Book IX

The Embassy to Achilles

Agamemnon’s Proposal to raise the siege opposed by Diomed and Nestor⁠—A council⁠—Ulysses, Ajax, and Phoenix sent to Achilles to request a reconciliation⁠—Their reception, their persuasions, and their ill success.

The Trojans thus kept watch; while through the night

The power of Flight, companion of cold Fear,

Wrought on the Greeks, and all their bravest men

Were bowed beneath a sorrow hard to bear.

As when two winds upturn the fishy deep⁠—

The north wind and the west, that suddenly

Blow from the Thracian coast; the black waves rise

At once, and fling the sea-weed to the shore⁠—

Thus were the Achaians troubled in their hearts.

Atrides, deeply grieving, walked the camp,

And bade the clear-voiced heralds call by name

To council all the chiefs, but not aloud.

The king himself among the foremost gave

The summons. Sadly that assembly took

Their seats; and Agamemnon in the midst

Rose, shedding tears⁠—as down a lofty rock,

Darkening its face, a fountain’s waters flow⁠—

And, deeply sighing, thus addressed the Greeks:⁠—

“O friends! the chiefs and princes of the Greeks!

Saturnian Jove hath in an evil snare

Most cruelly entangled me. He gave

His promise once that I should overthrow

This strong-walled Ilium, and return; but now

He meditates a fraud, and sends me back

To Argos without glory, and with loss

Of many warriors. Thus doth it seem good

Doubtless to Jove Almighty, who hath cast

The towers of many a city down to earth,

And will cast others down⁠—his might excels

All other might. But let us now obey,

As I shall counsel you, and in our ships

Haste to our own dear country; for I see

That Troy with its broad streets can ne’er be ours.”

He spake; and all were silent. Silent long

Remained the sorrow-stricken sons of Greece,

Till Diomed, the brave in battle, spake:⁠—

“First of the chiefs I speak, to disapprove,

Atrides, thy rash purpose: ’tis my right

In council; nor, O king, be thou displeased.

Thou first among the Greeks hast taunted me

With lack of valor, calling me unapt

For war and weak of arm. The young and old

Have heard the taunt. One of two gifts the son

Of wily Saturn hath bestowed on thee:

High rank and rule o’er all the rest he gave,

But gave thee not the nobler quality

Of fortitude. Dost thou then truly deem

The Greeks unapt for war and weak of arm,

As thou hast said? Thou longest to return:

Go, then; the way is open; by the sea

The barques that brought thee from Mycenae lie,

A numerous fleet. Yet others will remain⁠—

Long haired Achaians⁠—till we overthrow

The city. Should they also pine for home,

Then let them flee, with all their ships; while I

With Sthenelus fight on until we make

An end of Troy⁠—for with the gods we came.”

He spake. The Greeks applauded; all admired

The words of the horse-tamer Diomed.

Nestor the knight then rose, and thus he spake:⁠—

“O son of Tydeus, eminently brave

Art thou among thy comrades in the field,

And great in council. No one here condemns

The sentence thou hast given; among the Greeks

Is no one who denies what thou hast said;

Yet hast thou not said all. Thy years are few⁠—

So few, thou mightest be my youngest son;

And yet thou speakest wisely to the kings

Of Greece, and thy discourse is just and right.

Now I, who boast of far more years than thou,

Will speak of this that yet remains, and none⁠—

Not even Agamemnon⁠—will gainsay

What I advise. A wretch without a tie

Of kin, a lawless man without a home,

Is he who takes delight in civil strifes.

But let us now give way to the dark night,

And make our banquets ready. Let the guards

Lie down within the trenches which we digged

Without the wall: be this the young men’s charge.

And thou, Atrides, do thou now begin,

Who art supreme, and make a feast for all

The elder chiefs; it shall become thee well:

Thy tents are full of wine, which ships from Thrace

Bring every day across the mighty deep,

And thou hast all things ready, and a host

Of menials. Then, when many throng the board,

Thou shalt defer to him who counsels thee

Most wisely; for the Greeks have urgent need

Of prudent counsels, when the foe so close

Beside our galleys lights his multitude

Of watch-fires. Who that sees them can rejoice?

This night will rescue or destroy our host.”

He spake. They listened all, and willingly

Obeyed him. Forth in armor went the guards,

Led by the chieftain Thrasymedes, son

Of Nestor, by Ascalaphus, who claimed

His birth from Mars, and by Ialmenus

His brother, and Deipyrus, with whom

There followed Aphareus, Meriones,

And Lycomedes, Creon’s noble son.

Seven were the leaders of the guards; with each

A hundred youths in warlike order marched,

Bearing long spears; and when they reached the space

Between the trench and wall they sat them down,

And kindled fires and made their evening meal.

Atrides brought the assembled elder chiefs

To his pavilion, and before them set

A generous banquet. They put forth their hands

And shared the feast; and when the calls of thirst

And hunger ceased, the aged Nestor first

Began to counsel them; the chief, whose words

Had lately seemed of wisest import, now

Addressed the assembly with well-ordered speech:⁠—

“Atrides Agamemnon, glorious king!

What I shall say begins and ends with thee,

For thou dost rule o’er many nations. Jove

Hath given to thee the sceptre, and the power

To make their laws, that thou mayst seek their good.

Thou, therefore, of all men, shouldst speak and hear

In council, and shouldst follow willingly

Another’s judgment when it best promotes

The general weal; for all depends on thee.

Now let me say what seems to me most wise;

For better counsel none can give than this

Which now I meditate, and which to give

I purposed from the hour when thou, great king,

Didst bear the maid Briseis from the tent

Of the enraged Achilles, unapproved

By me, who strove to change thy rash design.

Then didst thou yield thee to thy haughty will,

And didst dishonor a most valiant man,

Whom the immortals honor. Thou didst take

And still dost keep the prize he fairly won.

Let it be now our study to appease

The hero with large gifts and soothing words.”

Then Agamemnon, king of men, replied:⁠—

“O ancient man, most truly hast thou named

My faults. I erred, and I deny it not.

That man indeed is equal to a host

Whom Jupiter doth love and honor thus,

Humbling the Achaian people for his sake.

And now, since, yielding to my wayward mood

I erred, let me appease him, if I may,

With gifts of priceless worth. Before you all

I number them⁠—seven tripods which the fire

Hath never touched, six talents of pure gold,

And twenty shining cauldrons, and twelve steeds

Of hardy frame, victorious in the race,

Whose feet have won me prizes in the games.

No beggar would he be, nor yet with store

Of gold unfurnished, in whose coffers lay

The prizes those swift steeds have brought to me.

Seven faultless women, skilled in household arts,

I give moreover⁠—Lesbians, whom I chose

When he o’erran the populous Lesbian isle⁠—

Damsels in beauty who excel their sex.

These I bestow, and with them I will send

Her whom I took away⁠—Briseis, pure⁠—

I swear it with a mighty oath⁠—as pure

As when she left his tent. All these I give

At once; and if by favor of the gods

We lay the mighty city of Priam waste,

He shall load down his galley with large store

Of gold and silver, entering first when we,

The Greeks, divide the spoil. Then may he choose

Twice ten young Trojan women, beautiful

Beyond their sex save Helen. If we come

Safe to Achaian Argos, richly stocked

With milky kine, he may become to me

A son-in-law, and cherished equally

With my sole son Orestes, who is reared

Most royally. Three daughters there, within

My stately palace-walls⁠—Chrysothemis,

Laodice, and Iphianassa⁠—dwell,

And he may choose among them, and may lead

Home to the house of Peleus her who best

Deserves his love. Nor need he to endow

The bride, for I will give an ampler dower

Than ever father to his daughter gave⁠—

Seven cities with thronged streets⁠—Cardamyle,

Enope, grassy Hira, Pherae famed

Afar, Antheia with rich pasture-fields,

Aepeia beautiful, and Pedasus

With all its vineyards; all are near the sea,

And stand the last before you reach the coast

Of sandy Pylos. Rich in flocks and herds

Their dwellers are, and they will honor him

As if he were a god, and, ruled by him,

Will pay large tribute. These will I bestow,

Let but his anger cool and his resolve

Give way. ’Tis Pluto who is deaf to prayer

And ne’er relents, and he, of all the gods,

Most hateful is to men. Now let the son

Of Peleus yield at length to me, who stand

Above him in authority and years.”

Then answered Nestor the Gerenian knight:⁠—

“Atrides Agamemnon! Glorious king!

Gifts not to be contemned thou offerest

To Prince Achilles. Let us now despatch

A chosen embassy, who shall proceed

At once to where Pelides holds his tent.

I name the men; and cheerfully will they

Perform the duty: Phoenix, dear to Jove,

Shall be their leader, mighty Ajax next,

And then high-born Ulysses; heralds twain

Shall follow⁠—Hodius and Eurybates.

And now be water brought to cleanse our hands,

And charge be given that no ill-omened word

Be uttered, while we pray that Jupiter,

The son of Saturn, will assist our need.”

He spake; and all approved the words he said.

Then poured the heralds water on the hands

Of those who sat. The young men crowned with wine

The goblets, and in seemly order passed

The brimming cups, distributing to each.

Part to the gods they poured, and next they drank

As each might choose, and then the embassy

Hastened from Agamemnon’s tent. To each

Gerenian Nestor spake in turn, and fixed

His eyes on each intently⁠—most of all

Upon Ulysses⁠—and with many a charge

To turn Pelides from his angry mood.

Along the edge of the resounding deep

They went, and as they walked they offered prayer

To earth-embracing Neptune, that their words

Might move the great soul of Aeacides.

And now they came where lay the Myrmidons

Among their tents and ships. Achilles there

Drew solace from the music of a harp

Sweet-toned and shapely, in a silver frame,

Part of the spoil he took when he o’erthrew

Eëtion’s town. To soothe his mood he sang

The deeds of heroes. By him sat alone

Patroclus, silent till the song should cease.

On moved the messengers⁠—before them walked

High-born Ulysses⁠—till they stood beside

Achilles. He beheld, and with the harp

Sprang from his seat, surprised. Patroclus saw

The heroes also, and arose. Their hands

The swift Achilles took in his, and said:⁠—

“Welcome! Ye come as friends. Some pressing cause

Must surely bring you hither, whom I prize,

Wronged as I am, beyond all other Greeks.”

Thus speaking, the great son of Peleus led

His guests still farther on, and seated them

On couches spread with purple coverings,

And thus addressed Patroclus, who was near:⁠—

“Son of Menoetius, bring a larger vase,

And mingle purer wine, and place a cup

For each, since these are most beloved friends⁠—

These warriors who now sit beneath my roof.”

He spake. Patroclus hearkened, and obeyed

His well-beloved friend, who meantime placed

A block beside the fire, and on it laid

Chines of a sheep and of a fatling goat,

And of a sow, the fattest of her kind.

Automedon stood by and held them fast;

Achilles took the knife and skilfully

Carved them in portions, and transfixed the parts

With spits. Patroclus, the divine in form,

Woke to a blaze the fire; and when the flame

Had ceased to rise he raked the glowing coals

Apart, and o’er them stretched the spits, and strewed,

Raising the flesh, the sacred salt o’er all.

And when he had made ready and had spread

The banquet on the board, Patroclus took

The bread and offered it to all the guests

In shapely canisters. Achilles served

The meats, and took his seat against the wall,

In front of great Ulysses. There he bade

His friend Patroclus offer sacrifice,

Casting the first rich morsels to the flames.

The guests put forth their hands and shared the feast;

And when the calls of hunger and of thirst

Were felt no longer, Ajax gave a nod

To Phoenix, which divine Ulysses saw,

And filled his cup and drank to Peleus’ son:⁠—

“Thy health, Achilles! Princely feasts like this

Attend us both in Agamemnon’s tent

And here⁠—for here is all that makes a feast

Complete; yet now is not the time to think

Of pleasant banquets, for our thoughts are turned⁠—

O Jove-born warrior!⁠—to a fearful time

Of slaughter, and the fate of our good ships⁠—

Whether we save them harmless, or the foe

Destroy them, if thou put not on thy might.

For now the haughty Trojans, and the troops

Who come from far to aid them, pitch their camp

Close to our fleet and wall, and all around

Kindle their many fires, and boast that we

No longer have the power to drive them back

From our black galleys. Jupiter, the son

Of Saturn, shows them favorable signs

With lightnings from above; and, terrible

In aspect and in valor, Hector makes

Sad havoc, trusting in the aid of Jove,

And neither reverences gods nor men⁠—

Such rage possesses him. He prays that soon

The morn may rise, that he may hew the prows

From all our ships and give them to the flames,

And slay the Greeks, bewildered with the smoke.

For me, I greatly fear the gods will grant

That he fulfil his threat, and that our doom

Will be to perish on the Trojan coast,

And far away from Argos, famed for steeds.

Rise, then, though late⁠—rise with a resolute mind,

And from the hard-pressed sons of Greece drive back

The assailing Trojans. Thou wilt else lament

Hereafter, when the evil shall be done

And shall admit no cure. Bethink thee well

How from the Greeks thou mayst avert the day

Of their destruction. O my friend, when first

He sent thee forth to Agamemnon’s help

From Phthia’s coast, thy father Peleus said:⁠—

“ ‘My child, from Juno and Minerva comes

The gift of valor, if they choose to give.

But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast,

For gentle ways are best, and keep aloof

From sharp contentions, that the old and young

Among the Greeks may honor thee the more.’

“Such was the old man’s charge, forgotten now.

Yield, then, and lay thy wrath aside. Large gifts

Doth Agamemnon offer, to appease

Thy wounded spirit. Hear me, if thou wilt,

Recount what gifts the monarch in his tent

Hath promised thee:⁠—Seven tripods which the fire

Hath never touched; six talents of pure gold;

And twenty shining cauldrons; and twelve steeds

Of hardy frame, victorious in the race,

Whose feet have won him prizes in the games.

No beggar would he be, nor yet with store

Of gold unfurnished, in whose coffers lay

The prizes those swift-footed steeds have won.

Seven faultless women, skilled in household arts,

He offers⁠—Lesbians, whom he chose when thou

Didst overrun the populous Lesbian isle⁠—

In beauty eminent among their sex.

These he bestows, and with them he will send

Her whom he took away⁠—Briseis, pure

He swears it with a mighty oath⁠—as pure

As when she left thy tent. All these he gives

At once; and if, by favor of the gods,

We lay the mighty city of Priam waste,

Thou shalt load down thy galley with large store

Of gold and silver, entering first when we,

The Greeks, divide the spoil. Then mayst thou choose

Twice ten young Trojan women, beautiful

Beyond their sex save Helen. If we come

Safe to Achaian Argos, richly stocked

With milky kine, thou mayst become to him

A son-in-law, and cherished equally

With his sole son Orestes, who is reared

Right royally. Three daughters there, within

The monarch’s stately halls⁠—Chrysothemis,

Laodice, and Iphianassa⁠—dwell,

And thou mayst choose among them, and mayst lead

Home to the house of Peleus her who best

Deserves thy love. Nor needest thou endow

The bride, for he will give an ampler dower

Than ever father to his daughter gave⁠—

Seven cities with thronged streets⁠—Cardamyle,

Enope, grassy Hira, Pherae famed

Afar, Antheia with rich pasture-grounds,

Aepeia beautiful, and Pedasus

With all its vineyards; all are near the sea,

And stand the last before you reach the coast

Of sandy Pylos. Rich in flocks and herds

Their dwellers are, and they will honor thee

As if thou wert a god, and, ruled by thee,

Will pay large tribute. These will he bestow,

Let but thine anger cease. But if the son

Of Atreus and his gifts still move thy hate,

At least have pity on the afflicted Greeks,

Pent in their camp, who now would honor thee

As if thou wert a god; and thou shalt gain

Great glory as their champion, and shalt slay

This Hector, who even now is close at hand,

And in a murderous frenzy makes his boast

That none of all the chieftains whom the fleet

Of Greece brought hither equals him in might.”

The swift Achilles answered him and said:⁠—

“Son of Laertes, nobly born, and versed

In wise devices, let me frankly speak

Just as I think, and just as I shall act,

And then ye will not importune me more.

Hateful to me, as are the gates of hell,

Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart,

Utters another. I shall speak as seems

To me the best; nor deem I that the son

Of Atreus or the other Greeks can move

My settled purpose, since no thanks are paid

To him who with the enemy maintains

A constant battle: equal is the meed

Of him who stands aloof and him who fights

Manfully; both the coward and the brave

Are held in equal honor, and they die

An equal death⁠—the idler and the man

Of mighty deeds. For me there is no store

Of wealth laid up from all that I have borne,

Exposing life in battle. As a bird

Brings to her unfledged young the food she finds,

Though she herself be fasting, so have I

Had many a night unvisited by sleep,

And passed in combat many a bloody day,

Fighting beside these warriors for their wives.

Twelve cities have I with my fleet laid waste,

And with my Myrmidons have I o’erthrown

Eleven upon this fertile Trojan coast.

Full many a precious spoil from these I bore,

And to Atrides Agamemnon gave.

He, loitering in his fleet, received them all;

Few he distributed, and many kept.

To chiefs and princes he indeed assigned

Prizes, which now they hold. From me alone

Of all the Greeks he takes my prize; he takes

My bride, whom well I loved;⁠—and let him keep

The damsel. But what need is there that Greeks

Wage war against the Trojans? For what cause

Did Agamemnon, gathering from our realms

An army, lead it hither? Was it not

Because of fair-haired Helen? Are the sons

Of Atreus, then, the only men on earth

Who love their wives? Nay, every good man loves

And cherishes his spouse; and mine I loved

Tenderly, though the captive of my spear:

And now, since he hath taken my reward

Away and treacherously dealt with me,

Let him not try again, for I am warned,

And he will not persuade me. Let him take

Counsel with thee, Ulysses, and the rest,

How to drive back the enemy and save

The fleet from flames. Already has he done

Much without me; a rampart he has raised,

And round it dug a deep, broad trench, and filled

The trench with palisades. Yet can he not

Resist the man-destroyer Hector thus.

This Hector, when I fought among the Greeks,

Never would fight at distance from the walls,

And ventured not beyond the Scaean gates

And beechen tree. There waited he for me

Upon a time, and scarce escaped with life

From my assault. Now, since I do not choose

To fight with noble Hector, I shall pay,

Tomorrow, sacrifice to Jupiter

And all the gods, and load my galleys well,

And draw them to the water. Then shalt thou

See⁠—if thou care for such a sight⁠—my ships

Sailing upon the fishy Hellespont

At early morning, with their crews on board

Eager to pull the oar; and if the god

Of ocean grant a prosperous voyage, then

On the third day we reach the fertile coast

Of Phthia. Large possessions left I there

When I came hither in an evil hour;

And thither I shall carry with me gold

And ruddy brass, and women of fair forms,

And burnished steel⁠—the spoils I won in war.

The prize he gave me, Agamemnon, son

Of Atreus, takes, with many insults, back.

Bear him this message⁠—give it openly,

That others of the Greeks may be like me

Indignant should he impudently dare

To wrong them also:⁠—Let him ne’er again,

Though shameless, dare to look me in the face.

I will not join in council or in act

With him: he has deceived and wronged me once,

And now he cannot wheedle me with words.

Let once suffice. I leave him to himself,

To perish. All-providing Jupiter

Hath made him mad. I hate his gifts; I hold

In utter scorn the giver. Were his gifts

Tenfold⁠—nay, twenty-fold⁠—the worth of all

That he possesses, and with added wealth

From others⁠—all the riches that flow in

Upon Orchomenus, or Thebes, the pride

Of Egypt, where large treasures are laid up,

And through whose hundred gates rush men and steeds,

Two hundred through each gate;⁠—nay, should he give

As many gifts as there are sands and dust

Of earth⁠—not even then shall Atreus’ son

Persuade me, till I reap a just revenge

For his foul contumelies. I will wed

No child of Agamemnon. Even though

She vied with golden Venus in her charms,

And with the blue-eyed Pallas in her skill,

I would not wed her. Let him choose among

The Greeks a fitter husband⁠—one whose rule

Is wider than my own. For if the gods

Preserve me, and I reach my home again,

My father, Peleus, will bestow on me

A consort. Many are the Achaian maids,

Daughters of chiefs who hold our citadels

In Hellas, and in Phthia, and of these,

Her who shall most delight me I will make

My well-beloved wife. My soul has longed

Earnestly, with a fitting spouse betrothed

Duly, to make my dwelling there, and there

Enjoy the wealth which aged Peleus won;

For not to be compared with life is all

The wealth which, as men say, was treasured up

In Ilium’s populous town in time of peace,

Ere the Greeks came, nor all the stores contained

Within the stony threshold of the god

Who bears the bow, Apollo, on the coast

Of rocky Pytho. We may gather spoil

Of oxen and of fatling sheep, and bring

Tripods from war, and yellow-manèd steeds:

The breath of man no force can seize or hold,

And when it leaves the enclosure of the teeth

It comes not back. My mother said to me⁠—

The goddess, silver-footed Thetis, said⁠—

A twofold fate conducts me to my death;⁠—

If I remain to fight beneath the walls

Of Ilium, my return will be cut off,

But deathless my renown; if I return

To the dear land in which my fathers dwell,

My glory will be nought, but long my life,

And late will come to me the stroke of death.

And now I counsel all to sail for home,

For never will ye see the overthrow

Of lofty Ilium. Jove the Thunderer

Stretches his great hand o’er her, and her sons

Take courage. Go ye now, and take with you

This message to the princes of the Greeks⁠—

As is the office of an embassy⁠—

And bid them meditate some wiser plan

To save their galleys and the host of Greeks

Within the hollow barques. The plan which brought

You hither cannot serve you while I keep

My anger unappeased. Let Phoenix stay

To pass the night with us, that he may sail

Tomorrow, if it please him, to the land

We love; I take him not against his will.”

He ceased; and silent were the ambassadors,

Astonished at his passionate words. At last

Phoenix, the aged knight, with many tears

And sighs, took up the word, in grief and fear

Lest Hector should destroy the Grecian fleet:⁠—

“Illustrious son of Peleus, if indeed

Thou wilt return, nor carest to repel

From our swift galleys the consuming fire,

Because thou art offended, how shall I,

Dear child, remain without thee? When at first

Peleus, the aged knight, from Phthia sent

Thee, yet a boy, to Agamemnon’s aid,

Unskilled as then thou wert in cruel war

And martial councils⁠—where men also gain

A great renown⁠—he sent me with thee, charged

To teach thee both, that so thou mightst become

In words an orator, in warlike deeds

An actor. Therefore, my beloved child,

Not willingly shall I remain behind;

Not even though a god should promise me

That, overcoming the decays of age,

I might become a beardless youth again,

As when from Hellas and its companies

Of lovely maids I came a fugitive,

And left Amyntor, son of Ormenus⁠—

My father⁠—angry with me for the sake

Of a fair-tressed wanton, whom he loved,

Treating my mother basely. To my knees

My mother came and prayed me ceaselessly,

First, to possess the woman, that she then

Might loathe the elder one; and I obeyed.

My father knew it, and with many a curse

Invoked the hateful furies to forbid

That any child who owed his birth to me

Should ever sit upon his knees. The gods⁠—

The Jove of Hades and dread Proserpine⁠—

Confirmed his curse. To slay him with the sword

Was my first thought. Some god subdued my wrath,

Reminding me of what the public voice

Would say, and infamy that would ensue⁠—

Lest I among the Achaians should be called

A parricide. I could not brook to dwell

Within my father’s palace while he thus

Was wroth with me. My kindred and my friends

Came round me, and besought me to remain,

And stayed beside me. Many a fatling ewe

And many a slow-paced ox with curving horns

They slew, and many a fattened swine they stretched

Over the flame of Vulcan. From the casks

Of the old chief his wine was freely drawn.

Nine nights they slept surrounding me, while each

Kept watch in turn: nor ever were the fires

Put out; one blazed beneath the portico

Of the fair hall, and near the chamber-door

Another glimmered in the vestibule.

But when upon me rose the tenth dark night,

I broke my aptly-jointed chamber-doors,

And issued forth, and easily o’erleaped

The wall around the palace, quite unseen

Of watching men and of the serving maids.

I fled through spacious Hellas to the fields

Of Phthia, nurse of flocks, and to her king,

Peleus, who kindly welcomed me, and loved

Me as a father loves his only son,

Born to large wealth in his declining years.

He made me rich, and gave me sovereign rule

Over much people. My abode was fixed

In farthest Phthia, where I was the prince

Of the Dolopians. As for thee, my care,

Godlike Achilles, made thee what thou art.

I loved thee from my soul: thou wouldst not go

With any other to the feast, nor take

Thy food at home until upon my knees

I placed thee, carved thy meats, and gave them thee,

And poured thy wine. The tunic on my breast

Was often wetted by thee when the wine

Gushed in thy petulant childhood from thy lips.

Thus many things did I endure for thee,

And many toils perform; and since the gods

Vouchsafed no son to me, it was my thought

To train thee as a son, that thou mightst be,

O godlike man! the bulwark of my age.

And now subdue that mighty spirit of thine:

Ill it becomes thee to be merciless:

The gods themselves are placable, though far

Above us all in honor and in power

And virtue. We propitiate them with vows,

Incense, libations, and burnt-offerings,

And prayers for those who have offended. Prayers

Are daughters of almighty Jupiter⁠—

Lame, wrinkled, and squint-eyed⁠—that painfully

Follow Misfortune’s steps; but strong of limb

And swift of foot Misfortune is, and, far

Outstripping all, comes first to every land,

And there wreaks evil on mankind, which prayers

Do afterwards redress. Whoe’er receives

Jove’s daughters reverently when they approach,

Him willingly they aid, and to his suit

They listen. Whosoever puts them by

With obstinate denial, they appeal

To Jove, the son of Saturn, and entreat

That he will cause Misfortune to attend

The offender’s way in life, that he in turn

May suffer evil and be punished thus.

Wherefore, Achilles! do thou also yield

The honor due Jove’s daughters, freely given

By other valiant men. If Atreus’ son

Brought thee no gifts, nor promised others still,

But kept his anger, I would never ask

That thou shouldst lay aside thy wrath and come

To help the Argives in their bitter need.

But he bestows large gifts, and adds a pledge

Of others yet in store, and he hath sent

The best men of the army, who to thee

Are dearest, to entreat thee. Spurn thou not

These, nor their embassy, although at first

Thine anger was not causeless. We have heard

The praise of heroes of the elder time,

Inflamed to vehement anger, yet appeased

By gifts, and yielding to persuasive words.

One instance I remember: long ago

It happened, and I will relate it here

Among my friends. Around the city-walls

Of Calydon did the Curetes strive

In battle with the Aetolians; they destroyed

Each other fearfully. The Aetolians fought

To save the pleasant town of Calydon,

And the Curetes warred to lay it waste.

Diana of the golden throne had caused

The war, displeased with Oeneus, who withheld

From her the first-fruits of his fertile field:

While hecatombs were burnt in sacrifice

To feast the other gods, to her alone⁠—

Daughter of Jove⁠—no offering was brought;

For either he forgot, or thought the rite

Of little moment; but he greatly erred.

And now the child of Jove, the archer-queen,

Incensed, sent forth against him from the wood

A white-tusked wild boar, which upon his lands

Entered, and ravaged them, and brought to earth

Many tall trees: tree after tree they fell,

With roots uptorn, and all the blossoms on,

That promised fruit. Him Meleager, son

Of Oeneus, slew, with many hunters called

From neighboring cities, bringing many hounds.

A few could not subdue him: he had made

Many already mount the funeral pile.

Diana kindled round the boar a strife

For the beast’s head and bristly hide⁠—a war

’Twixt the Curetes and the Aetolian band

Of braves. The war, while Meleager fought,

Went not with the Curetes, nor could they,

Though many, keep the field. But wrath at last

Seized Meleager⁠—wrath, which rages oft

Even in prudent minds. Incensed against

Althaea, his own mother, he remained

At home with Cleopatra, his young wife,

The beauteous, whom a delicate-footed dame

Marpessa, daughter of Evenus, bore

To Idas, bravest in his time among

The sons of men⁠—so brave that once he drew

A bow against Apollo for the sake

Of his neat-footed bride. The honored pair

Within the palace used to call their child

Alcyone; for when the archer-god,

Apollo, from her husband bore away

The mother, Cleopatra sadly wailed,

As wails the halcyon. So beside his spouse

Dwelt Meleager, brooding ever o’er

The violent anger which his mother’s curse

Had kindled. Grieving for a brother’s death,

She supplicated heaven, and often struck

Her hands against the teeming earth, and called⁠—

Kneeling, her bosom all bedewed with tears⁠—

On Pluto and the cruel Proserpine,

To put her son to death. From Erebus

The pitiless Erinnys, wandering

In darkness, heard the prayer. Then straightway rose

A sound of fearful tumult at the gates:

The towers were battered, and the elder chiefs

Of the Aetolians hastened to entreat

The aid of Meleager, and they sent

Priests of the gods, a chosen band, to pray

That he would come to their defence. Large gifts

They promised. Where the soil of Calydon

Was best, they bade him choose a fruitful field

Of fifty acres, half for vines, and half,

Cleared of the trees, for tillage. Earnestly

Did aged Oeneus, famed for horsemanship,

Beseech him; to the chamber of his son,

High-roofed, he climbed, and at the threshold shook

The massive doors with knocking as he sued.

His sisters and his reverend mother joined

Their supplications: he resisted still.

And much his friends, the dearest and most prized,

Besought him, but they vainly strove to swerve

His steadfast mind, till his own chamber felt

The assault, and the Curetes climbed the walls

To fire the populous city. Then the nymph,

His graceful wife, entreated him with tears,

And spake of all the horrors which o’ertake

A captured city⁠—all the men cut off

By massacre, the houses given to flames,

The children and deep-bosomed women dragged

Into captivity. Her sorrowful words

He heard; his spirit was disturbed; he went

To gird his glittering armor on, and thus

He saved the Aetolians from a fearful doom,

Obeying his own impulse. The reward

Of rare and costly gifts they gave him not,

Though thus he rescued them. Be not thy thought

Like his, my friend; let no invisible power

Persuade thee thus to act. Far worse it were

To wait, and when our fleet is all on fire

Offer thy aid. Accept the gifts at once:

Then will the Greeks, as if thou wert a god,

Hold thee in honor. If without the gifts

Thou enter later on the field of fight,

Thou wilt not have like honor with the host,

Although thou turn the assault of battle back.”

Then did Achilles, swift of foot, reply:⁠—

“O ancient Phoenix, father, loved of Jove,

Such honor need I not; for the decree

Of Jove, I deem, already honors me,

And will detain me by my beakèd ships

While breath is in my lungs, and I have power

To move these knees. Yet one thing I would say⁠—

And bear it thou in mind⁠—vex not my soul

With weeping and lamenting for the sake

Of Agamemnon; it becomes thee not⁠—

Thou who art loved by me⁠—to yield thy love

To him, unless thou wouldst incur my hate.

And thou shouldst be the enemy of him

Who wrongs me. Reign thou equally with me,

And share my honors. These will carry back

My answer. Thou remain, and, softly couched,

Sleep here: with early morn will we consult

Whether to leave this region or remain.”

He spake, and, nodding to Patroclus, gave

A signal to prepare an ample couch

For Phoenix, while the other chiefs prepared

To leave the tent. Then Ajax Telamon,

The godlike chief, addressed his comrades thus:⁠—

“Son of Laertes, nobly born, and skilled

In sage devices, let us now depart,

Since, as it seems, the end for which we came

Cannot be compassed thus, and we must bear

With speed the unwelcome answer to the Greeks,

Who sit expecting us; while in his breast

The implacable Achilles bears a fierce

And haughty heart, nor doth he heed the claim

Of that close friendship of his fellow-chiefs,

Which at the Grecian fleet exalted him

Above all others. Unrelenting one!

Even for a brother’s death a price is paid,

Or when a son is slain: the slayer dwells

At home among his people, having made

The appointed expiation. He to whom

The fine is offered takes it, and his thirst

Of vengeance is appeased. But in thy heart

The gods have kindled an unquenchable rage,

All for a single damsel⁠—and behold,

Seven more we offer, passing beautiful,

With many gifts beside. Let, then, thy mood

Be softened: have respect to thine own roof;

For we are guests beneath it, sent from all

The assembled host, and strong is our desire

To be thy dearest and most cherished friends

Of all the Achaians, many as they are.”

Achilles the swift-footed answered thus:⁠—

“Illustrious Ajax, son of Telamon,

Prince of the people! All that thou hast said,

I well perceive, is prompted by thy heart.

Mine swells with indignation when I think

How King Atrides mid the assembled Greeks

Heaped insults on me, as if I had been

A wretched vagabond. But go ye now

And bear my message. I shall never think

Of bloody war till noble Hector, son

Of Priam, slaughtering in his way the Greeks,

Shall reach the galleys of the Myrmidons,

To lay the fleet in flames. But when he comes

To my own tent and galley, he, I think,

Though eager for the combat, will desist.”

He spake. Each raised a double cup and poured

Libations to the gods; they then returned

Beside the fleet. Ulysses led the way.

Patroclus bade the attendant men and maids

Strew with all speed a soft and ample bed

For Phoenix. They obeyed, and spread the couch

With skins of sheep, dyed coverlets, and sheets

Of lawn; and there the old man lay to wait

The glorious morn. Meantime Achilles slept

Within the tent’s recess, and by him lay

Phorbas’s daughter, whom he carried off

From Lesbos⁠—Diomede, rosy-cheeked.

Upon the other side Patroclus lay,

With slender-waisted Iphis by his side,

Given by the great Achilles when he took

Scyros the tall, where Enyeus ruled.

Now when the ambassadors were come within

The tent of Agamemnon, all the chiefs

Rose, one by one, and, lifting up to them

Their golden goblets, asked the news they brought;

And first Atrides, king of men, inquired:⁠—

“Renowned Ulysses, glory of the Greeks!

Tell me, will he protect our fleet from flames,

Or does he, in his wrath and pride, refuse?”

Then spake the hardy chief Ulysses thus:⁠—

“Atrides Agamemnon, glorious king

Of men! He will not let his wrath abate,

But rages yet more fiercely, and contemns

Thee and thy gifts. He leaves thee to consult

With thine Achaians by what means to save

The fleet and army; for himself he means

Tomorrow, with the early dawn, to launch

His well-appointed galleys on the sea,

And will advise the other Greeks to spread

The sails for home, since they will never see

The overthrow of lofty Troy, for Jove

The Thunderer stretches his protecting hand

Above her, and her sons have taken heart.

Such are his words; and those who went with me

Are present⁠—Ajax and the heralds both,

Sage men⁠—the witnesses to what I say.

The aged Phoenix stays behind to sleep,

And on the morrow to attend his chief

To their beloved country⁠—if he will,

For else by no means will he take him hence.”

He spake; and all were silent, all amazed

At what they heard, for these were bitter words.

Long sat the sons of Greece in silent thought,

Till Diomed, the great in battle, spake:⁠—

“Atrides Agamemnon, glorious king

Of men! I would thou hadst not deigned to ask

The illustrious son of Peleus for his aid,

With offer of large gifts; for arrogant

He is at all times: thou hast made him now

More insolent. Now leave him to himself,

To go or to remain: he yet will fight

When his mood changes, or some god within

Shall move him. Let us do what I advise:⁠—

Betake we all ourselves to rest, but first

Refresh ourselves with food and wine; in them

Is strength and spirit. When the rosy morn

Shall shine, command thou that the foot and horse

Be speedily drawn up before the fleet,

And thou encourage them with cheerful words,

And fight among them in the foremost rank.”

He spake. The kings assented, and admired

The words of the horse-tamer Diomed;

And, pouring out libations, to their tents

They all departed, and lay down to rest,

And took into their souls the balm of sleep.