"Here is good news for you, my lord King, about your lost son, Prince Laodamas. I met him last autumn among the Thesprotians of Epeirus, and found him in perfect health, blessed be the Gods! It appears that the Phoenician ship in which he sailed from Drepanum ran aground off rocky Corcyra in a gale; yet he managed to escape black death. Yes, the keel had broken adrift, and kept him afloat, clinging tightly to it, until the whitecapped waves subsided and he could paddle ashore with his hands. The King of Corcyra entertained your son royally, exclaiming that he was clearly a favourite of the Goddess Thetis; and soon discovered that they had an ancestor in common—Zacynthus, an early Trojan king, great-grandfather of the Princess Aegesta. He not only heaped treasures on Laodamas, but gave him a letter of introduction to another distant kinsman, King Pheidon of the Thesprotians, who proved hardly less generous. Your son has, in consequence, amassed a great store of gold and silver, amber, armour, ivory toys, goblets, cauldrons, and tripods: enough, one might say, to enrich his descendants until the tenth generation. When we met, he had just consulted Zeus's dove oracle at the Oaks of Dodona. I stood him several drinks, and he recommended me to you, my lord, and promised that I should find a ready market for my wares among your discriminating Elyman subjects. He hopes to be back here about the season of the first figs, though not earlier, because the oracle warned him—who can guess why?—against hurrying home. No, my lord, he had failed to save even his clothes from the wreck: he was wearing only a loincloth, and a coral amulet around his neck, when the hospitable people of Corcyra found him half dead on the beach, his long hair crusted with salt."
You can imagine what relief this news afforded my father, who clapped his hands like a child. Clytoneus buried his head in a wine cup and drank until he was tipsy. I was hastily summoned and charged with carrying the glad news to Ctimene, who by now had almost given up eating and drinking. She spent most of her time in bed, overcome by frequent fits of hysterical sobbing. Seldom have I taken a message more readily or been more rapturously thanked—or had so little confidence in its truth. Nothing seemed too good for the Hyrian merchant: my father summoned an all-Elyman Council and announced that on the following night a feast of homage to our benefactor would be held in the banqueting court. Each of the twelve tribes must send several representatives. A dozen sheep, eight boars, and two bullocks would be sacrificed, there would be no stint of wine and bread, and Demodocus, the most famous poet in Sicily, a blind Son of Blind Homer, had consented to sing of the Trojan War.
At least a hundred men attended the feast, all wearing their ceremonial robes. Glad hymns to Zeus arose while the animals were being slaughtered, flayed and roasted in the court of sacrifice. Demodocus, who is toothless as well as blind, sat in a silver-studded chair, backed against one of the cloister pillars, his seven-stringed oryx-horn lyre hanging from a peg within easy reach. Near by, on an inlaid table, Pontonous the butler had set a cup of wine to refresh him in his pauses between fyttes, and a basket of bread. In a half circle around the old man, at a decent distance, were ranged a score of beechwood trestle tables, waxed and polished, each supporting a great dish of well-scrubbed copper, on which lay steaming joints of mutton, pork and beef. Once again it occurred to me: how disgustingly men eat, hacking off strips of meat with daggers, and cramming them into their mouths until the juice runs down wrists and chins! A few used bread to wipe themselves clean; the remainder did not trouble. Pontonous kept the wine flowing, his sharp eye noting any cup or goblet set down empty. They were our best goblets. We are always afraid that when a banquet is over someone will have thoughtlessly carried off one of them, though all are stamped or engraved with the palace sign (which is a hound rending a fawn) and therefore easy to trace. Some are of silver, some of gold, some carved out of alabaster or liparite, three or four of Egyptian ware.
The Hyrian merchant, who claimed descent from King Minos's brother Sarpedon, was given the portion of honour, an unbroken length of beef chine, and a draught of our best dark wine in a rock-crystal goblet. Having downed a pint or two of this superlative drink, moderately tempered with water, he beat his breast, rapped his forehead, and exclaimed that he had forgotten to deliver several messages of affection from Laodamas to his wife, parents, and brothers, and to the principal citizens of Drepanum. He delivered these amid a respectful hush, and though the phrases were uncharacteristic of Laodamas, they gave pleasure. He also told us that Laodamas meant to sail home from Sandy Pylus in Elis.
Word now came to us women that our own feast was ready, so we trooped to the dining room downstairs. Men take pride in eating hugely on all occasions; and by way of politeness, at a dinner party, they bolt their food as though dying of hunger. We women make do with only half the food and drink, and are no less robust. Personally, I hate to see a well-born girl, however ravenous she may be, spilling wine or gravy on her dress; and if I catch one of my maids with her snout in the trough, as the saying goes, I send her to grind corn in our heaviest quern when the next mealtime is announced.
After the men had acknowledged themselves defeated by the plenty set before them, slaves went around carrying towels, sponges, and basins of warm water, into which a little vinegar had been poured, to wash the guests' hands; while others cleared the tables and took out the broken meats to an expectant crowd assembled in the court of sacrifice. Demodocus then struck up, and his song was the Departure of Odysseus for Troy, which he chose by way of honouring the Phocaeans, because Odysseus's grandfather Autolycus, their ancestor, is said to have lived on Phocian Parnassus, where stands Delphi, Apollo's prophetic seat. After invoking the Muses, whom Apollo had led down from the cold northern wilderness and entertained in his lofty Delphic halls, Demodocus described the arrival at Sparta of Queen Helen's suitors.
This was his story, and he had brought along two women tumblers who performed acrobatic feats in time to the music, and illustrated dramatic episodes with wordless mime.
When Helen, Leda's beautiful daughter, grew to womanhood, all the princes of Greece came with rich gifts to the palace of her foster father King Tyndareus, or sent their kinsmen to represent them. Argive Diomedes, fresh from his victory at Thebes, was there with the Aeacids Ajax and Teucer; Idomeneus, King of Crete; Achilles's cousin Patroclus; Menestheus the Athenian; and many others. Odysseus of Ithaca, Autolycus's grandson, came too, but empty-handed, knowing that he had not the least chance of success—for even though Castor and Pollux, Helen's brothers, wanted her to marry Menestheus of Athens, she would, of course, be given to Prince Menelaus, the richest of the Achaeans, represented here by Tyndareus's powerful son-in-law Agamemnon.
King Tyndareus sent no suitor away but, on the other hand, accepted none of the proffered gifts; fearing that his partiality for any one prince might set the others at odds. Odysseus asked him one day: "If I tell you how to avoid a quarrel will you, in return, help me to marry your niece Penelope, the daughter of my lord Icarius?" "It is a bargain," cried Tyndareus.
"Then," continued Odysseus, "my advice is: insist that all Helen's suitors swear to defend her chosen husband against whoever resents his good fortune." Tyndareus agreed that this was a prudent course. After sacrificing a horse, and jointing it, he made the suitors stand on its bloody pieces and repeat the oath which Odysseus had formulated; the joints were then buried at a place still called "The Horse's Tomb".
It is not known whether Tyndareus himself chose Helen's husband, or whether she declared her own preference by crowning him with a wreath. At all events, she married Menelaus, who became King of Sparta after the death of Tyndareus and the deification of the Dioscuri. Yet their marriage was doomed to failure: years before, while sacrificing to the Gods, Tyndareus had stupidly overlooked Aphrodite, who took her revenge by swearing that all three of his daughters—Clytaemnestra, Timandra and Helen—should become notorious for their adulteries.
Why, Demodocus asked, had Zeus and his aunt Themis the Titaness planned the Trojan War? Was it to make Helen famous for having embroiled Europe and Asia? Or to exalt the race of demi-gods, and at the same time to thin out the populous tribes which were oppressing the surface of Mother Earth? Alas, their reason must always remain obscure, but the decision had already been taken when Eris threw down a golden apple inscribed "For the Fairest!" at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis. Almighty Zeus refused to arbitrate in the ensuing dispute between Hera, Athene and Aphrodite, each of whom claimed it as her own, and let Hermes lead the Goddesses to Mount Ida, where Priam's long-lost son Paris would act as arbiter.
Paris was herding his cattle on Mount Gargarus, the highest peak of Ida, when Hermes appeared before him, accompanied by Hera, Athene and Aphrodite. Hermes delivered the golden apple of discord and Zeus's message, which ran: "Paris, since you are as handsome as you are wise in affairs of the heart, Zeus commands you to judge which of these Goddesses is the fairest, and to award her this golden prize."
Paris accepted the apple doubtfully. "How can a simple cattleman like myself become an arbiter of divine beauty?" he cried. "I shall divide this fruit equally between all three."
"No, no, you cannot disobey Almighty Zeus!" Hermes exclaimed. "Nor am I authorized to give you advice. Use your native intelligence!"
"So be it," sighed Paris. "But first I beg the losers not to grow vexed with me. I am only a human being, liable to make the stupidest mistakes."
The Goddesses all agreed to abide by his verdict.
"Am I to judge them just as they are?" Paris asked Hermes. "Or should they be naked?"
"The rules of the contest are for you to decide," Hermes answered with a wary smile.
"In that case, will they please disrobe?"
Hermes told the Goddesses to do so, and politely turned his back.
Aphrodite was soon ready, but Athene insisted that she should remove the famous magic girdle, which gave her an unfair advantage by making everyone fall in love with the wearer. "Very well," said Aphrodite spitefully. "I will, on condition that you remove your helmet—you look hideous without it."
"If I am permitted," announced Paris, clapping his hands for order, "I shall judge the competitors one at a time, and thus avoid distractive arguments. Come here, Divine Hera! Will you other two Goddesses be kind enough to leave us for a while?"
"Examine me conscientiously," said Hera, turning slowly around, and displaying her magnificent figure, "and remember that if you judge me the fairest, I will make you lord of all Asia, and the richest man alive."
"I am not to be bribed, my lady… Ah yes, thank you. Now I have seen all that I need to see. Come, Divine Athene!"
"Here I am," said Athene, striding purposefully forward; but, being no less modest than virginal, hid as much of her body as she could behind the Aegis. "Listen, Paris," she said, "if you are prudent enough to award me the prize, I will make you victorious in all your battles, besides being the handsomest and wisest man in the world."
"I am a humble herdsman, not a soldier," said Paris, a little annoyed by the interposition of the Aegis. "You know very well that peace reigns throughout Lydia and Phrygia, and that King Priam's sovereignty is unchallenged. But I promise to consider fairly your claim to the apple. Now you may put on your clothes and helmet again. Is Aphrodite ready?"
Aphrodite sidled up to Paris, who blushed because she came so close that they were almost touching. She smelt of nard and roses.
"Look carefully, please, pass nothing over… By the way, as soon as I saw you, I said to Hermes: 'Upon my word, there goes the handsomest man in Phrygia! Why does he waste himself here in the wilderness herding stupid cattle?' Well, why do you, Paris? Why not move into a city and lead a civilized life? What have you to lose by marrying someone like Helen of Sparta, who is almost as beautiful as I, and no less passionate? I am convinced that, once you two have met, she will abandon her home, her family, everything, to become your mistress. Surely, you have heard of Helen?"
"Never until now, my lady. I should be most grateful if you would describe her."
"Helen is fair and of a delicate complexion, having been hatched from a swan's egg. She can claim Zeus for a father, loves hunting and wrestling, caused one war while she was still a child—and when she came of age, all the princes of Greece were her suitors. At present she is wife to Menelaus, brother of the High King Agamemnon; but that makes no odds—you can have her if you like."
"How is that possible, if she is already married?"
"Heavens! How innocent you are! Have you never heard that it is my divine duty to arrange affairs of this sort? I suggest now that you tour Greece, taking my son Eros as your guide. Once you reach Sparta, he will oblige Helen to fall head over heels in love with you."
"Would you swear to that?" Paris asked excitedly.
Aphrodite took a solemn oath by the River Styx, and Paris, without a second thought, awarded her the golden apple.
By this judgement he incurred the unappeasable resentment of both Hera and Athene, who went off arm-in-arm to plot the destruction of Troy; while Aphrodite, a naughty smile on her matchless face, stood wondering how best to keep her promise.
"Elymans of Mount Eryx," cried Demodocus, "no goddess in the universe is so powerful as our Aphrodite!"
I disliked this extremely partial statement. The competition was only for the fairest, not for the wisest or the strongest; and Homer relates that when once Aphrodite presumed to fight on the Trojan plain she had to flee, wounded, from a mere mortal.
Demodocus replaced his lyre on the peg and began mumbling bread and sipping wine. My father coughed consequentially. "A very pretty story," he said, "and beautifully told, revered Demodocus. The Gods, who deprived you of both your eyes and all thirty-two of your teeth, have given you instead a splendid voice and an inexhaustible memory. But, confess, is this the whole truth? I cannot easily believe that the elopement of Priam's forty-eighth or forty-ninth son with a Spartan queen occasioned the Trojan War, which involved nearly every city in Greece and Asia Minor, and must have caused at least a hundred thousand casualties, one way or another. It was not even as if Paris attempted to seize the throne of Sparta. Tell me: what value in cattle or metal would you put on a wife who, after nine years of wedlock, had failed to bear Menelaus a son, and belonged to a notoriously adulterous family? His loss of conjugal rights could have been settled for ten or twenty pounds of gold at the outside."
"I repeat the story as it has come down to us from our ancestor, the divine Homer," said Demodocus shortly.
"Women, of course," my father persisted, "can cause serious local feuds, especially when they are heiresses, marriage to whom involves a transfer of property; but I cannot believe, either, that Helen's suitors would have committed themselves to an overseas war on behalf of Menelaus, whose choice as a bridegroom seemed a foregone conclusion, or that Paris's father and brothers would have agreed to defend Troy for ten years against them, rather than hand her back."
"All civil wars are dynastic wars, my lord King; all overseas wars are trade wars," agreed the portly Hyrian. "And Troy, which had been jointly founded by our Cretan ancestors, certain local Phrygians, and a force of Aeacids from Eastern Greece, was in its time the most important city of Asia. Troy commanded the Hellespont, and therefore controlled the rich trade of the Black Sea and beyond; gold, silver, iron, cinnabar, ship's timber, linen, hemp, dried fish, oil and Chinese jade. A great annual fair was held on the plain of the Scamander, to which the merchants of the world resorted; they all brought gifts to the King of Troy, who, in return, protected them while the fair was in progress, and supplied food and drinking water. The Trojan kings, however, being of Phrygian stock, would allow neither Greeks nor Cretans to trade directly with the Black Sea nations. A generation previously, Priam's father Laomedon had tried to prevent the Minyan ship Argo from sailing to fetch the Golden Fleece laid up in a temple at Colchis, but she slipped through; and the Sons of Homer themselves tell how Hercules, who was a member of her crew, afterwards disembarked in Phrygia and, gathering a few allies, took Troy by storm and punished Laomedon for his greed and obstinacy."
"Exactly," cried my father. "The story is as plain as the polished knob on that door! Those Cretans and Greek Aeacids as co-builders of Troy, which was designed to safeguard their trading interests in the Black Sea, found the entrance to the Hellespont barred: King Priam had erected strong forts at Sestus and Abydus to control the narrows. After protesting to him without success, they asked their Achaean allies to help them take sanctions, and promised, if the expedition proved successful, to share the spoils of the city with them. Agamemnon, High King of Mycenae, agreed to lead the expedition and persuaded Odysseus to join it, because Odysseus was King of the Ionian Islands, the home of my ancestor Zacynthus, one of the Cretan founders of Troy. So, at a conference held in the temple of the Spartan Goddess Helle, they sacrificed a horse to her and took oaths on the jointed pieces. They swore to free the straits honoured with her name—I refer to the Hellespont—for Greek navigation. I cannot think that any man of experience will challenge my argument. Pray now, Demodocus, continue your song, when you have well rinsed your gums and throat."
Demodocus replied: "King Alpheides, since you despise my tale of Paris's visit to the Spartan court, and his subsequent exploits in Phoenicia, I beg leave to omit this fytte tonight, and pass on to the less vexed account of Odysseus's departure for Troy."
"No, no! Pray do not omit a line of the cycle," cried my father, "merely on my account. I hold, of course, that the tale of Paris's behaviour at Sparta is neither particularly instructive nor particularly elevating: how he courted her with loud sighs and amorous glances, frequently setting his lips to that part of the goblet's rim from which she had drunk. Men and women should never dine together except on family occasions, do you not agree? And how he scrawled 'I love Helen!' in wine spilled on the table top; and how Aphrodite blinded Menelaus's eyes to this shameless performance. What a tale to sing in the hearing of impressionable young women! It is not even as though Paris's crimes were punished. He enjoyed Helen for ten years—until, in fact, her beauty had faded, as it must when a woman reaches the forties—then gained deathless fame by killing Achilles, the greatest champion alive; and, dying gloriously in battle, was buried with heroic honours. No, no! Use your reason, my lords and gentlemen. Let me record my studied opinion that Helen never went to Troy at all."
My father is a simple-minded, practical man, and my mother has always found it impossible to argue with him in one of his provocative moods. I should have liked to walk into the banqueting court and say: "Father, this is not the time to use the word 'reason'. Please understand that a Homeric song is sung to the lyre, and therefore intended for entertainment, no more and no less. Moral or historical instruction is quite another matter, given by priests and old councillors to young men who gather around them in the evening after the day's sport. On such occasions the lyre is left unstrung; no religious hush is observed; the young men rationally question and are rationally answered. Surely the Sons of Homer know what is required of them? They have been professional minstrels for a couple of hundred years at least, and few indeed of their stories are unconcerned with the mischief caused by love. That is what their hearers expect: songs of love and songs of battle. A fine entertainment a trade-war epic would make!"
Sing, ye countinghouse Muses, of so many talents of copper,
So many horsehide bales, and so many measures of broadcloth:
How the monopoly-mad King Priam defied the Achaeans,
Charging them fifty per cent on goods from the shores of the Euxine.
But shame held me back, and in any case my reproach would have fallen on deaf ears. An awkward silence ensued, and after a while Demodocus, somewhat crossly, skipped about fifteen hundred lines and began to declaim the Summons of Odysseus.
This is what he told us:
King Odysseus of Ithaca married Icarius's daughter Penelope, after winning a suitors' race along the Spartan street called Apheta. Icarius had called out: "One, two, three!" and then clapped his hands sharply, instead of shouting "Go!"—at which all the suitors but Odysseus started, and were at once disqualified. For Odysseus, warned beforehand, held his ground until the word "Go!", whereupon, being the only competitor left, he won the prize without exertion, despite the crookedness of his legs. It is said that Icarius begged Odysseus, in reward for this favour, to stay with him at Sparta and, when he declined, pursued the chariot in which the bridal pair were driving away, entreating them to come back. Odysseus, who had hitherto kept his patience, turned and told Penelope: "Either come to Ithaca of your own free will; or, if you prefer your father, dismount and let me drive on alone!" Penelope's reply was to draw down her veil. Icarius, realizing that Odysseus was within his rights, let her go, and raised an image to Modesty, which is still shown some four miles from the city of Sparta, at the place where this incident happened.
Now, Odysseus had been warned by an oracle: "If you sail to Troy, you will not come home again until the twentieth year, and then alone and destitute." He therefore exchanged his royal robes for filthy rags, and Agamemnon, Menelaus and Palamedes found him wearing a felt cap shaped like a half egg, ploughing with an ass and an ox yoked together, and flinging salt over his shoulder as he went. When he pretended not to recognize his distinguished guests, Palamedes snatched the infant Telemachus from Penelope's arms and set him on the ground before the advancing team, which were about to plough the tenth furrow. Odysseus hastily reined them in to avoid killing his only son and, being then reminded of the oath he had sworn on the bloody pieces of the horse, was obliged to join the expedition.
"I hope that this tale pleases you, my lord King," said Demodocus in peevish tones, when he had been roundly applauded.
"Your voice is delightful," my father answered, "but I cannot refrain from pointing out that this part of the cycle also carries little conviction. If Odysseus wished to feign madness, as an excuse for breaking his promise, which is the only sense that I can make of your story, why did he not act even more irresponsibly? After all, an ox and an ass are often yoked together by impoverished farmers—indeed, I have myself watched a needy Sican ploughing with an ox yoked to his own wife—and felt caps are a very reasonable wear for ploughmen, when the north-easter blows. Now, had I been Odysseus, I should have chosen a pig and a goat as my team, and dressed myself fantastically in owl feathers, a golden tiara, and snake-skin leggings—ha, ha!"
I trembled for shame to hear the venerable Demodocus addressed in this petulant and condescending style.
"And to plough ten straight furrows is hardly a sign of insanity—why did he not drive the team furiously in an ever-widening spiral? That would have been far more convincing, and would have greatly improved your story, which is not so laughable as one would expect from a Son of Homer."
"My lord King," said Demodocus, with a smile that came as close to a sneer as he dared, "have you not taken the wrong pig by the tail? My glorious ancestor, who composed this song, nowhere suggests that Odysseus feigned madness. Odysseus wore the felt hat of a mystagogue to show that he was prophesying, and all his actions were therefore symbolic. Ox and ass stand for Zeus and Cronus, or summer and winter, if you prefer; and each furrow sown with salt for a wasted year. He was demonstrating the futility of the war to which he had been summoned; but Palamedes, having superior prophetic powers, seized the infant Telemachus and halted the plough at the tenth furrow, thus showing that the decisive battle, which is the meaning of 'Telemachus', would be fought in the tenth year; as indeed it was."
Applause and laughter greeted my father's discomfiture. He blushed red to the ears, and showed his good sense by cutting Demodocus a large piece of roast pork, with plenty of crackling, which a page carried over in his fingers; and promised him a new gold-headed staff of cornel wood, to guide his steps and add to his distinction. But though he accepted the pork, Demodocus would never again play or sing in our Palace; honour forbade it. Some of the townsfolk even attributed our subsequent misfortunes to his ill will, because Apollo has granted all Sons of Homer the power to curse; yet I cannot think that Demodocus would have cursed us after accepting a gift offered in token of apology. We were left with Phemius, Demodocus's assistant, who had come from Delos a few years before and was still perfecting his repertory at the old man's knees; it was he who taught me to read and write in Chalcidian characters. So far Phemius's eyes remain unclouded; the family affliction overtakes a Son of Homer only when his hair begins to turn grey and when, as they say, the sap has ceased to rise. As for the Hyrian, my father insisted that each of the twelve clans should present him with some object of value—a cauldron, a tripod, a rich robe, or the like; and undertook, when these were collected, to supply a cedarwood chest to stow them in, and a gold goblet to mark his personal gratitude. Being King of the Elymans, he had every right to make these demands from the clan leaders, in payment for the protection he afforded them, and the justice he dispensed; while grudging him his power, they always obeyed, and he encouraged them to recoup their expenses by a general levy on the common people.
The Hyrian sailed away three days later, well content with his visit (though my father somehow forgot the goblet). He had disposed of his vases and Daedalic jewellery in the market place at a substantial profit, and made all the merchants laugh by his farewell speech: "May the Queen of Heaven shower blessings on you, and may you continue to give satisfaction to your wives and daughters!" We never saw him again. My mother and I, it should be said, were the only two people in Drepanum who disbelieved his story, but we said nothing to discourage Ctimene, who soon recovered her appetite and good spirits and went singing about the house. "I wonder how long my necklace will be," she said to my brother Clytoneus. "As long, do you think, as the one which Eurymachus's mother wears?"
"Honoured Sister-in-law," Clytoneus answered angrily, "though he finds one three ells long, the grief and anxiety caused by your demand for such a necklace will rob it of all beauty for me! If I were you, I should vow it to Apollo, who consented to guard the hateful necklace of Eriphyle and keep it from making further mischief among vain women."
"Nothing of the kind," cried Ctimene. "Laodamas would think me ungrateful."
Pondering on Aphrodite's victory, I decided that hers is a blind and mischievous power which makes its victims ridiculous and deprives them of all shame. I composed a story for my own amusement, basing it on a scandalous event in the early married life of Eurymachus's mother: how one day the Goddess told her husband, the Smith God Hephaestus, that she was off to visit her temple at Cyprian Paphos. "Do so, Wife; and I will take advantage of your absence to visit my temple at Lemnos," replied Hephaestus. But, knowing that she was an inveterate liar, he hurried back that same night and found her in bed with the Thracian War God Ares. Limping to his smithy, he forged two adamantine nets, thinner than gossamer and quite invisible. One of these he fastened underneath the bed, the other he hung from the beam above, afterwards silently gathering and uniting the edges to make an unbreakable cage around the drowsy pair. Then in a loud voice he called his fellow deities to witness this disgraceful act of adultery, and pressed Zeus for a divorce. Aphrodite, though she hid her blushes, was secretly pleased that Hermes and Poseidon had seen how beautiful she looked without even a shift, and how ready she was to deceive her husband. Hera and Athene turned away in disgust on hearing the news, and refused to attend this obscene peep show; but Aphrodite, putting a bold face on the matter, explained that making people fall in love, and doing so herself, was the divine task which she had been allotted by the Fates—who, then, could blame her? Presently Aphrodite's friends, the Graces, bathed and anointed her with fragrant oil, dressed her in soft, semi-transparent linen robes and set a wreath of roses on her head. She was now so irresistibly charming that not only did Hephaestus forgive her on the spot, but Hermes and Poseidon thereafter came calling on alternate days, whenever he was busy at the forge. Meeting Aphrodite in the corridors of Olympus, Athene called her an idle slut; whereupon Aphrodite flounced away in a temper, sat down at Athene's loom and tried her hand at weaving. Athene caught her in the act and, since weaving was the divine task allotted to her by the Fates, asked in exasperation: "What would you think if I worked on the sly at your shameful trade? Very well, then, dear colleague, go on weaving! I shall never do another hand's turn at the loom myself. And I hope that it will bore you to the point of misery!"
Then I wondered: "Are such jests against the Olympians permissible?" Only, I decided, when a god or goddess is worshipped in a manner offensive to public decency and good manners: when the adulteries of Aphrodite, the thefts and lies of Hermes, and the bloody-mindedness of Ares are perpetuated in the cults of these deities and quoted by foolish mortals to excuse their own depravity. Homer goes further than I would dare, in his disdain of the Olympians, whom he makes inflict punishments or bestow protection on mankind for mere caprice, rather than requiting them according to their moral deserts, and quarrel scandalously among themselves. Moreover, in the Iliad, Zeus sends a dream to gull Agamemnon, who has always behaved piously towards him; and, prompted by a divine conclave, Athene persuades Pandarus to commit an act of treachery; and Hera uses an erotic charm to distract Zeus's attention from the battle before Troy; and the Olympians laugh cruelly at the Smith God's lameness, caused by a devoted championship of his mother Hera against the indecent brutality of his stepfather.
Finding such anecdotes frankly irreligious, I close my ears and mind when they are declaimed in our Palace. My father once laughed at me for this and explained that Homer is far from being irreligious: in the Iliad, on the contrary, he has satirized the new theology of the Dorian barbarians. For these Sons of Hercules, having dethroned the Great Goddess Rhea—once acknowledged as the Sovereign of the World—had awarded her sceptre to the Sky God Zeus; and made him the head of a divine family composed of deities cultivated by their subject tribes, namely Hera of Argos, Poseidon of Euboea, Athene of Athens, Apollo of Phocis, Hermes of Arcadia, and so on. Homer, explained my father, secretly worshipped this earlier Goddess and deplored the moral confusion which the sack of her religious centres had caused, caricaturing the Dorian chieftains in the shameless, ruthless, treacherous, lecherous, boastful persons of the Greek leaders.
Historically, my father may be right, as when he criticized the Homeric version of Helen's flight to Troy. Yet the Zeus, the Hera, the Poseidon, the Athene and the Apollo whom I worship in my heart, and whom he honours at the altar of sacrifice, are noble-minded, just and trustworthy deities. For me, Hermes is a courteous messenger and conductor of souls, no thief; Ares fights in defence of good causes only; Aphrodite…
Yes, I confess that Aphrodite presents mankind with a difficult problem. I acknowledge her dreadful power, as I acknowledge the power of Hades, King of the Underworld; but ought I not to condemn Helen, Clytaemnestra, and Penelope for defiling their husbands' nuptial couches and becoming a reproach to their sex, rather than smile and say: "They were loyal devotees of Aphrodite, scorning the ties of marriage and home the better to honour her"? The Nasamonians of Libya, the Moesynoechians of Pontus, the Gymnasiae of the Balearic Islands and similarly promiscuous peoples may worship her with moral consistence; no law-abiding Greek can do so.
Nevertheless, I sacrificed a young she-goat to Aphrodite on the following day, burning its thigh bones on juniper billets; and vowed to take an offering up to her temple when I had the opportunity. She resides there between the spring visit of the quails and the vintage season; but, because her mountain top is cold and cloudy during most of the winter, she afterwards flies off, they say, to Libya, riding in a chariot drawn by white doves. Her priestesses and eunuchs then seek their warm college on the plain, bringing with them the image enclosed in a cedarwood chest, the golden honeycomb said to have been Daedalus's own votive offering to Elyme, and the sacred dovecotes; there to live as chastely for the next six months as the attendants of Artemis or Athene. The Goddess's annual ascent of Eryx and her subsequent descent are marked by scenes of wild abandonment to her power, especially among the Sicans. My father has done his best to suppress these revels, which raise vexatious problems of paternity; but without success. Only if some national disaster occurs in winter does the Goddess reascend the mountain, calling back her priestesses, eunuchs, image honeycomb and doves; and is then propitiated with costly sacrifices, while the eunuchs whip one another until the blood flows, howling ecstatically. I hate the whole performance.
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