The Iliad - Homer (read more books TXT) 📗

lay beneath them all. Then hastily
She left the chamber with the matron train.

They reached Minerva’s temple, and its gates
Were opened by Theano, rosy-cheeked,
The knight Antenor’s wife and Cisseus’ child,
Made priestess to the goddess by the sons
Of Troy. Then all the matrons lifted up
Their voices and stretched forth their suppliant hands
To Pallas, while the fair Theano took
The robe and spread its folds upon the lap
Of fair-haired Pallas, and with solemn vows
Prayed to the daughter of imperial Jove:⁠—

“O venerated Pallas, Guardian-Power
Of Troy, great goddess! Shatter thou the lance
Of Diomed, and let him fall in death
Before the Scaean gates, that we forthwith
May offer to thee in thy temple here
Twelve yearling heifers that have never worn
The yoke, if thou wilt pity us and spare
The wives of Trojans and their little ones.”

So spake she, supplicating; but her prayer
Minerva answered not; and while they made
Vows to the daughter of Almighty Jove,
Hector was hastening to the sumptuous home
Of Alexander, which that prince had built
With aid of the most cunning architects
In Troy the fruitful, by whose hands were made
The bed-chamber and hall and ante-room.
There entered Hector, dear to Jove; he bore
In hand a spear eleven cubits long:
The brazen spear-head glittered brightly, bound
With a gold circle. In his room he there
Found Paris, busied with his shining arms⁠—
Corselet and shield; he tried his curved bow;
While Argive Helen with the attendant maids
Was sitting, and appointed each a task.
Hector beheld, and chid him sharply thus:⁠—

“Strange man! A fitting time indeed is this,
To indulge thy sullen humor, while in fight
Around our lofty walls the men of Troy
Are perishing, and for thy sake the war
Is fiercely blazing all around our town.
Thou wouldst thyself reprove him, shouldst thou see
Another warrior as remiss as thou
In time of battle. Rouse thee, then, and act,
Lest we behold our city all in flames.”

Then answered Paris of the godlike form:⁠—
“Hector! Although thou justly chidest me,
And not beyond my due, yet let me speak.
Attend and hearken. Not in sullenness,
Nor angry with the Trojans, sat I here
Within my chamber, but that I might give
A loose to sorrow. Even now my wife
With gentle speeches has besought of me
That I return to battle; and to me
That seems the best, for oft doth victory
Change sides in war. Remain thou yet awhile,
Till I put on my armor; or go thou,
And I shall follow and rejoin thee soon.”

He ended. Hector of the beamy helm
Heard him, and answered not; but Helen spake,
And thus with soothing words addressed the chief:⁠—

“Brother-in-law⁠—for such thou art, though I
Am lost to shame, and cause of many ills⁠—
Would that some violent blast when I was born
Had whirled me to the mountain wilds, or waves
Of the hoarse sea, that they might swallow me,
Ere deeds like these were done! But since the gods
Have thus decreed, why was I not the wife
Of one who bears a braver heart and feels
Keenly the anger and reproach of men?
For Paris hath not, and will never have,
A resolute mind, and must abide the effect
Of his own folly. Enter thou meanwhile,
My brother; seat thee here, for heavily
Must press on thee the labors thou dost bear
For one so vile as I, and for the sake
Of guilty Paris. An unhappy lot,
By Jupiter’s appointment, waits us both⁠—
A theme of song for men in time to come.”

Great Hector of the beamy helm replied:⁠—
“Nay, Helen, ask me not to sit; thy speech
Is courteous, but persuades me not. My mind
Is troubled for the Trojans, to whose aid
I hasten, for they miss me even now.
But thou exhort this man, and bid him haste
To overtake me ere I leave the town.
I go to my own mansion first, to meet
My household⁠—my dear wife and little child;
Nor know I whether I may come once more
To them, or whether the great gods ordain
That I must perish by the hands of Greeks.”

So spake the plumèd Hector, and withdrew,
And reached his pleasant palace, but found not
White-armed Andromache within, for she
Was in the tower, beside her little son
And well-robed nurse, and sorrowed, shedding tears.
And Hector, seeing that his blameless wife
Was not within, came forth again, and stood
Upon the threshold questioning the maids.

“I pray you, damsels, tell me whither went
White-armed Andromache? Has she gone forth
To seek my sisters, or those stately dames,
My brothers’ wives? Or haply has she sought
The temple of Minerva, where are met
The other bright-haired matrons of the town
To supplicate the dreaded deity?”

Then said the diligent housewife in reply:⁠—
“Since thou wilt have the truth⁠—thy wife is gone
Not to thy sisters, nor those stately dames,
Thy brothers’ wives; nor went she forth to join
The other bright-haired matrons of the town,
Where in Minerva’s temple they are met
To supplicate the dreaded deity
But to the lofty tower of Troy she went
When it was told her that the Trojan troops
Lost heart, and that the valor of the Greeks
Prevailed. She now is hurrying toward the walls,
Like one distracted, with her son and nurse.”

So spake the matron. Hector left in haste
The mansion, and retraced his way between
The rows of stately dwellings, traversing
The mighty city. When at length he reached
The Scaean gates, that issue on the field,
His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache,
Came forth to meet him⁠—daughter of the prince
Eëtion, who, among the woody slopes
Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town
Of Thebé, ruled Cilicia and her sons,
And gave his child to Hector great in arms.
She came attended by a maid, who bore
A tender child⁠—a babe too young to speak⁠—
Upon her bosom⁠—Hector’s only son,
Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called
Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax⁠—
The city’s lord⁠—since Hector stood the sole
Defence of Troy. The father on his child
Looked with a silent smile. Andromache
Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears,
Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:⁠—

“Too brave! Thy valor yet will cause thy death.
Thou hast no pity on thy tender child,
Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be
Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee
To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,
If I must lose thee, to go down to earth,
For I shall have no hope when thou art gone⁠—
Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,
And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew
My father when he sacked the populous town
Of the Cilicians⁠—Thebé with high gates.
’Twas there