, dear wife,

With these vain griefs. He doth not live that can disjoin my life

And this firm bosom, but my fate; and fate, whose wings can fly?

Noble, ignoble, fate controls: once born, the best must die.

Go home, and set thy huswifery on these extremes of thought,

And drive war from them with thy maids; keep them from doing nought:

These will be nothing; leave the cares of war to men, and me,

In whom of all the Ilian race they take their high’st degree.’

On went his helm; his princess home, half cold with kindly fears,

When every fear turn’d back her looks, and every look shed tears,

To slaught’ring Hector’s house, soon reach’d; her many women there

Wept all to see her. In his life, great Hector’s funerals were –

Never look’d any eye of theirs to see their lord safe home,

Scap’d from the gripes and pow’rs of Greece. And now was Paris come

From his high tow’rs; who made no stay, when once he had put on

His richest armour, but flew forth: the flints he trod upon

Sparkled with lustre of his arms; his long-ebb’d spirits now flow’d

The higher for their lower ebb. And as a fair steed proud

With full-given mangers, long tied up, and now his head-stall broke,

He breaks from stable, runs the field, and with an ample stroke

Measures the centre, neighs, and lifts aloft his wanton head,

About his shoulders shakes his crest, and where he hath been fed,

Or in some calm flood wash’d, or stung with his high plight, he flies

Amongst his females, strength puts forth, his beauty beautifies,

And like life’s mirror, bears his gait: so Paris from the tow’r

Of lofty Pergamus came forth; he show’d a sun-like pow’r

In carriage of his goodly parts, address’d now to the strife,

And found his noble brother near the place he left his wife.

Him thus respected he salutes: ‘Right worthy, I have fear

That your so serious haste to field my stay hath made forbear,

And that I come not as you wish.’ He answer’d: ‘Honour’d man,

Be confident, for not myself nor any others can

Reprove in thee the work of fight, at least, not any such

As is an equal judge of things: for thou hast strength as much

As serves to execute a mind very important. But

Thy strength too readily flies off: enough will is not put

To thy ability. My heart is in my mind’s strife, sad,

When Troy (out of her much distress she and her friends have had

By thy procurement) doth deprave thy nobleness in mine ears.

But come, hereafter we shall calm these hard conceits of theirs,

When from their ports the foe expuls’d, high Jove to them hath giv’n

Wish’d peace, and us free sacrifice to all the powers of heav’n.’

The end of the sixth book

Book 7

The Argument

Hector, by Helenus’ advice, doth seek

Adventurous combat on the boldest Greek.

Nine Greeks stand up, acceptants every one,

But lot selects strong Ajax Telamon.

Both, with high honour, stand th’ important fight,

Till heralds part them by approached night.

Lastly, they grave the dead: the Greeks erect

A mighty wall, their navy to protect;

Which angers Neptune. Jove, by hapless signs,

In depth of night, succeeding woes divines.

Another Argument

In
Eta
, Priam’s strongest son

Combats with Ajax Telamon.

Book 7

This said, brave Hector through the ports, with Troy’s bane-bringing knight,

Made issue to th’ insatiate field, resolv’d to fervent fight.

And as the weather-wielder sends to seamen prosperous gales,

When with their sallow polish’d oars, long lifted from their falls,

Their wearied arms, dissolv’d with toil, can scarce strike one stroke more,

Like those sweet winds appear’d these lords to Trojans tir’d before.

Then fell they to the works of death. By Paris’ valour fell

King Areithous’ hapless son, that did in Arna dwell,

Menesthius, whose renowned sire a club did ever bear,

And of Philomedusa got (that had her eyes so clear)

This slaughter’d issue. Hector’s dart struck Eioneus dead;

Beneath his good steel casque it pierc’d above his gorget stead.

Glaucus (Hyppolochus’s son) that led the Lycian crew,

Iphinous-Dexiades with sudden javelin slew,

As he was mounting to his horse: his shoulders took the spear,

And ere he sate, in tumbling down his pow’rs dissolved were.

When gray-ey’d Pallas had perceiv’d the Greeks so fall in fight,

From high Olympus’ top she stoop’d, and did on Ilion light.

Apollo to encounter her to Pergamus did fly,

From whence he (looking to the field) wish’d Trojans victory.

At Jove’s broad beech these godheads met, and first Jove’s son objects:

‘Why, burning in contention thus, do thy extreme affects

Conduct thee from our peaceful hill? Is it to oversway

The doubtful victory of fight, and give the Greeks the day?

Thou never pitiest perishing Troy, yet now let me persuade,

That this day no more mortal wounds may either side invade.

Hereafter, till the end of Troy, they shall apply the fight,

Since your immortal wills resolve to overturn it quite.’

Pallas replied: ‘It likes me well; for this came I from heav’n:

But to make either army cease, what order shall be giv’n?’

He said: ‘We will direct the spirit that burns in Hectors breast

To challenge any Greek to wounds, with single pow’rs impress’d;

Which Greeks (admiring) will accept, and make some one stand out,

So stout a challenge to receive with a defence as stout.’

It is confirm’d, and Helenus (King Priam’s loved seed)

By augury discern’d th’ event that these two pow’rs decreed,

And greeting Hector ask’d him this: ‘Wilt thou be once advis’d?

I am thy brother, and thy life with mine is ev’nly prised.

Command the rest of Troy and Greece to cease this public fight,

And what Greek bears the greatest mind, to single strokes excite.

I promise thee that yet thy soul shall not descend to fates;

So heard I thy survival cast by the celestial states.’

Hector with glad allowance gave his brother’s counsel ear,

And, fronting both the hosts, advanc’d just in the midst his spear.

The Trojans instantly surcease, the Greeks Atrides stay’d.

The god that bears the silver bow and war’s triumphant Maid,

On Jove’s beech like two vultures sat, pleas’d to behold both parts

Flow in to hear, so sternly arm’d with huge shields, helms and darts,

And such fresh horror as you see driven through the wrinkled waves

By rising Zephyr, under whom the sea grows black, and raves;

Such did the hasty gathering troops of both hosts make, to hear;

Whose tumult settled, ’twixt them both thus spake the challenger:

‘Hear, Trojans, and ye well-arm’d Greeks, what my strong mind (diffus’d

Through all my spirits) commands me speak; Saturnius hath not us’d

His promis’d favour for our truce, but studying both our ills,

Will never cease till Mars by you his ravenous stomach fills

With ruin’d Troy, or we consume your mighty sea-borne fleet.

Since then the general peers of Greece in reach of one voice meet,

Amongst you all, whose breast includes the most impulsive mind,

Let him stand forth as combatant, by all the rest design’d.

Before whom thus I call high Jove to witness of our strife:

If he with home-thrust iron can reach th’ exposure of my life,

Spoiling my arms, let him at will convey them to his tent,

But let my body be return’d, that Troy’s two-sex’d descent

May waste it in the funeral pile: if I can slaughter him

(Apollo honouring me so much), I’ll spoil his conquer’d limb,

And bear his arms to Ilion, where in Apollo’s shrine

I’ll hang them, as my trophies due; his body I’ll resign

To be disposed by his friends in flamy funerals,

And honour’d with erected tomb, where Hellespontus falls

Into Aegaeum, and doth reach ev’n to your naval road,

That when our beings in the earth shall hide their period,

Survivors sailing the black sea may thus his name renew:

“This is his monument, whose blood long since did fates imbrue,

Whom passing far in fortitude, illustrious Hector slew.”

This shall posterity report, and my fame never die.’

This said, dumb silence seiz’d them all; they shamed to deny,

And fear’d to undertake. At last did Menelaus speak,

Check’d their remissness, and so sigh’d, as if his heart would break:

‘Ah me, but only threat’ning Greeks, not worthy Grecian names!

This more and more, not to be borne, makes grow our huge defames,

If Hector’s honourable proof be entertain’d by none.

But you are earth and water all, which – symboliz’d in one –

Have fram’d your faint unfiery spirits: ye sit without your hearts,

Grossly inglorious: but myself will use acceptive darts,

And arm against him, though you think I am ’gainst too much odds:

But conquest’s garlands hang aloft amongst th’ immortal gods.’

He arm’d, and gladly would have fought; but, Menelaus, then

By Hector’s far more strength thy soul had fled th’ abodes of men,

Had not the kings of Greece stood up, and thy attempt restrain’d,

And ev’n the king of men himself that in such compass reign’d,

Who took him by the bold right hand, and sternly pluck’d him back:

‘Mad brother, ’tis no work for thee, thou seek’st thy wilful wrack:

Contain, though it despite thee much, nor for this strife engage

Thy person with a man more strong, and whom all fear t’ enrage:

Yea whom Aeacides himself in men-renowning war

Makes doubt t’ encounter, whose huge strength surpasseth thine by far.

Sit thou then by thy regiment; some other Greek will rise

(Though he be dreadless, and no war will his desires suffice,

That makes this challenge to our strength) our valours to avow:

To whom, if he can ’scape with life, he will be glad to bow.’

This drew his brother from his will; who yielded, knowing it true,

And his glad soldiers took his arms; when Nestor did pursue

The same reproof he set on foot, and thus supplied his turn:

‘What huge indignity is this! How will our country mourn!

Old Peleus, that good king, will weep, that worthy counsellor,

That trumpet of the Myrmidons, who much did ask me for

All men of name that went to Troy; with joy he did inquire

Their valour and their towardness, and I made him admire.

But that ye all fear Hector now, if his grave ears shall hear,

How will he lift his hands to heaven, and pray that death may bear

His grieved soul into the deep! O would to heaven’s great king,

Minerva, and the god of light, that now my youthful spring

Did flourish in my willing veins as when at Phaea’s tow’rs,

About the streams of Jardanus, my gather’d Pylean pow’rs

And dart-employ’d Arcadians fought near raging Celadon;

Amongst whom first of all stood forth great Ereuthalion,

Who th’ arms of Areïthous wore – brave Areïthous,

And, since he still fought with a club, surnam’d Clavigerus;

All men and fair-girt ladies both for honour call’d him so.

He fought not with a keep-off spear, or with a far-shot bow,

But with a massy club of iron he broke through armed bands:

And yet Lycurgus was his death, but not with force of hands;

With sleight (encount’ring in a lane, where his club wanted sway)

He thrust him through his spacious waist, who fell, and upwards lay,

In death not bowing his face to earth: his arms he did despoil,

Which iron Mars bestow’d on him; and those in Mars’s toil

Lycurgus ever after wore. But when he aged grew,

Enforc’d to keep his peaceful house, their use he did renew

On mighty Ereuthalion’s limbs, his soldier, loved well;

And with these arms he challeng’d all that did in arms excel:

All shook, and stood dismay’d, none durst his adverse champion make.

Yet this same forward mind of mine of choice would undertake

To fight with all his confidence; though youngest enemy

Of all the army we conduct, yet I fought with him, I:

Minerva made me so renown’d, and that most tall strong peer

I slew; his big bulk lay on earth, extended here and there,

As it were covetous to spread the centre everywhere.

O that my youth were now as fresh, and all my pow’rs as sound;

Soon should bold Hector be impugn’d: yet you that most are crown’d

With fortitude of all our host, ev’n you methinks are slow,

Not free and set on fire with lust t’ encounter such a foe.’

With this, nine royal princes rose: Atrides for the first;

Then Diomed; th’ Ajaces then, that did th’ encounter thirst;

King Idomen and his consorts; Mars-like Meriones

(Evemon’s son); Euripilus; and Andremonides

(Whom all the Grecians Thoas call’d, sprung of Andremon’s blood);

And wise Ulysses; every one propos’d for combat stood.

Again Gerenius Nestor spake: ‘Let lots be drawn by all;

His hand shall help the well-arm’d Greeks on whom the lot doth fall,

And to his wish shall he be help’d, if he escape with life

The harmful danger-breathing fit of his adventurous strife.’

Each mark’d his lot, and cast it in to Agamemnon’s casque;

The soldiers pray’d, held up their hands, and this of Jove did ask

(With eyes advanc’d to heav’n): ‘O Jove, so lead the herald’s hand

That Ajax or great Tydeus’ son may our wish’d champion stand;

Or else the king himself, that rules the rich Mycenian land.’

This said, old Nestor mix’d the lots: the foremost lot survey’d

With Ajax Telamon was sign’d, as all the soldiers pray’d;

One of the heralds drew it forth, who brought and show’d it round,

Beginning at the right hand first, to all the most renown’d:

None knowing it, every man denied, but when he forth did pass

To him which mark’d and cast it in, which famous Ajax was,

He stretch’d his hand, and into it the herald put the lot,

Who (viewing it) th’ inscription knew; the duke denied not,

But joyfully acknowledg’d it, and threw it at his feet,

And said: ‘O friends, the lot is mine, which to my soul is sweet.

For now I hope my fame shall rise in noble Hector’s fall.

But whilst I arm myself, do you on great Saturnius call;

But silently, or to yourselves, that not a Trojan hear –

Or openly, if you think good, since none alive we fear.

None with a will, if I will not, can my bold powers affright,

At least for plain fierce swinge of strength, or want of skill in fight:

For I will well prove that my birth, and breed in Salamine,

Was not all consecrate to meat, or mere effects of wine.’

This said, the well-giv’n soldiers pray’d; up went to heav’n their eyne:

‘O Jove, that Ida dost protect, most happy, most divine,

Send victory to Ajax’ side; fame grace his goodly limb:

Or if thy love bless Hector’s life, and thou hast care of him,

Bestow on both like power, like fame.’ This said, in bright arms shone

The good strong Ajax: who, when all his war attire was on,

March’d like the hugely figur’d Mars, when angry Jupiter,

With strength on people proud of strength sends him forth to infer

Wreakful contention, and comes on with presence full of fear:

So th’ Achive rampire, Telamon, did ’twixt the hosts appear –

Smil’d, yet of terrible aspect; on earth with ample pace

He boldly stalk’d, and shook aloft his dart with deadly grace.

It did the Grecians good to see, but heartquakes shook the joints

Of all the Trojans. Hector’s self felt thoughts with horrid points

Tempt his bold bosom: but he now must make no counterflight,

Nor (with his honour) now refuse, that had provok’d the fight.

Ajax came near; and like a tow’r his shield his bosom barr’d –

The right side brass, and seven ox-hides within it quilted hard;

Old Tychius, the best currier that did in Hyla dwell,

Did frame it for exceeding proof, and wrought it wondrous well.

With this stood he to Hector close, and with this brave began:

‘Now, Hector, thou shalt clearly know, thus meeting man to man,

What other leaders arm our host besides great Thetis’ son

Who with his hardy lion’s heart hath armies overrun.

But he lies at our crook’d-stern’d fleet, a rival with our king

In height of spirit; yet to Troy he many knights did bring,

Coequal with Aeacides, all able to sustain

All thy bold challenge can import: begin then, words are vain.’

The helm-grac’d Hector answer’d him: ‘Renowned Telamon,

Prince of the soldiers come from Greece, assay not me, like one

Young and immartial, with great words – as to an Amazon dame.

I have the habit of all fights, and know the bloody frame

Of every slaughter: I well know the ready right hand charge,

I know the left, and every sway of my secureful targe;