Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that
brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it
send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to
dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from
the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great
Achilles, first fell out with one another.
And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was
the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a
pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of
Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to
the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had brought
with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre
of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath and he besought the
Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their
chiefs.
“Sons of Atreus,” he cried, “and all other Achaeans, may the
gods who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and
to reach your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a
ransom for her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove.”
On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for
respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but
not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly
away. “Old man,” said he, “let me not find you tarrying about our
ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your
wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall
grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying
herself with her loom and visiting my couch; so go, and do not
provoke me or it shall be the worse for you.”
The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went
by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo
whom lovely Leto had borne. “Hear me,” he cried, “O god of the
silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest
Tenedos with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have ever
decked your temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones in fat
of bulls or goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge
these my tears upon the Danaans.”
Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down
furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver
upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the rage
that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the ships
with a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death as he
shot his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their mules and
their hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the people
themselves, and all day long the pyres of the dead were
burning.
For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but
upon the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly—moved thereto
by Juno, who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had
compassion upon them. Then, when they were got together, he rose
and spoke among them.
“Son of Atreus,” said he, “I deem that we should now turn roving
home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by
war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or
some reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell
us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some
vow that we have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered, and
whether he will accept the savour of lambs and goats without
blemish, so as to take away the plague from us.”
With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest
of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to speak.
He it was who had guided the Achaeans with their fleet to Ilius,
through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had inspired
him. With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them thus:—
“Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger
of King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and
swear that you will stand by me heartily in word and deed, for I
know that I shall offend one who rules the Argives with might, to
whom all the Achaeans are in subjection. A plain man cannot stand
against the anger of a king, who if he swallow his displeasure now,
will yet nurse revenge till he has wreaked it. Consider, therefore,
whether or no you will protect me.”
And Achilles answered, “Fear not, but speak as it is borne in
upon you from heaven, for by Apollo, Calchas, to whom you pray, and
whose oracles you reveal to us, not a Danaan at our ships shall lay
his hand upon you, while I yet live to look upon the face of the
earth—no, not though you name Agamemnon himself, who is by far the
foremost of the Achaeans.”
Thereon the seer spoke boldly. “The god,” he said, “is angry
neither about vow nor hecatomb, but for his priest’s sake, whom
Agamemnon has dishonoured, in that he would not free his daughter
nor take a ransom for her; therefore has he sent these evils upon
us, and will yet send others. He will not deliver the Danaans from
this pestilence till Agamemnon has restored the girl without fee or
ransom to her father, and has sent a holy hecatomb to Chryse. Thus
we may perhaps appease him.”
With these words he sat down, and Agamemnon rose in anger. His
heart was black with rage, and his eyes flashed fire as he scowled
on Calchas and said, “Seer of evil, you never yet prophesied smooth
things concerning me, but have ever loved to foretell that which
was evil. You have brought me neither comfort nor performance; and
now you come seeing among Danaans, and saying that Apollo has
plagued us because I would not take a ransom for this girl, the
daughter of Chryses. I have set my heart on keeping her in my own
house, for I love her better even than my own wife Clytemnestra,
whose peer she is alike in form and feature, in understanding and
accomplishments. Still I will give her up if I must, for I would
have the people live, not die; but you must find me a prize
instead, or I alone among the Argives shall be without one. This is
not well; for you behold, all of you, that my prize is to go
elsewhither.”
And Achilles answered, “Most noble son of Atreus, covetous
beyond all mankind, how shall the Achaeans find you another prize?
We have no common store from which to take one. Those we took from
the cities have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that
have been made already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god, and
if ever Jove grants us to sack the city of Troy we will requite you
three and fourfold.”
Then Agamemnon said, “Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall
not thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not
persuade me. Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely
under my loss and give up the girl at your bidding? Let the
Achaeans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will
come and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to
whomsoever I may come shall rue my coming. But of this we will take
thought hereafter; for the present, let us draw a ship into the
sea, and find a crew for her expressly; let us put a hecatomb on
board, and let us send Chryseis also; further, let some chief man
among us be in command, either Ajax, or Idomeneus, or yourself, son
of Peleus, mighty warrior that you are, that we may offer sacrifice
and appease the the anger of the god.”
Achilles scowled at him and answered, “You are steeped in
insolence and lust of gain. With what heart can any of the Achaeans
do your bidding, either on foray or in open fighting? I came not
warring here for any ill the Trojans had done me. I have no quarrel
with them. They have not raided my cattle nor my horses, nor cut
down my harvests on the rich plains of Phthia; for between me and
them there is a great space, both mountain and sounding sea. We
have followed you, Sir Insolence! for your pleasure, not ours—to
gain satisfaction from the Trojans for your shameless self and for
Menelaus. You forget this, and threaten to rob me of the prize for
which I have toiled, and which the sons of the Achaeans have given
me. Never when the Achaeans sack any rich city of the Trojans do I
receive so good a prize as you do, though it is my hands that do
the better part of the fighting. When the sharing comes, your share
is far the largest, and I, forsooth, must go back to my ships, take
what I can get and be thankful, when my labour of fighting is done.
Now, therefore, I shall go back to Phthia; it will be much better
for me to return home with my ships, for I will not stay here
dishonoured to gather gold and substance for you.”
And Agamemnon answered, “Fly if you will, I shall make you no
prayers to stay you. I have others here who will do me honour, and
above all Jove, the lord of counsel. There is no king here so
hateful to me as you are, for you are ever quarrelsome and ill
affected. What though you be brave? Was it not heaven that made you
so? Go home, then, with your ships and comrades to lord it over the
Myrmidons. I care neither for you nor for your anger; and thus will
I do: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me, I shall send
her with my ship and my followers, but I shall come to your tent
and take your own prize Briseis, that you may learn how much
stronger I am than you are, and that another may fear to set
himself up as equal or comparable with me.”
The son of Peleus was furious, and his heart within his shaggy
breast was divided whether to draw his sword, push the others
aside, and kill the son of Atreus, or to restrain himself and check
his anger. While he was thus in two minds, and was drawing his
mighty sword from its scabbard, Minerva came down from heaven (for
Juno had sent her in the love she bore to them both), and seized
the son of Peleus by his yellow hair, visible to him alone, for of
the others no man could see her. Achilles turned in amaze, and by
the fire that flashed from her eyes at once knew that she was
Minerva. “Why are you here,” said he, “daughter of aegis-bearing
Jove? To see the pride of Agamemnon, son of Atreus? Let me tell
you—and it shall surely be—he shall pay for this insolence with his
life.”
And Minerva said, “I come from heaven, if you will hear me, to
bid you stay your anger. Juno has sent me, who cares for both of
you alike. Cease, then, this brawling, and do not draw your sword;
rail at him if you will, and your railing will not be vain, for I
tell you—and it shall surely be—that you shall hereafter receive
gifts three times as splendid by reason of this present insult.
Hold, therefore, and obey.”
“Goddess,” answered Achilles, “however angry a man may be, he
must do as you two command him. This will be best, for the gods
ever hear the prayers of him who has obeyed them.”
He stayed his hand on the silver hilt of his sword, and thrust
it back into the scabbard as Minerva bade him. Then she went back
to Olympus among the other gods, and to the house of aegis-bearing
Jove.
But the son of Peleus again began railing at the son of Atreus,
for he was still in a rage. “Wine-bibber,” he cried, “with the face
of a dog and the heart of a hind, you never dare to go out with the
host in fight, nor yet with our chosen men in ambuscade. You shun
this as you do death itself. You had rather go round and rob his
prizes from any man who contradicts you. You devour your people,
for you are king over a feeble folk; otherwise, son of Atreus,
henceforward you would insult no man. Therefore I say, and swear it
with a great oath—nay, by this my sceptre which shalt sprout
neither leaf nor shoot, nor bud anew from the day on which it left
its parent stem upon the mountains—for the axe stripped it of leaf
and bark, and now the sons of the Achaeans bear it as judges and
guardians of the decrees of heaven—so surely and solemnly do I
swear that hereafter they shall look fondly for Achilles and shall
not find him. In the day of your distress, when your men fall dying
by the murderous hand of Hector, you shall not know how to help
them, and shall rend your heart with rage for the hour when you
offered insult to the bravest of the Achaeans.”
With this the son of Peleus dashed his gold-bestudded sceptre on
the ground and took his seat, while the son of Atreus was beginning
fiercely from his place upon the other side. Then uprose
smooth-tongued Nestor, the facile speaker of the Pylians, and the
words fell from his lips sweeter than honey. Two generations of men
born and bred in Pylos had passed away under his rule, and he was
now reigning over the third. With all sincerity and goodwill,
therefore, he addressed them thus:—
“Of a truth,” he said, “a great sorrow has befallen the Achaean
land. Surely Priam with his sons would rejoice, and the Trojans be
glad at heart if they could hear this quarrel between you two, who
are so excellent in fight and counsel. I am older than either of
you; therefore be guided by me. Moreover I have been the familiar
friend of men even greater than you are, and they did not disregard
my counsels. Never again can I behold such men as Pirithous and
Dryas shepherd of his people, or as Caeneus, Exadius, godlike
Polyphemus, and Theseus son of Aegeus, peer of the immortals. These
were the mightiest men ever born upon this earth: mightiest were
they, and when they fought the fiercest tribes of mountain savages
they utterly overthrew them. I came from distant Pylos, and went
about among them, for they would have me come, and I fought as it
was in me to do. Not a man now living could withstand them, but
they heard my words, and were persuaded by them. So be it also with
yourselves, for this is the more excellent way. Therefore,
Agamemnon, though you be strong, take not this girl away, for the
sons of the Achaeans have already given her to Achilles; and you,
Achilles, strive not further with the king, for no man who by the
grace of Jove wields a sceptre has like honour with Agamemnon. You
are strong, and have a goddess for your mother; but Agamemnon is
stronger than you, for he has more people under him. Son of Atreus,
check your anger, I implore you; end this quarrel with Achilles,
who in the day of battle is a tower of strength to the
Achaeans.”
And Agamemnon answered, “Sir, all that you have said is true,
but this fellow must needs become our lord and master: he must be
lord of all, king of all, and captain of all, and this shall hardly
be. Granted that the gods have made him a great warrior, have they
also given him the right to speak with railing?”
Achilles interrupted him. “I should be a mean coward,” he cried,
“were I to give in to you in all things. Order other people about,
not me, for I shall obey no longer. Furthermore I say—and lay my
saying to your heart—I shall fight neither you nor any man about
this girl, for those that take were those also that gave. But of
all else that is at my ship you shall carry away nothing by force.
Try, that others may see; if you do, my spear shall be reddened
with your blood.”
When they had quarrelled thus angrily, they rose, and broke up
the assembly at the ships of the Achaeans. The son of Peleus went
back to his tents and ships with the son of Menoetius and his
company, while Agamemnon drew a vessel into the water and chose a
crew of twenty oarsmen. He escorted Chryseis on board and sent
moreover a hecatomb for the god. And Ulysses went as captain.
These, then, went on board and sailed their ways over the sea.
But the son of Atreus bade the people purify themselves; so they
purified themselves and cast their filth into the sea. Then they
offered hecatombs of bulls and goats without blemish on the
sea-shore, and the smoke with the savour of their sacrifice rose
curling up towards heaven.
Thus did they busy themselves throughout the host. But Agamemnon
did not forget the threat that he had made Achilles, and called his
trusty messengers and squires Talthybius and Eurybates. “Go,” said
he, “to the tent of Achilles, son of Peleus; take Briseis by the
hand and bring her hither; if he will not give her I shall come
with others and take her—which will press him harder.”
He charged them straightly further and dismissed them, whereon
they went their way sorrowfully by the seaside, till they came to
the tents and ships of the Myrmidons. They found Achilles sitting
by his tent and his ships, and ill-pleased he was when he beheld
them. They stood fearfully and reverently before him, and never a
word did they speak, but he knew them and said, “Welcome, heralds,
messengers of gods and men; draw near; my quarrel is not with you
but with Agamemnon who has sent you for the girl Briseis.
Therefore, Patroclus, bring her and give her to them, but let them
be witnesses by the blessed gods, by mortal men, and by the
fierceness of Agamemnon’s anger, that if ever again there be need
of me to save the people from ruin, they shall seek and they shall
not find. Agamemnon is mad with rage and knows not how to look
before and after that the Achaeans may fight by their ships in
safety.”
Patroclus did as his dear comrade had bidden him. He brought
Briseis from the tent and gave her over to the heralds, who took
her with them to the ships of the Achaeans—and the woman was loth
to go. Then Achilles went all alone by the side of the hoar sea,
weeping and looking out upon the boundless waste of waters. He
raised his hands in prayer to his immortal mother, “Mother,” he
cried, “you bore me doomed to live but for a little season; surely
Jove, who thunders from Olympus, might have made that little
glorious. It is not so. Agamemnon, son of Atreus, has done me
dishonour, and has robbed me of my prize by force.”
As he spoke he wept aloud, and his mother heard him where she
was sitting in the depths of the sea hard by the old man her
father. Forthwith she rose as it were a grey mist out of the waves,
sat down before him as he stood weeping, caressed him with her
hand, and said, “My son, why are you weeping? What is it that
grieves you? Keep it not from me, but tell me, that we may know it
together.”
Achilles drew a deep sigh and said, “You know it; why tell you
what you know well already? We went to Thebe the strong city of
Eetion, sacked it, and brought hither the spoil. The sons of the
Achaeans shared it duly among themselves, and chose lovely Chryseis
as the meed of Agamemnon; but Chryses, priest of Apollo, came to
the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and brought with
him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of
Apollo, wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath, and he besought the
Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus who were their
chiefs.
“On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for
respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but
not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly
away. So he went back in anger, and Apollo, who loved him dearly,
heard his prayer. Then the god sent a deadly dart upon the Argives,
and the people died thick on one another, for the arrows went
everywhither among the wide host of the Achaeans. At last a seer in
the fulness of his knowledge declared to us the oracles of Apollo,
and I was myself first to say that we should appease him. Whereon
the son of Atreus rose in anger, and threatened that which he has
since done. The Achaeans are now taking the girl in a ship to
Chryse, and sending gifts of sacrifice to the god; but the heralds
have just taken from my tent the daughter of Briseus, whom the
Achaeans had awarded to myself.
“Help your brave son, therefore, if you are able. Go to Olympus,
and if you have ever done him service in word or deed, implore the
aid of Jove. Ofttimes in my father’s house have I heard you glory
in that you alone of the immortals saved the son of Saturn from
ruin, when the others, with Juno, Neptune, and Pallas Minerva would
have put him in bonds. It was you, goddess, who delivered him by
calling to Olympus the hundred-handed monster whom gods call
Briareus, but men Aegaeon, for he is stronger even than his father;
when therefore he took his seat all-glorious beside the son of
Saturn, the other gods were afraid, and did not bind him. Go, then,
to him, remind him of all this, clasp his knees, and bid him give
succour to the Trojans. Let the Achaeans be hemmed in at the sterns
of their ships, and perish on the sea-shore, that they may reap
what joy they may of their king, and that Agamemnon may rue his
blindness in offering insult to the foremost of the Achaeans.”
Thetis wept and answered, “My son, woe is me that I should have
borne or suckled you. Would indeed that you had lived your span
free from all sorrow at your ships, for it is all too brief; alas,
that you should be at once short of life and long of sorrow above
your peers: woe, therefore, was the hour in which I bore you;
nevertheless I will go to the snowy heights of Olympus, and tell
this tale to Jove, if he will hear our prayer: meanwhile stay where
you are with your ships, nurse your anger against the Achaeans, and
hold aloof from fight. For Jove went yesterday to Oceanus, to a
feast among the Ethiopians, and the other gods went with him. He
will return to Olympus twelve days hence; I will then go to his
mansion paved with bronze and will beseech him; nor do I doubt that
I shall be able to persuade him.”
On this she left him, still furious at the loss of her that had
been taken from him. Meanwhile Ulysses reached Chryse with the
hecatomb. When they had come inside the harbour they furled the
sails and laid them in the ship’s hold; they slackened the
forestays, lowered the mast into its place, and rowed the ship to
the place where they would have her lie; there they cast out their
mooring-stones and made fast the hawsers. They then got out upon
the sea-shore and landed the hecatomb for Apollo; Chryseis also
left the ship, and Ulysses led her to the altar to deliver her into
the hands of her father. “Chryses,” said he, “King Agamemnon has
sent me to bring you back your child, and to offer sacrifice to
Apollo on behalf of the Danaans, that we may propitiate the god,
who has now brought sorrow upon the Argives.”
So saying he gave the girl over to her father, who received her
gladly, and they ranged the holy hecatomb all orderly round the
altar of the god. They washed their hands and took up the
barley-meal to sprinkle over the victims, while Chryses lifted up
his hands and prayed aloud on their behalf. “Hear me,” he cried, “O
god of the silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla, and
rulest Tenedos with thy might. Even as thou didst hear me aforetime
when I prayed, and didst press hardly upon the Achaeans, so hear me
yet again, and stay this fearful pestilence from the Danaans.”
Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. When they had
done praying and sprinkling the barley-meal, they drew back the
heads of the victims and killed and flayed them. They cut out the
thigh-bones, wrapped them round in two layers of fat, set some
pieces of raw meat on the top of them, and then Chryses laid them
on the wood fire and poured wine over them, while the young men
stood near him with five-pronged spits in their hands. When the
thigh-bones were burned and they had tasted the inward meats, they
cut the rest up small, put the pieces upon the spits, roasted them
till they were done, and drew them off: then, when they had
finished their work and the feast was ready, they ate it, and every
man had his full share, so that all were satisfied. As soon as they
had had enough to eat and drink, pages filled the mixing-bowl with
wine and water and handed it round, after giving every man his
drink-offering.
Thus all day long the young men worshipped the god with song,
hymning him and chaunting the joyous paean, and the god took
pleasure in their voices; but when the sun went down, and it came
on dark, they laid themselves down to sleep by the stern cables of
the ship, and when the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn,
appeared they again set sail for the host of the Achaeans. Apollo
sent them a fair wind, so they raised their mast and hoisted their
white sails aloft. As the sail bellied with the wind the ship flew
through the deep blue water, and the foam hissed against her bows
as she sped onward. When they reached the wide-stretching host of
the Achaeans, they drew the vessel ashore, high and dry upon the
sands, set her strong props beneath her, and went their ways to
their own tents and ships.
But Achilles abode at his ships and nursed his anger. He went
not to the honourable assembly, and sallied not forth to fight, but
gnawed at his own heart, pining for battle and the war-cry.
Now after twelve days the immortal gods came back in a body to
Olympus, and Jove led the way. Thetis was not unmindful of the
charge her son had laid upon her, so she rose from under the sea
and went through great heaven with early morning to Olympus, where
she found the mighty son of Saturn sitting all alone upon its
topmost ridges. She sat herself down before him, and with her left
hand seized his knees, while with her right she caught him under
the chin, and besought him, saying—
“Father Jove, if I ever did you service in word or deed among
the immortals, hear my prayer, and do honour to my son, whose life
is to be cut short so early. King Agamemnon has dishonoured him by
taking his prize and keeping her. Honour him then yourself,
Olympian lord of counsel, and grant victory to the Trojans, till
the Achaeans give my son his due and load him with riches in
requital.”
Jove sat for a while silent, and without a word, but Thetis
still kept firm hold of his knees, and besought him a second time.
“Incline your head,” said she, “and promise me surely, or else deny
me—for you have nothing to fear—that I may learn how greatly you
disdain me.”
At this Jove was much troubled and answered, “I shall have
trouble if you set me quarrelling with Juno, for she will provoke
me with her taunting speeches; even now she is always railing at me
before the other gods and accusing me of giving aid to the Trojans.
Go back now, lest she should find out. I will consider the matter,
and will bring it about as wish. See, I incline my head that you
believe me. This is the most solemn that I can give to any god. I
never recall my word, or deceive, or fail to do what I say, when I
have nodded my head.”
As he spoke the son of Saturn bowed his dark brows, and the
ambrosial locks swayed on his immortal head, till vast Olympus
reeled.
When the pair had thus laid their plans, they parted—Jove to his
house, while the goddess quitted the splendour of Olympus, and
plunged into the depths of the sea. The gods rose from their seats,
before the coming of their sire. Not one of them dared to remain
sitting, but all stood up as he came among them. There, then, he
took his seat. But Juno, when she saw him, knew that he and the old
merman’s daughter, silver-footed Thetis, had been hatching
mischief, so she at once began to upbraid him. “Trickster,” she
cried, “which of the gods have you been taking into your counsels
now? You are always settling matters in secret behind my back, and
have never yet told me, if you could help it, one word of your
intentions.”
“Juno,” replied the sire of gods and men, “you must not expect
to be informed of all my counsels. You are my wife, but you would
find it hard to understand them. When it is proper for you to hear,
there is no one, god or man, who will be told sooner, but when I
mean to keep a matter to myself, you must not pry nor ask
questions.”
“Dread son of Saturn,” answered Juno, “what are you talking
about? I? Pry and ask questions? Never. I let you have your own way
in everything. Still, I have a strong misgiving that the old
merman’s daughter Thetis has been talking you over, for she was
with you and had hold of your knees this self-same morning. I
believe, therefore, that you have been promising her to give glory
to Achilles, and to kill much people at the ships of the
Achaeans.”
“Wife,” said Jove, “I can do nothing but you suspect me and find
it out. You will take nothing by it, for I shall only dislike you
the more, and it will go harder with you. Granted that it is as you
say; I mean to have it so; sit down and hold your tongue as I bid
you for if I once begin to lay my hands about you, though all
heaven were on your side it would profit you nothing.”
On this Juno was frightened, so she curbed her stubborn will and
sat down in silence. But the heavenly beings were disquieted
throughout the house of Jove, till the cunning workman Vulcan began
to try and pacify his mother Juno. “It will be intolerable,” said
he, “if you two fall to wrangling and setting heaven in an uproar
about a pack of mortals. If such ill counsels are to prevail, we
shall have no pleasure at our banquet. Let me then advise my
mother—and she must herself know that it will be better—to make
friends with my dear father Jove, lest he again scold her and
disturb our feast. If the Olympian Thunderer wants to hurl us all
from our seats, he can do so, for he is far the strongest, so give
him fair words, and he will then soon be in a good humour with
us.”
As he spoke, he took a double cup of nectar, and placed it in
his mother’s hand. “Cheer up, my dear mother,” said he, “and make
the best of it. I love you dearly, and should be very sorry to see
you get a thrashing; however grieved I might be, I could not help
for there is no standing against Jove. Once before when I was
trying to help you, he caught me by the foot and flung me from the
heavenly threshold. All day long from morn till eve, was I falling,
till at sunset I came to ground in the island of Lemnos, and there
I lay, with very little life left in me, till the Sintians came and
tended me.”
Juno smiled at this, and as she smiled she took the cup from her
son’s hands. Then Vulcan drew sweet nectar from the mixing-bowl,
and served it round among the gods, going from left to right; and
the blessed gods laughed out a loud applause as they saw him ing
bustling about the heavenly mansion.
Thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun they
feasted, and every one had his full share, so that all were
satisfied. Apollo struck his lyre, and the Muses lifted up their
sweet voices, calling and answering one another. But when the sun’s
glorious light had faded, they went home to bed, each in his own
abode, which lame Vulcan with his consummate skill had fashioned
for them. So Jove, the Olympian Lord of Thunder, hied him to the
bed in which he always slept; and when he had got on to it he went
to sleep, with Juno of the golden throne by his side.