Book XIX: The Reconciliation of Achilles and Agamemnon

In saffron-colored mantle from the tidesOf Ocean rose the Morning to bring lightTo gods and men, when Thetis reached the fleet,Bringing the gift of Vulcan. There she foundHer son, who, bending o’er Patroclus, weptAloud, and all around a troop of friendsLamented bitterly. Beside him stoodThe glorious goddess, took his hand, and said:—

“Leave we the dead, my son, since it hath pleasedThe gods that he should fall; and now receiveThis sumptuous armor, forged by Vulcan’s hand,Beautiful, such as no man ever wore.”

The goddess spake, and laid the armor downBefore Achilles; as they touched the earth,The well-wrought pieces clanked, and terror seizedThe Myrmidons. No one among them allDared fix his gaze upon them; all shrank back.Achilles only, as he saw them, feltHis spirit roused within him. In his eyesA terrible brightness flashed, as if of fire.He lifted up the god’s magnificent giftRejoicing, and, when long his eyes had dweltDelighted on the marvellous workmanship,Thus to his mother said, in wingèd words:—

“A god indeed, my mother, must have givenThese arms, the work of heavenly hands: no manCould forge them. Now I arm myself for war.But for the valiant MenoetiadesI greatly fear that flies will gather roundThe wounds inflicted by the spear, and wormsBe bred within them, to pollute the corpseNow that the life is gone, and taint the whole.”

And silver-footed Thetis answered thus:“Son, have no care for that. The task be mineTo drive away the importunate swarm that feedOn heroes slain in battle. Though it lieThe whole year long, the body shall remainEven more than uncorrupted. Call thou nowTo council all the Achaian chiefs; renounceThy feud with Agamemnon, king of men,And arm for war, and put on all thy might.”

She spake, and called a fiery courage upWithin the hero’s breast. The goddess thenInfused ambrosia and the ruddy juiceOf nectar through the nostrils of the deadInto the frame, to keep it from decay.

Along the beach the great Achilles went,Calling with mighty shouts the Grecian chiefs.Then even they who till that day remainedBeside the fleet—the pilots and the menWho held the helm, the stewards of the ships,And the purveyors—all made haste to swellThe assembly, for they knew that he who longHad borne no part in the disastrous warHad now come forth. Two ministers of Mars,The brave Tydides and the nobly bornUlysses, both supported by their spears,Came halting, for their wounds were painful yet;They came and sat among the foremost chiefs.And last came Agamemnon, king of men,Wounded, for he had felt in thick of fightThe edge of the sharp spear which Coön bore,Antenor’s son. Now when the Greeks were allAssembled, swift Achilles rose and said:—

“Atrides, of a truth it would have beenBetter for both of us had we done thisAt first, though sorely angered, when we stroveFor a girl’s sake so fiercely. Would that sheHad perished in my ships, by Dian’s shaft,The day on which I laid Lyrnessus waste!So many Greeks would then have not been forced,Slain by the enemy’s hand, to bite the dustOf the great earth, while I was brooding o’erMy wrath. All that was for the good of TroyAnd Hector; but the Greeks, I think, will longRemember our contention. Let us leaveThese things among the things that were, and, thoughThey make us grieve, let us subdue our mindsTo what the time requires. Here then my wrathShall end; it is not meet that it should burnForever. Hasten thou and rouse to warThe long-haired Greeks, that I may yet againGo forth among the men of Troy, and learnIf they design to encamp another nightBefore the fleet. There is among them allNo man, I ween, who will not joyfullySit down when he escapes my deadly spear.”

He ended, and the Achaians all rejoicedTo hear the brave Pelides thus renounceHis anger. Agamemnon, king of men,Then rose. He came not forth into the midst,But stood beside his seat, and thus he spake:—

“O friends, Achaian heroes, ministersOf Mars! Whoever rises up to speak’Tis well to hear him through, and not break inUpon his speech, else is the most expertConfounded. Who amid a clamorous throngCan listen or can speak? The oratorOf clearest voice must utter it in vain.Now I address Pelides; for the rest,Hearken ye all, and ponder what I say.The Greeks speak often of this feud, and castThe blame on me. Yet was I not the cause,But Jupiter and Fate, and she who walksIn darkness, dread Erynnis. It was theyWho filled my mind with fury in the hourWhen from Achilles I bore off his prize.What could I do? A deity prevailsIn all things, Atè, mighty to destroy,Daughter of Jove, and held in awe by all.Delicate are her feet; she never comesNear to the ground, but glides above the headsOf men, to do them harm, and in her netEntangles one at least of two who strive.Jove, deemed the mightiest among men and gods,Once felt her power of mischief. Him his spouse,Juno, entrapped by cunning, when withinThe massive walls of Thebes Alcmena layIn childbed, and the mighty HerculesWas near his birth. For Jupiter had saidBoastfully to the immortals: ‘Hear, ye godsAnd goddesses, what I am moved to speak:This day shall Ilithyia, who presidesAt births, bring into light a prince whose ruleThe neighboring tribes shall own; he shall be oneWho bears the blood of my illustrious race.’

“Imperial Juno thus, with words of guile,Made answer: ‘What thou sayest will prove false,Nor wilt thou keep thy word. Now swear to me,Olympius, with the irrevocable oath,That whosoever of thy race shall fallThis day between a woman’s feet shall bearThe rule o’er all the neighboring tribes.’ She spake,And Jove, perceiving not her craft, complied,And took the mighty oath, but afterwardFound himself wronged. For Juno, darting forth,Shot from the Olympian summit, and at onceAlighted at Achaian Argos. ThereShe found the noble wife of Sthenelus,The son of Perseus, pregnant with a son,In the seventh month. She caused him to be born,The number of his months yet incomplete,And kept Alcmena’s hour of childbirth back,And stayed her pangs. The goddess then made hasteTo bear the tidings to Saturnian Jove.

“ ‘O Father Jupiter, by whom are hurledThe ruddy lightnings, I have news for thee.A man-child of a generous stock is born—Eurystheus, whom the Argives shall obey—Born at this hour to Sthenelus, the sonOf Perseus, who is thine. And well it isThat such a prince should rule the Argive race.’

“She ended: Jupiter was deeply grieved,And, seizing Atè by her shining locks,In his great wrath, he swore a mighty oath—That Atè, whose delight it is to bringMischief to all, should never tread againOlympus and the starry floor of heaven.Thus having sworn, he swung her, with raised arm,On high, and hurled her from the starry heavenDownward, where soon she reached the haunts of men;Yet oft in after time because of herHe sighed, beholding his beloved sonDoomed by Eurystheus to unworthy tasks.So I, while crested Hector in his mightMade havoc at our fleet among the GreeksEven by their prows, remembered well my fault.And now since I have borne the penalty,And Jupiter it was who took awayMy reason, I would gladly make amendsWith liberal gifts. But rise and join the war;Inflame the courage of the rest; the giftsWill I supply—all that were promised theeWhen nobly born Ulysses yesterdayWent to thy tents. Or, if it please thee, wait,Though armed for battle, and my train shall bringThe treasures from my ship, that thou mayst seeMy presents are peace-offerings indeed.”

The swift of foot, Achilles, answered thus:“Most glorious son of Atreus, king of men!Whether, O Agamemnon, thou wilt giveGifts, as is meet, or keep them, rests with thee.Now let us think of war; it is not wellTo waste the hour in talking, and put offThe mighty work that we have yet to do.Let every Greek among you, as he seesAchilles fighting in the foremost ranks,And slaughtering the Trojan phalanxes,Take heart and boldly combat with his man.”

And then Ulysses, wise in council, spake,Answering Achilles: “Nay, thou shouldst not thus,Brave as thou art, lead on the sons of Greece,Yet fasting, to the conflict with the menOf Troy beside their city. No brief spaceThe struggle will endure when once the foesRush on each other, and a god inspiresBoth hosts with fury. Bid the Achaians takeIn their swift galleys food and wine; in theseAre force and vigor. No man can endureTo combat all the day till set of sun,Save with the aid of food, however greatThe promptings of his valor; for his limbsGrow heavy, thirst and hunger weaken him,And his knees fail him as he walks. Not soThe warrior well supplied with food and wine:He fights the foe all day; a resolute heartIs in his bosom; nor does wearinessO’ertake him till all others leave the field.Now let the people be dismissed awhile,And a repast be ordered. Let the king,Atrides, bring to the assembly hereHis gifts, that all the Greeks may look on them,And thou rejoice to see them. Let him riseAmong the Greeks, and take a solemn oathThat he has ne’er approached the maiden’s bedTo claim a husband’s right. Thus let thy heartBe satisfied. Yet let the monarch spreadA sumptuous banquet in his tent for thee,That thy redress may be complete. And thou,Atrides, wilt hereafter be more justTo others. It dishonors not a kingTo make amends to one whom he has wronged.”

And then King Agamemnon spake in turn:“Son of Laertes, gladly have I heardWhat thou hast said, and well hast thou discoursedOf all things in their order. I will takeThe oath of which thou speakest—so my heartCommands me. In the presence of a godI take it, and commit no perjury.Now let Achilles, though he longs for war,Delay awhile; and all assembled here,Remain ye on the ground till from my shipThe gifts are brought. This charge and this commandI give to thee, Ulysses. Take with theeA band of youths, the noblest of the host,And bring the presents promised yesterdayTo Peleus’ son, and hither let them leadThe women. Meantime let Talthybius hasteTo bring from our broad camp a boar, which IWill offer up to Jove and to the Sun.”

The swift of foot, Achilles, thus replied:“Most glorious son of Atreus, king of men,These things are for the time when there shall comeA pause from battle, and this warlike heatWithin my breast shall cool. They whom the spearOf Hector, son of Priam, has o’ercomeLie mangled on the earth, since JupiterAwarded him the glory of the day:—And ye propose a banquet. I would callThe sons of Greece to rush into the warUnfed and fasting, and when this disgraceShall be avenged, I would, at sunset, spreadA liberal feast. Be sure that I, till then,Taste neither food nor drink, while my slain friendLies gashed with weapons in my tent, amidstHis sorrowing comrades. Little I regardThe things of which thou speakest, for my thoughtsAre all of bloodshed and of dying groans.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, thus rejoined:“Achilles, son of Peleus, bravest farOf all the Achaians, mightier with the spearBy no small odds than I, yet do I standIn prudence much above thee; I have livedMore years, and more have learned. Let then thy mindAccept what I shall say. Men soon becomeWeary of warfare, even when the swordLays its most ample harvest on the earth.But fewer sheaves are reaped when Jupiter,The arbiter of battles, turns the scale.It is not well that we of Greece should mournThe dead with fasting, since from day to dayOur warriors fall in numbers. Where were thenRespite from daily fasts? Lay we our slainIn earth and mourn a day. We who outliveThe cruel combat should refresh ourselvesWith food and wine, that we may steadilyMaintain in arms the conflict with the foe.And then let no man idly wait to hearA further call to war—for it will comeFreighted with evil to the man who skulksAmong the ships—but let us all go forthTo wage fierce battle with the knights of Troy.”

He spake, and summoned to his side the sonsOf glorious Nestor, and Meriones,And Meges, son of Phyleus, and with themThoas, and Lycomedes, Creon’s son,And Melanippus. Straight they took their wayTo Agamemnon’s tent, and there their taskWas done as quickly as the word was given.They brought seven tripods forth, the promised gifts,And twenty burnished cauldrons, and twelve steeds,And led away seven graceful women trainedIn household arts—the maid with rosy cheeks,Briseis, was the eighth. Ulysses came,Leading the way, and bearing, duly weighed,Ten talents, all of gold. The Achaian youthsFollowed, and placed the presents in the midstOf that assembly. Agamemnon rose;And then Talthybius, who was like a godIn power of voice, came near and took his placeBeside the monarch, holding in his handsA boar. The son of Atreus drew a knife,Which hung by the great scabbard of his sword,And, cutting off the forelock of the boar,Prayed with uplifted hands to Jupiter:Meantime the Greeks in silence kept their seats,And, as became them, listened to the king,Who looked into the sky above, and said:—

“Now first bear witness, Jove, of all the godsGreatest and best, and also Earth and Sun,And Furies dwelling under Earth, who takeVengeance on men forsworn, that never IHave laid, for purpose of unchaste desire,Or other cause, my hand upon the maidBriseis. She hath dwelt inviolateWithin my tents. If yet in aught I sayLurk perjury, then may the blessed godsHeap on my head the many miseriesWith which they punish those who falsely swear!”

He spake, and drew the unrelenting bladeAcross the animal’s throat. Talthybius tookAnd swung the carcass round, and cast it forthInto the gray sea’s depths, to be the foodOf fishes. Then again Achilles roseAmong the warlike sons of Greece, and said:—

“Great sorrows thou dost send, O Father Jove!Upon mankind; for never would the sonOf Atreus have provoked the wrath that burnedWithin my bosom, never would have thoughtTo bear away the maiden from my tentIn spite of me, had it not been the willOf Jupiter that many a Greek should die.But banquet now, and then prepare for war.”

So spake Achilles, and at once dissolvedThe assembly, each repairing to his shipSave the large-hearted Myrmidons, who stillWere busy with the gifts, and carried themToward their great general’s galley. These they laidCarefully in the tents, and seated thereThe women, while the attentive followers draveThe coursers to the stables. When the maidBriseis, beautiful as Venus, sawPatroclus lying gashed with wounds, she sprangAnd threw herself upon the dead, and toreHer bosom, her fair cheeks and delicate neck;And thus the graceful maiden, weeping, said:—

“Patroclus, dear to my unhappy heart!I left thee in full life, when from this tentThey led me; I return and find thee dead,O chieftain of the people! Thus it isThat sorrow upon sorrow is my lot.Him to whose arms my father, in my youth,And gracious mother gave me as a bride,I saw before our city pierced and slain,And the three brothers whom my mother boreSlain also—brothers whom I dearly loved.Yet thou, when swift Achilles struck to earthMy hapless husband, and laid waste the townOf godlike Mynes, wouldst not suffer meTo weep despairingly; for thou didst giveThy word to make me yet the wedded wifeOf great Achilles, bear me in the fleetTo Phthia, and prepare the wedding feastAmong the Myrmidons. O ever kind!I mourn thy death, and cannot be consoled.”

Weeping she spake; the women wept with herSeemingly for the dead, but each, in truth,For her own griefs. Meanwhile the elders cameAround Achilles, praying him to joinThe banquet, but the chief, with sighs, refused.

“Dear comrades, if ye love me, do not thusPress me to sit and feast. A mighty woeWeighs down my spirit; it is my resolveTo wait and bear until the setting sun.”

So saying, he dismissed the other kings.The sons of Atreus, and the high-born chiefUlysses, Nestor, and Idomeneus,And Phoenix, aged knight, alone remained,And anxiously they sought to comfort himIn his great grief; but comfort would he noneEre entering the red jaws of war. He drewDeep sighs, and, thinking on Patroclus, spake:

“The time has been when thou too, hapless one,Dearest of all my comrades, wouldst have spreadWith diligent speed before me in my tentA genial banquet, while the Greeks preparedFor desperate battle with the knights of Troy.Thou liest now a mangled corse, and I,Through grief for thee, refrain from food and drink,Though they are near. No worse calamityCould light on me, not even should I hearNews of my father’s death, who haply nowTenderly mourns with tears his absent sonIn Phthia, while upon a foreign coastI wage for hated Helen’s sake the warAgainst the Trojans; or were I to hearTidings that my beloved son had died,The noble Neoptolemus, who now,If living, is in Scyros, growing upTo manhood. Once the hope was in my heartThat I alone should perish here at Troy,Far from the Argive pastures full of steeds,And thou return to Phthia and bring homeMy son from Scyros in thy ship, and showThe youth my wealth, my servants, and my halls,High-roofed and spacious. For my mind misgivesThat Peleus either lives not, or enduresA painful age, and hardly lives, yet waitsTo hear the sorrowful news that I am slain.”

So spake he weeping, and the elders sighedTo see his tears, as each recalled to mindThose whom he left at home, while Saturn’s sonBeheld their grief with pity, and bespakeHis daughter Pallas thus with wingèd words:—

“My child, wilt thou desert that valiant man?And shall Achilles be no more thy care?Lo, by his ships, before their lofty prows,He sits, lamenting his beloved friend.The rest are at the banquet; he remainsApart from them, and fasting. Hasten thou;With nectar and ambrosial sweets refreshHis frame, that hunger overtake him not.”

As thus he spake he sent the goddess forthEager to do her errand. Plunging down,In form a shrill-voiced harpy with broad wings,She cleft the air. The Greeks throughout the campWere putting on their armor. She infusedInto the hero’s frame ambrosial sweetsAnd nectar, that his limbs might not grow faintWith hunger. Then the goddess sought againThe stable mansion of Almighty Jove,While all the Greeks came pouring from the fleet.

As when the flakes of snow fall thick from heaven,Driven by the north wind sweeping on the cloudsBefore it, so from out the galleys cameHelms crowding upon helms that glittered fair,Strong hauberks, bossy shields, and ashen spears.The gleam of armor brightened heaven and earth,And mighty was the sound of trampling feet.Amidst them all the great Achilles stood,Putting his armor on; he gnashed his teeth;His eyes shot fire; a grief too sharp to bearWas in his heart, as, filled with rage againstThe men of Troy, he cased his limbs in mail,The gift of Vulcan, from whose diligent handIt came. And first about his legs he claspedThe beautiful greaves, with silver fastenings,Fitted the corselet to his bosom next,And from his shoulders hung the brazen swordWith silver studs, and then he took the shield,Massive and broad, whose brightness streamed as farAs the moon’s rays. And as at sea the lightOf beacon, blazing in some lonely spotBy night, upon a mountain summit, shinesTo mariners whom the tempest’s force has drivenFar from their friends across the fishy deep,So from that glorious buckler of the sonOf Peleus, nobly wrought, a radiance streamedInto the sky. And then he raised and placedUpon his head the impenetrable helmWith horse-hair plume. It glittered like a star,And all the shining tufts of golden thread,With which the maker’s hand had thickly setIts cone, were shaken. Next the high-born chiefTried his new arms, to know if they were wellAdjusted to his shape, and left his limbsFree play. They seemed like wings, and lifted upThe shepherd of the people. Then he drewFrom its ancestral sheath his father’s spear,Heavy and huge and tough. No man of allThe Grecian host could wield that weapon saveAchilles only. ’Twas a Pelian ash,Which Chiron for his father had cut downOn Pelion’s highest peak, to be the deathOf heroes. Meantime, busy with the steeds,Automedon and Alcimus put onTheir trappings and their yoke, and round their necksBound the fair collars, thrust into their mouthsThe bit, and backward drew the reins to meetThe well-wrought chariot. Then AutomedonTook in his hand the showy lash, and leapedInto the seat. Behind him, all equippedFor war, Achilles mounted, in a blazeOf arms that dazzled like the sun, and thusCalled to his father’s steeds with terrible voice:—

“Xanthus and Balius, whom Podargè bore—A noble stock—I charge you to bring backInto the Grecian camp, the battle done,Him whom ye now are bearing to the field,Nor leave him, as ye left Patroclus, dead.”

Swift-footed Xanthus from beneath the yokeAnswered him with bowed head and drooping maneThat, flowing through the yoke-ring swept the ground—For Juno gave him then the power of speech:—

“For this one day, at least, we bear thee safe,O fiery chief, Achilles! But the hourOf death draws nigh to thee, nor will the blameBe ours; a mighty god and cruel fateOrdain it. Not through our neglect or slothDid they of Troy strip off thy glorious armsFrom slain Patroclus. That invincible god,The son of golden-haired Latona, smoteThe hero in the foremost ranks, and gaveGlory to Hector. Even though our speedWere that of Zephyr, fleetest of the winds,Yet certain is thy doom to be o’ercomeIn battle by a god and by a man.”

Thus far he spake, and then the Furies checkedHis further speech. Achilles, swift of foot,Replied in anger: “Xanthus, why foretellMy death? It is not needed; well I knowMy fate—that here I perish, far awayFrom Peleus and my mother. I shall fightTill I have made the Trojans sick of war.”

He spake, and, shouting to his firm-paced steeds,Drave them, among the foremost, toward the war.