II

So together they passed along the level sand, with many a prayer to

Poseidon, lord of the sea, that they might easily persuade the mighty

heart of Æacides.[2] And when they came to the tents and ships of the

Myrmidons, they found Achilles sitting at the door of his tent, and

soothing his troubled spirit with song, and the clear music of a harp,

which he had taken among the spoil of Eëtion's city. Opposite to him

sat Patroclus, the most beloved of his comrades, waiting until Achilles

should have finished his lay, whose theme was the deeds of famous men.

And they came and stood before him, with Odysseus at their head. When

Achilles saw them he gave a cry of surprise, and sprang from his seat,

harp in hand; and Patroclus rose up with him. Then, greeting them with

a courteous gesture, he said: "Welcome, dear friends! Most welcome are

ye of all the Greeks, even in this hour of my displeasure. Be seated.

I know why ye have come hither--sore indeed is the need." So saying,

he led the way into the tent, and as soon as they were seated he called

to Patroclus, saying: "Set forth the largest bowl, and open the oldest

cask of wine, to do honour to the dear guests who have come under my

roof."

[2] Grandson of Æacus, the father of Peleus.

Therewith he placed a table, in the light of the fire, and on it he

laid the loin of a sheep and another of a fat goat, and the chine of a

hog. Automedon, his squire, held the meat, and Achilles with his own

hands cut it into slices, spitted it, and roasted it over the glowing

embers. When all was ready, they feasted sumptuously, and drank of the

rich wine which Achilles poured out without stint. The banquet being

ended, Ajax made a sign to Phœnix; but Odysseus took the word from

him, and, rising with a full cup in his hand, pledged Achilles, and

said: "I drink to thee, son of Peleus, and thank thee for thy good

cheer. Never have I tasted choicer fare, not even in the tent of

Agamemnon himself. But, alas! my noble host, we have little heart for

feasting and making merry, for we stand on the very brink of ruin, and

thou alone canst save us. The Trojans have pitched their camp before

our very gates, and it will not be long before they sweep us into the

sea. Zeus hath openly taken sides with our foes, and affrights us with

thunders and with lightnings; and Hector, full of mad presumption, is

breathing out threatenings and slaughter against us. I fear--yea, I

fear exceedingly--that the god will accomplish his threats, and that we

are indeed doomed to perish in the land of Troy, far from our native

Argos. Up, then, and gird thee to the fight, if thou art minded to

save the sons of Greece, even in the eleventh hour. If thou wait

longer the mischief will be done, and thou wilt repent of thy

stubbornness too late. Remember the words of thy father, Peleus, when

he sent thee to the war: 'My son, thou art very strong, but this good

gift thou owest to heaven. Do thou curb thy haughty spirit, and turn

thee to thoughts of kindness, if thou wouldst be honoured of old and

young.' Thou hast forgotten the good words of thy father, and given

place to malice and uncharitableness. Quit this froward mood, and mark

while I tell thee the brave gifts which Agamemnon offers as the price

of thy good will."

Accordingly Odysseus went on to recite the whole tale of the royal

bounty, and when the list was complete he wound up his speech by

appealing at once to the humanity, the pride, and the ambition of

Achilles. "If thou despisest Agamemnon and his gifts, take pity on thy

poor countrymen, who will honour thee as a god, and glorify thee as

their preserver. And now thou mayest slay Hector, for assuredly he

will not refrain from thee in the frenzy which possesseth him, boasting

that there is none to match him among all the Greeks who sailed to

Troy."

Odysseus resumed his seat, and amidst a breathless silence Achilles

rose up and began to speak, calmly at first, but rising in passion as

he proceeded. "Most noble son of Laertes, I will answer thee bluntly

and to the purpose, that ye may know my mind, and may not come hither

on this errand again. For hateful to me, even as the gates of death,

is the man who hides one thing in his heart, and speaks another. Hear,

then, what I have to say. Neither Agamemnon, nor all the Greeks

together, shall turn me from my purpose. I have fought--thou knowest

how I have fought--against the common foe; and what my reward hath been

thou knowest also. Like a mother bird, who flies to and fro, never

weary, never resting, carrying morsels to her nestlings, while she

remains empty herself, so have I passed my days in war and bloodshed,

and my nights in sleepless watchings, putting my life in jeopardy, for

the sake of another man's wife. Twelve cities have I sacked, sailing

the sea in my ships, and eleven on land, within the realm of Troy.

First the toil, which was mine, and after that the spoil, which was

his. I brought it all, and laid it at his feet, and he kept the

greater part by far, giving me back a little--a very little--for all my

pains. And that little he hath taken away. Let him keep it, and joy

go with it! I loved the maid Briseis, yea, dearly I loved her!

Thinketh he that he alone and his brother love their wives? She was my

prize, my bride: he hath torn her from mine arms, and that foul deed I

will never forgive.

"And as to the gifts which he offers, let him know that I came here to

fight for honour, not for pelf. He hath denied mine honour, and now he

would bribe me to erase that dark record with a purse of gold. But I

will not be bribed. Away with his gifts! I value them not a straw.

Not though he offered me ten times and twenty times as much--all the

wealth that he hath, or ever shall have--not for all the riches of

Egyptian Thebes, which sends forth ten thousand warriors, with

chariots, and with horses, from its hundred gates--no, not for

treasures unnumbered as the sands and dust of the earth--could he buy

pardon of me, until he hath suffered the full penalty of the outrage

which devours my heart.

"Long ago my mother gave me the choice of two diverse fates--short life

with honour, or long life without a name. Mine honour is

lost--therefore I will cling to my life, and live it out to the end.

Thy miser king holds that men's lives are to be bought and sold, as the

lives of sheep and oxen; but herein he is mistaken again. Wealth may

be won, and lost, and won back again, seized by the strong hand, or

heaped up slowly by plodding industry; but the breath of our life

cannot be called back again, when once it hath passed the door of our

lips. Therefore I am determined to end my days in peace and quietness

among my own people, and quit these brawls, which concern not me. And

I counsel all the rest to do the same, for it is clear that Troy's

overthrow is not to be wrought by you.

"Ye have heard my answer; go tell it to the chiefs, and bid them be

assured that they have naught to hope from me."

Deep was the disappointment of the three envoys, as they followed the

wild eloquence of that fierce and implacable man. For a long time not

a word was spoken, for it seemed vain to argue against such passion and

pride. At last the venerable Phœnix rose feebly from his place, and

in a voice broken with sobs and tears began a discourse of immense

length, full of tender personal reminiscence and old-world legend.

This old man had a curious history. Born to wealth and power, he

became an exile in his youth, having been cursed by his father, whom he

had bitterly provoked in the course of a family feud. In consequence

of the curse he remained a childless man, and, finding a new home in

the land of Peleus, he lavished more than a father's tenderness on

Achilles, Peleus' infant son.

These incidents from his own life, which he dwelt on with the fond

garrulity of an old nurse, furnished a copious theme to Phœnix in

the first part of his harangue. "I little thought," he said, "when I

set thee on my knee, a little, helpless babe, and fed thee with choice

morsels of meat, and held the cup to thy lips, and thou wouldst spill

the wine over my gown in thy childish weakness--I little thought to see

thee grow up to be so pitiless and inflexible, more hard to move than

the gods themselves, whom we approach with prayer and sacrifice, and

with bended knees. Beware of the vengeance which waits upon a stubborn

and unforgiving heart. Swift and strong is the dread goddess Ate, who

prompts man to give and take offence; but Penitence is an old and

wrinkled goddess, who goes halting behind her, to heal the mischief;

and if he who is wronged will not listen to her voice he himself

becomes the offender, and the whole guilt of the quarrel rests on his

head. Hearken thou, therefore, to her gentle pleading, and receive the

bountiful gifts of Agamemnon, or the day will come when thou wilt take

thy sword perforce, and fight the battles of the Greeks without reward."

Achilles listened with manifest impatience to the rambling appeals of

Phœnix; and when at length the old man had finished, he replied

briefly: "I seek no reward but the favour of Zeus, which I have, and

shall not cease to have as long as the breath of life is in me. Vex me

no more with thy vain repinings; my purpose is fixed, and it is for

thee to choose whether thou wilt be friends with Agamemnon or with me.

If thou art on my side remain here for the night, and to-morrow we will

consider whether we will go or stay."

The conference was brought to a close by a few words from Ajax, whose

frank and soldierly heart was hot with indignation at the vindictive

temper of Achilles. Turning to Odysseus, he said: "Noble son of

Laertes, let us be going. Words are wasted on this fierce and froward

man. Surely he has a heart of stone, which no kindly thought, no

gentle memory of ancient comradeship, can soften. All the homage of

his countrymen, all the loving-kindness of his friends, are as dirt

beneath his feet. Many a man hath accepted a price for the blood of a

son or brother slain, and suffered the slayer to remain unharmed in the

land; but thou, Achilles, hast scorned the most princely offers for the

sake of one captive maid. O yet at last be moved! Bring not scorn

upon us, thy guests, thy friends, but give us a gentle answer to take

back to our countrymen in their dire need."

These manly and moving words had some effect on Achilles, half maddened

as he was by wounded pride. Yet still he would not yield, though his

answer showed that he had not been in earnest when he spoke of

abandoning the war. "Thou hast spoken well, Ajax," he said, "and there

is much reason in what thou sayest. But my heart boils with rage when

I think of the contumely which was heaped upon me before the eyes of

all Greece, as though I were some beggared and nameless outcast; and I

will not put on mine armour again, until I see the smoke arising from

the Grecian ships, and Hector drawing near to my galleys with sword and

fire. Then, methinks, his career of victory will end."

After this final declaration of his purpose by Achilles, Ajax and

Odysseus took their leave, and returned to the assembled chieftains,

who still sat anxiously awaiting the result of the mission. Phœnix

remained behind, having resolved to cast in his lot with Achilles.