Journeys Through Bookland Volume Iv Part 35

_From_ HOMER'S ILIAD [Footnote: One of the greatest poems that has ever been written is the _Iliad,_ an epic of great length dealing with the siege of Troy. The author is generally considered to be the old Greek poet and singer Homer. although some authorities believe that the poem was not all written by any one man.

The selection from the _Iliad_ which is given here is from the translation by Alexander Pope. The pa.s.sage has been abridged somewhat.]

NOTE.--Of all the mythical or half-mythical events which the ancient Greeks believed formed a part of their early history, there is none about which more stories have grown up than the Trojan War. According to the Greek belief, this struggle took place somewhere in the twelfth century B. C., but it now seems entirely likely that there was really no such contest, and that the stories told about it were but myths.

To the marriage of Peleus with the sea-nymph Thetis, all the G.o.ds were invited except Eris, or Discord, who, angered at the slight, determined to have vengeance. She took, therefore, a most beautiful golden apple on which were inscribed the words _For The Fairest,_ and tossed it into the midst of the merry wedding party. Instantly a dispute arose, Juno, queen of the G.o.ds, Minerva, G.o.ddess of wisdom, and Venus, G.o.ddess of love and beauty, each claiming the fruit. Finally it was decided to leave the choice to an impartial judge, and Paris, son of Priam, the old king of Troy, was chosen.

Paris was utterly ignorant of the fact that he was the son of the king, having been banished from his home in his infancy because a prophecy had foretold that he should bring about the destruction of his native city. Rescued and brought up by a shepherd, he lived a simple shepherd's life on Mount Ida.

When the three radiant G.o.ddesses stood before him he was overcome with the difficulty of his task, and each of the three attempted to help him out by offering a bribe. Juno offered prosperity through life, Minerva wisdom and influence, but Venus, smiling slyly, promised him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. Moved not by this bribe, but by the unsurpa.s.sable beauty of Venus, Paris awarded her the apple, and thus gained for himself and for his people the hatred of Juno and Minerva.

Later Paris was received back into his father's palace, and was sent on an emba.s.sy to the home of Menelaus, king of Sparta, in Greece. While at the home of Menelaus, Paris fell in love with Helen, the wife of his host, the most beautiful woman in the world, and persuaded her to return to Troy with him. Thoroughly roused, Menelaus sought the aid of the other Grecian kings in his attempt to get back his wife and punish the Trojans for the treachery of their prince, and a huge expedition under the command of Agamemnon, brother of Menelaus, set out for Troy.

The Grecian army could make no immediate head against the Trojans, and for nine years it encamped outside the city of Troy, attempting to bring about its downfall. Battles and contests between single champions were frequent, but neither side seemed able to win any permanent victory.

Achilles was the bravest and strongest of the Grecian heroes, and all looked to him as the man through whom success must come. However, he became angered at Agamemnon and withdrew from the contest, and victory seemed about to fall to the Trojans. One day Patroclus, the friend and kinsman of Achilles, distressed at the Greek fortunes, removed of Achilles his armor, and at the head of Achilles's own men, went forth to do battle with the Trojans. He was slain by Hector, the son of Priam, the bravest of the Trojan defenders, and in anger at his friend's death, Achilles returned to the conflict. The battle was waged outside the city, and owing to the prowess of Achilles, matters looked bad for the Trojans.

Apollo, G.o.d of light, who favored the Trojans, took upon himself the form of a Trojan warrior, and while appearing to flee, drew Achilles after him, and thus allowed the Trojans to gain the shelter of the city walls. The selection from the _Iliad_ given here begins just as Apollo throws off his disguise and reveals his ident.i.ty to Achilles.

Thus to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear, The herded Ilians* rush like driven deer: There safe they wipe the briny drops away, And drown in bowls the labors of the day.

Close to the walls, advancing o'er the fields Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields, March, bending on, the Greeks' embodied powers, Far stretching in the shade of Trojan towers.

Great Hector singly stay'd: chain'd down by fate There fix'd he stood before the Scaean gate; Still his bold arms determined to employ, The guardian still of long-defended Troy.

*[Footnote: _Ilium_, or _Ilion_, was another name for Troy, and the Ilians were Trojans.]

Apollo now to tired Achilles turns (The power confess'd in all his glory burns): "And what," he cries, "has Peleus'* son in view, With mortal speed a G.o.dhead to pursue?

For not to thee to know the G.o.ds' is given, Unskill'd to trace the latent marks of heaven.

What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain?

Vain thy past labor, and thy present vain: Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow'd, While here thy frantic rage attacks a G.o.d."

*[Footnote: Achilles was the son of Peleus and the sea-nymph Thetis.]

The chief incensed--"Too partial G.o.d of day!

To check my conquests in the middle way: How few in Ilion else had refuge found!

What gasping numbers now had bit the ground!

Thou robb'st me of a glory justly mine, Powerful of G.o.dhead, and of fraud divine: Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain, To cheat a mortal who repines in vain."

Then to the city, terrible and strong, With high and haughty steps he tower'd along, So the proud courser, victor of the prize, To the near goal with double ardor flies.

Him, as he blazing shot across the field, The careful eyes of Priam* first beheld Not half so dreadful rises to the sight Through the thick gloom of some tempestuous night, Orion's dog* (the year when autumn weighs), And o'er the feebler stars exerts his rays; Terrific glory! for his burning breath Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death, So flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage: He strikes his reverend head, now white with age; He lifts his wither'd arms; obtests* the skies; He calls his much-loved son with feeble cries: The son, resolved Achilles' force to dare, Full at the Scaean gates expects* the war; While the sad father on the rampart stands, And thus adjures him with extended hands:

*[Footnote: Priam was the old king of Troy, father of Hector.]

*[Footnote: _Orion's dog_ means Sirius, the dog star, which was believed by the ancients to be a star of very bad omen.]

*[Footnote: _Obtests_ means _entreats_.]

*[Footnote: _Expects_ here means _awaits_.]

"Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone; Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son!

Mehinks already I behold thee slain, And stretch'd beneath that fury of the plain, Implacable Achilles! might'st thou be To all the G.o.ds no dearer than to me!

Thee, vultures wild should scatter round the sh.o.r.e, And b.l.o.o.d.y dogs grow fiercer from thy gore.

How many valiant sons I late enjoy'd, Valiant in vain! by thy cursed arm destroy'd, Or, worse than slaughter'd, sold in distant isles To shameful bondage, and unworthy toils, What sorrows then must their sad mother know, What anguish I? unutterable woe!

Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me, Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee.

Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall; And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all!

Save thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save.

Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs; While yet thy father feels the woes he bears, Yet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage (All trembling on the verge of helpless age) Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain!

The bitter dregs of fortune's cup to drain: To fill the scenes of death his closing eyes, And number all his days by miseries!

Who dies in youth and vigor, dies the best, Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast.

But when the Fates* in fulness of their rage Spurn the h.o.a.r head of unresisting age, In dust the reverend lineaments deform, And pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm: This, this is misery! the last, the worst, That man can feel! man, fated to be cursed!"

*[Footnote: The Fates were thought of by the ancient peoples as three old women, who spun the thread of human life, twisted it, and cut it off whenever they thought it was long enough.]

He said, and acting what no words could say, Rent from his head the silver locks away.

With him the mournful mother bears a part; Yet all her sorrow turn not Hector's heart.

The zone unbraced, her bosom she display'd; And thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said:

"Have mercy on me, O my son! revere The words of age; attend a parent's prayer!

If ever thee in these fond arms I press'd, Or still'd thy infant clamors at this breast; Ah, do not thus our helpless years forego, But, by our walls secured, repel the foe."

So they,* while down their cheeks the torrents roll; But fix'd remains the purpose of his soul; Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance Expects the hero's terrible advance.

So, roll'd up in his den, the swelling snake Beholds the traveller approach the brake; When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins Have gather'd half the poisons of the plains; He burns, he stiffens with collected ire, And his red eyeb.a.l.l.s glare with living fire.*

Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined, He stood, and question'd thus his mighty mind:

*[Footnote: The word _spoke_ is omitted here.]

*[Footnote: Homer is famous for such comparisons as these. If you ever come across the term "Homeric simile," you may know that it means such a long, carefully worked out comparison as this.]

"Where lies my way? to enter in the wall?

Honor and shame the ungenerous thought recall: Shall proud Polydamas* before the gate Proclaim, his counsels are obeyed too late, Which timely follow'd but the former night What numbers had been saved by Hector's flight?

That wise advice rejected with disdain, I feel my folly in my people slain.

Methinks my suffering country's voice I hear, But most her worthless sons insult my ear, On my rash courage charge the chance of war, And blame those virtues which they cannot share.

No--if I e'er return, return I must Glorious, my country's terror laid in dust: Or if I perish, let her see me fall In field at least, and fighting for her wall."

*[Footnote: Polydamas, a Trojan hero and a friend of Hector's, had previously advised prudence and retreat within the wall.]

Thus pondering, like a G.o.d the Greek drew nigh; His dreadful plumage nodded from on high; The Pelian* javelin, in his better hand, Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the land; And on his breast the beamy splendor shone, Like Jove's own lightning, o'er the rising sun.

As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise; Struck by some G.o.d, he fears, recedes, and flies.

He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind: Achilles follows like the winged wind.

Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies (The swiftest racer of the liquid skies), Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey, Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way, With open beak and shrilling cries he springs, And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings: No less fore-right* the rapid chase they held, One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd: Now circling round the walls their course maintain, Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain; Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad, (A wider compa.s.s), smoke along the road.

Next by Scamander's* double source they bound, Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground; This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise, With exhalations streaming to the skies; That the green banks in summer's heat o'erflows, Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows: Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills, Whose polished bed receives the falling rills; Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm'd by Greece) Wash'd their fair garments in the days of peace.*

By these they pa.s.s'd, one chasing, one in flight The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might: Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play, No vulgar victim must reward the day: Such as in races crown the speedy strife: The prize contended was great Hector's life.

*[Footnote: _Pelian_ is an adjective formed from _Peleus_, the name of the father of Achilles.]

*[Footnote: _Fore-right_ means _straight forward_.]

*[Footnote: The Scamander was a famous river that flowed near the city of Troy. According to the _Iliad_, its source was two springs, one a cold and one a hot spring.]

*[Footnote: It was not, in these very ancient times, thought beneath the dignity of even a princess to wash her linen in some clear river or spring.]

As when some hero's funerals are decreed In grateful honor of the mighty dead;*

Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame (Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame) The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal, And with them turns the raised spectator's soul: Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly.

The gazing G.o.ds lean forward from the sky.*

*[Footnote: The favorite way, among the ancients, of doing honor to a man after his death was to hold a sort of a funeral festival, where contests in running, wrestling, boxing, and other feats of strength and skill were held.]

*[Footnote: The G.o.ds play a very important part in the _Iliad_.