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BOOK VII
The Book of the Woman
So to the voice of their best they were bowed and obeyed undebating; Men whose hearts were burning yet with implacable passion Felt Odysseus’ strength and rose up clay to his counsels. King Agamemnon rose at his word, the wide-ruling monarch, Rose at his word the Cretan and Locrian, Thebes and Epirus, Nestor rose, the time-tired hoary chief of the Pylians. Round Agamemnon the Atreid Europe surged in her chieftains Forth from their tent on the shores of the Troad, splendid in armour, Into the golden blaze of the sun and the race of the sea-winds. Fierce and clear like a flame to the death-gods bright on its altar Shone in their eyes the lust of blood and of earth and of pillage; For in their hearts those fires replaced the passions of discord Forging a brittle peace by a common hatred and yearning. Joyous they were of mood; for their hopes were already in Troya Sating with massacre, plunder and rape and the groans of their foemen Death and Hell in our mortal bosoms seated and shrouded; There they have altars and seats, in mankind, in this fair-builded temple, Made for purer gods; but we turn from their luminous temptings; Vainly the divine whispers seek us; the heights are rejected. Man to his earth drawn always prefers his nethermost promptings, Man, devouring, devoured who is slayer and slain through the ages Since by the beast he soars held and exceeds not that pedestal’s measure. They now followed close on the steps of the mighty Atrides Glued like the forest pack to the war-scarred coat of its leader, Glued as the pack when wolves follow their prey like Doom that can turn not. Perfect forms and beautiful faces crowded the tent-door, Brilliant eyes and fierce of souls that remembered the forest, Wild-beasts touched by thought and savages lusting for beauty. Dire and fierce and formidable chieftains followed Atrides, Merciless kings of merciless men and the founders of Europe, Sackers of Troy and sires of the Parthenon, Athens and Caesar. Here they had come to destroy the ancient perishing cultures; For, it is said, from the savage we rose and were born to a wild-beast. So when the Eye supreme perceives that we rise up too swiftly,
Page – 433 Drawn towards height but fullness contemning, called by the azure, Life when we fail in, poor in our base and forgetting our mother, Back we are hurled to our roots; we recover our sap from the savage. So were these sent by Zeus to destroy the old that was grandiose. Such were those frames of old as the sons of Heaven might have chosen Who in the dawn of eternity wedded the daughters of Nature, Cultures touched by the morning star, vast, bold and poetic, Titans’ works and joys, but thrust down from their puissance and pleasure Fainting now fell from the paces of Time or were left by his ages. So were these born from Zeus to found the new that should flower Lucid and slender and perfectly little as fit for this mortal Ever who sinks back fatigued from immortality’s stature; Man, repelled by the gulfs within him and shrinking from vastness, Form of the earth accepts and is glad of the lap of his mother. Safe through the infinite seas could his soul self-piloted voyage, Chasing the dawns and the wondrous horizons, eternity’s secrets Drawn from her luminous gulfs! But he journeys rudderless, helmless, Driven and led by the breath of God who meets him with tempest, Hurls at him Night. The earth is safer, warmer its sunbeams; Death and limits are known; so he clings to them hating the summons. So might one dwell who has come to take joy in a fair-lighted prison; Amorous grown of its marble walls and its noble adornments, Lost to mightier cares and the spaces boundlessly calling Lust of the infinite skies he forgets and the kiss of the stormwind. So might one live who inured to his days of the field and the farm-yard Shrinks from the grandiose mountain-tops; shut up in lanes and in hedges Only his furrows he leads and only orders his gardens, Only his fleeces weaves and drinks of the yield of his vine-rows: Lost to his ear is the song of the waterfall, wind in the forests. Now to our earth we are bent and we study the skies for its image. That was Greece and its shining, that now is France and its keenness, That still is Europe though by the Christ-touch troubled and tortured, Seized by the East but clasping her chains and resisting our freedom. Then was all founded, on Phrygia’s coasts, round Ilion’s ramparts, Then by the spear of Achilles, then in the Trojan death-cry; Bearers mute of a future world were those armoured Achaians. So they arrived from Zeus, an army led by the death-god.
Page – 434 So one can see them still who has sight from the gods in the trance-sleep Out from the tent emerging on Phrygia’s coasts in their armour; Those of the early seed Pelasgian slighter in stature, Dark-haired, hyacinth-curled from the isles of the sea and the southron, Soft-eyed men with pitiless hearts; bright-haired the Achaians, Hordes of the Arctic Dawn who had fled from the ice and the death-blast; Children of conquerors lured to the coasts and the breezes and olives, Noons of Mediterranean suns and the kiss of the southwind Mingled their brilliant force with the plastic warmth of the Hamite. There they shall rule and their children long till Fate and the Dorian Break down Hellene doors and trample stern through the passes. Mixed in a glittering rout on the Ocean beaches one sees them, Perfect and beautiful figures and fronts, not as now are we mortals Marred and crushed by our burden long of thought and of labour; Perfect were these as our race bright-imaged was first by the Thinker Seen who in golden lustres shapes all the glories we tarnish, Rich from the moulds of Gods and unmarred in their splendour and swiftness. Many and mighty they came over the beaches loud of the Aegean, Roots of an infant world and the morning stars of this Europe, Great Agamemnon’s kingly port and the bright Menelaus, Tall Idomeneus, Nestor, Odysseus Atlas-shouldered, Helmeted Ajax, his chin of the beast and his eyes of the dreamer. Over the sands they dispersed to their armies ranked by the Ocean. But from the Argive front Acirrous loosed by Tydides Parted as hastens a shaft from the string and he sped on intently Swift where the beaches were bare or threading the gaps of the nations; Crossing Thebes and Epirus he passed through the Lemnian archers, Ancient Gnossus’ hosts and Meriones’ leaderless legions. Heedless of cry and of laughter calling over the sea-sands Swiftly he laboured, wind in his hair and the sea to him crying, Straight he ran to the Myrmidon hosts and the tents of Achilles. There he beheld at his tent-door the Phthian gleaming in armour, Glittering-helmed with the sun that climbed now the cusp of Cronion, Nobly tall, excelling humanity, planned like Apollo. Proud at his side like a pillar upreared of snow or of marble, Golden-haired, hard and white was the boy Neoptolemus, fire-eyed.
Page – 435 New were his feet to the Trojan sands from the ships and from Scyros: Led to this latest of all his father’s fights in the Troad He for his earliest battle waited, the son of Achilles. So in her mood had Fate brought them together, the son and the father, Even as our souls travelling different paths have met in the ages Each for its work and they cling for an hour to the names of affection, Then Time’s long waves bear them apart for new forms we shall know not, So these two long severed had met in the shadow of parting. Often he smote his hand on the thigh-piece for sound of the armour, Bent his ear to the plains or restless moved like a war-horse Curbed by his master’s will, when he stands new-saddled for battle Hearing the voice of the trumpets afar and pawing the meadows. Over the sands Acirrous came to them running and toiling, Known from far off, for he ran unhelmeted. High on the hero Sunlike smiled the golden Achilles and into the tent-space Seized by the hand and brought him and seated. “War-shaft of Troezen, Whence was thy speed, Acirrous? Com’st thou, O friend, to my tent-side Spurred by thy eager will or the trusted stern Diomedes? Or from the Greeks like the voice still loved from a heart that is hollow? What say the banded princes of Greece to the single Achilles? Bringest thou flattery pale or an empty and futureless menace?” But to the strength of Pelides the hero Acirrous answered: “Response none make the Greeks to thy high-voiced message and challenge; Only their shout at thy side will reply when thou leapst into Troya. So have their chieftains willed and the wisdom calm of Odysseus.” But with a haughty scorn made answer the high-crested Hellene: “Wise is Odysseus, wise are the hearts of Achaia’s chieftains. Ilion’s chiefs are enough for their strength and life is too brittle Hurrying Fate to advance on the spear of the Phthian Achilles.” “Not from the Greeks have I sped to thy tents, their friendship or quarrel Urged not my feet; but Tiryns’ chieftain strong Diomedes Sent me claiming a word long old that first by his war-car Young Neoptolemus come from island Scyros should enter Far-crashing into the fight that has lacked this shoot of Achilles, Pressing in front with his father’s strength in the playground of Ares, Shouting his father’s cry as he clashed to his earliest battle. So let Achilles’ son twin-carred fight close by Tydides,
Page – 436 Seal of the ancient friendship new-sworn twixt your sires in their boyhood Then when they learned the spear to guide and strove in the wrestle.” So he spoke recalling other times and regretted And to the Argive’s word consented the strength of Pelides. He on the shoulder white of his son with a gesture of parting Laid his fateful hand and spoke from his prescient spirit: “Pyrrhus, go. No mightier guide couldst thou hope into battle Opening the foemen’s ranks than the hero stern Diomedes. Noble that rugged heart, thy father’s friend and his father’s. Journey through all wide Greece, seek her prytanies, schools and palaestras, Traverse Ocean’s rocks and the cities that dream on his margin, Phocian dales, Aetolia’s cliffs and Arcady’s pastures, Never a second man wilt thou find, but alone Diomedes. Pyrrhus, follow his counsels always losing thy father, If in this battle I fall and Fate has denied to me Troya. Pyrrhus, be like thy father in virtue, thou canst not excel him; Noble be in peace, invincible, brave in the battle, Stern and calm to thy foe, to the suppliant merciful. Mortal Favour and wrath as thou walkst heed never, son of Achilles. Always thy will and the right impose on thy friend and thy foeman. Count not life nor death, defeat nor triumph, Pyrrhus. Only thy soul regard and the gods in thy joy or thy labour.” Pyrrhus heard and erect with a stride that was rigid and stately Forth with Acirrous went from his sire to the joy of the battle. Little he heeded the word of death that the god in our bosom Spoke from the lips of Achilles, but deemed at sunset returning, Slaying Halamus, Paris or dangerous mighty Aeneas, Proudly to lay at his father’s feet the spoils of the foeman. But in his lair alone the godlike doomed Pelides Turned to the door of his tent and was striding forth to the battle, When from her inner chamber Briseis parting the curtain, — Long had she stood there spying and waiting her lonely occasion, — Came and caught and held his hand like a creeper detaining Vainly a moment the deathward stride of the kings of the forest. “Tarry awhile, Achilles; not yet have the war-horns clamoured, Nor have the scouts streamed yet from Xanthus fierily running. Lose a moment for her who has only thee under heaven.
Page – 437 Nay, had war sounded, thou yet wouldst squander that moment, Achilles, Hearkening a woman’s fears and the voice of a dream in the midnight. Art thou not gentle even as terrible, lion of Hellas? Others have whispered the deeds of thy wrath; we have heard, but not seen it; Marvelling much at their pallor and awe we have listened and wondered. Never with thrall or slavegirl or captive saw I thee angered, Hero, nor any humble heart ever trembled to near thee. Pardoning rather our many faults and our failures in service Lightly thou layedst thy yoke on us kind as the clasp of a lover Sparing the weak as thou breakest the mighty, O godlike Achilles. Only thy equals have felt all the dread of the death-god within thee; We have presumed and have played with the strength at which nations have trembled. Lo, thou hast leaned thy mane to the clutch of the boys and the maidens.” But to Briseis white-armed made answer smiling Achilles: “Something sorely thou needst, for thou flatterest long, O Briseis. Tell me, O woman, thy fear or thy dream that my touch may dispel it, White-armed net of bliss slipped down from the gold Aphrodite.” And to Achilles answered the captive white Briseis: “Long have they vexed my soul in the tents of the Greeks, O Achilles, Telling of Thetis thy mother who bore thee in caves of the Ocean Clasped by a mortal and of her fear from the threats of the Ancients, Weavers of doom who play with our hopes and smile at our passions Painting Time with the red of our hearts on the web they have woven, How on the Ocean’s bosom she hid thee in vine-tangled Scyros Clothed like a girl among girls with the daughters of King Lycomedes, — Art thou not fairer than woman’s beauty, yet great as Apollo? — Fearing Paris’ shafts and the anger of Delian Phoebus. Now in the night has a vision three times besieged me from heaven. Over the sea in my dream an argent bow was extended; Nearing I saw a terror august over moonlit waters, Cloud and a fear and a face that was young and lovely and hostile. Then three times I heard arise in the grandiose silence, — Still was the sky and still was the land and still were the waters, — Echoing a mighty voice, Take back, O King, what thou gavest; Strength, take thy strong man, sea, take thy wave, till the warfare eternal Need him again to thunder through Asia’s plains to the Ganges.’
Page – 438 That fell silent, but nearer the beautiful Terror approached me, Clang I heard of the argent bow and I gazed on Apollo. Shrilly I cried; it was thee that the shaft of the heavens had yearned for, Thee that it sought like a wild thing in anger straight at its quarry, Quivering into thy heel. I awoke and found myself trembling, Held thee safe in my arms, yet hardly believed that thou livest. Lo, in the night came this dream; on the morn thou arisest for battle.” But to Briseis white-armed made answer the golden Achilles: “This was a dream indeed, O princess, daughter of Brises! Will it restrain Achilles from fight, the lion from preying? Come, thou hast heard of my prowess and knowest what man is Achilles. Deemst thou so near my end? or does Polyxena vex thee, Jealousy shaping thy dreams to frighten me back from her capture?” Passionate, vexed Briseis, smiting his arm with her fingers, Yet with a smile half-pleased made answer to mighty Achilles. “Thinkst thou I fear thee at all? I am brave and will chide thee and threaten. See that thou recklessly throw not, Achilles, thy life into battle Hurting this body, my world, nor venture sole midst thy foemen, Leaving thy shielders behind as oft thou art wont in thy war-rage Lured by thy tempting gods who seek their advantage to slay thee, Fighting divinely, careless of all but thy spear and thy foeman. Cover thy limbs with thy shield, speed slowly restraining thy coursers. Dost thou not know all the terrible void and cold desolation Once again my life must become if I lose thee, Achilles? Twice then thus wilt thou smite me, O hero, a desolate woman? I will not stay behind on an earth that is empty and kingless. Into the grave I will leap, through the fire I will burn, I will follow Down into Hades’ depths or wherever thy footsteps go clanging, Hunting thee always, — didst thou not seize me here for thy pleasure? — Stronger there by my love as thou than I here, O Achilles. Thou shalt not dally alone with Polyxena safe in the shadows.” But to Briseis answered the hero, mighty Pelides, Holding her delicate hands like gathered flowers in his bosom, Pressing her passionate mouth like a rose that trembles with beauty. “There then follow me even as I would have drawn thee, O woman, Voice that chimes with my soul and hands that are eager for service, Beautiful spoil beloved of my foemen, perfect Briseis
Page – 439 But for the dreams that come to us mortals sleeping or waking, Shadows are these from our souls and who shall discern what they figure? Fears from the heart speak voiced like Zeus, take shape as Apollo. But were they truer than Delphi’s cavern voice or Dodona’s Moan that seems wind in his oaks immemorable, how should they alter Fate that the stern gods have planned from the first when the earth was unfashioned, Shapeless the gyre of the sun? For dream or for oracle adverse Why should man swerve from the path of his feet? The gods have invented Only one way for a man through the world, O my slavegirl Briseis, Valiant to be and noble and truthful and just to the humble, Only one way for a woman, to love and serve and be faithful. This observe, thy task in thy destiny noble or fallen; Time and result are the gods’; with these things be not thou troubled.” So he spoke and kissed her lips and released her and parted. Out from the tent he strode and into his chariot leaping Seized the reins and shouted his cry and drove with a far-borne Sound of wheels mid the clamour of hooves and the neigh of the war-steeds Swift through the line of the tents and forth from the heart of the leaguer. Over the causeway Troyward thundered the wheels of Achilles. After him crashing loud with a fierce and resonant rumour Chieftains impetuous prone to the mellay and swift at the war-cry Came, who long held from the lust of the spear and the joy of the war-din Rushed over earth like hawks released through the air; a shouting Limitless rolled behind, for nations followed each war-cry. Lords renowned of the northern hills and the plains and the coast-lands, Many a Dorian, many a Phthian, many a Hellene, Names now lost to the ear though then reputed immortal! Night has swallowed them, Zeus has devoured the light of his children; Drawn are they back to his bosom vast whence they came in their fierceness Thinking to conquer the earth and dominate Time and his ages. Nor on their left less thick came numerous even as the sea-sands Forth from the line of the leaguer that skirted the far-sounding waters, Ranked behind Tydeus’ son and the Spartan, bright Menelaus, Ithaca’s chief and Epeus, Idomeneus lord of the Cretans, Acamas, Nestor, Neleus’ son, and the brave Ephialtus, Prothous, Meges, Leitus the bold and the king Prothoënor,
Page – 440 Wise Alceste’s son and the Lemnian, stern Philoctetes, These and unnumbered warlike captains marching the Argives. Last in his spacious car drove shaping the tread of his armies, Even as a shepherd who follows his flock to the green of the pastures, Atreus’ far-famed son, the monarch great Agamemnon. They on the plain moved out and gazing far over the pastures Saw behind Xanthus rolling with dust like a cloud full of thunder, Ominous, steadily nearing, shouting their war-cry the Trojans.
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