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INGHAVKD FOP» THE ENGLISH tXASSirS.
PI-nr.lXIICD BT SAMITEL JOllKSON t^ SON
MAWCHESTKR.
ADVENTURES
TELEMACHUS.
THE SON OF ULYSSES.
FROM THE FRENCH OK
SALIGNAC DE LA MOTHE-FENELON<>
AHCHBISHOP OP CAMBRAY.
BY
JOHN HAWKESWORTH, LLeO*
WITH A LIF3 OF THE AUTHOR,
AWD
BEMAEKS ON EPIC POETRY^
AND ON THE EXCELLENCE fifl^ELISIiACHUS.
MANCHESTER:
PRINTKD AND I'UBLISHKD
BY THOMAS JOHNSON. OLDHAM STREET.
MDCCCXLVIL
JvilN.
T5Ef
LIFE OF FENELON.
Francois dk Salignac he Lamotte-Fenelow, was descended
of an ancient and illustrious familVi and born at the castle of
Fenelon in Perigord, on the 6th of August, Ifi51. Under the
eyes of a virtuous father, he advanced in his literary studies
with equal rapidity and success; and being from childhood
nurtured in classical antiquity, and in particular familiarized
in his solitude with tlie masterpieces of Grecian genius, his
taste was formed on the purest models, whilst his benign geniua
was simultaneously developed. At twelve years of age he was
»eiit to the University of Cahors ; and afterwards went to
Paris, to complete his education for the vocation to which he
was destined, where he remained under the care of his uncle,
Anthony, Marquis of Fenelon, lieutenant-general of the king's
firmies. At nineteen, he underwent a public examination,
along with Bossuct, afterwards so celebrated, and preached
before a distinguished auditory, who listened to him with a
mixture of surprise and admiratiot^^ But this premature
reputation rather alarmed than gracifflrthe Marquis of Fene-
lon, who was fearful that his nephew's virtuous disposition
might be corrupted by this early applause. He therefore
induced him to retire, for a time, to the Seminary of St Sulpice,
and to place himself under the care of the Abbe Trousou, the
superior of the establishment. In this retreat, Fenelon im.
bibed the evangelical spirit, and at the age of twenty-four
entered into holy orders, and commenced the functions of his
ministry in the parish of St Sulpice. Tliree years after, he
10263y^
U LIFE OF FENELON.
was chosen by the Archbishop of Paris to be the superior to
the Nouvelles Catholiques, or newly-converted women in Paris.
The duties and cares of this employment, in which he buried
his genius during ten years, prepared him for the composition
of his first work, entitled Traite de VEduchtion des Filks (on
the Education of Daughters), a masterpiece of delicacy and of
reason, which has not been equalled by the author of Emile
and painter of Sophie. This work was intended for the
Duchess of Beauvilliers, the pious mother of a numerous
family, and was published in 1639. In the modest obscurity
of his ministry, Fenelon had already formed with the Dukes
of Beauvilliers and of Chev reuse that virtuous friendship
which resisted equally the seductions of favour and the frowns
of disgrace, the smiles of the court and the decree of exile.
But in the case of Bossuet he met with an attachment which
was destined to be much less durable. Admitted into famili.
arity with this great man, Fenelon studied his genius and his
life ; and the example of Bossuet, whose polemical religion
exercised itself in controversies and conversions, probably
suggested to him the Traite du Ministere des Paxteurs (on the
Duties of the Pastors of the Church), a work in which he
combats the heretics with a moderation which formed no part
of the character of his illustrious model. The subject, the
merit of this work, and the all-powerful suffrage of Bossuet in
its favour, induced Louis XIV. to confide to Fenelon the
sharge of a new mission to Poitou (1683). The rigorous uni-
formity which the French monarch was desirous of establish-
ing in matters of religion, and the resistance which sprung
from the oppressive measures adopted for this purpose, oftea
obliged the monarch to cause his missionaries be supported
by troops. Fenelon, however, not only rejected peremptorily
the co-operation of the dragoons, but even reserved to himself
the choice of the ecclesiastical colleagues who should share
with him in the ministry of persuasion and gentleness. He
converted without persecuting, and made the faith of which
lie was the apostle an object of love instead of hatred. The
importance which was then attached to such missions fixed
all eyes upon Fenelon^ho had so happily acquitted himself
of that entrusted to h|||pt:are.
A great object was now presented to his ambition and his
talents. The dauphin, grandson of Louis XIV., had at length
passed the period of childhood, and the king was looking out
for a person to whom the education of the young prince might
be confided. This was in the year 1699. By the favour of
Madame de Maintenon, virtue obtained the preference in this
appointment. M. de Beauvilliers was named governor, and
he tecoramended to the king Fenelon as preceptor of the
LIFE OF FENELON. Ill
young prince. These virtuous friends, seconded by the atten-
tions of men worthy of imitating them, commenced the task
of educating the future king ; and history attests that there
was never seen a more perfect concurrence of principle and
exertion. But Feneion, by the natural superiority of his
genius, formed the soul of this reunion ; it w;»s he who, trans-
ported by the hope of one day realizing the beau ideal of a
prince on the throne, and viewing the happiness of France as
in a great measure dependent on the education of its future
sovereign, destroyed with admirable art all the dangerous
germs which nature and the premature sentiment of power
had implanted in his youthful breast, and gradually moulded
an almost indomitable character to the habit of the most salu.
tary virtues. This system of education, precious vestiges of
which remain in some of the writings of Feneion, appears to
have been a masterpiece of that genius which devotes itself to
advance the happiness of mankind. When brought into the
midst of the court, Feneion, without interming ing in its
intrigues, secured general admiration by the graces of his
brilliant and ready wit, and the charm of his noble and elo-
quent conversation. In his character the apostle and the great
lord seemed to be strangely united. Imagination and genius
escaped him on all occasion-; ; and the most refined politeness
at once embellished and rendered pardonable in the eyes of
courtie s, the asceudency of his talents. This personal supe-
riority, indeed, excited much more admiration than even the
writings which i)roceeded from his pen ; and, when he was
chosen member of the Academy, it was made the subject o.
eloquent commendation. " On sent," says La Bruyere, writ-
ing of him soon afterwards, " la force et I'ascendant de ce rare
esi)rit, soit qu'il preche de genie et sans p -eparation, soit qu'il
prononce uu discours etudie et oratoire, soit qu'il explique
ses pensees dans la conversation ; toujonrs maitre de I'oreille
et du coeur de ceux qui I'ecoutent, il ne leur permet pas
d'envier ni tant d'elevation, ni tant de faculte de delicatesse
de politesse " This ascendency of virtue, of grace, and of
genius, which excited in the hearts of the friends of Feneion a
tenderness mixed with enthusiasm, and which had even won
Madame de Maintenon, in spite of her distrust and reserve,
proved altogether unavailing against the j)repossessions or
Louis XIV. This monarch, no doubt, esteemed the man to
whom he had confided the education of his grandson, but he
never had any relish for his society. It is supposed, indeed,
that the brilliant and ready elocution of Feneion was distasteful
to Loui-, iiiti)leraiit as he was of any sort of pre-eminence
except his own. But if we cast our eyes on the letter in w hich
Feneion, in an expansion of confidence, informed Madame de
IV LIFE OF FENELON.
Maintenon " that Louis XIV. had no idea of his duties as a
king," we shall probably find, in the expression of this honest
but uncourtly opinion, a better explanation of the aversion of
a monarch accustomed to adulation, than in any supposed
jealousy of the superiority of his conversational powers. Fene-
lon passed five years in the eminent situation of preceptor to
the dauphin, without asking or receiving any thing; and,
indeed, during his residence at court he had preserved the
most irreproachable disinterestedness. Louis XIV., however,
•who knew how to recompense merit, even though its possessor
might not be personally agreeable to himself, gave him the
Abbey of St Valery, and some months afterwards, in 1694,
named Fenelon Archbishop of Cambrai, to which he was con
eecrated by Bn-ssuet, Bishop of Meaux, in 1695.
But at this moment of favour and prosperity his credit was
destined to receive a blow, which would have inflicted a mortal
wound on a less inviolable reputation. Fenelon, whose natu-
ral temperament disposed him to cherish a lively and spiritual
devotion, had for some time fancied that he recognised some
of his own principles in the mouth of the pious Madame Guyon,
whose writings and discourses on grace and on pure love, were
at first the cause of her persecution, but which afterwards ob-
tained for her the friendship of the Duke of Beauvilliers, and
to be received by Madame de Maintenon, and authorized to
disseminate her doctrine in St Cyr. This exasperated the
inexorable Bossuet, who loved not the mystical subtilfiesand
refinements concerning divine love, with which the lively and
tender imagination of Fenelon was captivated, and he there-
fore had Madame Guyon arrested, interrogated, and con-
iemned ; and endeavoured to bring it about that the new
Archbishop of Cambrai should himself condemn the errors of
woman who had been his friend. Fenelon, however, refused,
both from conscience and delicacy, to gratify his antagonist in
this particular. Fearing to compromise opinions which were
dear to him, and wishing to manage and restrain one whose
only offence appeared to consist in some venial exaggeration
about the love of God, and perhaps also shocked at the theo-
logical haughtiness of Bossuet, who pressed upon him as if for
the purpose of proselytism, he stood upon the defensive, and
published his Mnximes des Saintes, which may be regarded as
«n indirect apology for, or even as a subdued exposition of, the
Vrinciples of Madame Guyon. In an age when a religious
opinion was a political event, the first appearance of this work
excited murmurs of astonishment ; and all those who had
been secretly envious of the genius and the promotion of Fene-
lon, declared loudly against the errors of his theology. Bossuet,
a man incapable of indulging mean or unworthy sentiments.
LIFE OF FENELON. ▼
but at the same time inflexible, impatient of contradiction, and
rejrardless of all external observances, when he believed the
faith to be compromised, denounced to Louis XIV. in the
midst of his court, the alleged heresy of the Archbishop of
Cambrai ; and at the moment when this attack was made upon
Fenclon, the burning of his palace at Cambrai, and the conse-
quent loss of his library, manuscripts, and papers, put his
patience to a new trial, yet only drew from him the touching
remark, " It is better that the fire should have consumed my
dwelling than the cottage of a poor labourer." Nevertheless,
Bossuct, committed by his declaration to the king, prepared to
pursue his rival, and seemed eager to extort from him a recan,
tation ; whilst, on the other hand, Madame dc Maintenon-
hitherto the friend and protectress of Fenelon, treated bin
with the greatest coldness. In the mean time Fenelon sub
initted his book to the judgment of the holy see. Bossuet,
however, having already composed remarks, in which bitter
atid vehement censure is surrounded with ostentatious expres-
sions of friendship and regret, proposed a conference ; but this
Fenelon declined, preferring to defend his book at the tribunal
to which he had appealed. It was then that he received orders
to quit the court and retire into his diocese; a circumstanc*
which occasioned great grief to the Duke of Burgundy. Not-
withstanding the evident desire of the monarch, the court of
Rome hesitated to condemn an archbishop so illustrious as
Fenelon. But the repugnance evinced by Innocent VIII. only
served to stimulate the talents of the accuser and accused ;
and, whilst the judges (a commission consisting of ten car-
dinals) remained undecided, the writings of the two adver-
saries succeeded one another with prodigious rapidity. The
contest had, in fact, now changed its character. After having
exhausted the dogma, Bossuet threw himself upon the facts ;
and the Relation du Quietisme, written with equal spirit and
malignity, seemed calculated to involve Fenelon in a portion
of the ridicule which became attached to Madame Guyon.
The .Abbe Bossuet, an unworthy nephew of the Bishop of
Meaux, extended still farther these personal inculpations, and,
having collected some odious rumours, sought to impeach the
purity of Fenelon's character. Never did the indignation of
a virtuous and calumniated spirit display itself in greater elo-
quence. Fenelon, in his defence, demolished those vile accu-
sations ; and it required new letters from Louis XIV., prepared
by Bossuet, and new intrigues, carried even to the extent of
menace, to extort from the court of Rome a reluctant con.
demnation, which, when obtained, was found to be softened
both in the form and in the expressions. But the long and
glorious resistance of the Arch'^i^hop of Cambrai had exasper.
n LIFE OF FENELON.
ated to the utmost the resentment of Louis XIV. ; and the
hesitation of the court of Rome to condemn him, rendered his
disgrace at that of France more irrecoverable than ever.
When the brief, so long delayed, and obtained after so much
discussion and intrigue, at length arrived in 1699, Fenelon
hastened to subscribe it, and to ratify his own condemnation
by a mandatory letter, conceived in the most touching and
simple language, although Bosguet did not fail to discover in
it much parade and ambiguity.
The modest submission of Fenelon, his silence, his episcopal
virtues, and the admiration which these had inspired, would
not, in all probability, have re-opened to him the doors of the
court of Louis XIV. ; but an unexpected event, which occurred
at this time, served to irritate that monarch more than ever
against him. The Tele/naque, composed seve-al years pre-
viously, during the period of his favour, was published some
months after the affair about Quietism, through the infidelity
of a domestic who had been employed to transcribe the manu-
script, and who, it appears, had contrived to take a copy for
himself. The work, though suppressed in France, was repro-
duced by the presses of Holland, and obtained throughout all
Europe a success which malignity rendered injurious to Louis
XIV., by seeking in it allusions to the conquests and misfor-
tunes of his reign. This prince, who had always disliked the
political notions of Fenelon, and had even described him as
" un bel esprit chimerique," regarded the author of Telemaque
as a detractor of his glory, who to the guilt of ingratitude
added the more irritating injustice of satire. There cannot
be a greater absurdity, however, than to construe this produc-
tion as a political satire, or to seek in it for allegorical and
premeditated censure of Louis XIV. ; all the details being, in
fact, combined in the best manner imaginable for disconcerting
allusions, and avoiding, as much as possible, the inevitable
fatality of resemblances. We are convinced indeed, that this
generous precaution occupied the mind of Fenelon whilst
composing the work, and that, writing for the happiness of
nations, he selected those primitive manners, and antique
forms of society, which are the most remote from the picture
of life presented by modern Europe, but which served equally
well to embody his poetical conception, and to suggest those
instructive lessons which it was his grand object to inculcate.
Besides, why should he have thought of representing Louis
XIV. under the character of the imprudent Idomeneus, or
that of the sacrilegious Adrastus, rather than under the mas-
terly delineation of the great and virtuous Sesostris?
Fenelon, however, soon learned the indelible impression
v/hicb Telemaque had produced upon the h«art of the king;
LIFE OF FENELON. VU
and, resigned to his banishment from court, which he had
sometimes the weakness to call his disgrace, he sought to con-
sole himself for the loss of the royal favour liy endeavouring
to difTuse happiness around him in his retreat at Carabrai.
The sanctity of the ancient bishops, the severity of the primi-
tive church, the attraction of the most indulgent virtue, the
charm of the most captivating politeness, the utmost eager,
ness to fulfil even the humblest duties of the ministry, inde-
fatigaWe goodness, inexhaustible charity ; such are the traits
of Fcnelon's character as delineated by an eloquent and virtu.
ous prelate, who knew him well, and who dwells with enthu-
siasm on the picture which he has drawn of his illustrious
friend The first care of Fenelon was to instruct the clergy or
a seminary which he had founded ; nor did he even disdain to
teach their catechism to the children of his diocese. Like the
bishops of ancient days, he often ascended the pulpit of his
cathedral, and, trusting at once to his faith and his feelings,
spoke without preparation, diffusing all the treasures of his
natural eloquence. When the misf.^rtunes of the war, which
chastised the ambition of Louis XIV, brought the allied
army into the diocese of Cambrai, the occasion called for new
efforts and new sacrifices upon the part of the good archbishop,
who, by his wisdom, his firmness, and the nobleness of his
language, inspired the hostile commanders with a salutary
respect for the unfortunate provinces of Flanders. Marl,
borough and Kugdne indeed were worthy of .listening to the
voice of the gieat man whose genius and worth they so well
appreciated.
The situation of Cambrai on the frontiers of France attracted
to the archiepiscopal residence many strangers, none of whom
approached or quitted its lord without being affected with a
sort of religio\is admiration. Not to mention Kamsay, who
passed several ye irs under his roof, the celebrated Marshall
Munich, and the unfortunate Chevalier de St George, called
James III., experienced the delight of his society, and derived
instruction from his superior sagacity. By the wise councils
which he gave to James III , Fenelon showed his high esteem
for the Fnglish constitution, powerful alike against despotism
■Son the one hand, and anarchy on the other. The archbishop
was exempt from that narrow patriotism which undervalues
whatever exists beyond the frontiers. His virtuous and bene-
volent spirit concerned itself for the welfare of the whole
human family. " I love my family," said he, " better than
myself; I love my country better than my family; and I love
the human race better than my country." The humanity of
Fenelon was not, however, confined to cxaggeiated specula-
tions and impracticable generalities, which always suppose
▼Ill LIFE OF FENELOX.
great ignorance of the details of human affairs. His politics
were not the dream of a virtuous but fanciful mind. He had
seen and judged both the court and the world; he was ac-
quainted with the history of all ages ; and he was endowed
with an independence of spirit which raised him above the
prejudices of his age and nation. In the different memoir
which he addressed to the Duke of Beauvilliers may be seen
proofs of the wisdom of his views respecting the greatest in-
terests, particularly the succession to the throne of Spain, the
policy best suited to Philip V., the views of the allies, the con-
duct of the war, and the necessity of peace. The disastrous
war of the succession having brought the theatre of action
near to the archiepiscopal residence of Fenelon, afforded him
an opportunity, after ten years' absence, of seeing the young
prince whom he had formed, and who had just assumed the
command of the French troops. It cannot be disguised, how-
ever, that, in the command of armies, the pupil of Fenelon
fell far below the promise of his youth and the opinion ot
France respecting him. The letters of the archbishop to the
Duke of Burgundy, at this decisive epoch, evince a severe
frankness, and show the ascendency which the master had
acquired over the mind of the scholar ; so much so, indeed, as
to create a suspicion that the young prince, though well in
formed, docile, and virtuous, was of too timid a genius. In
these letters also severe judgments are pronounced on all the
generals who th9n formed the hope of France. Fenelon, in
fact, though he possessed great sweetness of disposition, had
not a little of domination in his character. His ideas wer
absolute and decisive ; the promptitude and force of his mind
rendered his judgments energetic and inflexible. But tht
continual attention which he gave to the political interests ot
France in no degree diminished his zeal for the affairs of reli
gion and the church ; and those who have been accustomed
to honour him as a philosopher, will perhaps be surprised to
find him entering into all ecclesiastical discussions with an
ardour equal to that of Bossuet himself When the unfortu-
nate disputes about Jansenism were, after a long interruption,
revived, Fenelon wrote against men who did not imitate him
in his respect for the court of Rome, and he soon found himself-
er gaged in a controversy scarcely less animated than that
which had taken place concerning Quietism.
The courtiers supposed that in acting thus Fenelon had
views of ambition and flattery. But if he had desired to regain
the favour of the sovereign, he employed, about the same
period, a much more effectual method for accomplishing his
object, by feeding, at his own expense, the whole French army
during the disastrous winter of 1709. His aim in both case*
i.IFE OF FENELON. IX
wan to serve religion and his country, The same sentimenttt
dictated the view which he presented the following year of tha
evils of France, and also the project of associating the nation
with the government, by convoking an assembly of the notables,
a proposition remarkable in itself, and still more so when con-
sidcred in connexion with subsequent events. In the memoir
which contains the exposition of this scheme, Fenelon shows
that he had rightly estimated the strength and the weakness
of despotism, as well as the salutary power of liberty. Mean-
while, an unexpected event appeared to accelerate the mo-
ment when the councils of Fenelon were to govern France.
The grand dauphin died, and the Duke of Burgundy, long
oppressed by the mediocrity of his father, saw himself all at
once brought close to the throne of which he was heir, and to
the king, wliose stay and support he now became. His virtues,
freed from a jealous tutelage, had at length scope for action ;
tnd the pupil of Fenelon showed himself worthy of his master.
Full of hope and joy, the latter wrote to the young prince,
■who. according to St Simon, reigned in advance, " II no
faut pas que tons snient a un seul, mais un seul doit etre i
tous pour faire Icur bonheur;" language which, we believe
has but rarely been addressed to the heirs apparent of thrones
But whilst Fenelon was devising plans for promoting the
welfare of France, and advancing the glory of its future sove-
reign, all his hopes were blasted by the sudden death of the
young heir of the old king, who remained unshaken amidst all
the humiliations of his glory, and all thedisastersof his family.
Fenelon survived this event some time, and, notwithstanding
his grief, laboured to prevent the evils incident to a long and
inevitable minority. In several contidential memoirs which
he wrote on this subject, we discover the novelty of his politi.
cal views, and that spirit of liberty which, in his age, was not
the least of its innovations. One of ttiese papers is devoted to
» discussion of the probabilities of the guilt of the Duke of
Orleans, and whether he was actuated by an ambition which
required other crimes besides that which had been laid to hi.s
charge; a memoir in which, without dwelling upon all the
horrors of the popular reports, he judges severely the scanda-
lous profligacy of the Duke of Orleans, and condemns his vices
in the tone a.id language which it became a Christian bishop
to assume. The last public discussion in which Fenelon en-
g.iged related to the bull Unigcnitus, which, as is well known,
gave rise to much controversy, and occupied his attention to-
wards the close of his life. Malignity lias supposed that the
real of Fenelon in this matter was sharpened by an old grudge
against the Cardinal de Noailles ; but when the conduct of
this virtuous and excellent man seems to be authorized by hij
X LlfE OF FENELON.
duty, it is not necessary to explain it by reference to his alleged
weaknesses. Faitliful above all things to his episcopal charac-
ter, he conceived himself bound to combat errors which he
considered as calculated to disturb the consciences of men, and
to interrupt the repose of the church. But his wine of life
was now upon the lees. His friends, like the travellers on the
bridge in the Vision of Mirza, had dropped off one by one, till
the Duke of Beauvilliers aloiie remained to him ; and when
the latter was also removed by death, Fenelon followed him to
the grave at the brief interval of four months. This great
and good man expired on the 7th January, 1715, at the age of
sixty-four ; and his death, which a slight fall had accelerated,
was, like his life, that of a virtuous and exemplary Christian
bishop.
The following list of the works of Fenelon includes every
thing of any consequence which proceeded from his pen : —
1. Traite dc V Education des Fi/les; 2. Trait e du Ministdre den
Pasteurs ; '-i. Explication des Maximes dcsSatnies; i. Aven.
tures de Telemaque ; 5. Dialo<;tu'S des Moris, composes pour
Veducalion d'un Prince ; 6. Dialogues sur V Eloquence en gene-
ral, et sur celle de la Chaire ai particulier, avec une Lettre d I'
Academic Frangaise j 7. Examen de la Conscience d'une Rot ;
8. Lettres sur divers svjets, concemant la Religion et la Meta.
physique ; 9. Demonsiratioa de I' Existence de Dieu, tiree de la
connaissance de la Nature, et proporlionee (i la faible intelligence
des plus si'iiples ; 10 Recueil de Sermons choisis sur differ ents
sujets ; II. (Euvres Spirituelles ; 12. Recueil de quelqucs Opus
cules de M. de Salignac de Lamotte-Fenelon, archeveque de
Cambrai, sur differentes maiieres importantes, in 8vo, a rare
volume, which is precious as containing a detailed catalogue
or notice of all his works, reprinted in the edition of Les Aven.
tures de Telemaque published at Lyons in 1813. The most
complete biographical account of this illustrious man is that
by M. de Bausset, formerly Bishop of Alais, in 3 vols. 8vo,
1809, which has been translated by Mudford, 2 voU. 8v«.—
Encyclopttdia Britannica.
REMARKS ON EPIC POETRY,
AND ON THB EXCELLBNCB CV
THE POEM OF TELEMACHUS,
Extracted Jrom the Discourse on these Swo«cU by tita
Chevalier Ramsay.
rHE consent of nations has ranked the TeUmachus among the
few human productions which are entitled to claim the appro-
bation of mankind. It was written by its amiable author for
the instruction of one of ihe youthful princes of France, who
discovered in his infancy a love of fables and mythology, and
happy and fruitful imagination, and an elevated and exten-
Jive genius, which enabled him to relish the beautiful parts of
Homer and Virgil. It was this which suggested the design of
poem, which might equally contain the beauties of both.
To show him, in what he was fond of, the solid and beautiful,
the simple and the great, and to imprint upon his mind, by
affecting actions, generous principles, whi^h might caution
him against the dangers of the highest birth and supreme
power. With this view the Telemachus was written.
I'he illustrious author has united in his poem the greatest
beauties of the ancients, lie has all the enthusiasm and pro-
fusion of Homer, and all the magnificence of VirgiL Like the
Greek poet, he paints everything with strength, simplicity, and
life, and has variety in his fable and diversity in his characters ;
his reflections are moral, his descriptions lively, his imagina-
tion fruitful, and everywhere that beautiful fire '.7hich nature
alone can bestow. Like the Latin poet, he perfectly observes
the unity of action, the unifoz-mity of character, the order and
rules of art His judgment is profound, and his thoughts
elevated, while he at the same time unites the natural to the
noble, and the simple to the sublime. Art every where be-
times nature. But the hero of our poet is more perfect than
XU ON EPIC POETRY. AND
those of Homfir and Virgil, his morality more pure, aiid his
sentiments more noble.
To the Telemachus the world is indebted for a beautiful
argument in favour of good government ; and it cannot be
doubted that its universal popularity has greatly tended to
cherish a love of constitutional liberty throughout the world ;
and even in the present day, there is no work which is so much
calculated to convey to the youthful mind correct impressions
of the most perfect legislation. As the grand principle on
which the whole ts constructed is, that all the world is but one
republic, of which God is the common father, and every nation
as it were one great family— each country is no longer con-
sidered as independent of others, but the human race as an
individual whole.*
The Telemachus is an epic poem, according to the most strict
definition. It recites the adventures of a distinguished person
in the language of poetry; its object is to inspire the love of
virtue ; and it excites our admiration by the representation ot
heroic deeds and virtuous characters, so as to lead us to desire
to imitate them.
It has been objected that it is not in verse, but poetry does
not depend upon versification. What constitutes poetry is
not the fixed number and regular cadence of the syllables ; but
the sentiment which animates the whole, the lively fiction, the
bold figures, the beauty and variety of the images. It is the
enthusiasm, the fire, the impetuosity, the energy, in the words
and thoughts, which nature al ne can give. All these quali-
fications are found in Telemachus. The author has therefore
performed what Strabo says of Cadmus, Pherecides, and
Hecatcus ; — " He has perfectly imitated poetry ; he has indeed
broken the measure of it, but he has preserved all the other
poetical beauties."
"The plan of the work," according to Dr Blair, "is in
general well contrived ; and is deficient neither in epic gran-
deur, nor in unity of object. The author has entered with
jnuch feeling into the spirit and ideas of the ancient poets,
particularly into the ancient mythology, which retains more
dignity, and makes a better figure in his hands than in any
;ther modern poet. His descriptions are rich and beautiful,
* The attention of the reader is particularly directed to this pre-
cious object of the author. The Telemachus is not to be read as a
romance, but as a development of principles of governineut whicf'
might greatly tend to promote the happiness of mankind. When
nations are governed under the benign influence of Christianity, tliere
will be some chance that the happiness of the people will be consulteil,
and that all restrictions will be removed which tend to keep up hostile
feeliu^ and prevent the free intercourse of uuc nation with another.
ON THE EXCELLENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. Xlll
especially of the softer and calmer scenes, for which his genius
was best suited, such as the incidents of pastoral life, the plea-
sures of virtue, or a country flourishing in peace. There is
an inimitable sweetness and tenderness in several of the pic-
tures of this kind which he has given.
We shall now supply some observations on epic poetry, and
on the structure of the Telemachus, which have been drawn
from the discourse on that subject by the Chevalier Ramsay.
An epic poem must be considered under three heads— first,
the action^ or enterprise, which the poet chooses for his subject ;
second, Mtf moral, or the object whiph is sought to be obtained
and third, the poetry, in which the genius of the poet is dis
played in sustainintj a continued interest by the skilful intro-
duction of a variety of heroes, and the dangers and obstacles
which they are made to encounter.
I. The Action must possess unity oi object, be great and
marvellous, but yet probable and of a due length. The Tele-
machus has all these qualifications, and will admit of being
compared with Homer and Virgil in these respects.
The plan of Telemachiis is similar to that of the Odyssey. Ic
that poem, Homer introduces a wise king returning from a
foreign war, wherein he had given signal proofs of his wisdom
and valour. Tempests stop him by the way, and cast him on
divers countries, whose manners, laws, and politics, he learns.
But knowing the many disorders which his absence caused in
his own kingdom, he surmounts all these obstacles, despises
all the pleasures of life, and is unmoved even by the offer Oi
immortality itself ; he renounces every thing in order to relieve
his people and to meet his family again. In the Mneid, a pious
and valiant hero, having escaped from the ruins of a powerfu
state is destined by the gods to preserve its religion, and tc
found an empire more great and more glorious than the first
This prince being chosen king by the unfortunate remains o»
nis fellow-citizens, wanders with them for a long time in
foreign countries, where he learns everything that is necessary
to a king, to a legislator, to a high-priest. He at last finds an
asylum in a distant country, from whence his ancestors had
come. He defeats several powerful enemies who oppo-e his
settlement, and lays the foundation of an empire, which was
afterwards to be the mistress of the world.
The action of TtV^^wacAws comprehends what is great in both
of these poems. We there see a young prince, animated by
the love of his country, going in quest of his father, whose
ll^sence caused the misfortunes of his family and kingdom.
U; exposes himself to all sorts of dangers ; he signalizes him.
XIV ON EPIC POETRY, AND
self by heroic virtues ; he refuses royalty, and cro\vns more
considerable than his own ; and passing through several un.
known countries, learns every thing that is necessary to govern
afterwards according to the wisdom of Ulysses, the piety ol
^neas, and the valour of both ; like a wise politician, a reli-
gious prince, and an accomplished hero.
In the unity of action, the author of Telemachiis has every
where imitated the regularity of Virgil, and has avoided the
fault, which has been assigned to Homer, of overpowering his
principal action by the length and number of his episodes.
In Telemachits, the episodes are connected, and so artfully
interwoven into each other, that the former brings on that
which follows. The chief personages do not disappear, and
the transitions from the episode to the principal 'action always
makes us sensible of the unity of the design. In the first six
books, Telemachus speaks, and makes a recital of his adven-
tures to Calypso ; and yet this long episode, in imitation of
that of Dido, is related with so much art, that the unity of
the principal action remains perfect The reader is there in
suspense, and perceives from the beginning that the abode of
the hero in that island, and what passes there, is only an
obstacle that is to be surmounted. In the Xlllth and XlVth
books, where Mentor instructs Idomeneus, Telemachus is not
present, being at that time with the army; but then it is
Mentor, one of the principal parsons of the poem, who does
every thing with a view to Telemachus, and for his instruction
after his return to the camp. Ihere is great art displayed by
'ie introduction of episodes, which do not arise from the
principal fable, without breaking either the unity or con.
^nuity of the action. These episodes are placed there, not
only as important instructions for a young prince (which is
the great ilesign of the poem), but because they are recounted
to his hero during a time of inaction, to fill up a vacuity.
Thus, Adoara informs Telemachus of the manners and laws
of Bc30tica, during a calm of a voyage ; and Philoctetes relates
his misfortunes to him, while the young prince is in the con
federate camp waiting for the day of battle.
As the author of Telemachus has avoided the intrigues of
modern romances, so has he not fallen into the marvellous
with which the ancients have been reproached; he never
makes horses speak, nor tripods walk, nor statuca work. His
hero is cor.tinually conducted by Minerva, which makes every-
thing possible, and at the same time intimates, that man can
do nothing without the assistance of divine wisdom. Nor is this
all : the sublime consists in the concealing (unknown to Telema-
chus) the goddess under a human form, which renders it more
Drobablc and natural, and at the same time equally marvellous.
ON THE EXCELLENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. XV
In the duration of the action of the Trlcmachtis, the author
has adopted a middle course between the impetuosity of Homer
and the majestic and even pace of Virgil. He also imitates
them in the division of his fable into two parts. In the first
the hero speaks, and relates liis past adventures to Calypso
which embraces a number of incidents, and a considerable
period of time, but contracted as to the circumstance.^, and i
contained in the first six books ; in the second, the poet only
makes a narration of what afterwards happens to his hero,
which occupies but a short time, but which is treated of more
at large, and therefore occupies the remaining eighteen books.
By this division of his subject, the whole life of the hero is
biought under review, without prejudicing the unity of the
principal action, and without giving too great a duration to
his poem. A variety and continuity of adventure is joined
together ; all is motion, all is action, and we never find his
personages idle, nor does his hero ever disappear.
II. The Moral.— Virtue may be recommended by examples
and by instructions, by manners, and by precepts ; and in this
respect our author greatly excells.
ThemanJKr of painting words, and of giving body to thoughts,
was the true source of mythology, and of all poetic fiction.
Hut to Homer we are indebted for the noble invention o.
personalizing the divine attributes, human passions, and physi.
cal causes ; a fruitful source of beautiful fictions, which ani-
mate and enliven everything in poetry. But his religion is
reduced to a texture of fables, which represent the divine
nature under images by no means proper to make it beloved
and revered-
The author of Telemachus, in imitating what is beautiful in
the fables of the (ireek poet, has avoided the two great faults
which are imputed to him. He persouates, like him, the
divine attributes, and make- subordinate deities of them ; but
he never introduces them but on occasions that deserve thoir
presence. He never makes them speak or act but in a manner
that is worthy of them. He artfully joins together the pot-try
of Homer and the philosophy of Pt/lhagoras. He says nothing
but what the Pagans might have said, and yet he has put into
their mouths what is most sublime in the Christian moiality,
and has thereby shown that his morality is written in indelible
characters in the heart of man, and that lie would infallibly
discover them there if he obeyed the voice of pure and simple
reason, in order to give himself wholly up to that sovereign
and universal truth, which enlightens all spirits, as the sua
enlightens ;ill bodies, and without which the reason of every
particular man is nothing but darkness and error.
XVI ON EPIC POETRY, AND
He represents God as a lover of man ; but his love _rtd good-
ness towards us are not directed by the blind decrees of a fatal
destiny, not merited by the pompous show of an exterior wor-
ship, nor subject to the whimsical caprices of tne Pagan
Deities ; but always regulated by the immutable law of wis-
dom, which cannot but love virtue, and treat men, not accord-
ing to the number of animals which they slay, but to the pas-
Bions which they sacrifice, and the faith which they entertain.
In the Telemadius, the pathetic and moral is beautifully
united, and there is also an admirable mixture and contrast oi
virtues and passions. It shows nothing too great, but equally
represents to us the excellence and meanness of man. Tele-
machus is not raised above humanity ; he makes him fall into
the weaknesses which are compatable with a sincere love ot
virtue ; and his weakness serves to reclaim him, by inspiring
him with a diffidence of himself and his own strength. He
does not make the imitation of him impossible, by giving him
a spotless perfection ; but he excites our emulation, by settit-
before our eyes the example of a young man, who, with tJ.
same imperfections which every one feels in himself, perform
the most noble and the most virtuous actions. He has joiner
together, in the character of his hero, the courage of Achilles
the wisdom of Ulysses, and the tender disposition of ^Eneas.
Telemachus is wrathful, like the first, without being brutal;
politic, like the second, without being deceitful; and tender-
hearted, like the third, without being voluptuous.
The precepts in Telemachus always join the most important
instruction with heroic examples — the morality of Homer with
the manners of Virgil. The morality, however, has three
qualifications which is not to be found in the same degree in
any of the ancients, whether poets or philosophers — it is sublime
in its principles, noble in its motives, and universal in its uses.
1. Sublime in its principles. It arises from a profounc
knowledge of man. The poet lets the reader into his owi
heart ; he shows him the secret springs of his passions, th
latent windings of self-love, the ditterence between false and
solid virtues. From the knowledge of man, he ascends to that
of God himself. He everywhere makes us sensible, that the
infinite Being incessantly acts in us, in order to make us good
and happy ; that he is the immediate source of all our know,
ledge, and of all our virtues ; that we are not less indebted to
him for reason, than for life ; that his sovereign truth ought
to be our only light ; and his eupreme will the rule of all our
affections.
It is thus that the morality of our author tends to make us
forget ourselves, in order to refer everything to the Supreme
Being, and to make us adore him ; as the end of his politics
ON THE EXCEf-LENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. Xni
it to make us prefer the good of the public to private advan-
tage, and to incline us to love the human race. Machiavel
and Hobbs have founded their systems of government in craft,
artifice, stratagem, despotic power, injustice, and irreligion ;
and Puifcndorf and Grotius have sought to be useful to society,
and to promote the happiness of man, but their maxims of
government are not even equal to those which had been deve.
loped in Tlato's Republic or Cicero's Offices. But the author
of Tele.iiarhus is an original, in that he has joined the most
perfect politics to the ideas of the most consummate virtue.
The grand principle on which the whole turns is, that all the
world is but one republic, of which God is the common Father,
and every nation as it were one great family. From this
beauteous and luminous idea arise what politicians call the
laws of nature and nations, equitable, generous, full of human-
ity. Each country is no longer considered as independent on
others, hut the human race as an indivisible whole. We are
no longer limited to the love of our own country; the heart
enlarges itself, grows immense, and by an universal friendship
embraces all mankind. Hence arise a love for strangers, a
mutual confidence between neighbouring naticms, integrity,
'ustice, and peace between the princes of the universe, as well
as between the private men df every state. He shows us that
the glory of royalty is to govern men, in order to render them
good and happy ; that the authority of the prince is never
better established, than when it is founded in the love of the
people ; and that the true riches of a state consist in retrench,
ing all the imaginary wants of life, and in being satisfied
with necessaries, and with simple and innocent pleasures. He
hereby shows that virtue not only contributes to the fitting
of men for future felicity, but that it actually renders society as
bappy as it ran be in this life.
2. The morality of Tclernachus is noble in its motives. Its
grand principle is, that the love of bcattti/ ought to be preferred
to the love of pleasure, as Socrates and Plato express them-
•elvos; the hnnst to the agreeable, according to Cicero. Lo!
the source of noble sent-T'ents, greatness of soul, and all heroic
virtues. It is by these pure and elevated ideas, that he de-
itroys, in a manner infinitely more affecting thati by dispute,
the false philosophy of those who make pleasure the only spring
of the human heart. He shows, by the excellent morality
which he puts in the mouth of his heroes, and the generous
actions which he makes them perform, what an effect the pure
lov e of virtue may have on a noble heart.
3. The morality of Telernachus is universal in its uses, exten.
live, fruitful, suited to all times, to all nations, and all con-
diti 1118. Wp there learn the duties of a prince, who is at the
XVlll ON EPIC POETRY, AND
same time a king, a warrior, a philosopher, and legislator. We
there see the art of governing different nations ; the way to
maintain peace abroad with our neighbours, and yet always to
have in our own kingdom a warlike youth that is ready to de-
fend it ; to enrich our dominions without falling into luxury ;
to find the medium between despotic power, and the disorders
of anarchy. Here we are given precepts for agriculture, trade,
arts, government, the education of children. Our author
introduces into his poem not only heroic and royal virtues, but
those also which are suitable to all sorts of conditions. While
he is forming the heart of the prince, he teaches every private
man his duty.
III. The Poetry.— Poetry only differs from eloquence in
that it paints with enthusiasm — borrowing its harmony from
music, its passion from painting, its force and justness from
philosophy.
The style of Telemachus is polite, clear, flowing, magnificent,
having all the richness of Homer without his redundancy of
words. The author is never guilty of repetitions ; when he
speaks of the same things, he does not recall the same images.
All his periods fill the ear by their number and cadence ; there
is nothing shocking, no hard words, no abstruse terms, nor
affected turns. He never speaks for the sake of speaking, nor
even barely to please; all his words make us think, and all bis
thoughts tend to make us virtuous.
The images of our poet are as perfect as his style is har-
monious. To paint is not only to describe things, but to re-
present the circumstances of them in so lively and affecting a
manner, that we may imagine we see them. The author of
Telemachus paints the passions with art; he had studied the
heart of man, and knew all its springs. When we read his
poem, we see nothing but what he shows us, nor do we hear
any but those whom he directs to speak : he warms, he moves,
he transports ; we feel all the passions he describes.
The similes of Telemachus are just and noble. The author
does not raise the mind too much above his subject by extra-
vagant metaphors, nor does he perplex it by too great a crowd
of images. He has imitated all that is great and beautiful in
the descriptions of the ancients, as their battles, games, ship-
wrecks, sacrifices, &c., without expatiating on trifling particu-
lars, that make the narration languid ; and without debasing
the majesty of the epic poem by the description of things that
are low and beneath the dignity of the work. His descrip-
tions are magnificent, but natural ; simple, and yet agreeable.
He does not only paint after nature, for his pictures moreover
are always natural. He joins together the truth of design
ON THE EXCELLENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. XIX
and the beauty of colouring ; the fire of Homer and the dignity
of Virgil. Nor is this all ; the descriptions of this poem are
not designed only to please, for they are all likewise instruc-
tive. If the author speaks of the pastoral life, it is to recom-
mend an amiable simplicity of manners. If he describes games
and combats, it is not solely to celebrate the funeral rites of a
friend or a father, it is also to choose a king, who excels all
others in strength of mind and body, and who is equally capable
of beaiing the fatigues of both. If he represents to us the hor-
rors of a shipwreck, it is to inspire his hero with firmnessof soul,
and resignation to the gods, in the greatest degree. We could
run through all his descriptions and find the like beauties in
them; but I shall content myself with observing, that the
sublime moral which is sought to be enforced is, that the
shield of the prince, and the support of the state, are good
manners, sciences, and agriculture ; that a king, armed by
wisdom, always seeks for peace, and finds fruitful sources
against all the evils of war in a well-disciplined and laborious
people, whose minds and bodies are equally inured to labour.
Poetry derives its strength and justness from philosophy.
In Teiemachus we every where see a rich, a lively, an agree-
able imagination, and yet a just and profound judgment ; two
qualities which are rarely found in the same author.
The fire of Homer, especially in the Iliad, is impetuous and
violent, like a storm of flames which sets every thing in a blaze.
The fire of Virgil has more light than heat, and always shines
in an uniform and equal manner. That of Teiemachus warms
and enlightens all at once, according as it is necessary to con-
vince the mind or to move the passions. When this flame
enlightens, it makes us feel a gentle heat, which gives nc
uneasiness. Such are the discourses of Mentor upon politics,
and of Teiemachus upon the sense of the laws of Minos, &c.
These pure ideas fill the mind with their gentle light. There
the enthusiasm and poetic fire would be hurtful, like the too
fierce rays of the sun, which dazzle the eye. When the busi-
ness is no longer to reason but to act ; when a man has clearly
seen the truth, and his reflections only arise from irresolution,
then the poet raises a fire and pathos which determine and
bear away the enfeebled soul, which has not the courage to
yield to the truth. The episode of Telemachus's amour, in
the island of Calypso, is full of this fire.
In TelemacJius, all is reason, all is passion. It is this which
makes it a poem for all nations and all ages. All foreigners
are equally affected with it. The translations which have
been made of it into languages less delicate than the French,
do not deface its original beauties, and one may venture to
affirm, that Teiemachus will always preserve, in all languages,
XX O.V EPIC POETRY, fcC.
its strength, dignity, soul, and essential beauties. And thfl
reason is, because the excellence of this poem does not consist
in the happy and harmonious arrangement of words, nor even
in the charms which it borrows from the imagination ; but in
a sublime taste of the truth in noble and elevated sentiments,
and in the natural, delicate, and judicious manner of treating
them. Such beauties are of all languages, of all times, of all
countries, and equally strike good wits and great souls through-
out the world.
TELEiMACHUS.
BOOK I.
Telemachns, condticted by Minerva under the likeness of UTeutor,
lands, aftiT haviiif? suffered shipwreck, upon the island of the god-
dess Calvpso, who was still rej^rettiug tlie departure of Ulysses.
The goddess receives him favourably, conceives a passion for him,
offers him immortality, and inquires'his adventures. He relates his
voyasje to Pvlos and Lacedajmon; his shipwreck on the coast of
Sicily; the danger he was in ot being offered as a sacrifice to the
manes of Anchises; the assistance which Mentor and he gave
Acestes against an incursion of barbarians, and the gratitude of the
king, who", to reward their service, gave them a Tyrian vessel, that
they might return to their country.
The s^rief of Calypso for the departui-e of Ulysses
would admit of no comfort ; and she regi-etted her
immortahty, as that wliich could only pei-petuate
affliction, and aggravate calamity by despair: her
gi-otto no more echoed with the music of her voice ;
and her nymphs waited at a distance, with timidity
and silence. She often wandered alone along the
*'0-1j:o ui ner island, amidst the luxuriance of a per-
petual spring ; but the beauties that bloomed around
her, instead of soothing her grief, only impressed
more strongly upon her mind the idea of Ulysses,
vho had been so often the companion of her walk.
Sometimes she stood motionless upon the beach ;
and while her eyes were fixed on that part of the
horizon, where the lessening bark of the hero at
length disappeared, they overflowed with tears.
Here she was one day sui-prised with the sudden
appearance of a shipwTeck: broken benches and oars
lay scattered about upon the sand ; and a nidder, a
mast, and some cordage, were floating near the
shore. Soon after, she perceived at a distance two
men, one of whom appeared to be ancient, and in
the other, although a youth, she discovered a strong
resemblance of Ulysses ; the same benevolence and
4 TELEMACHUS.
dignity were united in his aspect, his stature was
equally tall, and his port majestic. The goddess
knew immediately that this was Telemachus ; but,
notwithstanding the penetration of divine sagacity,
she could not discover who was his companion ; for
it is the prerogative of superior deities to conceal
whatever they please from those of a lower class ;
and it was the pleasure of Minerva, who accompa-
nied Telemachus in the likeness of Mentor, to be
concealed from Calypso. Calypso, however, rejoiced
in the happy shipwreck, which had restored Ulysses
to her wishes in the person of his son. She ad-
vanced to meet liim ; and affecting not to know
him, "How hast thou presumed," said she, "to
land on this island ? Kuowest thou not, that from
my dominions no daring intruder departs unpunish-
ed ?" By this menace she hoped to conceal the joy
which glowed in her bosom, and which she could not
prevent from sparkling in her countenance. ' ' Who-
ever thou art, " replied Telemachus ; ' ' whether thou
art indeed a goddess, or whether, with all the ap-
pearance of divinitv. thou art yst mortal ; canst thou
r*>gard w**:*: insensibility the misfortunes of a son,
who, committing his life to the caprice of the winds
and waves in search of a father, has suffered ship-
wreck against these rocks?" "Who then is that
father, whom thou seekest ?" replied the goddess.
" He is one of the confederate kings," answered
Telemachus, ' ' who, after a siege of ten years, laid
Troy in ashes, and his name is Ulysses ; a name
which he has rendered famous by his prowess, and
yet more by his wisdom, not only through all Greece,
but to the remotest boundaries of Asia. This Ulysses,
the mighty and the wise, is now a wanderer on the
deep, the sport of tempests which no force can resist,
and the prey of dangers which no sagacity can elude:
his country seems to fly before him ; Penelope, his
wife, despairs at Ithaca of his return ; and I, though
equally destitute of hope, pursue him through all
BOOK I. 6
the perils that he has past, and seek him upon every
coast : I seek him ; but, alas I perhaps the sea has
already closed over him for ever ! O goddess, com-
passionate our distress ; and if thou knowest what
the fates have \\Tought, either to save or to de-
stroy Ulysses, vouchsafe tliis knowledge to Telema-
chus liis son !"
Such force of eloquence, such maturity of wisdom,
and such blooming youth, filled the bosom of Ca-
lypso with astonishment and tenderness ; she gazed
upon him with a fixed attention ; but her eyes were
still unsatisfied, and she remained some time silent.
At length she said, " We will acquaint Telemachus
with the adventures of liis father, but the story will
be long : it is now time that you should repair that
strength by rest, which has been exhausted by la-
bour. I will receive you to my dwelling as my
sou ; you shall be my comfort in this solitude ; and
if you are not voluntarily wretched, I will be your
felicity."
Telemachus followed the goddess, who was encir-
cled by a crowd of youne: nymphs, among whom she
was di?+'j:^^l.juea by the superiority of her stature,
as the towering summit of a lofty oak is seen, in the
midst of a forest, above all the trees that surround
it. lie was struck with the splendour of her beauty,
the rich purple of her long and flowing robe, her
hair that was tied with graceful negligence behind
her, and the vivacity and softness that were mingled
in her eyes. Mentor followed Telemachus, modestly
silent, and looking do\vnward. When they arrived
at the entrance of the grotto, Telemachus was sur-
prised to discover, under the appearance of rural
simplicity, whatever could captivate the sight.
There was, indeed, neither gold, nor silver, nor mar-
ble : no decorated cohmms, no paintings, no sta-
tues were to be seen ; but the grotto consisted of
several vaults cut in the rock; the roof was embel-
lished with shells and pebbles; and the want of
6 TELEMACHUS.
tapestry was supplied by the luxuriance of a yourg
vine, which extended its branches equally on every
side. Here the heat of the sun was tempered by the
freshness of the breeze; the rivulets that, with
soothing murmurs, wandered through meadows of
intermingled violets and amaranth, formed innumer-
able baths that were pure and transparent as crystal,
the verdant carpet which Nature had spread round
the grotto, was adorned with a thousand flowers ;
and, at a smaU distance, there was a wood of those
trees that in every season unfold new blossoms,
which diffuse ambrosial fragrance, and ripen into
golden fruit. In this wood, which was impervious
to the rays of the sun, and heightened the beauty of
the adjacent meadows by an agreeable opposition
of light and shade, nothing was to be heard but the
melody of birds, or the fall of water, which, precipi-
tating from the summit of a rock, was dashed into
foam below, where, forming a small rivulet, it glided
hastily over the meadow.
The grotto of Calypso was situated on the decliAdty
of a hill, and commanded a prospect of the sea,
sometimes smooth, peaceful, and limpid ; sometimes
swelling into mountains, and breaking with idle rage
against the shore. At another view a river was dis-
covered, in which were many islands surrounded
with limes that were covered with flowers, and pop-
lars that i-aised their heads to the clouds : the streams
which fonned those islands seemed to stray through
the fields with a kind of sportful wantonness; some
rolled along in translucent waves, with a tumultu-
ous rapidity ; some glided away in silence, with a
motion that was scarcely perceptible ; and others,
after a long circuit, turned back, as if they wished
to issue again from their source, and were unwilling
to quit the paradise through which they flowed.
The distant liills and mountains hid their summits
in the blue vapours that hovered over them, and
diversified the horizon with cloudy figures that
BOOK L 7
were cquallv pleiising and romantic. The moun-
tuins that were less remote were covered with
vinos, the branches of which were interwoven witlx
each other, and hung down in festoons ; the grapes,
which surpassed in lustre the richest purple, were
too exuberant to be concealed by the foliage, and
the branches bowed under the weight of the fruit.
The fig, tlie olive, the pomegranate, and other trees
without number, overspread the plain ; so that the
whole country had the appearance of a garden or
infinite variety and boundless extent.
The goddess, having displayed this profusion or
beauty to Telemachus, dismissed him ; "Go now,"
said she, " and refresh yourself, and change your
apparel, which is wet : I will afterwards see you
again, and relate such things as shall not amuse
your ear only, but affect your heart." She then
caused him to enter, with his friend, into the most
secret recess of a grotto adjoining to her own : here
the nymphs had already kindled a fire with some
billets of cedar, which perfumed the place, and had
/eft change of apparel for the new guests. Telema-
chus, perceiving that a tunic of the finest wool,
whiter than snow, and a purple robe, richly embroi-
dered with gold, were intended for him, contem-
plated the magnificence of liis dress with a pleasure
to which young minds are easily betrayed.
Mentor perceived his weakness, and reproved it:
** Are these then," said he, " O Telemachus, such
thoughts as become the son of Ulysses ? Be rather
studious to appropriate the character of thy father,
and to surmount the persecutions of fortune. The
youth, who, like a woman, loves to adorn his per-
son, has renounced all claim to wisdom and to glory :
glory is due to those only who dare to associate with
pain, and have trampled pleasure under their feet."
Telemachus answered with a sigh: "May the
gods destroy me, rather than suffer me to be en-
eiaved by voluptuous effeminacy 1 No ; the son o
8 TELEMACHUS.
Ulysses shall never be seduced by the charms of
enervating and inglorious ease ! but how gracious is
Heaven, to have directed us, destitute and ship-
wrecked, to this goddess, or this mortal, who has
loaded us with benefits!" "Fear rather," replied
Mentor, '* lest her wiles should overwhelm thee
with ruin ; fear her deceitful blandishments more
than the rocks on which thou hast suffered ship-
wreck; for shipwreck and death are less dreadful
than those pleasures by which virtue is subverted.
Believe not the tales which she shall relate: the
presumption of youth hopes all things from itself,
and, however impotent, believes it has power over
every event ; it dreams of security in the midst of
danger, and listens to subtilty without suspicion.
Beware of the seducing eloquence of Calypso;
that miscliief, which, like a serpent, is concealed by
the flowers under which it approaches; dread the
latent poison ! Trust not thyself, but confide im-
plicitly in my counsel."
They then returned to Calypso, who waited for
them ; and her nymphs, who were dressed in white,
and liad their hair braided, set before them a repast,
which, though it was simple, and consisted only of
such game as they had either taken with their nets,
or killed in the chase, was yet of exquisite taste, and
served up with the utmost elegance: wi>ae, more
riclily flavoured than nectar, was poured from large
silver vases, and sparkled in cups of gold that were
wreathed with flowers ; and baskets were heaped with
all the variety of fruit that is promised by spring, and
bestowed by autumn. In the mean time, four of the
attendant uymphs began to sing : their first theme
was the battle of the Gods and Titans; then they ce-
lebrated the loves of Jupiter and Semele, the birth of
Bacchus, and his education imder old Silenus; the
race of Atalanta with Hippomenes, whom she con-
quered with golden apples that were gathered in the
ardens of the Hesperides: the wars of Troy were
BOOK I. 9
reserved to tte last; the prowess and the wisdom
of Ulysses were extolled with all the hyperbole of
praise; and the principal nymph, whose name was
Leucothoe, to the harmonious voices of the chorus,
joined the music of her lyre. When Telemachus
heard the name of his father, the tears which stole
down his cheeks added new lustre to his beauty;
but Calvpso, perceiving that he was too sensibly
touched,' and neglected to eat, made a signal to her
nymphs, and they immediately changed the subject
to the battle of the Centaurs with the Lapithae,
and the descent of Orpheus to bring back his Eury.
dice from hell.
When the repast was ended, Calypso took Telema-
chus aside, and addressed him thus : " Thou seest, O
son of the great Ulysses ! with what favour I have
received thee : know, that I am immortal; no human
foot profanes this island unpunished; nor would
even shipwreck have averted my indignation from
thee, if my heart were not touched with more than
thy misfortunes. Thy father was equally distin-
guisheil by my favour ; but, alas ! he knew not how-
to improve the advantage. I detained him long in
this asylum ; and here he might have lived for ever
in a state of immortality with me ; but a fond desire
of returning to his wretched island, blinded him to
the prospect of superior felicity. Thou seest what
he has lost for Ithaca, a country to which he can
never return. He resolved to leave me, and de-
parted ; but a tempest revenged the insult, and the
vessel in wliich he was embarked, having been long
the sport of the storm, was at last swallowed up in
the deep. Let this example influence thy conduct:
all hopes of again seeing thy father, and of succeed-
ing to his throne, are now at an end ; but do not too
deeply regret this loss, since thou hast found a god-
dess, who offers thee superior dominion, and more
permanent fcUcity." Calypso, after this declaration,
eserted all her eloauenrA- display the happiness
10 TELEMACHUS.
she had conferred upon Ulysses: she also related
his adventnre in the cave of Polypheme the Cyclop,
and in the country of Antiphates king of the Les-
trj'^g-ons ; she forgot neither what happened to him
in the island of Circe, the daughter of the Sun, nor
the dangers of his passage hetween Scylla and Cha-
ryhdis ; she described the last tempest that had been
raised against him by Neptuno, after his departurT
from her, in which she insinuated that he had pe-
rished, concealing his arrival in the island of th«
Pheacians. Telemachus, who had too hastily con-
gratulated himself upon the bounty of Calypso, now
perceived the mischief of her designs, and the wisdom
of that counsel which had been just given him by
Mentor; he therefore answered in few words, " For-
give, O goddess! involuntary son-ow; my heart is
now susceptible only of regret ; but I may hereafter
be again capable of felicity. Suffer me now to pay at
least a few tears to the memory of my father, since
thou knowest, better than his son, how well he de-
serves the tribute."
Calypso, perceiving that it was not now her inte-
rest to press him further, feigned to participate his
sorrow, and to regret the fate of Ulysses; but, that
she might gain a more perfect knowledge of the
means by which his affections were to be engaged,
she inquired the particulars of his shipwreck, and by
what accidents he had been thrown upon her coast.
' ' The story of my misfortunes, " said he, " will be too
long." " However long," said Calypso, I am impa-
tient to hear it; indulge me, therefore, without de-
lay." Telemachus often refused; but she continued
her solicitation, and at length he complied.
*' I set out from Ithaca to inquire after my father
of those princes who had returned from the siege of
Troy. The suitors of Penelope, my mother, were
surprised at my departure ; because from them, whom
I knew to be perfidious, I had concealed my purpose;
but neither Nestor, whom I saw at Pylos, nor Mene-
BOOK I. 11
iHMS, who received me with affection at Laccdtemon,
knew whether my father was among the living or the
dead. I was at length impatient of perpetual sus-
pense and uncertainty; and therefore formed a re-
solution to go into Sicily, whither my lather was
said to luive heen driven by contrary w inds : but the
prudence of Mentor, who is here the companion of
my fortunes, opposed the execution of so rash a de-
sign, by representing my danger, on the one hand,
from the Cyclops, the gigantic monsters who riot
upon human flesh; and on the other, from the fleet
of iEneas and the Trojans, who were hovering about
those coasts, ' The Trojans,' said he, ' are imtated
against all the Greeks; but, above all, against
Ulysses, whose son, therefore, they would rejoice to
destroy : return, then, to Ithaca ; perhaps your flither,
who is beloved of the gods, may be returned already ;
but if Heaven has decreed his death, if he shall see
Ithaca no more, it is fit that you return to avenge
him, and to deliver your mother; to display your
wisdom to attending nations ; and to let all Greece
behold, in Telemachus, a sovereign not less worthy of
the throne than Ulvsses.' This coimsel, which was
the voice of reason, I rejected, and listened only to
the suggestions of my passions : but such was the
affection of my friend, that he embarked with me for
that voyage, which, in the folly of my presumption,
I undertook contrary to liis advice; and the gods,
perhaps, permitted the fault, that the calamity which
it drew upon me might teach me wisdom 1"
While Telemachus had been speaking. Calypso had
attentively considered Mentor, and was suddenly
/■liillcd with astonishment; she imagined that she per-
ceived iii him something more than human; and not
being able to resolve the perplexity of her thoughts
into any probable determination, the presence of
tills inscrutable being continued to agitate her mind
with suspicion and dread: but fearing yet more that
her coiilusion should be perceived, " Proceed," said
12 TELEMACHUS.
b!ie to Telcmaclius, *' to gratify my curiosity ;" and
Telemachus accordingly continued his story.
"We steered some time with a favourable wind
for Sicily, hut at length a tempest overcast the sky,
and involved us in sudden darkness. By the transient
gleams of the lightning we perceived other vessels
that were exposed to the same danger ; and were
soon convinced that they were part of the Trojan
fleet, which were not less to be dreaded by us than
?hoals and rocks. Then, but it was too late, I per-
fectly comprehended what the ardour of youth had
before prevented me from considering with sufficient
attention. In this dreadful exigence. Mentor appear-
ed not only fearless and calm, but more than usually
cheerful ; he encouraged me to hope, and, as he
spoke, I perceived myself inspired with invincible
fortitude. While he was directing the navigation
»f the vessel with the \itmost tranquillity, the pilot
ieing incapacitated by teiTor and confusion, ' My
iear Mentor,' said I, ' why did I reject your advice ?
What greater evil can befall me than a confidence in
Tiy own opinion, at an age which can form no judg-
ment of the future, has gained no ex-perience from
the past, and knows not how to employ the present ?
If we survive this tempest, I will distrust myself as
my most dangerous enemy, and confide only in
Mentor as my friend.' Mentor replied with a smile,
' I have no desire to reproach you with the fault
you have committed ; if you have such a sense of it
as will enable you to repress the violence of desire
hereafter, I am satisfied : but when danger shall be
past, perhaps presumption may return ; it is, how-
ever, by courage only that we can now escape. Be-
fore we incur danger, we should consider it as for-
midable ; but when it is present, we should treat it
with contempt; now, therefore, show thyself worthy
of Ulysses, and discover a mind superior to all thft
evils which combine against thee.' The candou-,
and magnanimity of Mentor gave mc great pleasure
BOOK I. 13
but I was transporteil with wonder and delight at
the stnita;2;em by which he delivered us. Just as the
clouds brolce, and the lijjht must in a few minutes
have discovered us to. the Trojans, who were very-
near, he remarked that one of their vessels, which
^eatly resembled ours, except that the stern was
decorated with garlands of flowers, had been sepa-
rated from the rest of the fleet in the storm ; he
immediately placed ornaments of the same kind at
the stern of our vessel, and made them fast himself
with bandages of the same colour as those of the Tro-
ians ; he also ordered the rowers to stoop over their
seats as low as possible, that our enemies might not
discover them to be Greeks. In this manner he
proceeded through the midst of their fleet : and the
Trojans mistaking us for their vessel which had been
missing, shouted as we passed : we were sometimes
forced iiTesistibly along with them, but at length
found means to linger behind ; and while they were
driven by the impetuosity of the wind towards
Africa, we laboured at the oar, and made our utmost
effort to land on the neighbouring coast of Sicily.
Our labour indeed succeeded : but the port which we
sought was scarce less to be dreaded than the fleet
which we had endeavoured to avoid ; for on the coast
of Sicily we found other fugitives from Troy, who
had settled there und(^r the government of Acestes,
who was himself of Trojan extraction. We had no
sooner landed, than these people, imagining either
that we were inhabitants of some other part of the
island, who had taken arais to surprise them, or a
foreign enemy, who had invaded the country, burnt
our vessel in the first tumult of their rage, and put
all our companions to the sword : Mentor and my-
self were spared only that we might be presented to
Acestes, and that he might learn from us what were
our designs, and whence we came. We entered the
citv with our hands bound behind us; and had
nothing to expect from this j-cspite, but that our
3
14 TELEMACHUS.
death would be made the spectacle of a cruel people
as soon as they should discover us to be Greeks.
" We were brought before Acestes, who was sitting
with a sceptre of gold in his hand, administering jus-
tice to his i)eople, and preparing to assist at a solemn
sacrifice. He asked us with a stern voice the name
of our country, and the purpose of our voyage :
Mentor instantly rephed, ' We come from the coast
of the great Hesperia, and our country is not far
from thence.' He thus avoided a declaration that
«ve were Greeks. But Acestes would hear no more :
nd concluding that we were strangers, who had
Tmed some evil design, which we were therefore
sohcitous to conceal, he commanded that we should
be sent into the neighbouring forests to serve as
slaves under those who had the care of his cattle.
To live upon this condition was to me less ehgible
than to die : and I cried out, ' O king ! punish us
rather with death than infamy. Know, that I am
Telemachus, son of the wise Ulysses, king of Ithaca ;
in search of my father 1 am bound to every shore ;
but in this search, if I am not permitted to succeed,
if I must never more retuni to my country, and if
I can no longer live but as a slave, put an end to
my life, and relieve me from a burden that I cannot
support. ' This exclamation inflamed the multitude ;
and they immediately demanded, that the son of
Ulysses, by whose inhuman subtilty Troy had been
subverted, should be put to death, Acestes then,
turning to me, cried out, ' I cannot refuse thy blood,
O son of Ulysses ! to the manes of those Trojans
with whom thy father crowded the banks of Acheron :
thou must die, and thy conductor shall perish with
^lee.' At the same instant, an old man proposed
to the king, that we should be ottered up on the
tomb of Anchises : ' The shade of that hero,' said he,
• will be gratified with their blood ; and even the
great ^neas, when he shall be told of sudi a sacri-
fice, will be touched with joy at the '/eal of your
BOOK L 16
affection for the supreme object of his own.' This
proposition was i-eceived with a shoTit of applause,
and the execution of it Wiis immediately begrun.
We were conducted to the tomb of Anchises, where
two altars had been prepai'cd : the hallowed fire was
kindled, and the sacrificial knife lay before us. They
had 'idorned us, as victims, with garlands of flowers;
and the pleadings of compassion were overborne by
the impetuosity of zeal. But, just at this dreadful
crisis, Mentor, with all the calmness of security,
demanded audience of the king, and addressed him
thus : ' O Acestes ! if the misfortunes of Telemachus,
who is yet a yoiith, and has never bonie aiTns against
the Trojans, can excite no pity in thy breast, at
least let thv own danger awaken thy attention.
The skill that I have acquired in omens, by which
the will of the gods is discovered, enables me to
foretell, that within three days, a nation of barbarians
will rush upon thee from the mountains, like a flood,
to spoil thy city, and overspread thy country with
desolation : make haste, therefore, to avert the
torrent ; arm thy people, and secure, within the
walls of the city, whatcA'er is valuable in the field.
If, when three days are elapsed, my predictions
shall appear to have been false, let these altars be
stained with our blood ; but, on the contrary, if it
shall be confirmed by the event, let Acestes remem-
ber, that he ou'/ht not to take away the life of those
to whom he will be indebted for his own.' At these
words, which were pronounced, not with the diffidence
of conjecture, but the assurance of certain know-
ledge, Acestes was astonished : ' I perceive, O
stranger!' said he, ' that the gods, who have allotted
thee so small a portion of the gifts of fortune, have
enriched thee with the more valuable treasures of
wisdom.' He then commanded the solemnities of
the sacrifice to be suspended, and immediately pre-
pared against the invasion which had been predicted
by Mentor. Multitudes of women, trembling with
16 TELEMACHUS.
fear, and men decrepit with age, followed by cliildren,
whom the alarm had temfied into tears, were seen
on every side, crowding to the city : the sheep and
cattle came in such droves from the pastures, thai
they were obliged to stand without cover in tVie street ;
and a confused noise was every where to be heard,
of multitudes that jostled each other with tumultuoua
and undistinguished outcries ; mistook a stranger
for a friend ; and pressed forward with the utmost
eagerness, though thevknew not whither they were
going. The principal citizens, indeed, imagining
themselves to be wiser than the rest, regarded Men-
tor as an impostor, who had invented a falsehood to
prolong his life : but, before the end of the third day,
while they were yet appluudinsr their own sagacity,
a cloud of dust was perceived upon the declivity of
the neighbouring mountains, and an innumerable
multitude of armed barbarians were soon after dis-
tinguished. These were tlie Hymerians, anrl other
savages, that inhabit the Nebrodian mountains, and
the summit of Agragas ; regions in which the severity
of winter is never softened by the breezes of spring.
Those who had despised the prediction of Mentor
were now punished by the loss of their slaves and
their cattle; and the king addressed him to this
effect : ' From henceforth I forget that you are
Greeks, since you are no more enemies, but friends;
vnd, as you were, doubtless, sent by the gods for
)ur deliverance, I hope not less from your valour
han I have experienced from your wislom ; delay
not, therefore, to afford us your assistance.'
'* At this moment there appeared in the eyes of
Mentor somewhat that intimidated the fierce, and
overawed the proud : he snatched a shield and a
helmet, girded on a sword, and poised a lance in his
hand : he drew up the soldiers of Acestes, and ad-
vanced towards the enemy at their head. Acestes,
whose courage was still high, but whose body was en-
feebled by age, could only follow him i.t a distance;
BOOK I. 17
I approached nearer to his person, but not to his va-
lour. In the battle, his cuirass resembled the immor-
tal aegis of Minerva ; and death, watching his sword
as a siirnal, followed him from rank to rank. Thus a
lion of Numidia, that hunger has made yet more fu-
rious, rushes among the flock ; he kills and tears to
pie-c* without resistance; and the shepherds, instead
of attempting to defend their sheep, fly with terror
and trefiidation to preserve themselves.
" The barbarians, whohojx'd to have surprised the
city, were themselves surprised and disconcerted ;
and the subjects of Acestes, animated by the example
and the voice of Mentor, exerted a power which they
knew not that they possessed. The son of the king,
who commanded the invasion, fell by my hand ; our
aires were equal, but he greatly exceeded me in
stature : for those savages are descended from a race
of giants, whose origin was the same with that of
the Cyclops. I perceived that he despised me as a
feeble enemy ; but regarding neither the fierceness of
his demeanour, nor the superiority of his strength,
I made a thrust at liis breast with my lance ; the
weapon entering deeply, he vomited a torrent of
blood, and expired ; but I was in danger of being
crushed by his weight as he fell, and the distant
mountains echoed with the clash of his armour.
After 1 iiad stripped the body of the spoils, I re-
turned to seek Acestes ; and Mentor, having com-
pleted the disorder of the enemy, cut to pieces all
that nuide a show of resistance, and pursued the
fugitives to the woods.
*' This, success, of which every one had so lately
despaired, fixed all eyes upon Mentor, as a favourite
of the gods, and distinguished by Divine inspiration;
and Acestes, ingratitude to his deliverers, acquaint-
ed us, that it would no longer be in his power to
protect us, if the fleet of iEneas should put back to
Sicily ; he therefore furnished us with a vesspl, that
we nnghi return to our country ; and, having loaded
18 TELEMACHUS.
us with presents, he urged our inxmediate departure,
as the only means by wluch the approaching danger
could be avoided. He would not, however, supply
us either with rowers, or a pilot from among his own
subjects, because he was unwillingto trust them upon
the Grecian coasts ; but he sent on board some Phoe-
nician merchants, who, as they are a commercial
people, and trade to every port, had nothing to fear.
These men were to have returned with the vessel to
Acestes, after they had put us on shore at Ithaca ;
but the gods, who sport with the designs of men,
devoted us to other evils.
BOOK II.
Telemachiis relates his bein^ taken in the Tyrian vessel by the fleet of
Sesostris, and carried captive into Egypt. He describes the beauty of
the country, and the wise government of its kingf. He relates also that
Mentor was sent a slave into jEthiopia, and that he n-as himself reduc-
ed to keep sheep in the deserts of Oasis ; and that in this state he was
comforted by Termosiris, a priest of Apollo, who taufrht him to imi-
tate that pod, who had once been the shepherd of Admetus; that
Sesostris, having at length heard with astonishment what his influence
and example had effected among the shepherds, determined to see him,
and being convinced of his innocence, promised to send him to Ithaca,
but that the death of Sesostris overwhelmed him with new calamities ;
that he was imprisoned in a tower which overlooked the sea, from
whence he saw Bocchoris, the new king, slain in a battle against part
of his subjects, who had revolted, and called in the Tyriaus to their
assistance.
•' The pride of the Tyrians had offended Sesostris,
the king of Egypt, who had extended his dominion
by the conquest of manv states. The wealth which
they had acquired by commerce, and the impregna-
ble strength of their city, which stood in the sea,
had rendered them so insolent and presumptuous,
that they refused to pay the tribute which had been
imposed by Sesostris on his return to Eg}'pt ; and had
sent troops to the assistance of his brother, who had
attempted to assassinate him at a feast, in the midst
of rejoicings that had been made for his retuni.
*' Sesostris had determined to humble them, by
interrupting their trade: he therefore sent out a great
number of anned vessels, with orders to take or sink
the Phoenician ships wherever they should be found;
BOOKIL 19
and, just as we lost sight of Sicily, we foil in with an
Egyptian fleet. The port and the land seemed to re-
treat hehind us, and lose themselves in the clouds ;
and we saw the fleet advance like a floating city. The
PhoBnicians immediately perceived their danger, and
would have avoided it, but it was too late ; the Egyp-
tian vcs*ipls sailed better than ours ; the wind was in
their favour, and they hud a greater number of oars ;
they boarded, took us without resistance, ai:d camc'
U8 prisoners into Egypt. I told them, indeed, thr.
neither Mentor, nor myself, was a Phoenician ; bu
they heard me with contempt, and, imagining that we
were slaves, a merchandise in which they knew the
Phoenicians traded, thought only how to dispose of us
to the greatest advantage. We soon perceived the
sea to be whitened by the waters of the Nile, and the
coast of Egypt appeared in the liorizon like a cloud :
we then arrived at the island of Pharos, near the city oi
No, and then we proceeded up the Nile to Memphis.
*' If the sorrows of captivity had not rendered u?
insensible to pleasure, we must have been delighted
with the prospect of this fertile country, which had
the appearance of a vast garden, watered by an
infinite number of canals. Each side of the rivei
was diversified with opulent cities, delightful villas.
fields that produced every year a golden harves,
and meadows that were covered with flocks : eartl.
lavished her fruits upon the husbandman, till he
Btooped under the btn-den ; and Echo seemed pleased
to repeat the rustic music of the shepherds. ' Happy
are the people,' said Mentor, ' who are governed by
BO wise a king ! They flourish in perpetual plenty,
and love him by whom that plenty is bestowed.
Thus, O Telemachus ! ought thy government to
eecure the happiness of thy people, if the gods shall
at length exalt thee to tlie throne of thy father.
Love thy sultjects as thy cluldrcn, and learn from
their love of thee, to derive the happiness of aparent:
teach them to connect tha idea of happiness with
20 TELEMACHUS.
that of tlieir king ; that, whenever they rejoice in
the blessings of peace, they may remember their
benefactor, and honour thee with thetribnte of grati-
tude. The tyrants who are only solicitous to be
feared, and teach their subjects humility by oppres-
sion, are the scourges of mankind : they are, indeed,
objects of terror: but, as they are also objects of hati"ed
and detestation, they have more to fear from their siib-
'ccts than theii- subjects can have to fear from them.'
" I replied — ' Alas ! what have we now to do with
maxims of government? With respect tons, Ithaca is
no more ; we shall never again behold Penelope, or
our country : with whatever gloiy Ulysses may at
length retiirn, to meet his son is a joy that he will
never taste ; and to ojjey him tiU I shall learn to
govern is a pleasure that wiU be for ever withheld
from me. Let us die, then, my dear Mentor ; all
thoughts, but of death, are idle speculations : let us
die, since the gods have ceased to regard us with
compassion !' I was so depressed by gi'ief, that this
speech was rendered almost unintelligible by the
sighs with which it was interrupted : but INIentor,
though he was not presumptuous with respect to
future evils, was yet fearless of the present. ' Un-
worthy son of the great Ulysses !' said he, ' dost thou
yield to misfortunes without resistance? Know, that
the day approaches, in wliich thou shalt again behold
thy mother and thy country: thou shalt behold, in
the meridian of his gloiy , him whom thou hast never
known, the invincible Ulysses ! whom fortime can
never subdue ; and whose example, in more dreadful
calamity than thine, may teach thee never to despair.
Should he learn, in the remote countries on which
the tempest has cast him, that his son emulates nei-
ther his patience nor his valour, the dreadful tidings
would cover him with confusion, and afflict him
more than all the horrors of his life.'
" Mentor then called my attention to tlie cheer-
fulness of plenty, which was diffused over all Egypt;
BOOK II. 21
a couutry which contained twenty-two thousand
cities. He admired the policy with which they were
governed ; the justice which prevented the oppression
of the poor hy the rich; the education of the youth,
which rendered obedience, labour, temperance, and
the love of arts, or of literature, habitual; the punc-
tuality in iJl the solemnities of religion; the public
spirit'; the desire of honour; the integrity to man,
and the reverence to the gods, which were implanted
by every parent in every child. He long contem-
plated tills beautiful order with increasing delight,
and frequently repeated his exclamations of praise.
' Happy are the people,' said he, ' who are thus wisely
governed ! but yet more happy the king whose bounty
is so extensively the felicity of others, and whose
virtue is the source of yet nobler enjoyment to him-
self ! His dominion is secured, not by terror, but
by love; and his commands are received, not only
with obedience, but with joy. He reigns in the
hearts of his people; who are so far from wishing his
government at an end, that they consider liis mor-
tality with regret, and every man would rejoice to
redeem the life of his sovereign with his own.*
"I listened attentively to this discourse of Mentor;
and, wliile he spoke, I perceived new courage kindle
in my bosom. As soon as we arrived at Memphis,
a city distingniished by its opulence and splendour,
the governor sent us forward to Thebes, that we
might be questioned by Sesostris; who, if he had
been less attentive to administer his own govern-
ment, would yet have examined us himself, as he
was extremely incensed against the Tyrians : we,
therefore, proceeded up the Nile to the celebrated
city with an hundred gates, the residence of this
mighty prince. Thebes appeared to be of vast ex-
tent, and more populous than the most nourishing
city of Greece. The regulations that are established
for keeping the avenues free from incumbrances,
maiutaining tho aqueducts, and rendering the WJis
22 TELEMACHUS.
(Convenient, for the cultivation of arts, and for the
security of the public, are the most excellent that
can be imagined. The squares are decorated with
fountains and obelisks; the temples are of marble;
and the arcliitecture, though it is simple, is majestic :
the palace itself is almost as extensive as a town,
and abounds with columns of marble, pjTamids,
and obehsks, statues of a prodigious magnitude, and
furniture of silver and gold.
" The king was informed, by those who took us,
that we were found on board a Phoenician vessel : it
was his custoiu to give audience, at a certain hour
every day, to aU who had any complaints to make, or
intelligence to communicate; nor was any man either
despised or rejected by Sesostris : he considered him-
self as possessing the regal authority, only that he
might be the instrument of good to his people, whom
he regarded with the affection of a father ; and
strangers, whom he treated with great kindness, he
was very solicitous to see, because he believed that
some useful knowledge might always be acquired by
an acquaintance with the manners and customs of re-
mote countries. For this reason, we were brought
before liim. He was seated upon a throne of ivory,
and held a golden sceptre in his hand : though he
was advanced in years, his person was still graceful,
and his countenance was full of sweetness and ma-
jesty. He sat every day to administer justice to his
people; and his patience and sagacity as a judge would
have vindicated the boldest panegyrist from the impu-
tation of flattery. Such were the labours of the day ;
and to hear a declamation on some question of science,
or to converse with those whom he knew to be
worthy of his familiarity, was the entertainment of
the evening. Nor was the lustre of his life sullied
by any fault but that of having triumphed over the
princes whom he had conquered with too much
ostentation, and confided too much in one of his
oiBcers, whose character I shall presently describe.
BOOK II. 23
When he saw me, my youth moved him to compas-
eion ; and he inquired of my country and my name.
We were struck with the dignity and propriety of'his
expret»?i()n ; and I answered — 'Most i^ll^trious
prince ! thou art not ignorant of the siege ol' Troy,
which endured ten years; norof itsdcstru tion, wliid)
exhausted Greece of her noblest blood. Ulysses, the
kinir of Ithaca, who is my father, was one ol the prin-
cipal instruments of that great event ; but is now, in
search of his kingdom, a fugitive on the deep ; and,
in search of him, I am, by a like misfortune, a captive
in Egypt. Restore me once more to my father and
my country ; so may the gods preserve thee to thy
children ; and may they rejoice under the protection
of so good a parent.' Sesostris still regarded me
with compassion ; but doubting whether what I had
told him was true, he gave charge of us to one of his
officers, with orders to inqxiire of the persons who had
taken our vessel, whether we were indeed Greeks or
Phopnicians. 'If theyare Phopniciaus,' saidhe, 'they
well deserve punishment, not only as our enemies,
but as wretches who have basely attempted to de-
ceive us l)y falsehood ; but, on the contrary, if they
are Greeks, it is my pleasure that they be treated
with kindness, and sent back to their coimtry in one
of my vessels: for I love Greece; a country which
has derived many of its laws from the wisdom of
Egypt. I am not unacquainted with the virtue of
Hercules : the glory of Achilles has reached us, how-
ever remote : I admire the wisdom that is related ot
the unfortunate Ulysses ; and I rejoice to alleviate
the distress of virtue.'
" Metophis, the officer to whom the king had re-
ferred the examination of our affair, was as cornipt
and selfish as Sesostris was generous and sincere: he
attempted to perplex us by ensnaring questions; and,
as he perceived that Mentor's answers were more
prudent than mine, he regarded him with malevo-
lence and suspicion; for, to the unworthy, there is no
24 TELEMACHUS.
insult =0 intolerable as merit. He, therefore, caused
us to be separated; and from that time I knew not
what was become of Mentor. This separation was,
to me, sudden and dreadful as a stroke of thunder;
but Metopliis hoped that, by iuterrog-ating us apart,
he should be able to discover some inconsistency ii
our account; and yet more, that he might allure me,
by promises, to discover that which Mentor had con-
cealed. To-discover truth was not, indeed, his prin-
cipal view; but to find some pretence to tell the king
we were Phoenicians, that, as sliives, we might be-
come his property; and, notwithstanding oxn- inno-
cence, and the king's sagacity, he succeeded. How
dangerous a situation is royalty, in which the wisest
are often the tools of deceit ! A throne is sur-
rounded by a train of subtilty and self-interest: In-
tegrity retires, because she will not be introduced by
Importunity or Flattery : Virtue, conscious of her
own dignity, waits at a distance till she is sought ;
and princes seldom know wbere she is to be found :
but Vice, and her dependants, are impudent and
fraud ful, insinuating and officious, skilful in dissimu-
lation, and ready to renounce all principles, and to
violate every tie, when it becomes necessary to the
gratification of the appetites of a prince. How
wretched is the man who is thus perpetually exposed
to the attempts of guilt I by which he must inevit-
ably perish, if he does not renounce the music of
adulation, and learn not to be offended by the plain-
ness of truth ! Such were the reflections which I
made in my distress ; and I revolved in my mind all
that had been said to me by Mentor.
'* While my thoughts were thus employed, I was
sent by Metophis towards the mountains of the desert
Oasis, that I might assist his slaves in looking after
his flocks, which were almost without number." Ca-
lypso here interrupted Telcmachus. "And what did
you then ?" said she. *' In Sicily you chose death
rather than slavery." — " I was then," said Telema-
BOOK n. 25
chus, *' become yet more wretched, and had no
longer the sad consolation of such a choice. Shivery
was ii-resistibly forced upon me, and I was compelled
Dy Fortune to exhaust the dregs of her cup : I was
excluded even from hope, and every avenue to liberty
was barred against me. In the mean time. Mentor,
as he has since told me, was earned into Ethiopia,
by certain natives of that country, to whom he had
been sold.
'' The scene of my captivity was a desert, where
the plain is a burning sand, and the mountains are
covered with snow ; below was intolerable heat, an4
above was perpetual winter ; the pasturage was thinly
scattered among the rocks, the mountains were steep
and craggy, and the valleys between them were al-
most inaccessible to the rays of the sun ; nor had I
any society in this dreadful situation, but that of the
shepherds, who are as rude and uncultivated as the
country. Here I spent the night in bewailing my
misfortunes, and the day in following my flocks, that
I might avoid the brutal insolence of the principal
slave, whose name wasButis; and who, having con-
ceived hopes of obtaining his freedom, was perpetu-
ally accusing the rest, iis a testimony of his zeal and
attachment to the interest of his master. This com
plication of distress almost overwhelmed me : and,
in the anguish of my mind, I one day forgot my
flock, and threw myself on the ground near a cave,
expecting that death would deliver me from a cala-
mity which I was no longer able to sustiiin: but just
in the moment of despair, I perceived the mountain
tremble ; the oaks and pines seemed to bow from the
summit ; the breeze itself was hushed ; and a deep
voice, which seemed to issue from the cave, pronounc-
ed these words : ' Son of the wise Ulysses ! thou
must, like him, become great by patience. Princes
whohave notknown advcrsityare unworthy of happi-
ness; they are enervated by luxury, and intoxicated
with pride. Surmount, and remember these mi&for-
26 TELEMACHUS.
tunes, and thou art happy. Thou shalt return to Itha-
ca, and thy glory shall fill the world. Wlien thou
shalt have dominion ov^er others, forget not that thou
hast been like them, weak, destitute, and afflicted: be
it thy happiness, then, to afford them comfort : love
thy people : detest flattery : and remember that no
man is great, but in proportion as he restrains and sub-
dues his passions.' These words inspired me as the
voice of heaven: joy immediately throbbed in my
veins, and courage glowed in my bosom : nor was 1
seized with that horror which so often causes the hair
to stand upright, and the blood to stagnate, when the
gods reveal themselves to men. I rose in tranquillity ;
and, kneeling on the ground, I lifted up my hands to
Heaven, and paid my adorations to Minerva, to whom
I believed myself indebted for this oracle. At the
same time I perceived my mind illuminated with wis-
dom; and was conscious to a gentle, yet prevailing,
influence, which overniled all my passions, and re-
sti'ained the ardour of my youth : I acquired the
iriendsliip of all the shepherds of the desert ; and my
meekness, patience, and diligence, at length obtained
the good-will even of Butis himself, who was at first
disposed to treat me with inhumanity.
"To shorten the tedious hours of captivity and
solitude, I endeavoured to procure some books ; for I
sunk under the sense of my condition, merely be-
cause I had nothing either to recreate or to fortify
my mind. ' Happy,' said I, ' are these that have lost
their relish for tumultuous pleasure, and are content
with the soothing quiet of innocence and retirement I
Happy are they whose amusement is knowledge, and
whose supreme delight is in the cultivation of the mind!
Wherever they shall be driven by the persecution of
Fortune, the means of employment are still with
them ; and that weary listlessness, which renders lite
insupportable to the voluptuous and the lazy, is im-
known to those who can employ themselves by read-
ing. Happv are those to whom this employment is
BOOK II. 27
pleasing; and who are not, like me, compelled to be
idle!' wliile my mind was agitated by these thoughts,
I had \Yandered into a tliick forest : and suddenly,
looking up, I perceived before me an old man with
a book in his hand ; his forehead was somewhat
wrinkled, and he was bald to the crown ; a beard,
%vhite as snow, hung down to his girdle ; his stature
was tall ; his cheeks were still florid, and his eyes
piercing ; there was great sweetness in his voice : his
address, though it was plain, was engaging : and I
had never seen any person whose manner and ap-
pearance so strongly excited veneration and esteem.
His name was Termosu-is : he was a priest of Apollo,
and officiated in a temple of marble which the kings
of Egypt had consecrated to that deity in the forest.
The book wliich he held in his h.and was a collectiou
of hymns that had been composed to the honour or
the gods. He accosted me with an air of friendship;
and we entered into conversation. He related past
events with such force of expression, that they seem-
ed to be present ; and with such comprehensive bre-
vity, that attention was not wearied; and he foresaw
the future, by a sagacity that discovered the true cha-
racters and dispositions of mankind, and the events
which they would produce. But with all this intel-
lectual superiority, he was cheerful and condescend-
ing : there is no grace in the utmost gaiety of youth
that was not exceeded by Temiosiris in his age; and
he regarded young persons with a kind of parental
atfection, when he perceived that they had a dispo-
sition to be instructed and a love for virtue.
" He soon discovered a tender regard for me ; and
gave me books to relieve the anxiety of my mind.
He called me his son ; and I frequently addressed
him as a father. ' The gods,' said I, ' who have de-
prived me of Mentor, have, in pity, sustained me
with thy friendship.' He was, without doubt, like
Orpheus and Linus, irradiated by the immediate
inspiration of the j^^ods. He often repeated verses of
*8 TELEMACHUS.
his own, and gave me those of many others who hafl
been the favourites of the muses. When he was
habited in his long white robes, and played upon his
ivory lyre, the bears, lions, and tigers of the forest
fawned upon him, and licked his feet; the satyrs
came from their recesses and danced around him ;
and it might also have been believed, that even
the trees and rocks were influenced by the magic of
his song, in which he celebrated the majesty of the
gods, the virtue of heroes, and the wisdom of those
who prefer glory to pleasure.
" Termosiris often excited me to courage. He told
me, that the gods would never abandon either Ulysses
or his son; and that I ought, after the example of
Apollo, to introduce the shepherds to the acquaint-
ance of the muses. ' Apollo,' says he, ' displeased
that Jupiter frequently interrupted the serenity of the
brightest days with thunder, turned his resentment
against the Cyclops, who forged the bolts, and de-
stroyed them with his arrows. Immediately the
fiery explosions of Mount Etna ceased : and the
strokes of those enormous hammers, which had
shaken the earth to the centre, were heard no more ,
iron and brass, which the Cyclops had been used to
polish, began now to rust and canker: and Vulcan,
quitting his forge, in the fury of his resentment, has-
tily climbed Olympus, notwithstanding his lameness;
and, rushing into the assemblv of the gods, covered
with dust and sweat, complained of the injury with
all the bitterness of invective. Jupiter, being thus
incensed against Apollo, expelled him from heaven,
and tlirew him downi headlong to the earth; but his
chariot, though it was empty, still performed its
usual course ; and by an invisible impulse, continued
the succession of day and night, and the regular
change of seasons to mankind. Apollo, divested of
his rays, was compelled to become a shepherd, and
kept the f ocks of Admetus, king of Thcssaly.
*' ' Wli^-e he wiis thus disjj^raccd, and in exile, he
BOOK 11. 29
used to soothe his mind with music, under the shade
of 6ome olms that ilcmrihhed upon the hordors of a
limpid stream. This drew about liim all the neigh-
bouring shepherds, whose life till then had been rude
and brutal ; whose knowledge had been confined to
the n>anagement of their sheep ; and whose country
had the appearance of a desert. To these savages
Apollo, varying the subject of his song, taught all the
arts by which existence is improved into felicity.
Sometimes he celebrated the flowers which improve
the graces of spring, the fragrance which she diffuses,
and the verdure that rises under her fjct; sometimes
the delightful evenings of summer, her zephyrs that
refresh mankind, and her dews that allay the thirst
of the earth : nor were the golden fruits of autumn
forgotten, with wliich she rewards the labour of the
husbandman ; nor the cheerful idleness of winter,
who piles his fires till they emulate the sun, and in-
vites the youth to dancing and festivity : he described
also the gloomy forests with which the mountains
are overshadowed, and the rivers that wind with a
pleasing intricacy through the luxuriant nu^adows
of the valley. Thus were the shepherds of Thessaly
made acquainted with the happhicss that is to be
foimd in u rural life, bv those to whom nature is not
boimtiful in vain : their pipes now rendered them
more happy than kings; and those uncomipted
pleasures which fly Irum the palace, were invited to
the cottage. The shepherdesses were followed by
the sports, the smiles, and the graces; and adorned
by simplicity and innocence; every day was devoted
to joy ; and nothing was to be heard but the chirping
of birds, the whispers of the zephyrs that sported
among the branches of the trees, the murmurs ot
water falUng from a rock, or the songs with which
the muses inspired the shepherds who followed
Apollo : they were taught also to conquer in tht-
race, and to shoot with the bow. Ihe gods them
seives became jealous of their happiness : thev rear
4
so TELEMACHUS.
thouglit the obscurity of a shepherd belter man the
splendour of a deity, and recalled Apollo to Olympus.
" ' By this story, my son, be thou instructed. Thou
art now in the same state with that of Apollo in his
exile : like him, therefore, fertilize an uncultivated
soD, and call plenty to a desert ; teach those rustics
the power of music, soften the obdui-ate heart to
sensibility, and captivate the savage with the charms
of vii-tue. Let them taste the pleasures of innocence
and retirement ; and heighten this felicity with the
transporting knowledge, that it is not dependent
upon the caprice of fortune. The day approaches,
my i^on, the day approaches, in which the pains and
ares that suiTound a throne, will teach thee to
- 'iwember these wilds with regret.'
' ' Termosiris then gave me a flute, the tone of
lich was so melodious, that the echoes of the
;. . mitains, wliich propagated the sound, immediately
'^. ought the neighbouring shepherds in crowds about
;j o: a divine melody was communicated to my
v'vice; I perceived myself to be under a super-
i'latural influence, and I celebrated the beauties of
'lature with all the rapture of enthusiasm. We
trequently sung all the day in concert, and some-
:.imes encroached upon the night. The shepherds,
"orgetting their cottages and their flocks, were fixed
tuotionless as statues aboiit me, while I delivered
:iy instructions : the desert became insensibly less
■ ild and rude ; every thing assumed a more pleas-
ng appearance; and the country itself seemed to
jti improved by the manners of the people.
" We often assembled to sacrifice in the temple to
Apollo, at which Termosiris ofiiciatcd as priest ; the
fchepherds v/ore wreaths of laurel in honour of the
gods, and the shepherdesses were adorned with gar-
lauds of ''iOwers, and came dancing with garlands of
consecrated gifts upon their heads. After the sacri-
:ce, we made a rural feast : the greatest delicacies
' ."'ere the milk of our goats and sheep, and some dates,
BOOK II. 3]
figs, ^apes, and other fi-uits, which wpre fresh
gathered bv our owu hands ; the green turf was our
seat, and the foUage of the trees afforded us a more
pleasing shade than the gilded roofs of a palace. But
mv reputation among the shepherds was completed
by an accident: a hungry lion h; ppened to break in
among mv flock, and beiran a dreadful slaugiiter.
ran towards him, though I had nothing in my hand
but my sheep-hook. When he saw me, he erected his
mane; he be.xan to grind his teeth, and to extend Ida
claws; his mouth appeared drv and inflamed, and his
eyes were red and fiery. I did not wait for his at-
tack ; but rushed in upon him, and threw him to the
ground ; nor did I receive any hurt, for a small coat
of mail that I wore, as an Etryptian shepherd, de-
fended me against his claws : three times I threw
him, and he rose three times against me, roaring so
loud, that the utmost recesses of the forest echoed:
but, at last, I grasped him till he was strangled, and
the shepherds, who were witnesses of my conquest,
insisted that I should wear his skin as a trophy.
" This action, and the change of manners among
our shepherds, was rumoured through all Egypt, and
came at length to the ears of Sesostris : he learnt that
one of the two captives, who had been taken for Phoe-
nicians, had restored the golden age in the midst ot
deserts which were scarce inhabitable, and desired
to see me ; for he was a friend to the muses, and
rei^-ardi'd, with attention and complacency, whatever
appeared to be the means of instruction. I was
accordinirly brought before him : he listened to my
story with pleasure, and soon discovered that he had
been abused by the avarice of Mctophis. Metophis
lie therefore condemned to perpetual imprisonment,
and took into his own possession the wealth which
his rapacity and injustice had heaped together.
' How unhappy,' said he, ' are those whom the goda
have exalted above the rest of mankind ! They see
no object but through a medium which distorts it:
32 TELEMACHUS.
they are surrounded by wretches who intercept truth
iu its approaches ; every one imagines it his interest
to deceive them, and every one conceals his owii am-
bition under the appearance of zeal for their service:
that regard is professed for the prince, of which the
wealth and honours that he dispenses are indeed the
objects ; and so flagitious is the neglect of his interest,
that for these he is flattered and betrayed.'
' ' From tliis time Sesostris treat-ed me with a tender
fi-iendsliip, and resolved to send me back to Ithaca, in
a fleet that should cany troops sufficient to deliver
Penelope from all her suitors. This fleet was at
length ready to sail, and waited only for our embark-
ation. I reflected, with wonder, upon the caprice of
Fortune, who fi-equently most exalts those whom, the
moment before, she had most depressed : and the ex-
perience of this inconstancy encouraged me to hope
that Ulysses, whatever he should suffer, might at last
return to his kingdom. My thoughts also suggested,
that I might again meet with Mentor, even thoughhe
should have been carried into the remotest parts ot
Etliiopia. I therefore delayed my departure a few
days, that I might make some inquiry after liim : but
in this interval Sesostris, who was very old, died
suddenly ; and by his death I was involved in new
calamities.
' ' Tliis event filled all Egypt with grief and despair ;
every family lamented Sesostris as its most valuable
friend, its protector, its father. The old, lifting up
their hands to heaven, uttered the most passionate
exclamations : ' O Egypt, thou hast known no king
like Sesostris in the times that are past ; nor shalt
thou know any like him in those that are to come 1
Ye gods ! ye should not have given Sesostris to
mankind ; or ye should not have taken lum away !
O wherefoi-e do we survive Sesostris !' The young
cried out — 'The hope of Egypt is cut off! Our
fathers were long happy under the government of a
king whom we have known only to regret !' His do-
BOOK LI. 33
niestics wept incessantly, and, during forty days, the
inliabitants of the remotest provinces came in crowds
to liis funeral. Every one was eagerly solicitous yet
once more to gaze upon the body of his prince ; all
desired to preserve the idea in their memory ; and
ome requested to be shut up with him in the tomb.
" The loss of Sesostris was more sensibly felt, as
Bocchoris his son was destitute of humanity to
strangers, and of curiosity for science ; of esteem for
merit, and love of glory. The greatness of the father
contributed to degrade the son : his education had
rendered him effeminately voluptuous, and brutally
proud: he looked down upon mankind as creatures
of an inferior species, that existed only for his plea-
sure ; he thought only of gratifying his passions, and
dissipating the immense treasures that had been
amassed for public use by the economy of his father;
of procuring new resources for extravagances by the
most cruel rapacity, impoverishing the rich, famish-
ing the poor, and perpetrating every other evil that
was advised by the beardless sycophants whom he
permitted to disgrace his presence ; w^hile he drove
away with derision the hoarv sages in whom his
father had confided. Such was Bocchoris; not a king,
but a monster. Egypt groaned under his tyranny ;
and thoug-h the reverence of the people for the
memory of Sesostris rendered them patient under the
government of his son, however odious and cruel, yet
he precipitated his own destruction; and, indeed, it
was impossible that he should long possess a throne
which he so little deserved.
" My hopes of retuniing to Ithaca were now at
an end. I was shut up in a tower that stood on the
sea-sliore near Pelusium, where we should have em-
barked, if the death of Sesostris had not prevented
us; forMetophis having, by some intrigue, procured
his enlargement, and an admission into the councils
of the yoiinff king, almost the first act of his power
was to imprison me in this place, to revenge the di*«
34 TELEMACHUS.
^ace into which I had brought him. There I passed
whole days and nights in the agonies of despair. All
that Termosiris had predicted, and all that I had
heard in the cave, was remembered but as a dream.
Sometimes, while I was absorbed in reflections upon
my own misery, I stood gazing at the waves that
broke against the foot of the tower; and sometimes I
contemplated the vessels that were agitated by the
tempest, and in danger of splitting against the rocks
upon which the tower was built : but I was so far
from commiserating those who were threatened with
shipwreck, that I regarded them with envy. * Their
misfortune,' said I to myself, 'and their lives, will
quickly be at an end together, or they will return in
safety to their country ; but neither is permitted to
me!'
' ' One day, while I was thus pining with ineffectual
sorrow, I suddenly perceived the masts of ships at a
distance like a forest : the sea was presently covered
with sails swelhng with the wind, and the waves
foamed with the strokes of innumerable oars. I heard
a confused sound on every side. On the sea-coast, I
perceived one party of Egyptians run to arms with
terror and precipitation; and another waiting quietly
for the fleet which was bearing down upon them. I
soon discovered that some of these vessels were of
Phoenicia, and others of the isle of Cyprus ; for my
misfortunes had acquainted me with many things
that relate to navigation. The Egyptians appeared
to be divided among themselves ; and I could easily
believe that the follv and the violence of Bocchoris
had provoked his subjects to a revolt, and kindled
a civil war; nor was it long before I became a spec-
tator of an obstinate engagement from the top of my
tower. Those Egyptians who had called in the a.s-
sistance of the foreign powers, after having favoured
the descent, attacked the otlier party, which was
commanded by the king, and animated by his exam-
ple. He appeared like f^'^, fi;od of war; rivers of
BOOK II. 35
Wood flowed around him ; the wheels of his chariot
were smeared with gore that was black, clotted, and
frothy, and could scarce he dragged over the heaps
of slaiii, which they crushed as they passed: his figure
was graceful, and his constitution vigorous ; his
aspect was haughty and fierce, and his eyes sparkled
with rage and despair. Like a high-spirited horse
that had never been broke, he was precipitated upon
danger by his courage, and his force was not directed
by wisdom : he knew not how to retrieve an error,
nor to give orders with sufficient exactness ; he nei-
ther foresaw the evils that threatened him, nor em-
ployed the troops he had to the greatest advantage,
though he was in the utmost need of more ; not that
he wanted abilities, for liis understanding was equal
to his courage; but he had never been instructed by
adversity. Those who had been intrusted with his
education had connipted an excellent natural dispo-
sition by flattery : he was intoxicated with the con-
sciousness of his power, and the advantages of his
situation ; he believed that everything ought to yield
to the impetuosity of his wishes, and the least ap-
pearances of opposition transported him with rage;
'u« was then deaf to the expostulations of reason, and
had no longer the power of i-ecoUection. The fury
of his pride transformed him to a brute, and left liim
neither the afl'ections nor the understanding of a man :
the most faithful of his servants fled terrified from his
presence; and he was gentle only to the most abject
servility, and the most criminal compliance. Thus
his conduct, always violent, was always directly
opposite to his interest ; and he was detested by all
whose approbation is to be desired. His valour now
sustained him long against a multitude of his ene-
mies ; but, at length, the dart of a Phoenician entered
his breast ; the reins dropped from his hands, and I
saw him fall from liis chariot under the feet of his
horses, A soldier of the isle of Cypi"us immediately
struck off his head ; and, holding it up by the hair,
86 TELEMACHUS.
showed it to the confederates, as a trophy of their
victory. Of this head no time or circumstance can
ever obliterate the idea : methinks I still see it drop-
ping blood; the eyes closed and sunk; the visage
pale and disfigiired ; the mouth half open, as if it
would still finish the inteiTupted sentence ; and the
look which, even in death, was haughty and threat-
ening. Nor shall I forget, if the gods hereafter place
me upon a throne, so dreadful a demonstration that
a king is not worthy to command, nor can he be
happy in the exercise of liis power, but in proportion
as he is himself obedient to reason. Alas ! how de-
plorable is his estate, who, by the perversion of that
power with which the gods have invested him as the
instrument of pubUc happiness, diffuses misery among
the multitude that he governs, and who is known
to be a king only as he is a curse !"
POOK IIL
Telemachus relates, that the successor of Bucchoris releasing an tb»
Tyrian prisoners, he was himself sent to Tyre, on board the vessel
of Narbal, who had commanded tk Tyrian fleet : that Narbal gav»
him a descriptitm of Pygmalion their kmg, and expressed appreheE.
sions of dan|i;er from the cruelty of his avarice: that he afterwardi
instructed him in the commercial regulations of Tyre : and that being
about to em,bark >u a Cyprian vessel, in order to proceed by the isle
of Cyprus to Ithaca, Pygmalion discovered tliat he was a stranger,
and ordered him to he seized; that his life was thus brought into the
most imminent danger, but that he had been preserved by the tyrant's
misti-ess Astarbe, that she mi?ht, in his stead, destroy a young
Eydian of whom she had been eiiamouied, but who rejected h«r
for another.
Calypso was astonished at tho wisdom which she
discovered in Telemachus; but she was delighted
with his ingenuous confession of the errors into
which he had been betrayed by the precipitation of
his own resolutions, and by his negijct of Mentor's
counsel. She was surprised to perceive in the youth
such strength and dignity of mind as enabled him to
judge of his own actions with impartiality; and, by a
review of the failings of his life, become prudent,
cautious, and deliberate. — " Proceed, "said she, "my
dear Telemachus ; for I am impatient to know by what
BOCK III. 37
means vou escaped from Egypt, and where yoii again
found Mentor, whose loss you had so much reason
to regret." Telemachus then coutmued his rehition.
♦' The party of Egyptians who had preserA'ed their
virtue and their loyalty, being greatly inferior to the
rebels, were obliged to yield when the Icing fell.
Another prince, whose name was Terniutis, was esta-
Idished in his stead ; and the Phcrnician and Cyprian
troops, after they had concluded a treaty with him,
departed. By this treaty all the Phopnician prisoners
were to be restored; and as I was deemed one of the
number, I was set at liberty, and put on board with
the rest ; a change of fortune which once more dissi-
}iated the gloom of despair, and diffused the dawn
of hope in my bosom.
" Our sails were now swelled by a prosperous
wind, and the foaming waves were divided by our
oars; the spacious deep was covered with vessels, the
mariners shouted, the shores of Egypt fled from us,
and the hills and mountains grew level by degrees;
our view began to be bounded only by the sea and
the sky ; and the sparkling fires of the sun, which
was rising, seemed to emerge from the abyss of the
waters: his rays tinged with gold the tops of the
mountains, which were still just to be perceived in
the horizon; and the deep azure with which the
whole firmament was painted, was an omen of a
happy voyage.
" Though I had been dismissed as a Phopnician, yet
I was not known to any of those with whom I em-
barked; and Narbal, who commanded the vessel,
asked me my name and my country. * Of what city
of Phoniicia are you ?' said he. 'Of none, ' I replied ;
' but I was taken at sea m a Phoenician vessel, and,
as a Phoenician, remained a captive in Egypt; under
this name have I been long a slave, and by this
name I am at length set free.' — ' Of what country are
you then i " -aid Narbal. ' I am,' said I, ' Telema-
chus, the sou of Ulysses, king of Itliaca, an island of
38 TELEMACHUS.
Greece: my father has acquired a mighty name
among the confederate princes who had laid siege to
Troy; but the gods have not permitted him to return
to his kingdom. I have sought him in many coun-
tries; and am, like him, persecuted by Fortune. I
am wretched, though my life is private, and my
wishes are few; I am wretched, though I desire no
happiness but the endearments of my family, and the
protection of my father.'
" Narbal gazed upon me with astonishment, and
thought he perceived in my aspect sometliing that
distinguishes the favourites of Heaven. He was, by
nature, generous and sincere; my misfortunes ex-
cited liis compassion; and he addressed me with a
confidence which the gods, doubtless, inspired for
my preservation in the most imminent danger.
" ' Telemachus,' said he, ' I doubt not tie truth of
what you have told me : such, indeed, are the signa-
tures of candour and integrity which I discover in
your countenance, that it is not in my power to
suspect you of falsehood. I am irresistibly deter-
mined, by a secret impulse, to belieA^e that you are
beloved by the gods, whom I have always served, and
that it is their pleasure I also should love you as my
son : I will therefore give you a salutary counsel, for
which I ask no return but secrecy.' — ' Fear not,' said
I, 'that I should find it difficult to be silent; for, how-
ever young, it is long since I learned not to reveal
my own secret, much less not to betray, under any
pretence, the secret of another.' — ' By what means,'
said he, ' could the habit of secrecy be acquired
by a cliild ? I should rejoice to learn how that may be
attained early, without which a prudent conduct is
impossible, and eveiy other qualification useless.'
*' ' I haA-^e been infonned,' said T, ' that when
Ulysses went to the siege of Troy, he placed me upon
his knees, threw his arms about me, and after he had
kissed me with the utmost tenderness, pronoimced
these words, though I could not then understand
BOOK III. 39
their import : — * ' my soul ! may tlie rods ordain me
to perish before I see thee atrain; or, may the Fatal
Sisters cut the thread of thy life, while it is yet short,
as the reaper cuts down a teuder flower iliat is but
beginning to blow ; may my enemies dash thee m
pieces before the eyes of thy mother and of me, if
thou art one day to be connipted and seduced from
virtue ! O my friends, I leave with you this son,
whom I so tenderly love: watch over his infancy; if
you have any love for me, keep flattery far from him ;
and, while he is yet flexible, like a young plant, keep
him upright : but, above all, let nothing be forgotten
that may render him just, beneficent, sincere, and
secret. lie that is capable of a lie, deserves not the
name of a man ; and lie that knows not how to be
silent, is unworthy the dignity of a prince."
" ' I have repeated the very words of Ulysses to
you, because to me they have been repeated so often,
that they perpetually occur to my mind ; and I fre-
quently repeat them to myself. The friends of my
father began very early to teach me secrecy, by giv-
ing me frequent opportunities to practise it; and I
made so rapid a progress in the art, that, while I was
yet an infant, they communicated to me their appre-
hensions from the crowd of presumptuous rivals that
addressed my mother. At that time they treated me
not as a child, but as a man, whose reason might assist
them, and in whose firmness they could confide : they
frequently confen-ed with me, in private, upon the
most important subjects; and communicated the
schemes which had been formed, to deliver Penelope
from lier suitors. I exulted m this confidence, which
I considered as a proof of my real dignity and im-
portance; I was, therefore, ambitious to sustain my
character, and never suff"ered the least intimation of
what had been intrusted with me as a secret, to
escape me. The suitors often engaged me to talk,
hoping that a child, who had seen orheard any circum-
stance of importance, would relate it without caution
40 TELEMACHUS.
or design; Lut I had learnt to answer them, without
forfeiting my veracity or disclosing my secret.*
" Narbal then addressed me in these terms : — ' You
see, Telemachus, of what power the Phoenicians are
possessed, and how much their innumerable fleets
are dreaded by the neighbouring nations. The com-
merce, which they ha'\^e extended to the Pillars of
Hercules, has given them riches which the most
flourishing countries cannot supply to themselves;
even the great Sesostris could never have prevailed
against them at sea; and the veterans, by whom he
had subjugated all the East, found it extremely
difficult to conquer them in the field. He imposed
a tribute, which they have long neglected to pay;
for they are too sensible of their own wealth and
power to stoop patiently under the yoke of subjec-
tion: they have, therefore, thrown it oif; and the
war which Sesostris commenced against them has
been terminated by his death. The power of Sesos-
tris was, indeed, rendered formidable by his policy ;
but when without his policy his power descended to
his son, it was no longer to be dreaded ; and the
Egyptians, instead of entering Phoenicia with a mili-
tary foi:ce, to reduce to obedience a revolted people,
have been compelled to caD in the assistance of the
Phoenicians, to deliver them from the oppression ol
an impious tyrant. This deliverance the Phoenicians
have effected, and added new glory to independence,
and new power to wealth.
'' ' But while we deliver others we enslave our-
selves. O Telemachus ! do not rashly put your life
into the hands of Pygmalion our king: his hands
are already stained wilh the blood of Sichaeus, the
husband of Dido his sister; and Dido, impatient to
revenge his death, is Hed, with the greater part of the
friends of virtue and of liberty, in a numerous fleet
from Tyre, and has laid the foundations of a mag-
nificent city on the coast of Afi-ica, which she calls
Carthage. An insatiable thirst of riches renders
BOOK III. 41
Pygmalion every day more wretched and more detest-
able. In his dominions it is a crime to be wealthy:
•avarice makes him jealous, suspicious, and ciniel:
he persecutes the rich, and he dreads the poor.
•' ' But, at Tyre, to be virtuous is yet a greater
crime than to be wealthy ; for Pyfrmalion supposes,
that virtue cannot patiently endure a conduct that
is unjust and infamous; and, as Virtue is an enemy
to Pygmalion, Pygmalion is an enemy to Virtue.
Every incident torments him with inquietufie, per-
plexity, and apprehension ; he is terrified at liis own
shadow ; and sleep is a stranger to his eyes. The
gods have punished him, by heaping treasures before
him which he does not dare to enjoy; and that in
which alone he seelvs for happiness is the source of
his misery. He regrets whatever he gives ; he dreads
the loss of the wealth which he possesses, and sacri-
fices every comfort to the acquisition of more. He
is scarce ever to be seen ; but sits in the inmost re-
cess of his palace, alone, pensive, and dejected; his
friends dare not approach him, for to approach him
is to be suspected ,as an enemy. A guard, with
swords drawn, and pikes levelled, surrounds his
dwellinir with a horrid security ; and the apartments
in which he hides liimself consists of thirty chambers,
which communicate with each other, and to each of
which there is an iron door with six bolts. It is
never known in which of these chambers he passes
the night ; and it is said, that the better to secure
himself against assassination, he never sleeps in the
same two nights together. He is equally insensible
to the joys of society, and the more refined and
tender delights of friendship. If he is excited to the
pursuit of pleasure, he perceives that pleasure is far
from him, and sits down in despair. His eyes are
hollow, eager, and piercing ; and he is continually
looking round him with a restless and inquisitive
suspicion. At every noise, however trivial, he starts,
listens, is alarmed, and trembles : he is pale and
42 I'ELEMACHUS.
emaciated ; tlie gloom of care is diflPused over his
countenance, and his brow is contracted into wrinkles.
He seldom speaks, but he sighs perpetually ; and
the remorse and anguish of his mind are discovered
by groans, which he endeavours in vain to suppress :
the richest delicacies of his table are tasteless ; and
his children, whom he has made liis most dangerous
enemies, are not the objects of hope, but of terror.
He believes himself to be in pei-petual danger; and
attempts his own preservation, by cutting off all
those whom he fears ! not knowing that cruelty, in
which alone he confides for safety, will inevitably pre-
cipitate his destruction ; and that some of his do-
mestics, dreading the effects of his caprice and
suspicion, will suddenly deliver the world from so
horrid a monster.
" ' As for me, I fear the gods ; and will, at what-
ever hazard, continue faithful to the king whom they
have set over me : I had rather he should take away
my life than lift my hand iigainst his, or neglect to
defend him against the attempts of another. But
do not you, O Telemachus, acquaint him with the
name of your father ; for he will then certainly shut
you up in prison, hoping that Ulysses, when he
returns to Ithaca, will pay him a large sum for
your ransom.'
" When we arrived at Tyre, I followed the
counsel of Narbal, and was soon convinced that all he
had related was true ; though before I could scarcely
conceive it possible for any man to render himsel/'
o extremely wretched as he had represented Pyg-
tnalion.
*' I was the more sensibly touched at the appear-
ances of his tyranny and wretchedness, as they had
the force of novelty ; and I said to myself — ' Tliis
is the man who has been seeking happiness, and
imagined it was tc be found in unlimited power and
inexhaustible wealth : wealth and power he has
acquired, but tbc acquisition has made liim raiser-
nOOK III. 43
able. If he was a shepherd, as I lately have been,
he would be equally happy iu the enjoyment of
rural pleasure;?, wliich, as they are innocent, are
never resetted ; he would fear neither daggers nor
poison, but would be the love and the lover of man-
kind : he would not, indeed, possess that immense
treasure, which, to him who hides it, is useless as a
heap of sand, but he would rejoice in the bounty of
Nature, by which every want would be supplied.
He appears to act only by the dictates of his own
will ; but he is, indeed, the slave of appetite ; he
is condemned to do the drudgery of avarice, and
to smart under the scourge of fear and suspicion.
He appears to have dominion over others, but he is not
the master even of himself; for, in every in-egular
passion, he has not only a master, but a tormentor.'
" Such were my reflections upon the condition of
Pygmalion, without having seen him ; for he was
seen by none; and his people could only gaze, with
a kind of secret dread, upon those lofty towers,
which were surrounded night and day by his guards,
and in which he had immured himself with his
treasures as iu a prison. I compared this invisible
king with Sesostris, the mild, the affable, the good ;
who was so easy of access to his subjects, and so
desirous to converse with strangers, so attentive to
all who wished to be heard, and so inquisitive after
truth, which those who surround a throne are
solicitous to conceal. 'Sesostris,' said I, 'feared
nothing, and had nothing to fear ; he showed him-
self to all his subjects as to liis children ; but by
Pygmalion every tiling is to be feared, and he fears
every thing. This execrable tyrant is in perpetual
danger of a violent death, even in the centre of his
inaccessible palace, and suiTounded by his guards ;
but the good Sesostris, when his people were gather-
ed in crowds about him, was in perfect safety, hke
a kind father, who in his own house is surrounded
by his children.'
44 TELEMACHUS.
" Pygmalion gave orders to send back the troops
of the Isle of Cypinis, who, to fulfil a treaty, had
assisted his own in their expedition to Egypt ; and
Narbal took this opportunity to set me at liberty.
He caused me to pass in review, among the Cyprian
soldiers ; for the king always inquired into the mi-
nutest incidents with the most scrupulous suspicion.
The failing of negligent and indolent princes is the
giving themselves up, with a boundless and implicit
confidence, to the discretion of some crafty and
iniquitous favourite ; but the failing of Pygmalion
was to suspect the most ingenuous and upright : he
knew not how to distinguish the native features of
integrity from the mask of dissimulation ; for Inte-
grity, who disdained to approach so corrupt a prince,
he had never seen : and he had been so often de-
frauded and betrayed, and had so often detected
every species of vice under the semblance of virtue,
in the wi-etches who were about him, that he ima-
gined every man walked in disguise, that virtue
existed only in idea, and that all men were nearlv
the same. When he found one man fraudulent and
corrupt, he took no care to displace him for another,
because he took it for granted that another would be
as bad : and he had a worse opinion of those in whom
he discovered an appearance of merit, than of those
who were most openly vicious ; because he believed
them to be equally knaves, and greater hypocrites.
" But to return to myself: The piercing suspicion
of the king did not distinguish me from the Cyprian
soldiers : but Narbal trembled for fear of a disco-
very, which would have been fatal both to liim and
to me ; he therefore expressed the utmost imi)atience
to see me embark ; but I was detained at Tyi'e a
considerable time by contrary winds.
"During this interval I acquainted myself with
the manners of the Phoenicians, a people that were
become famous through all the known world. I
admired the situation of their citv, which is built
BOOK IIL 45
upon an island in the midst of the sea. The neig-h-
bouring coast is rendered extremely deiighiful by-
its uncommon fertility, the exquisite flavour of its
fruits, the number of towns and villages which are
almost contiguous to each other, and the excellent
temperature of the climate ; it is sheltered by a
ridge of mountains from the bm-ning winds that pas3
over the southern continent, and refreshed by tho
northern breezes that blow from the sea. It is situ-
ated at the foot of Libanus, whose head is concealed
within the clouds, and hoary with everlasting frost.
Torrents of water, mingled with snow, rush from
the craggy precipices that surround it; and at a
small distance below is a vast forest of cedars, which
appear to be as ancient as the earth, and almost as
lofty as the sky. The declivity of the mountain,
below the forest, is covered with pasture, where
innumerable cattle and sheep are continually feed-
ing among a thousand rivulets of the purest water :
and at the foot of the mountain, below the pas-
tures, the plain has the appearance of a garden,
where spring and autumn seem to miite their influ-
ence, to produce at once both flowers and fruit,
which are never parched by the pestilential heat of
the southern blast, nor blighted by the piercing cold
of the northern tempest.
"Near this deligiitful coast, the island on wliich
Tyre is built emerges from the sea. The city seema
to float upon the waters, and looks like the sovereign
of the deep. It is crowded with merchants of every
nation, and its inhabitants are themselves the most
eminent merchants in the world. It appears, at first,
not to be the city of any particular people, but to
be common to all as the centre of their commerce.
There are two large moles, which, like two arms
stretched out in the sea, embrace a spacious har-
bour, which is a shelter from every wind. The ves-
sels in this hai-bour are so numerous, as almost to
hide the water in wiiich thoy float; aiKi the mast*
46 TELEMACHUS.
look at a distance like a forest. All the citizens of
Tyre apply themselves to trade ; and their wealth
does not render them impatient of that labour by
wliich it is increased. Their city abounds with the
finest linen of Eirypt, and cloth that has been doubly
dyed with the Tyrian purple ; a colour which has a
lustre that time itself can scarce diminish, and which
they frequently heighten by embroidery of gold and
silver. The commerce of the Phoenicians extends to
the Straits of Gades ; they have even entered the
vast ocean by wliich the world is encircled, and
made long voyages upon the Red Sea to islands
which are unknown to the rest of mankind, from
whence they bi-ing gold, perfumes, and many ani-
mals that are to be found in no other country.
"I gazed with insatiable curiosity, upon this
gi-eat city, in which every thing was in motion ; and
where none of those idle and inquisitive persons are
to be found, who, in Greece, saunter about the public
places in quest of news, or observe the foreigners
who come on shore in the port. The men are busied
in loading the vessels, in sending away or in selling
their merchandise, in putting their warehouses in
order, or in keeping an account of the sums due to
them from foreign merchants ; and the women are
constantly employed in spinning wool, in drawing
patterns for embroidery, or in folding up rich stuffs.
" 'By what means,' said I to Narbal, ' have the
Phoenicians monopolized the commerce of the world,
and enriched themselves at the expense of every
other nation?' — 'You see the means,' answered
Narbal : ' the situation of Tyre renders it more fit
for commerce than any other place ; and the inven-
tion of navigation is the peculiar glory of our coim-
try. If the accounts are to be beUeved that are
transmitted to us from the most remote antiquity,
the Tyrhns rendered the waves subservient to their
purpose long before Typhis and the Argonauts be-
rv.rr.^ t'lo I) «;ist of (Jreoce : thov were the first who
BOOK IIL 47
defied the rage of the billows and the tempest on a
few floating planks, and fathomed the abysses of the
ocean. They reduced the theories of Egyptian and
Babylonian science to practice, regulating their
course where there was no land-mark, by the stars:
and they brought innumerable nations together
which the sea had separated. The Tyrians are in-
genious, persevering and laborious ; they have, be-
side, great manual dexterity ; and are remarkable
for temperance and frugality. The laws are exe-
cuted with the most scrupulous punctuality ; and
the people are, among themselves, perfectly unani-
mous ; and to strangers, they are, above all others,
friendly, courteous, and faithful,
" ' Such are the means; nor is it necessary to seek
for any other, by which they have subjected the sea
to their dominion, and included every nation in
their commerce. But if jealousy and faction should
break in among them ; if they should be seduced
by pleasure, or by indolence ; if the great should
regard labour and economy with contempt, and the
manual arts should no longer be deemed honourable;
if public faith should not be kept with the stranger,
and the laws of a free commerce should be violated;
if manufactures should be neglected, and those
sums spared which are necessary to render every
commodity perfect m its kind ; that power, which
is now the object of your admiration, would soon
be at an end.'
" ' But hoAv,* said I, ' can such a commerce be es-
tablished at Ithaca? — * By the same means,* said
he, ' that we have established it here. Receive all
strangers with readiness and hospitality : let them
find safety, convenience, and liberty in your ports ;
and be careful never to disgust them by avarice or
pride. He that would succeed in a project of gain,
must never attempt to gain too much, and upon
proper occasions, must know how to lose ; endeavour
to gain the good-will of foreigners : rather suffer
48 TELEMACHUS.
some injury than offend them by doing justice to
yourself; and especially, do not keep them at a
distance by a haughty behaviour. Let the laws oi
trade be neither complicated nor burdensome ; but
do not violate them yourself, nor suffer them to be
violated with impunity. Always punish fraud with
severity ; nor let even the negligence or prodigaUty
of a trader escape ; for foUies, as well as vice, effec-
tually ruin trade, by ruining those who carry it on.
But above all, never restrain the freedom of com-
merce, by rendering it subservient to your own im-
mediate gain : the pecuniary advantages of com-
merce should be left wholly to those by whose labour
it subsists, lest this labour, for want of a sufficient
motive, should cease; there are more than equiva-
lent advantages of another kind, which must neces-
sarily result to the prince, from the wealth which a
free commerce will bring into his state ; and com-
merce is a kind of spring, which to divert from its
natural channel, is to lose. There are but two things
which invite foreigners, profit and conveniency : if
you render commerce less convenient, or less gain-
ful, they wiU insensibly forsake you : and those that
once depart wUl never return ; because other na-
tions, taking advantage of your imprudence, will
invite them to their ports, and a habit will soon be
contracted of trading without you. It must, indeed,
be confessed, that the glory even of Tyre has for
some time been obscured. O my dear Telemachus,
hadst thou beheld it before the reign of Pygmalion,
how much greater would have been thy astonish-
ment ! The remains of Tyre only are now to be
seen ; ruins which have yet the appearance of mag-
nificence, but will shortly be mingled with the dust.
O unhappy Tyre ! to what a wretch art thou subject-
ed ; thou to whom, as to the sovereign of the world,
the sea so lately rolled the tribute of every nation !
*' • Both strangers and subjects are equally dreaded
by Pygmalion ; and, iiistead of throwing open our
I
BOOK IIL 49
ports to traders of the most remote countries, like
his predecessors, without auy stipulation or inquiry,
he demands an exact account of the numher of ves-
sels that arrive, the countries to which they belong,
the name of every person on board, the manner of
their trading, the species and the value of their com-
modities, and the time they are to continue upon
his coast : but this is not the worst ; for he puts in
practice all the little artifices of cunning to draw the
foreign merchants into some breach of his innumer-
able regulations, that under the appearance of jus-
tice he may confiscate their goods. He is perpetu-
ally harassing those persons whom he imagines to
be most wealthy ; and increasing, under various
pretences, the incumbrances of trade, by multiply-
ing taxes ; he affects to merchandise himself, but
every one is afraid to deal with him. And thus
commerce languishes; foreigners forget, by degi-ees,
the way to Tyre, with wliich they were once so well
acquainted ; and, if Pygmalion persists in a conduct
so impolitic and so injurious, our glory and our
power will be transferred to some other nation,
which is governed upon better principles.'
" I then inquired of Narbal by what means the
Tynans had become so powerful at sea ; for I was
not willing to be ignorant of any of the arts of
government. 'We have,' said he, 'the forest? of
Lebanon, which furnish sufficient timber for building
ships ; and we are careful to reserve it all for that
purpose, never suffering a single tree to be felled
but for the use of the public : and we have a great
number of artificers, who are very skilful in tliis
species of architecture.' — ' Where could these arti-
ficers be procured ?' said I. ' They are the gradual
produce,' said he, ' of our own country. When
those who excel in any art are constantly and libe-
rally rewarded, it will soon be practised in the
greatest possible perfection : for persons of the
highest abilities will always apply themselves to
50 TELEMACHUS.
those arts by wliich great rewards aie to be obtain-
ed. But, besides pecuniary rewards, whoever ex-
cels in any art or science upon which navigation
depends, receives great honour : a good geometri-
cian is much respected; an able astronomer yet
more ; and no rewards are thought too great for a
pilot who excels in his profession. A skilful carpen-
ter is not only well paid, but treated with some
deference ; and even a dexterous rower is sure of a
reward proportioned to his services ; his provision
is the best of its kind, proper care is taken of him
when he is sick, and of his wife and children when
ne is absent ; if any perish by sliipwreck, their fami-
lies are provided for ; and those who have been in
the service a certain number of years are dismissed
with honour, and enabled to spend the remainder
of their days without labour or solicitude. We are,
therefore, never in want of sldlful mariners ; for it
is the ambition of every father to qualify liis son for
so advantageous a station : and boys, almost as soon
as they can walk, are taught to manage an oar, to
climb the shrouds, and to despise a storm. Men
are thus rendered willingly subservient to the pur-
poses of government, by an administration so re-
gular, that it operates with the force of custom ;
and by rewards so certain, that the impulse of hope
is irresistible : and, indeed, by authority alone little
can be effected : mere obedience, like that of a
vassal to his lord, is not sufficient ; obedience must
be animated by affection ; and men must find their
own advantage in that labour which is necessary to
effect the purposes of others.'
" After this discourse, Narbal carried me to the
public storehouses, the arsenals, and all the manu-
factories that relate to shipping. I inquired mi-
nutely into every article, and wrote down all that I
learnt, lest some useful circumstances should after-
wards be forgotten : but Narbal, who was well ac-
quainted with the temper of Pygmalion, and had
BOOK HI. 51
conceived a zealous affection for ms, was still impa-
tient for my departure, dreading a discovery by the
king's spies, wlio were night and day going about
the city ; but the wind would not yet permit me to
embark ; and one day, while we were busied in
examining the harbour with more than common
attention, and questioning several merchants of com-
mercial affairs, one of Pygmalion's officers came up
to Narbal, and said, ' The king has just learnt, fi-oni
the captain of one of the vessels which returned
with you from Egypt, that you have brought hither
a person, who passes for a native of Cyprus, but who
is, indeed, a stranger of some other country. It is
the king's pleasure, that this person be immediately
secured, and the country to which he belongs cer-
tainly known, and for tliis you are to answer with
your head.' — Just at this moment, I had left Narbal
at a distance, to examine more nearly the propor-
tions of a Tyrian vessel which was almost new, and
which was said to be the best sailer that had evei
entered the port ; and I was then stating some ques-
tions to the shipwright under whose directions it
had been built.
" Narbal answered with the utmost const eraation,
and terror, ' That the foreigner was really a native
of the island of Cyprus, and that he would immedi-
ately go in search of him;' but the moment the
officer was out of sight, he ran to me, and acquainted
me with my danger, ' My apprehensions,' said he,
' were but too just : my dear Telemachus, our ruin
is inevitable : the king, who is night and day tor-
mented with mi^itrust, suspects that you are not a
Cyprian, and has commanded me to secure your
person under pain of death ! What shall we do ?
^lay the gods deliver us by more than human wis-
dom, or we perish ! I must produce you to tbe
king : but do you confidently nffirm that you are a
Cyprian of the city of Amathus, and son of a statu-
ary of Venus : 1 will confirm your account, by
52 TELEMACH US.
declaring that I was fonnerly acquainted with your
father ; and perhaps the kinsf, without entering into
a more severe scioitiuy, will suffer you to depart :
this, however, is the only expedient, by which a
chance of life can be procured for us both.*
*' To this counsel of Narbal, I answered, * Let an
unhappy wretch perish, whose destruction is the de-
cree of fate. I can die without terror, and I would
not involve you in my calamity, because I would
live without ingratitude ; but I cannot consent to lie.
I am a Greek ; and to say that I am a Cyprian, is to
cease to be a man : the gods, who know my sincerity,
may, if it is consistent with their wisdom, preserve
me by their power : but fear shall never seduce me
to attempt my own preservation by falsehood.'
" ' Tliis falsehood,' answered Narbal, 'is wholly
without guilt ; nor can it be condemned even by the
gods : it will produce ill to none : it will preserve
the innocent ; and it will no otherwise deceive the
king, than as it will prevent his incurring the guilt
of cruelty and injustice. Your love of virtue is
romantic, and your zeal for religion superstitious.'
" ' That it is a folsehood,' said I, ' is to me a suffi-
cient proof, that it can never become a man who
speaks in the presence of the gods, and is under per-
petual and unlimited obligations to truth. He who
offers violence to truth, as he counteracts the dic-
tates of conscience, must offend the gods, and injure
himself : do not, therefore, urge me to a conduct
that is unworthy both of you and me. If the gods
regard us with pity, they can easily effect our deli-
verance ; and if they suffer us to perish, we shall die
martyrs of truth, and leave one example to mankind,
that virtue has been preferred to life. My life has
been already too long, since it has only been a
series of misfortunes ; and it is the danger of yours
only, my dear Narbal, that I regret. "Why, alas,
should your friendship for a wretched fugitive be
fatal to yourself!'
BOOK III. 63
" This dispute, which had continued a consider-
able time, was at length inteiTupted by the arrival of
a person, who had run till he was not able immedi-
ately to speak ; but we soon learnt, tliat he was
another of the king's officers, and had been dispatch-
ed by Astarbe. Astarbe had beauty that appeared
to be more than human, and a mind that had almost
the power of fascination ; her general manner was
sprightly, her particular address soft and insinuating;
but with all this power to please, she was, like the
Syrens, cruel and malignant, and knew how to con-
ceal the worst purposes by inscrutable dissimulation.
She had gained an absolute ascendency over Pygma-
lion by her beauty and her wit, the sweetness of her
song, and the harmony of her lyre ; and Pygmalion,
in the ardour of his passion for this mistress, had put
away Topha his queen. He thought only how he
should gratify Astarbe, who was enterprising and
ambitious : and his avarice, however infamous, was
scarcely more a curse, than his extravagant fondness
for this woman. But, though he was passionately
enamoured of her, she regarded him with contempt
and aversion : she disguised, indeed, her real senti-
ments ; and appeared to desire life itself only as the
means of enjoying his society, at the very moment
in whicii her heart sickened at his approach.
" At this time, there was, at Tyre, ayoimg Lydian
named Melachon, who was extremely beautiful, but
dissolute, voluptuous, and effeminate ; his principal
care was to preserve the delicacy of his complexion,
and to spread his flaxen hair in rmglets over his shoul-
ders, to perfume his person, adjust his dress, and
chant amorous ditties to the music of his lyre. Of
this youth Astarbe became enamoured to distraction*,
but he declined her favours, because he was himself
equally enamoured of another, and dreaded the jea-
lousy of the king. Astarbe perceived herself slight-
ed, and, in the rage of disappointment, resolved, that
he who rejected her love should at least gratify her
54 TELEMACHUS.
revenge : she thought of representing Melachon to
the king, as the stranger whom he had been informed
Narbal had brought into Tyre, and after whom he had
caused inquiry to be made : in this fi-aud she succeeded
by her own arts of persuasion, and by bribing to
secrecy all who might have discovered it to Pygma-
lion ; for as he neither loved virtue himself, nor
could discover it in others, he was surrounded by
abandoned mercenaries, who would, without scruple,
execute his commands, however iniquitous and cruel;
to these wretches, the authority of Astarbe was
formidable ; and they assisted her to deceive the
king, lest they should give offence to an imperious
woman, who monopolized his confidence. Thus
Melachon, though known to be a Lydian by the
whole city, was cast into prison, as the foreigner
whom Narbal had brought out of Egypt.
* ' But Astarbe, fearing that if Narbal should come
before the king he might discover the imposture,
despatched tliis officer with the utmost expedition,
who delivered her commands in these words: 'It is
the pleasure of Astarbe, that you do not discover
the stranger whom you brought hitherto the king:
she requires nothing of you but to be silent, and
will herself be answerable for whatever is necessary
to your justification ; but let your ffiend immedi-
ately embark with the Cyprians, that he may no
more be seen in the city.' Narbal, who received
this proposal of deliverance with ecstasy, readily
promised to fulfil the conditions ; and the officer,
well satisfied to have succeeded in his commission,
returned to Astarbe to make his report.
" Upon this occasion, we could not but admire
the divine goodness, which had so suddenly reward-
ed our integrity, and interposed, almost by a miracle,
in favour of them that were ready to have sacrificed
every thing to truth ; and we refiected, with horror,
upon a king who had given himself up to avai-ice and
sensuality. ' He who is thus suspicious of deceit.
BOOK III. 6ft
Bald we, * deserves to be deceived; nnd. Indeed, that
which he deserves, he suffers : for, as he suspects the
uprii^ht of hypocrisy, he puts liiinself iuto the hands
of wretches who profess the viliany that they prac-
tise ; and almost every other person in the kingdom
perceives the fraud hy which he is overreached.
Thus, while Pygmalion is made the tool of a shame-
ful strumpet, the gods render the falsehood of the
wicked an instrument of preservation to the right-
eous, to whom it is less dreadful to perish than to lie!'
* ' At the very time in which we wore making these
reflections, we perceived the wind change. It now
blew fair for the Cyprian fleet; and Narbal cried out,
' The gods declare for thee, my dear Telemachus,
and will complete thy deliverance ! Fly from this
cruel, this execrable coast ! To follow thee, to what-
ever climate — to follow thee, in life and death-
would be happiness and honour : but, alas ! Fate has
connected me with this wretched country : with my
country I am born to suffer ; and, perhaps, in her
ruins I shall perish! But of what moment is this, if
my tongue shall be still faithful to truth, and my heart
shall hold fiist its integrity ! As for thee, my dear
Telemachus, may the gods, who guide thee by their
wisdom, reward thee to the utmost of their bounty,
by giving and continuing to thee that virtue which is
pure, generous, and exalted ! Mayest thou survive
every danger, return in safety to Ithaca, and deliver
Penelope from the presumption of her suitors ! May
thy eyes behold, and thy arms embrace, the wise
Ulysses, thy father; and may he rejoice in a son that
will add new honours to his name ! But, in the
midst of thy felicity, suffer at least the sorrows of
friendship, the pleasing anguish of virtue, to steal
upon thee for a moment ; and remember unhappy
Narbal with a sigh, that shall at once express his
misfortunes and thy affection.'
"My heart melted within me as he spoke; and,
when he expected my reply, I threw myself upon his
68 TELEMACHUS.
neck, and bedewed it with my tears, but was unable
to utter a word : we therefore embraced in silence ;
and he then conducted me to the vessel. While we
weighed anchor, he stood upon the beach ; and when
the vessel was under sail, we mutually looked to-
wards each other, till the objects became confused,
and at length totally disappeared."
BOOK IV.
Calypso interrupts Telemachus in his relation, that he may retire to
rest. Mentor privately reproves him, for havin^ undertaken the
recital of his adventures; but, as he has begun, advises him to pro-
ceed. Telemachus relates, that diiring his voyage from Tyre to
Cyprus, he dreamt that he was protected from Venus and Cupi.1 by
ifinerva; and that he afterwards imagined he saw Mentor, who
exhorted him to fly from the isle of Cyprus; that when he awaked,
the vessel would have perished in a stonn if he had not himself taken
the helm, the Cj-prians being all intoxicated with wine: that when
he arrived at the island, he~saw, with horror, the most contagious
examples of debauchery; but that Hazael, the Syrian, to whom
Mentor had been sold, happening to be at Cyprus at the same time,
brought the two friends together, and took them on board his vessel
that was bound to Crete; that during the voyage he had seen
Amphitrite drawn in her chariot by sea horses; a sight iufinitelf
entertaining and magnificent.
Calypso, who had, till this instant, sat motionless,
and listening, with inexpressible delight, to the
adventures of Telemachus, now interrupted him,
that he might enjoy some respite. " It is time," said
she, " that, after so many toils, you should taste the
sweets of repose. In this island you have nothing to
fear; every thing is here subservient to your wishes;
open your heart, therefore, to joy, and make room for
all the blessings of peace which the gods are prepar-
ing for you : and to-morrow, when the rosy fingers of
Aurorashall unlock the golden doors of the east, and
the steeds of Phoebus shall spring up from the deep,
diffusing the beams of day, and driving before them
the stars of heaven, the history of your misfortunes,
my dear Telemachus, shall be resumed. You have
exceeded even your father in wisdom and in courage;
nor has Achilles, the conqueror of Hector; nor The-
seus, who returned from hell ; nor even the great
Alcides, who delivered the earth from so many
BOOK IV. 67
monsters, displayed either fortitude or virtue equal
to yours. May one deep and unbroken slumber
render the night short to you; thoueh to me, alas !
it will be wearisome and long. With what impa-
tience shall I desire again to see you, to hear your
voice; to urge you to repeat what I have been told
already; and inquire after what I have still to learn!
Go, then, my dear Telemachus, with that friend
whom the bounty of the gods has again restored ;
retire into the grotto which has been prepared for
your repose. May Morpheus shed his benignest in-
fluence upon your eyelids, that are now heavy with
watching, and diffuse a pleasant languor through your
limbs, that are fatigued by labour ! May he cause
the most delightful dreams to sport around you ; fill
your imagination with gay ideas : and keep far from
you whatever might chase them away too soon!"
The goddess then conducted Telemachus into the
separate grotto, which was not less rural or pleasant
than her own. In one part of it, the lulling murmurs
of a fountain invited sleep to the weary ; and in
another, the nymphs had prepared two beds of the
softest moss, and covered them with two large
skins ; one with that of a lion for Telemachus, and
the other with that of a bear for Mentor.
They were now alone ; but Mentor, before he re-
signed his eyes to sleep, spoke thus to Telemachus.
"The pleasure of relating your adventures has en-
snared you ; for, by displaying the dangers which you
havesurmounted bv your courage and your ingenuity,
you have captivated Calypso; and, in proportion as
you have inflamed her passions, you have insured
your own captivity. Can it be hoped that she will
suffer him to depart who has displayed such power to
please ? You have been betrayed to indiscretion by
your vanity. She promised to relate some stories to
you, and to acquaint you with the adventures and
the fate of Ulysses ; but she has found means to say
much without gfiving you any information, and to
58 TELEMACHUS.
draw from you whatever she desired to know. Such
are the arts of the flatterer and the wanton ! When,
O Telemachus ! will yoii be wise enough to resist the
impulse of vanity, and know how to suppress inci-
dents that do you honour, when it is not fit that they
should be related? Others, indeed, admire the wis-
dom which you possess at an age in which they think
folly might be forgiven ; but I can forgive you no-
thing; your heart is known only to me, and there is
no other who loves you well enough to tell you your
faults. How much does your father still surpass
you in wisdom !"
"Could I then," answered Telemachus, "have
refused an account of my misfortunes to Calypso ?"
" No," replied Mentor; " but you should have gra-
tified her curiosity only by reciting such circum-
stances as might have raised her compassion : you
might have told her that, after having long wandered
from place to place, you were first a captive in Sicily,
and then a slave in Egypt. This would have been
enough ; and all that was more, served only to ren-
der that poison more active which now rages at her
heart; a poison from which, pray the gods that thy
heart may be defended."
" But what can now be done ?" said Telemachus.
— "Now," replied Mentor, "the sequel of your
story cannot be suppressed : Calypso knows too much
to be deceived in that which she has yet to learn;
and to attempt it woidd be only to displease her.
Proceed, therefore, to-morrow, in your account or
all that the gods have done for you; and speak
another time with more modesty of such actions
of vour own as may be thought to merit praise."
This salutary advice was received by Telemachus
with the same friendship with which it was given by
Mentor; and tliey immediately lay down to rest.
As soon as tlie first rays of Phcebus glanced upon
the mountains. Mentor heard the voice of Calypso
calling to her nymphs in tlie neighbouring wood,
BOOK IV. 59
and iiwakeued Telemaclius. "It is tinio," said he,
" to repress the encroachment of sleep : let us now
return to Calvpso, but put no confidence in her
words: shut vour heart against her, and dread the
delicious poison ot" her praise. Yesterday, she
exalted v<}u above the wise Ulysses your lather,
and the invincible Achilles; above Theseus, who
filled the earth with his fame; and Hercules, who
obtained a place in the skies: did you perceive the
excess of such adulation, or did you believe her
praises to be just ? Calypso herself laughs in secret
at so romantic a falsehood, which she uttered only
because she believed you to be so vain, as to be gra-
tified by the grossest flattery ; and so weak, as to be im-
posed upon by the most extravagant improbability."
They now approached the place where they were
expected by the goddess. The moment she perceived
them, she forced a smile; and attempted to conceal,
■under the appearance of joy, the dread and anxiety
which agitated her bosom : for she foresaw, that,
under the direction of Mentor, Telemachus, like
Ulysses, woidd elude her snares. " Come," said she,
" my dear Telemachus, and relieve me from the im-
patience of curiosity : I have dreamt all the night of
jour departure from Phoenicia to seek new adven-
tures in the isle of Cyprus: let us not, therefore,
;Ose another moment; make haste to satisfy me with
knowledge, and put an end to the illusions of con-
jecture. " They then sat down upon the grass, that
was intermingled with violets; and a lofty grove
r5)read its shadow over them.
Calypso could not refrain from looking frequently,
xvith the most pa.ssionate tenderness, at Telemachus;
nor perceive, without indignation, that every glance
of her eye was remarked by Mentor. All her nymphs
silently ranged themselves in a semicircle, and leaned
forward with the utmost eagerness of attention: the
eyes of the whole assembly were immovcably fixed
upon Telemachus: who Jooking downward, and.
60 TELEMACHUS.
blushing with the most graceful modesty, thus con-
tinued his narrative,
" Our sails had not been long filled with the gentle
breath of a favouring wind, before the level coast of
Phoenicia disappeared. As I was now associated
with Cyprians, of whose manners I was totally igno-
rant, I determined to remain silent, that I might the
better remark all that passed, and recommend myseli
to my companions by the most scrupulous decorum.
But, during my silence, a deep sleep stole insensibly
upon me, the involuntary exercise of all my faculties
was suspended, I sunk into the most luxurious tran-
quillity, and my heart overflowed with delight. On a
sudden I thought the clouds parted, and that I saw
Venus in her chariot drawn by two doves; she ap-
peared in all that radiance of beauty, that gaiety of
youth, that smiling softness, and irresistible grace,
which the thunderer himself could scarce steadfastly
behold, when first she issued from the foam of the
sea: I thought she descended with astonishing rapi-
dity, and in a moment reached the spot on which I
stood: that she then, with a smile, laid her hand
upon my shoulder, and pronounced these words:
* Young Greek, thou art now about to enter into my
dominions ; thou shalt shortly arrive at that fortunate
island, where every pleasure springs up under my
steps; there thou shalt burn incense upon my altars,
and I will lavish upon thee inexhaustible delight; let
thy heart therefore indulge the utmost luxuriancy
of hope ; and reject not the happiness which the most
powerful of all the deities is now willing to bestow.*
" At the same time, I perceived the boy Cupid,
fluttering, on his little wings, round his mother: the
lovely softness and laughing simplicity of childhood
appeared in his countenance ; but in his eyes, which
sparkled with a piercing brightness, there was some-
thing that I could not behold without fear. He
looked at me, indeed, with a smile; but it was the
muligiumt smile of derision and cruelty : he selected
BOOK 1- . 61
from bi.s i^^olden quiver tlie keenest of all his arrows,
and haviui: bent his bow, the shaft was just parting
from the string, when Minerva suddenly appeared,
and lifted her immortal segis before me. In her aspect
there was not that exquisite softness, that amorous
languor, which I had remarked in the countenance
and attitude of Venus : the beauty of Minerva was
simple, chaste, and unaffected; all was easy and na-
tural, yet spirited, striking, and majestic. The shaft
of Cupid, not having sufficient force to penetrate the
shield that intercepted it, fell to the ground; and the
god, touched at once with shame and indignation,
withdrew his bow, and betrayed liis disappointment
with a sigh. ' Away ! presumptuous boy,' said Mi-
nerva; 'thou hast power only over the base, who
prefer the sordid pleasures of sensuality to the sublimo
enjoyments of wisdom, virtue, and honour.' Love,
blushing with restrained anger, flew away without
reply ; and Venus again ascending to Olympus, I long
traced her chariot and her doves in a cloud of inter-
mingled azure and gold ; but at length they were not to
be distinguished, and when I turned my eyes down-
wards, I perceived that Minerva also had disappeared.
" I then fancied myself transported to a delightful
garden, which revived in my mind the descriptions
that I had heard of Elyt^ium. Here I met with
Mentor, who accosted me in these words : ' Fly from
this fatal country, this island of contagion, where
every breeze is tainted with sensuality, where the
most heroic virtue has cause for fear, and safety can
be obtained only bv flight!* The moment I saw
Mentor, I attempted to throw my anns about him in
an ecstasy of joy; but I strove in vain to lift my feet
from the ground, my knees failed under me, and my
arms closed over an empty shade, which eluded their
grasp The effort awaked me ; and I perceived, that
this mysterious dream was a divine admonition. A
more animated resolution against plej^surc. and
greater diffic-'uce of my own virtue, concniTcd 'O
62 TELEMACHUS.
make me detest the effeminate and voluptuous man-
ners of the Cyprians : but I was most affected by the
apprehension that Men tor was dead; and that having
passed the irremeable waters of the Styx, he was fixed
for ever in the blissful dwellings of the just.
** I mused upon this imaginary loss, till I burst into
tears, and being observed by the mariners, they asked
me why I wept: I replied, that it might easily be
guessed why an unhappy fugitive, who despaired
of returning to his country, should weep. In the
mean time, however, all the Cyprians that were on
board, gave themselves up to the most extravagant
men-iment: the rowers, indeed, to whom a mere
suspension of labour was luxury, fell asleep upon
their oars; but the pilot, who had quitted the helm,
and crowned liimself with flowers, held in his hand
an enormous bowl, which he had almost emptied of
wine ; and with the rest of the crew, who were equally
intoxicated, roared out such songs to the praise of
Venus and Cupid, as no man who has a reverence for
virt\ie can hear without hoiTor.
" While they were thus thoughtless of danger, a
sudden tempest began to trouble the ocean, and ob-
scure the sky. The winds, as in the wild ardour of
unexpected freedom, were heard bellowing among
the sails ; and the waves dashed against the sides of
the vessel, wliich groaned under the strokes : we now
floated on the ridge of a stupendous mountain, which
the next moment seemed to gUde from under us, and
leave us buried in the abyss ; we perceived also some
rocks near us, and heard the billows break against
them with a dreadful noise. I had often heard
Mentor say, that the effeminate and voluptuous are
never brave ; and 1 now found, by experience, that it
was true; for the Cyprians, whose jollity had been
so extravagant and timiultuous, now sunk under a
sense of their danger, and wept like women. I
heard nothing but the screams of ten-or, and the
wailings of hopeless distress: some lamented the
BOOK IV. 63
loss of pleasures that were never to return, and
Bome made idle vows of sacrifice to the gods, if they
reached their port in safety; but none had presence
of mind, either to undertake or direct the navigation
of the vesseL In this situation I thought it my
duty to save the lives of my associates, by saving'
my own: I, therefore, took the helm into my own
hand, the pilot being so intoxicated as to be wholly
insensible of the danger of the vessel ; I encouraged
the atfrighted mariners, and I ordered the sails to be
taken in: the men rowed vigorously, and we soon
found ourselves clear of the rocks, among which we
had beheld all the horrors of death at so near a view.
" This event had the appearance of a dream to the
mariners, who were indebted to me for their lives ;
and they looked upon me with astonishment. We
arrived at the isle of Cyprus in that mouth of the
spring which is consecrated to Venus ; a season whicn
the Cyprians believe to be under the influence of this
goddess, because all nature then appears to be ani-
mated with new vigour, and pleasure seems to spring
up spontaneously with the flowers of the field.
" As soon as 1 went on shore, I perceived a certain
softness in the air, which, though it rendered the
body indolent and inactive, yet brought on a dispo-
sition to gaiety and wantonness ; and, indeed, the
inhabitants were so averse to labour, that the country,
though extremely fertile and pleasant, was almost
wholly uncultivated. 1 met, in every street, crowds
of women, loosely dressed, singing the praises of Ve-
nus, and going to dedicate themselves to the service
of her temple. Beauty and pleasure sparkled in their
countenances; but their beauty was tainted bv afl'ec-
tation, and the modest simplicity, from which lemalo
charms principally derive their power, was wanting:
the dissolute air, the studied look, the flaunting
dress, and the lascivious gait, the expressive glances
that seemed to wander in search after those of the
men, the visible emulation who should kindle the
64 TELEMACHUS.
most mdeut passion, and whateA'er else I discovered
in these women, moved only my contempt and aver-
sion; and I was disgusted by all that they did with
a desire to please.
" I was conducted to a temple of the goddess, of
which there are several in the island ; for she is wor-
shipped at Cythera, Idalia, and Paphos. That which
I visited was at Cythera: the structure, which is of
marble, is a complete peristyle; and the columns are
so large and lofty, that its appearance is extremely
majestic: on each front, over the architrave and
frieze, are large pediments, on which the most enter-
taining adventures of the goddess are represented in
bas-relief. There is a perpetual crowd of people with
otFeritigs at the gate, but within the limits of the con-
secrated ground, no victim is ever slain; the fat of
bulls and lieifers is never burnt, as at other temples ;
nor are the rites of pleasure profaned with their
blood: the beasts that are here offered, are only pre-
sented before the altar, nor are any accepted, but
those that are young, white, and without blemish:
they are dressed with purple fillets, embroidered with
gold, and their bonis are decorated with gilding and
flowers; after they have been presented, they are led
to a proper place at a considerable distance, and
killed for the banquet of the priests.
" Perfumed liquors are also offered, and wines of
the richest flavour. The habit of the priests is a
long white robe, fringed with gold at the bottom,
and bound round them with a golden girdle ; the
richest aromatics of the East burn night and day
upon the altars, and the smoke rises in a cloud of
fragrance to the skies. All the columns of the
temple are adorned with festoons ; all the sacrificial
vessels are of gold ; and the whole building is sur-
I'ounded by a consecrated grove of odoriferous
myrtle. None are permitted to present the victims
to the priest, or to kindle the hallowed fire, but
boys and girls of consumnintle condition of comfort ; tiiere was a time w heu I
70 TELEMACHUS.
preferred death to servitude in Sicily ; but the evils
which I there suffered were but tlie first essays of
the rage of fortune. I now tremble, lest I should
not be admitted into that state, which then I would
have died to shun. May the gods look do^vn on
my misfortunes ! and may Hazael remember Minos,
whose wisdom he admires, and whose judgment
shall, in the realms of Pluto, pass upon tis both.'
" Hazael looked upon me with great complacence
and humanity ; and, giving me his hand, raised me
from the ground. ' I am not ignorant,' said he, ' of
the wisdom and virtue of Ulysses ; I have been often
told what glory he acquired among the Greeks by
Mentor ; and fame has made his name familiar to all
the nations of the east. Follow me, son of Ulysses 1
I will be your father, till you find him from whom
you have derived your being. If I had no sense of
the glory of Ulysses, or of his misfortunes, or of
yours, the friendship which I bear to jNIentor would
alone induce me to take care of you ; I bought him
indeed as a slave, but he is now mine by a nobler
connexion ; for the money that he cost me procured
me the dearest and most valuable of all my friends.
In liim I have found that wisdom which I sought ;
and to him I owe all the love of virtue that I have
acquired : tliis moment, therefore, I restore his free-
dom and continue thine; I renounce your service,
and require only your esteem.'
" The most piercing anguish was now changed in
a moment to unutterable joy. I perceived myself
delivered from total ruin ; I was approaching my
country ; I was favoured with assistance that might
enable me to reach it ; I had the consolation of being
near a person whose love for me had no foundation
but the love of virtue ; and whatever else could
contribute to my felicity was comprehended in my
meeting with Mentor to part no more.
*' Hazael proceeded directly to the port, followed
by Mentor and myself, and we all embarked together;
BOOK IV. 71
the peaceful waves were divided by our oars; and a
geutle breeze, which sported in our sails, seemed, a.s
it were, to animate our bark, and impel it forward
with an easy motion. Cyprus quickly disappeared ;
and Hazael, who was impatient to know my senti-
ments, asked me what I thought of the manners of
that island. I told him ingenuously the dangers to
which my youth had been exposed, and the conflict
which had agitated my bosom. He was touched at
my horror of vice ; and cried out — ' Venus, I acknow-
ledge thy power, and that of thy son ; and I have
burnt incense upon thy altars ; but forgive me if I
detest that infamous effeminacy which prevails in
thy dominions, and the brutal sensuality which is
practised at thy feasts.'
" He then discoursed with Mentor of that First
Power which produced the heavens and the earth;
that infinite and immutable Intelligence which com-
municates itself to all, but is not divided; that
Bovereign and universal Truth which illuminates in-
tellectual nature, as the sun enlightens the material
world. ' He who has never received this pure
emanation of divinity,' said Hazael, ' is as blind as
those who are born without sight ; he passes through
life in darkness, like that which involves the polar
regions, where the night is protracted to half the year;
he believes himself to be wise, but is indeed a fool;
he imagines that his eye comprehends every object,
yet he lives and dies without seeing any thing ; or,
at most, he perceives only some fleethig illusions by
a glimmering and deceitful light ; some unsubstantial
vapours, that are every moment changing their
colour and shape, and at length fade into total ob-
scurity ; such is the state of every man who is cap-
tivated by the pleasures of sense, and allured by the
gaudy phantoms of imagination ! Indeed, none are
worthy the name of men but those who walk by
the dictates of eternal reason, who love and follow
the guiding ray that is vouchsafed frum above : ii
72 TELEMACHUS.
is by this reason that we are inspired, when our
thoug"hts are good ; and by this we are reproved,
when they are evil ; from this we derive intelhgence
and life ; this is an ocean, of which we are hut small
streams, that are (quickly re-absorbed in the abyss
from which they flowed !'
" This discourse, indeed, I did not perfectly com-
prehend ; yet I perceived something in it that was
elevated and refined ; and my heart caught fire at
the beams of truth wliich glanced within the verge
of my understanding. They proceeded to talk of
the origin of the gods, of heroes, poets, the golden
age, and the universal deluge ; of the river of obli-
vion, in which the souls of the dead are plunged ;
the perpetual punishment that is inflicted upon the
wicked in the gloomy gulf of Tartarus ; and of that
nappy tranquillity wliich is enjoyed in the fields of
Elysium by the spirits of the just, who exult in the
assurance that it shall last for ever.
' ' While Hazael and Mentor were discoursing on
these topics, we perceived several dolphins approach-
ing, whose scales were varied with azure and gold, and
whose sport swelled the sea into waves, and covered
it with foam ; these were followed by Tritons, who,
with their spiral shells, emulated the music of the
trumpet ; and in the midst of them appeared the
chariot of Amphitrite, drawn by sea-horses whiter
than snow ; which, dividing the waves as they passed,
.eft behind them long furrows in the deep ; fire
sparkled in their eyes, and from their nostrils issued
clouds of smoke : the chai-iot of the goddess was a
shell, whiter and more bright than ivory, of a won-
derful figure ; it was mounted upon wheels of gold,
and seemed almost to fly over the level surface of
the water ; a great number of young nymphs swam
in a crowd after the chariot ; and their hair, which
was decorated with flowers, flowed loosely behind
them, and wantoned in the breeze. The goddess
held in one hand a sceptre of gold, with wliich she
BOOK V. 73
awed the waves to obedience ; and, with the other,
she held the little c:od Palemon, her son, whom she
suckled, upon her lap : such sweetness and majesty
were expressed in her countenance, that the rebel-
lious winds dispersed at her appearance, and trloomy
tempests howled only at a distance. The Tritons
guided the horses with golden reins, and a large
purple sail waved above, which Avas but half dis-
tended by a multitude of little zephyrs, who laboured
vo swell it with their breath. In the mid air ap-
peared iEolus, busv, restless, and vehement ; his
wrinkled and morose countenance, his hoarse and
threatening voice, his shaggy browv., which hung
down to his beard, and the sullen austerity that
gleamed in his eyes, awed the hurricanes of the
north to* silence, and drove back the clouds to the
horizon. Whales of an enormous size, and all the
monsters of the deep, that caused the sea to ebb and
flow with their nostrils, nislied from their secret re-
cesses, and came in haste to gaze upon the goddess.
BOOK V.
THpmncfius relates, tliat when V.e arrived in (^lete, lie leariic, tlial
KInnipnens. thi' Kin? of tliot Wliiiiri, had. in ci'MfiMjuenre of a rush
vow, sacriticed liisonlv sou; that the Cretans, to revenue the niurjer,
bail ilrlveu him out of the country: and that after lonj,' uncertainty
they were then assembled to elect a new sovereign; that he was
admitted into the eussemhly; that he obtained the prize iu various
exercises; and ha\-ing also resolved the questions that had beca
recorded bv Minos in the book of bis laws, the sages, who were
judges of the contest, and all the people, seeing his wisdom, would
Iiave made him king.
•* Soon after the goddess and her train disappeared,
we began to discover the mountains of Crete,
though we could yet scarcely distingniish them from
the clouds of heaven, and the waves of the sea ;
but it was not long before the summit of Mount Ida
was seen, towering above the neiglibouring moun-
tains, as the spreading antlers of a stag are distin
guished among the young fawns that surround him
By degrees we discovered more distinctly the coast
of the island, which had the appearance of an amphi-
74 TELEMACHUS.
theatre. As, in Cyprus, the soil was wild and uncul-
tivated ; in Crete, it was fertilized and enriched witn
every kind of fniit by the labour of its inhabitants.
" We perceived innumerable villages that were
well built, towns that were little inferior to cities,
and cities that were in the highest degree magnifi-
cent: there was no field on which the husbandman
had not impressed the characters of diligence and
labour ; the plough was every where to be traced :
and there was scarcely a bramble or a weed to be
found in the island. We remarked, with pleasure,
the deep valleys in which numerous herds of cattle
were grazing, among many rivulets that enriched
the soil ; the sheep, that were feeding on the decli-
vity of the hills ; the spacious plains that were co-
vered with the golden bounty of Ceres ; and the
mountains that were adorned with the lively verdure
of the vine, and clusters of grapes that were already
tinged with blue, and promised the blessing of Bac-
chus — wine, which soothes anxiety to peace, and ani-
mates weariness with new vigour.
" Mentor told us that he had before been in Crete,
and acquainted us with whatever he knew of the
coimtry. ' This island, ' said he, ' which is admired
by all foreigners, and famous for its hundred cities,
produces all the necessaries of life in great plenty
for its inhabitants, although they are almost innu-
merable ; for the earth is always profusely bountiful
to those who cultivate it, and its treasures are inex-
haustible. The greater the number of inhabitants in
any country, the greater plenty they enjoy, if they
are not idle; nor have they any cause to be jealous
of each other. The eai-th, like a good parent, multi-
plies her gifts in proportion to the number of her
children, who merit her bounty by their labour.
The ambition and the avarice of mankind are the
only sources of their calamities ; every individual
wishes to possess the portion of all ; and becomes
wTetthed by the desire of superfluities. If men
BOOK V. 76
would bo content with the simplicity of nature, and
wish only to satisfy their real necessities, plenty,
cheerfulness, domestic concord, and public tranquil-
lity would be uninterrupted and universal.
" ' A deep knowledge of these important truths
was the glory of Minos, the wisest legislator, and
the best of kings. All the wonders of this island
are the effects of his laws ; the education which he
prescribed for children renders the body healthy
and robust, and forms an early habit of frugality
and labour. That every species and degree of vo-
luptuousness, will proportionably debilitate both the
body and the mind, is an established maxim ; and no
pleasure is proposed as the object of desire, but that
of becoming invincible by heroic virtue, and distin-
guished from others by superior glory : courage is
not considered as the contempt of death only in the
field of battle, but of superfluous wealth and shame-
ful pleasure. And three vices are punished in Crete,
which in every other country are suffered with im-
punity ; ingratitude, dissimulation, and avarice.
" ' It might, perhaps, be expected that there
should be some law against luxiuy and pomp; but
.n Crete luxury and pomp are not known. Every
man labours, and no man thinks of becoming rich;
labour is thought to be sufficiently recompensed by
a life of quiet and regularity, in which all that the
wants of nature have made necessary is enjoyed in
plenty and in peace. No splendid palace nor costly
furniture, no magnificent apparel nor voluptuous
festivity, is permitted : the habits are, indeed, made
of the finest wool, and dyed of the most beautiful
colour; but they are perfectly plain, and without
embroidery. Their meals, at whicli they drink little
wine, are extremely temperate, consisting chiefly of
bread, such fioiits as the sea&on produces, and milk :
if they ever taste animal food, it is in a small
quantity, plainly dressed, and of the coarsest kind ;
for thev alwavs reserve tlie finest cattle for labour.
7fi TELEMACHUS.
that agriculture may flouribh. The houses are neat,
convenient, and pleasant, but without ornament:
architecture is, indeed, well known among them,
in its utmost elegance and magnificence ; but the
practice of this art is reserved for the temple of
the gods, and it is thought presumptuous in a mortal
to have a dw( lliug like theirs. The wealth of the
Cretans consists in health, vigour, and courage,
domestic quiet and concord, public liberty, plenty
of all that is necessary, and contempt of all that is
superfluous; a habit of industry, an abhon-ence of
idleness, an emulation in A'irtue, submission to the
laws, and a rever'nice of the gods.'
" I in([uired what were the bounds of the sove-
reign authority ; and jNlentor answered, — The au-
thority of the king over the subject is absolute, but
the authority of the law is absolute over liim ; his
power to do good is unlimited, but he is restrained
from doing evil. The laws have put the people into
his hands as the most valuable deposit, upon condi-
tion that he shall treat them as his children ; for it
is the intent of the law that the wisdom and equity
of one man shall be the happiness of many, and not
that the wretchedness and slavery of many should
gratify the pride and luxury of one. The king ought
to possess nothing more than the subject, but in pro-
portion as more is necessary to alleviate the fatigue
of his station, and impress upon the minds of the
people a reverence of that authority by which the
laws are executed. In every other respect the king
should indulge himself less, as well in ease as in
pleasure, and should be less disposed to the pomp
and the pride of life than any other man : he ought
not to be distinguished from the rest of mankind by
the greatness of his wealth, or the variety of his
enjoyments, but by superior wisdom, more heroic
virtue, and more splendid glory. Abroad he ought
to be the defender of his country, by commanding
her armies ; and at home, the judge of his people,
BOOK V. 77
distributing justice among them, improving their
morals, and increasing their felicity. It is not for
himself that the gods have intrusted him with roy-
alty ; he is exalted above individuals, only that he
may be the servant of the people ; to the public he
owes all his time, the public should engage all his
attention, and his love should have no object but
the public : for he deserves dignity only in propor-
tion as he gives up private enjoyments for the
public good. Minos directed, that his cliildren
should not succeed to his throne, but upon condi-
tion that they slionld govern by these maxims ; for
he loved his people yet more tlian his family ; and
by this wise institution he ensured power and
happiness to his kingdom. Thus did Minos, the
peaceful legislator, eclipse the glory of mighty
conquerors, who sacrificed nations to their own
vnnity, and imagined they were great. The power
of these tyrants, after a few years, left them in the
grave ; but the justice of Minos has placed him on
a more awful tribunal in the world of spirits, where
he distributes everlasting rewards and punishments
as the supreme judge of the dead.
" As we were listening to Mentor, we arrived at
the island : and, as soon as we came on shore, we
viewed the celebrated labvrinth which had been
built by Daedalus, in imitation of that of much larger
extent which we had seen in Egvpt. Wliile we
were contemplating this curious edifice, we p§r-
ceived all the coast covered with a multitude ot
people, who gathered in a crowd at a place not far
distant from the sea ; we inquired the cause of this
commotion, and our curiosity was immediately grati-
fied by a Cretan, whose name was Nausicrates.
" ' Idomeneus,' said he, ' the son of Deucalion,
and grandson of Minos, accompanied the other
princes of Greece in the expedition against Troy;
and after the destruction of that city he set sail for
Crete; but they were overtaken by so violent «
78 TELEMACHUS.
tempest, that the pilot, and all the persons on hoard
the vessel, who were skilled in navigation, helieved
their shipwreck to he inevitable. Death was present
to every imagination ; every one thought he saw the
abyss open to swallow him ; and every one deplored
the misfortune, wliich (!id not leave him the mom-n-
ful hope of that imperfect rest, to which the spirits
of the dead are admitted beyond the waters of the
Styx, after funeral rites have been paid to the body.
In this situation, Idomeneus lifting up his hands
andliiseyes to heaven, and invoking Neptune, cried
out — ' O mighty deity, to whom belong the dominions
of the deep, vouchsafe to hear me in this uttermost
distress ! If thou wilt protect me from the fury of
the waves, and restore me in safety to my country,
I will offer up to thee the first living object that I
see on my return !'
•' ' In the mean time, his son hasted to meet him
with all the ardour of filial aff'ection, and pleased
himself with the thought of receiving the first em-
brace. Unhappy youth ! he knew not that to hasten
to his father was to rush upon destruction. Idome-
neus, escaping the tempest, amved at his port, and
returned thanks to Neptune for having heard his
vow ; but he was soon sensible of the fatal effects it
would produce. A certain presage of misfortune
made him repent his indiscretion with the utmost
anguish of mind ; he dreaded his arrival among his
people, and thought of meeting those who were most
dear to him with horror ! but Nemesis, a cruel and
inexorable goddess, who is ever vigilant to punish
mankind, and rejoices to hun:ible the mighty and the
proud, impelled him forward with a fatal and invisi-
ble hand. He proceeded from the vessel to the
shore ; but he had scarce ventured to lift up his eyes,
when he beheld his son : he started back, pale and
trembhng ; he turned his eyes on every side to find
another victim to whom he was less tenderly allied:
but it was too late ! His son bpnmg to him, aiul
BOOK V. 73
threw his arms around his neck ; but perceived, with
astoni^hment, that instead of retuniing his caresses,
he stood motionless, and at length burst into tears.
" ' O my father !' said he, ' what is the cause of
this sorrow ? After so long an absence, art thou
grieved to return to thy people, and restore happi-
ness to thy son ? In what, alas ! have I offended ?
Thv eves are still turned from me, as if they loathed
or dreaded to behold me !' — The father, overwhelm-
ed with grief, was not yet able to reply ; but, after
some sighs that struggled in his bosom had burst
away, he cried out — ' O Neptune ! what have I pro-
mised thee ! On what condition hast thou preserved
me from shipwreck ! O leave me again to the bil-
lows and the rocks ! Let me be dashed to pieces, and
swallowed in the deep ; but preserve my son ! Cruel
and unrelenting god I let my blood be accepted as
a recompense for his !' He then snatched out his
sword, and attempted to plunge it in his bosom ; but
those who stood near him held back his hand ; and
Sophronimus, a hoary prophet, who had long inter-
preted the will of the gods, assured him that Nep-
tune might be satisfied without the death of his son.
* Your vow,' said he, ' was rash and iniquitous: the
gods are not honoured, but offended by crueltv : do
not, therefore, add one enormity to another, and
violate the laws of nature to accomplish that vow
which it was a crime to make. Select a hundred
bulls, whiter than snow ; decorate the altar of Nep-
tune with flowers, let these victims be thy blameless
offering, and let a cloud of grateful incense ascend in
honour of the god.'
" ' Idomeneus heard this address in an attitude
of desperation, and withoxit reply ; his eyes sparkled
with fury, his visage became ghastly, his colour
changed every moment, and his whole body shook
with the agony of his mind. His son was touched
with his distress; and having no wish but to relieve
it — ' My father, ' said he, ' am I not here ? Delay not
80 TELEMACHIJS.
to appease the god to whom thou hast vowed ; nor
bring down his vengeance upon thy head. If thy
life can be redeemed with mine, I will die content:
strike, then, O my father ! and fear not that, at
the approach of death, I should discover a weakness
that is unworthy of thy son !'
" ' At this moment Idomeneus, starting from his
posture with the sudden violence of outrageous
phrensy, as if roused by the scourge of the infernal
furies, surprised the vigilance of those who had their
eyes upon him, and plunged his sword in the bosom
of his son : he drew it hastily back ; and, while it
was yet warm, made an effort to sheathe it a second
time in his own breast ; but in this he was again
prevented. The youth, who immediately fell, lay
weltering in his blood ; his eyes were suffused with
the shades of death : he attempted to open them ;
but not being able to bear the light, they were
immediately closed in everlasting darkness.
'"A lily of the field, when its root is cut away by
the ploughshare, being no longer supported by the
stalk, languishes upon the ground ; and, though it
does not immediately lose all the lustre of its
beauty, yet it is no more nourished by the earth,
nor quickened by a vital principle : thus fell the
son of Idomeneus, cut down, like a flower, by an
untimely stroke, in the first bloom of his youth.
*' ' The father, stupified by excess of grief, knew
neither where he was, nor what he had done, nor
what he ought to do : but walked, with faltering
steps, towards the city, and inquired eagerly for
his child.
" ' In the mean time, the people, who were moved
with compassion for the youth, and with horror at
the cruelty of the father, cried out, that the justice
of the gods had given him up to the furies : their
rage immediately supplied them with weapons ; one
snatched a stick, others caught up a stone, and dis-
cord infused rancour and malignity into every bnsnnu
BOOK V. 81
Tlie Cretans, however wise, were at this time exas-
piTiited with folly, and renounced their allegiance to
tlieir king. His friends, therefore, as they could no
otherwise preserve him from popular fury, conducted
liim back to the fleet : where they went on hoard
with him, and once more committed themselves to
the mercy of the waves. Idomeneus, as soon as he
recovered from his phrensy, thanked them for having
forced him from a country which he had stamed
with the blood of his son ; and which, therefore, he
could not bear to inhabit. The winds wafted them
to the coast of Hesperia : and they are now forming
a new state in the country' of the Salentines.
' ' ' The Cretans, having thus lost their king, re-
solved to elect such a person in his stead as should
administer the established laws of the nation in
their utmost purity : for this purpose the principal
inhabitants of every city have been summoned to
this place ; the sacrifices, which are the first solem-
nities of the election, are already begun : the most
celebrated sages of all the neighbouring countries are
assembled to propose questions to the candidates as a
trial of their sagacity; and preparations are made for
public games, to determine their courage, strength,
and activity : for the Cretans are resolved, that, as
their kingdom is the prize, they will bestow it upon
him only who shall be adjudged superior to all others
both in body and in mind : and, to render the vic-
tory more difficult, by increasing the number of com-
petitors, all foreigners are invited to the contest.'
'• Nausicrates, after having related these asto-
nishing events, pressed us to enter the list. ' Make
haste,' said he, ♦ O strangers, to our asseml^ly, and
engage, among others, in the contest; for if tlie gods
decree the victory to either of you, he will be the
sovereign of Crete!' He then turned hastily from lis:
and we followed him, not with any desire of victory,
but only that wp might gratify our curiosity, by being
resent at so uncoinmonand important a transaction.
82 TELEMACHUS.
** We came to a kind of circus of vast extent, in
the middle of a thick forest : within the circus was
an area prepared for the combatants, surrounded by
a circular bank of fresh turf, on which were seated
an innumerable multitude of spectators. We were
received with the utmost civility ; for the Cretans
excel all other people in a liberal and religious per-
formance of the duties of hospitality : they not only
caused us to be seated, but invited us to engage in
the exercises. Mentor declined it on account of his
age ; and Hazael, as being in an ill state of health:
my youth and vigour left me no excuse ; however I
glanced my eye upon Mentor, to discover his senti-
ments ; and I perceived that he wished I should en-
gage. I therefore accepted the offer that had been
made me ; and throwing off my apparel, my limbs
were anointed with oil, and I placed myself among
the other combatants. A rumour immediately
passed through the whok multitude, that the new
candidate for the kingdom was the son of Ulysses;
for several of the Cretans, who had been at Ithaca
when I was a child, remembered my face.
'* The first exercise was wrestling. A Rhodian,
who appeared to be about thirty-five years of age,
threw all that ventured to encounter him : he was
still in his full vigour ; his arms were nervous and
brawny ; his muscles were discovered at every mo-
tion; and his limbs were not less supple than strong.
There was now no competitor remainingbut myself;
and, as he thought no honour was to be gained by
overcoming so feeble an opponent, he indulged the
compassion which he felt for my youth, and would
have retired ; but I pressed forward, and presented
myself before him. We immediately seized each
other, and grappled till both were out of breath ; we
stood shoulder to shoulder, and foot to foot; every
nerve was strained, our arms were entwined, like
S(;rpeiits, in each other, and each of us endeavoured
to lift his antagonist iron the ground. He attemiit-
; BOOK V. 83
ed to throw me, sometimes by surprise, and some-
limes bv mere strenprth, sometimes on one side, am'
sometimes on the other : but, while he was thus
practising all his skill and force upon me, I threw
myself forward with a sudden effort, with such vio-
lence, that the muscles of his back giving way, he fell
to the ground, and drew me upon him. AH his ef-
forts to get me under him were ineffectual ; I held
him immoveable under me, till the multitude shout-
ed — ' Victory to the son of Ulysses !' and then I
assisted him to rise, and he retired in confusion.
'* The combat of the cestus was more difficult.
The son of a wealthy citizen of Samos had acquire!?
such reputation in this exercise, that the rest a
the candidates yielded to him without contest; and
the hope of victory animated no bosom but mine.
In the first onset I received such blows on the hea
and stomach, that blood gushed from my mouth an
nostrils, and a tliick mist seemed to fall upon m^
eyes ; I reeled ; my antagonist pressed upon me ;
and I was just sinking, faint and breathless, when I
lieard Mentor cry out — ' O son of Ulysses, wilt thou
be vanquished !' The voice of my friend encouraged
me to farther resistance, and disdain supplied me
with new strength. I avoided several blows which I
must otherwise have sunk under; and my antagonist
having missed a stroke, I seized the opportunity of
his arm being carried away by its own vigour, and
his body bent forward, to aim a blow at him that
he could not ward off, and I raised my cestus that
it might descend with greater force : he saw my ad-
vantage ; and, stepping back, lie writhed his body to
avoid the stroke. By this motion, the equilibrium
was destroyed, and I e:isily threw him to the ground.
I immediately offered him my hand, which he re-
fused ; and he got up without assistance, covered
with dust and blood; but though he showed the
utmost shame n Ms defeat, yet he did not dare to
renew the combat.
84 TELExMACHUS.
" The chariot races immediately followed. The
chariots were distributed by lot ; and mine happened
to be the worst of the w^iole number ; the wheels
were more lieavy, and the horses less vigorous. We
started ; and the cloud of dust that rose behind us
obscured the sky. At the beginning of the race, 1
Buffered the others to get before me : but a young
Lacedaemonian, whose name was Grantor, left them
all behind him ; and Polycletus, a Cretan, followed
him at a small distance. Hippomachus, a relation
of Idomeneus, who was ambitions to succeed him,
giving reins to his horses, which were covered with
sweat, leaned forward over their necks ; and the
■wheels whirled round with such rapidity, that, like
the wings of an eagle floating upon the air, they
seemed not to move at aU. My horses, which had
been breathed by degrees, beginning now to exert
themselves, soon left almost all tliose that had set
out with so much ardour, at a great distance behind
them ; and Hippomachus, pressing forward to keep
his advantage with too much eagerness, the most
vigorous of Ms horses fell down, and put an end to
the hopes of his master. Polycletus, leaning too
much over his horses, was thrown out of his chariot
by a sudden shock ; the reins were forced out of
his hand ; and though he had now no hope of vic-
tory, he thought himself happy to have escaped
with his life. Grantor, perceiving, with jealousy and
indignation, that I was now close behind him, urged
forward with more eagerness: sometimes vowing rich
offerings to the gods, and sometimes encouraging
his horses ; he was afraid I should pass him, by
driving between his chariot and the barrier of the
course, because my horses, having been less ex-
hausted, were able to get before him, if they had
room, though they should wheel round on the out-
side of the track. This could be no otherwise pre-
■\-ented than by obstructing the passage ; he therefore,
though he saw the danger ol the attempt, drove up
BOOK V. 85
so close to the barrier, that his wheel, being forced
against it, was torn off, and iiis chariot dismounted.
I had now nothing to do but to turn short, that I
might keep clear of him ; and the next moment he
w me at the goal. The multitude once more
shouted — ' Victory to the son of Ulysses ! It is he
whom the gods have appointed to reign over us !'
" We were then conducted, by the most illustrious
and venerable of the Cretans, into a wood, which
liad been long kept sacred from the vulgar and the
profane ; where we were convened by those ancient
oracles of wisdom who had been appointed by Minos
to preserve the laws from violation, and administer
justice to the people. But into this assembly those
only who had contended in the games were admitted.
The sages opened the book into which all the laws
of Minos had been collected. I was touched with
reverence and humility, when I approached these
fathers of their country, whom age had rendered
venerable without impairing their vigour of mind.
They sat, with great order and solemnity, in a fixed
posture ; their hair was white as snow, but some of
them liad scarcely any left ; and their countenances,
though grave, were brightened with a calm and
placid sagacity. They were not forward to speak ;
and they said nothing that was not the result of
mature deliberation : when their opinions were dif-
ferent, they supported tliem with so much candour
and moderation, that it could scarcely be believed
they were not of one mind. By long experience
and close apphcation, they had acquired the most
acute discernment and extensive knowledge ; but
that which principally conduced to the strength and
rectitude of their judgment, was the sedate, dispas-
sionate tranquillity of mind, that had been long
freed from ihe tumultuous passions and capricious
levity of youth. Wisdom alone was their principle
of action ; and, by the long- and habitual practice of
virtue, they had so con-ected every irregular dispo-
86 TELEMACHUS.
sition, that they tasted the calm, yet elevated,
delight of reason without alloy. To these awful
beings I lifted up my eyes with admiration ; and
wished that, by a sudden contraction of my life, I
might immediately arrive at so desirable an old age;
for I perceived youth to be a state of infeUcity, sub-
ject to the blind impetuosity of passion, and far
from the perspicacious tranquillity of their virtue.
" The person who presided in this assembly opened
the book into which all the laws of Minos had been
collected. It was a large volume, and was kept
locked up, with the richest perfumes, in a golden
box. When it was taken out, all the sages kissed it
with a profound respect, and said that, the gods
only excepted, from whom all good is originally
derived, nothing should be held so sacred as those
laws which promote wisdom, virtue, and happiness;
those who put these laws in execution for the govern-
ment of others, should also, by these laws, govern
themselves ; for it is the law that ought to reign,
and not the man. Such were the sentiments of this
hoary council : and the president then proposed
three questions, which were to be resolved by the
maxims of Minos.
" The first question was — ' What man is most
free?' One answered, that it was a king who
governed his people with absolute authority, and
had triumphed over all his enemies. Another said,
that it was he whose riches enabled him to purchase
whatever he desired. In the opinion of some, it
,fas a man who had never married, and who was
perpetually travelling from one country to another,
without subjecting himself to the laws of any.
Others supposed it might be a savage, who, living
wild in the woods, and subsisting himself by hunt-
ing, was independent of all society, and suffered no
want as an individual : others thought of a slave
immediately after emancipation; because, being
just r lleved from the severities r>f servitude, he
BOOK V. 87
would have a more lively sense of the sweets of
freedom. And there were some who said, that a
man at the point of death was more fi-ee than all
others : because death breaks eA-^ery bond, and over
the dead the united world has no power.
" When my opinion was demanded, I was in no
doubt what to answer, because I remembered what
had been oi'ten told me by Mentor. ' The most free
of all men,' said I, 'is he whose freedom slavery
itself cannot take away: he, and he only, is free in
every country, and in every condition, who fears the
gods, and whose fear has no other object. In other
words, he only is truly free, over whom fear and de-
sire have no power, and who is subject only to reason
and the gods.' The fathers looked upon each other
with a smile, and were surprised to find my answer
exactly the same with that of Minos,
*' The second question was, — ' Who is most unhap-
py ?' To this every one gave such an answer as was
suggested by his fancy. One said, that the most un-
happy man was he wlao was without money, health,
and reputation. Another said, it was he that had no
friend. Some imagined none could be so wretched as
those who had degenerate and ungrateful children.
But a native of Lesbos, a man celebrated for wisdom,
said, that the most unhappy of all men was he that
thought himself so; because unhappiness depends
much less upon adversity than impatience, and un-
fortunate events derive all their power to afflict, from
the mind of those to whom they happen. The
assembly heard this with a shout of applause;
and every one believed that, in this question, the
Lesbian would be declared victor. But, my opinion
being asked, I formed my answer upon the maxims
of Mentor. ' The most unhappy ot all men,' said I,
* is a king, who believes he shall become l.'^ppy by
rendering others miserable : his wretchedness is
doubled by his ignorance; for, as he does not know
whence it proceeds, he can aoply no rumedy ^le 'i^»
88 TELEMACIiUS.
indeed, afraid to know, and lie suffers a crowd of
sycophants to surround him, that keep truth at a
distance; he is a slave to his own passions, and an
utter stranger to his duty ; he has never tasted the
pleasure of doing good, nor been warmed to sensibi-
lity by the charms of virtue; he is wretched, but the
wretchedness that he suffers he deserves ; and his
misery, however great, is perpetually increasing: he
rushes down the precipice of perdition, and the gulf of
everlasting punishment receives him.' The assembly
attested my victory oA'er the Lesbian, and the judges
declared that I had expressed the sense of Minos.
" The third question was: ' Which of the two
ought to be prefeiTed; — a king who was invincible in
war ; or a king who, without any experience in war,
could administer civil government with great wis-
dom, in a time of peace? The majority determined
tliis question in favour of the wan'ior ; * for skill to
govern in a time of peace,' said they, ' wiU be of but
little use, if the king cannot defend his country in a
time of war, since he will himself be divested of his
authority, and his people will become slaves to the
enemy.' Others preferred the pacific prince ; be-
cause, as he would have more to fear from a war,
he would be more careful to avoid it : but they were
answered, that the achievements of a conqueror
would not only increase his own glory, but the
glory of his people, to whom he would subjugate
many nations; but that, under a pacific government,
quiet and security would degenerate into cowardice
and sloth. My sentiments were then asked, and I
answered thus : — ' Although he who can only govern
either in peace or in war is but half a king; yet the
prince who, by his sagacity, can discover the merit
of others, and can defend his coimtry when it is at-
tacked, if not in person, yet by his generals, is, in
my opinion, to be preferred before him who knows
no art but that of war : a prince whose eenius is
entirely military, will levy endless wai-s to extend
BOOK V. 89
his dominions, and ruin his people to add a new title
to hjs name. If the nation which he now governs
is unhappy, what is it to them how many more he
conquers ? A foreign war, long continued, cannot
fail of producing disorder at home : the manners of
the victors themselves become corrupt during the
general confusion. How much has Greece sutfered
bv the conquest of Troy ? She was more than ten
years deprived of her kings ; and wherever the
flame of war is kindled, the laws are violated with
impunity, agriculture is neglected, and the sciences
are forgotten. The best prince, when he has a v/ar
to sustain, is compelled to the same conduct which
disgraces the worst, to tolerate licentiousness and
employ villany in his service. How many daring
profligates are pimished in a time of peace, whom it
is necessary to reward during the disorders of vvarl
No uation was ever goA'erned by a conqueror that
did not suffer by his ambition. The victorious and
ilie vanquished are involved almost in the same ruin,
while the king grows giddy amidst the tumult of a
triumph. As he is utterly ignorant of the arts of
peace, he knows not how to derive any popular ad-
vantages from a successful war ; he is like a man
that not only defends his own field, but forcibly
takes possession of his neighbour's, yet can neither
plough nor sow, and consequently reaps no harvest
from either : he seems born not to diffuse happiness
among his subjects, by a wise and equitable govern-
ment, but to fill the world with violence, tumult,
and desolation.
" 'As to the pacific prince, it must, indeed, be con-
fessed, that he is not qualified for conquest ; or, in
other words, he is not born to harass his people
by perpetual hostilities, in a restless attempt to sub-
jugate others, over whom he can have no equitable
right ; but if he is perfectlv qualitied for peaceful
government, these very qualifications will secure
his subjects against the encrouchmcnts of an enemy;
90 TELEMACHUS.
Ixis justice, moderation, and quietness, render him a
good neighbour ; he engages in no enterprise that
can inten-upt the peace subsisting between him and
other states ; and he fulfils all liis engagements with
a religious exactness : he is, therefore, regarded by
his allies rather with love than fear, and they trust
him with unlimited confidence. If any restless,
haughty, and ambitious power should molest him,
all the neighbouring princes will interpose in his
behalf: because from him they apprehend no
attempt against their own quiet, but have every
thing to fear from his enemy. His steady justice,
impartiality, and public faith, render him the
arbiter of all the kingdoms that surround his own :
and while the enterprises of ambition make the
warrior odious, and the common danger unites the
world against him, a glory, superior to that of
conquest, comes unlooked for to the friend of peace,
on whom the eves of every other potentate are
turned with reverence and affection, as the father
and the guardian of them all. These are his advan-
tages abroad ; and those at home are yet more con-
siderable. If he is qualified to govern in peace, it
follows that he must govern by the wisest laws : he
must restrain parade and luxury; he must suppress
every art which can only gratify vice ; and he must
encourage those which supply the necessaries of Hfe,
especially agriculture, to which the principal atten-
tion of his people must be turned. Whatever is ne-
cessary will then become abimdant ; and the people,
being inured to labour, simple in their manners,
habituated to live upon a Httle, and therefore easily
gaining a subsistence from the field, will multiply
without end. This kingdom, then, will soon become
extremely populous; and the people will be health-
ful, vigorous, and hardy ; not efieminated by luxury,
but veterans in virtue ; not slavishly attached to a
life of voluptuous indolence, but free in a magnani-
mous contempt of death, and chooeiflj,^ rather to die
BOOK V. 91
tlmn to lose the many privileges which they enjoy
under a prince who reigns only as the substitute of
reason. If a neighbouring conqueror should attack
such a people as this, he might probably find them
unskilfuJ in marking out a camp, forming the order
of battle, and managing the unwieldy engines of
destruction that are used in a siege ; but he would
find them invincible by their numbers, their courage,
their patience of fatigue, and their habit of enduring
hardship, the impetuosity of their attack, and the
perseverance of that virtue which disappointment
cannot subdue. Besides, if their prince is not himself
qualified to command his forces, he may substitute
such persons as he knows to be equal to the trust,
and use them as instruments, without giving up his
authority ; succours may be obtained from his allies :
his subjects will rather perish than become the
slaves of injustice and oppression : and the gods
themselves will fight in his behalf. Thus will the
pacific prince be sustained, when liis danger is most
imminent ; and therefore I conclude, that, though
his ignorance in the art of war is an imperfection in
his character, since it disables him to execute one or
the principal duties of his station, the chastisement
of those who invade his dominion, or injure his
people ; yet he is infinitely superior to a king who
is wholly unacquainted with civil government, and
knows no art but that of war.*
"I perceived, but without wonder, that many per-
sons in the assembly did not approve the opinion that
I had been labouring to maintain ; for the greater
part of mankind, dazzled by the false lustre of victo-
ries and triumphs, prefer the tumult and show ol
successful hostilities to the quiet simplicity of peace,
and the intrinsic advantages of good government :
the judges, however, declared, that I had spoken
the sentiments of Minos ; and the president cried
out — ' The oracle of Apollo, known to all Crete,
is fuliilled. Minos inquired of the god how long
92 TELEMACHUS.
Ills postei'ity should govern by the laws which he
had established; and he was answered — "Thy
posterity shall cease to reign when a stranger shall
establish the reign of thy laws." We feared that
some foreigner would make a conquest of our
island ; but the misfortunes of Idomeneus, and the
wisdom of the son of Ulysses, who, of all mortals,
best understands the laws of Minos, have disclosed
the true sense of the oracle. Why, then, do we
delay to crown him whom the gods have appointed
to be our king I'
BOOK VI.
TelemachnR relates, that he refused the royalty of Crete, to return to
Ithaca; that he proposed Mentor, but that Mentor also refused to he
king : that the Cretans then pressing Mentor to appoint a king for
them, he related to them what he heard of the virtues of Aristodemus,
whom they immediately proclaimed : that Mentor and Telemachus
having then embarked for Italy, i<^eptune, to gratify the resentment
of Venus, shipwrecked them upon the island of Calypso, where the
goddess received them with hospitality Jind kindness.
* The sages immediately went out of the conse-
crated grove ; and the chief of them, taking me by
the hand, declared to the people, who were waiting
impatiently for the decision, th<«t the prize had been
decreed to me. The words were no sooner uttered,
than the dead silence of expectation was followed
by an universal shout ; every one cried out — ' Let
the son of Ulysses, a second Minos, be our king 1'
and the echoes of the neighbouring mountain re-
peated the acclamation.
" I waited a few moments, and then made a sign
with my hand that I desired to be heard. In this
interval Mentor whispered me — ' Wilt thou renounce
thy country? Can ambition obliterate the remem-
brance of Penelope, w^io longs for thy return as the
last object of her hope ; and alienate thy heart from
the great Ulysses, whom the gods have resolved to
restore to Ithaca?' — These words roused every tender
passion in my bosom ; and the fond desire of royalty
was iurituntly absorbed in the love of my parents and
BOOK VL 93
my country. In the mean time, the multitude was
again become motionless and silent ; and I addressed
them in these terms : ' Illustrious Cretans ! I am not
worthy the dignity which you offer. The oracle, of
which you have been reminded, does indeed express,
that the sovereignty of Crete shall depart from the
race of Minos, when a stranger shall establish the
dominion of his laws ; but it does not say, that this
stranger shall be king. I am willing to believe that
I am the stranger foretold by the oracle, and that I
have accomplished the prediction : fortune has cast
me upon tliis island ; I have discovered the true sense
of the laws of Minos ; and I wish that my explanation
may contribute to join them in the sovereignty with
the man whom your choice shall appoint to so im-
portant a trust. As for me, I prefer my country, the
obscure and inconsiderable island of Ithaca, to the
hundred cities of Crete, with all their opulence and
glory: permit me, therefore, to wander wherever the
fates shall have marked my course. If I have con-
tended in your sports, I was not prompted by a desire
to govern yon ; but only to obtain your esteem and
your pity, that you might the more readily afford
me the means of returning to the place of my birth;
for I would rather obey my father Ulysses, and
comfort Penelope my mother, than govera all the
nations upon the earth. You see, O Cretans, the
secret recesses of my heart. I am compelled to
leave you ; but death only can put an end to my
gratitude : your interest shall never be less doar to
me than my own honour , and I will remember
you with affection, till death shall efface the last
idea from my mind.'
" I had scarcely finished the last sentence, before
there arose, from the innumerable multitude that
surrounded me, a deep hoarse murmur, like the
sound of waves that are broken against each other iu
a storm. Some questioned whether I was not a god
under the appearance ot a man ; others affinned that
94 TELEMACHUS.
they had seen me in foreign countries, and knew me
to be Telemacbus ; and many cried out that I should
be compelled to ascend the throne of Idomeneus. I
therefore again signified my intention to speak ; and
they were again silent in a moment, not knowing but
that I was now about to accept what before I had
refused. ' Permit me,' said I, ' O Cretans 1 to tell
you my thoughts ^vithout disguise. I believe you
to be the wisest of all people ; and yet there is one
important distinction which I think you have not
made ; your choice ought not to select the man who
is best acquainted with the theory of your laws ; but
he who, with the most steady virtue, has reduced
them to practice. I am, as yet, but a youth, and
consequently without experience, and subject to the
tyranny of impetuous passions ; I am in that state
wliich renders it more fit for me to leara, by obedience,
how to command hereafter, than to practise a science
which is at once so difiicult and important. Do not,
therefore, seek a man who, in any exercises, either of
the mind or of the body, has conquered others, but
one who has achieved the conquest of himself: seek
a man who has the laws of Minos written upon his
heart ; and whose life has illustrated every precept
by an example : let your choice be determined, not
by what he says, but what he has done.'
" The venerable fathers, being much pleased with
these sentiments, and hearing the applause of the
assembly grow still louder, addressed me in these
terms : ' Since the gods no longer permit us to hope
that you will reign over us, assist us, at least, in the
choice of a king who will establish the reign of our
laws. Is any man known to you, who, upon a
throne, will be content with tliis equitable though
limited authority ?'
" ' There is a man,' said I, ' to whom I owe what-
ever merit I possess, whose wisdom has spoken by
my lips, and whose conversation suggested every
sentiment which you have approved.' While I was
BOOK VL 96
vet speaking, the eyes of the whole assembly were
turned upon Mentor, whom I took by the hand, and
presented to them ; at the same time, I related the
protection which he had afforded to my infancy, the
danu^ers from which he had delivered me, and the
calamities that fell upon me when I rejected his coun-
sel. Mentor had, till now, stood \muoticed among
the crowd ; for his habit was plain and negligent, his
countenance was modest, he spake little, and had
an air of coldness and reserve : but as soon as he
became the object of attention, a dignity and finnness,
not to be described, were discovered in his counte-
nance : it was remarked that his eyes were pecu-
liarly piercing ; and every motion expressed un-
common vigour and activity. Some questions were
immediately proposed ; liis answers excited universal
admiration ; and the kingdom was immediately
offered him : the kingdom, however, he refused with-
out the least emotion ; and said, that he prefeiTed
the sweets of a private life to the splendour of roy-
alty ; that the best princes were almost necessarily
unhappy, because they were seldom able to effect the
good which they designed ; and were often betrayed,
by the circumvention of sycophants, to the perpetra-
tion of evils which they intended to prevent. ' If
servitude,' continued he, 'is a state of wretchedness,
there can be no happiness in royalty ; for royalty is
nothing more than servitude in disguise : a king is
always dependant upon those by whom he must
enforce his commands. Happy are those to whom
the toil of government is not a duty ; a duty which
implies the sacrifice of private liberty to public
advantage ; which our coinitry only can claim, and
which those alone who are invested with supreme
authority can owe !'
" The Cretans were at first struck silent with
astonishment ; but at length they asked Mentor what
person he would advise them to choose. ■ • I would
adviee vou,' said Mentor, 'to choose a man who
96 TELEMACHUS.
well knows the people lie is to govern ; and who is
also sufficiently acquainted with government to fear
it as a state of difficulty and danger : he that desires
royalty, does not know the duties which royalty
requires ; and by him who does not know them they
can never be fulfilled : siich a man desires regal
authority only to gratify himself; but regal authority
should be entrusted with him only who would not
accept it but for the love of others.'
" The v\ hole assembly, still wondering to see two
strangers refuse a kingdom which so many others
had sought, began to inquire with whom they had
come to Crete ; and Nausicrates, who had conducted
us from the port to the circus, immediately pointed
to Hazael, with whom Mentor and myself had sailed
fi"om the island of Cypriis : but their wonder, how-
ever great, became still greater, when they under-
stood that he, who had just refused to be the sove-
reign of Crete, had been lately the slave of Hazael ;
that Hazael, struck with the wisdom and virtue of
his slave, now considered him as his monitor and his
friend ; and had been urged, merely by his desire of
knowledge, to travel from Damascus in Syria to Crete,
that he might acquaint himself with the laws of Minos.
"The sages then addressed themselves to Hazael
. — ' We do not daro,' said they, ' to olfer to Hazael
the crown which has been refused by Mentor, be-
cause we believe the sentiments of both to be the
same : you despise mankind too much to rule them ;
nor is there any thing in wealth or in power that,
to you, would compensate the toils of government.'
Hazael replied — ' Think not, O Cretans ! that I
despise mankind, or that I am insensible to the glory
that rewards the labour by which they are rendered
virtuous and happy ; but this labour, however glo-
rious, is attended with pain and danger ; and the
external glitter of regal pomp captivates only the
foolish and the vain. Life is short, and greatness
rather irritates than Ratifies desire: it is oue of
BOOK VI. 07
those deceitfiil acqubitions which I am come so far,
not to obtain, but to despise. Farewell ! I have no
wish but to return once more to retirement and
tranquillity, where my soul may feast on knowledge
with divine reflection, and where that hope of im-
mortality which is derived from virtue may aftbrd
me comfort under the infirmities of old age ; or, if 1
have a wish besides this, it is never to be separated
from the two persons who now stand before you.'
" The Cretans then cried out to Mentor—' Tell
"US, O wisest and greatest of mortals ! tell us who
shall be our king! We will not suffer thee to depart
till thou hast directed this important choice.' Mentor
immediately answered — ' As I stood among the
crowd of spectators, whom the sports had drawn
together, I perceived a man who, in the midst of all
that tumult and impatience, appeared recollected
and sedate : he was still vigorous, though advanced
in years: and, upon inquiring who he was, I soon
learned that liis name was Aristodemus. I after-
wards heard some that stood near tell him, that his
two sons were among the candidates ; but he ex-
pressed no satisfaction at the news : he said, that he
loved one of them too well to wish him involved in
the dangers of royalty; and that he had too great
a regard for his country to wish it should be go-
verned by the other. I immediately conceived, that
the old man loved one of his sons, who had virtue,
with a rational affection ; and that he was too wise
to indulge the other in vicious irregularities. My
curiosity being now greatly increased, I inquired
more particularly into the circumstances of his life;
and one of the citizens gave me this account:
" Aristodemus," said he, "bore arms in the service
of his country for many years, and is almost cover-
ed with scars ; but his abhorrence of insincerity and
flattery rendered him disagreeable to Idomeneus,
wlio therefore left him at Crete when he went U.t
the si^e of Troy : and, indeed he was kept in per-
98 TELEMACHUS.
pctual anxiety by a man who gave him such counsel
iis he could not but approve, yet wanted resolution
to follow: he was, besides, jealous of the glory
which he knew Aristodemus would soon acquire.
The king, therefore, forgetting the services of his
soldier, left him here, exposed to the distresses of
poverty, and to the scorn of the brutal and the
sordid, who consider nothing as merit but riches.
With poverty, however, Aristodemus was content-
ed, and lived cheerfully in a remote corner of the
island, where he cultivated a few acres of ground
with his own hands. In this employment he was
assisted by one of his sons, whom he loved with
great tenderness; and labour and frugality soon
made them happy in the possession of whatever is
necessary to a life of rural simplicity, and some-
thing more. The old man, who was not less a philo-
sopher than a hero, distributed this surplus among
the decrepit and the sick : the youth he stimulated
to industry ; he exhorted the refractory, and in-
structed the ignorant ; he was the arbitrator of
every dispute, and the father of every family : in
his own, he considers no circumstance as unfortu-
nate but the bad disposition of his second son, upon
whom all admonition has been lost. The father,
after having long endured his ii-regularities, in hopes
that some means would be found to correct them,
has at length expelled him from his family, and the
son has since given himself up to the grossest sen-
suality ; and, in the folly of his ambition, is become
a candidate for the kingdom.'
♦' ' Such, O Cretans! is the account that was
given me of Aristodemus : whether it is true or false,
is best known to you. But if this man is indeed
such as he has been represented, why have public
exercises been appointed, and why have so many
strangers been brought together ? You have, in the
midst of you, a man whom you well know, and by
whom you are well known ; a man to whom all the
BOOiV /I. 99
arts of war are familiar, and uliose courage has sus-
tained him, not only against the spear and the dart,
but the formidable assaults of poverty ; who has
despised the riches that are acquired by flattery, who
has preferred labour to idleness, and knows the ad-
1 antages which are derived to the public from agi-i-
culture ; who is an enemy to parade and pomp :
and whose passions are under the control of reason ;
for even the parental aft'ection, which in others is
so often a blind instinct, acts in him as a rational
and a moral principle : since, of two sons, ho
cherishes one for his virtue, and renounces the othei
for his vices ; a man who, to express all his virtue
at once, is already the father of the people. In this
man, therefore, O Cretans ! if, indeed, you want to
be governed by the laws of Minos, behold your king I*
" The multitude immediately cried out wuth one
voice — Aristodemus is indeed such as he has been
represented ; Aristodemus is worthy to be our king 1'
The fathers of the council then ordered that he
ghould be brought before them; and he was imme-
diately sought among the crowd, where he was
mixed with the lowest of the people. When he was
brought before the assembly, he appeared to be per-
fectly calm and unconcerned ; and when he was told
that the people had determined to make him king,
he answered, that he would not accept of the office
but upon three conditions: 'First,* says he, ' The
throne shall be declared vacant, at the end of two
years, if within that time I do not render you better
than you are ; or if you shall resist the execution
of the laws. Secondly, I will be still at liberty to
live in a simple and frugal manner. Thirdly, my
sons shall not rank above their fellow-citizens ; and,
after my death, shall be treated without distinction,
according to their merit.'
" At these words the air was filled with acclama-
tions of joy ; the diadem was placed upon the head
(it Aristodf.nius by the chief of the hoary guardians
100 TELEMACHUS.
of the law ; and sacrifices were ollered to Jupiter,
and the other superior deities. Ai'istodemus made
us presents, not with an ostentatious magnificence,
but a noble simplicity. He gave to Hazael a copy
of the laws of Minos, written by the legislator him-
self, and a collection of tracts, which contained the
complete liistory of Crete, from the time of Saturn
and the golden age : he sent on board his vessel
every kind of fruit that flourishes in Crete, and ia
unlaiown in Syria, and offered him whatever he
should need.
" As we were now impatient to depart, he caused
a vessel to be immediately fitted out for us : he
manned it with a great nimiber of able rowers, and
a detachment of his best troops ; and he put on
board several changes of apparel, and a great plenty
of provision. As soon as the vessel was ready to
sail, the v.ind became fair for Ithaca ; but, as Hazael
was bound on a contrary course, it compelled him
to continue at Crete. He took leave of us with
great tenderness ; and embraced us as friends with
whom he was about to part for life. ' The gods
said he, * are just : and they know that the sacred
bond of our friendship is virtue ; and therefore they
will one day restore us to each other : and those
happy fields in which the just are said to enjoy
everlasting rest, shall see our spirits reunited to
part no more. O ! that my ashes also might be
mixed with yours!' Here his words became in-
articulate, and he burst into tears : our eyes over-
flowed with equal tendeniess and grief.
" Our parting with Aristodemus was scarce less
affectionate. ' As you have made me a king,' said
he, ' remember the dangers to which you have ex-
posed me; and request the gods to irradiate my
mind with wisdom from above, and give me power
over myself, in proportion to my authority over
others. May they conduct you in safety to your
coimtry, abofie the insolence of your enemies, and
BOOK VI. 101
give you the joy to behold Ulysses again upon the
throne of Ithaca, supremely happy in the possession
of Penelope and peace. — To thee, Telemachus, I
have given a good vessel, well manned with mariners
and soldiers, who may assist thee against the per-
secutors of thy mother. For thee, Mentor, thy
wisdom is sufficient : possessing this, thou hast need
of nothing ; all that I could give would be super-
Huous ; and all that I can wish is precluded. — Go,
both of you, in peace ; and may you long be the
felicity of each other; remember Aristodemus ; and
if Ithaca should need the assistance of Crete,
depend upon my friendship to the last hour of my
life.' He then embraced us; and we could not
thank him without tears.
" The wind, wliich now swelled our sails, promised
us a happy voyage. Mount Ida already appeared
but like a hillock, the shores of Crete in a short time
totally disappeared, and the coast of Peloponnesus
seemed to advance into the sea to meet us. But
a tempest suddenly obscured the sky, and irritated
the billows of the deep ; night rushed upon us un-
awares, and death presented himself in all his ter-
rors. It was thy awful trident, O Neptune ! that
agitated the ocean to its remotest shores, Venus, to
revenge the contempt with which we had treated her,
even in her temple at Cythera, hasted to the father
of the floods, whom she addressed with a voice
broken by grief, and her eyes swimming in tears :
thus, at least, I have been informed by Mentor, who
is acquainted with celestial things: ' Wilt thou suf-
fer,* said she, ' these impious men to deride my
power, and escape unpunished ? My power has been
confessed by the gods themselves ; and yet all who
acknowledge it in my favourite island, these pre-
sumptuous mortals have dared to condemn : they
pride themselves in a frigid wisdom, which was never
warmed by the rays of beauty ; and they despise, as
ftiilv, the delights of love, Hnst thou forgot that I
102 TELEMACHUS.
was Lorn in thy dominions ? WTierefore dost thou
delay to overwhelm the wretches whom 1 abhor ?'
" Neptune immediately swelled the waves into
mountains, that reached the skies ; and Venus, smil-
ing upon the stonn, believed our shipwreck to be
inevitable. Our pilot cried out in confusion and
despair, that he could no longer withstand the fury
of the winds, which drove us upon the rocks with
irresistible violence ; oui* mast was broken by a
sudden gust ; and the moment after we heard the
points of the rocks, that were under water, tear open
the bottom of our vessel ; the water flowing in on
every side, the vessel sunk, and the mariners sent
up a cry of distress to Heaven. I ran to Mentor,
and throwing my arms round him — ' Death,' said I,
* is now indeed upon us ; let us meet him with
intrepidity. The gods have delivered us from so
many dangers, only that we may perish in this :
let us die, then, my dear Mentor ! it is some conso-
lation to me that I die with you ; and it would be
hopeless labour to dispute life with the storm.*
Mentor answered — ' True courage never sits down
inactive in despair : it is not enough to expect
death with tranquillity ; we ought, without dreading
the event, to continue our utmost efforts against it.
Let us lay hold on some fragment of the vessel ; and,
while this aflFrighted and confused multitude deplore
the loss of life, without attempting to preserve it, let
us try at least to preserve our own.* While he was
yet speaking, he snatched up an axe, and divided the
splinter that still held the broken mast together,
which, falling across the vessel, had laid it on one
side. The top of the mast already lay in the water,
and Mentor, now pushing off the other end leaped
upon it himself in the midst of the waves; and, call-
ing me by my name, encouraged me to follow him.
As a mighty oak, when the winds combine against it,
stands firm on its root, and its leaves only are shaken
by the tempest, so Mentor, who was not only ft-arless,
BOOK VI. 103
bit eevenc, appeared superior to the power of the
winds and waves. I foUowed his example ; and the
force of his example who could haA'e resisted ? We
steered oui-selves upon the floating mast, which was
more than sufficient to sustain us both ; and there-
fore rendered us a most important service ; for if we
had been obliged to swim merely by our own eflbrt,
our strength must have been exhausted. The mast,
liowever, on which we sat, was often overwhelmed
by the tempest, notwithstanding its bulk ; so that
we were as often plunged under the water, which
rushed in at our mouths, ears, and nostrils ; and it
was not without the utmost labour and difficulty
that we recovered our seat. Sometimes a wave that
was swelled into a mountain, rolled over us ; and
we then kept our hold with all our might, lest the
mast, which was our only hope, should be driven
from under us in the shock.
" While we were in this dreadful situation. Men-
tor, who possessed the same tranquillity on the frag-
ment of a wreck that he does now on that bank of
turf, addressed me in these words : ' Canst thou be-
lieve, Telemachus, that the winds and waves are the
arbiters of life and death ? Can they cause thee to
perish otherwise than as they fulfil the command of
Heaven ? Every event is determined by the gods : let
the gods, therefore, and not the sea, be the object of
thy fear. Wert thou already at the bottom of this
abyss, the hand of Jove would draw thee forth ; or
shouldst thou be exalted to the summit of Olympus,
and behold the stars rolling under thy feet, the hand
of Jove could again plunge thee to the centre, or
cast thee headlong into hell.' I heard and admired
this discourse; but thoxigh it gave me some comfort,
my mind was too much dppresoru and confused to
reply. He saw me not, nor could 1 see him. We
passed the whole night, shivering with cold, in a
Btate between life and death; driving before the
storm, and not knowing on whatsiioro we should be
104 TELEMACHUS.
cast. At length, however, the impetuosity of tlie
wind began to abate ; and the sea resembled a per-
son whose anger, after haA'^ing been long indulged in
tumult and outrage, is exhausted by its own vehe-
mence, and subsides in mvn-murs and discontent.
The noise of the surge gradually died away ; and the
waves were not higher than the ridges that are left
by the plough.
" And now Aurora threw open the gates of hea-
ven to the sun, and cheered us with the promise of
a better day ; the east glowed,- as if on fire ; and
the stars, which had been so long hidden, just ap-
peared, and fled at the approach of Phcebus. We
now descried land at a distance ; the breeze wafted
us towards it ; and hope revived in my bosom : but
we looked round in vain for our companions, who
probably resigned themselves to the tempest in
despair, and sunk with the vessel. As we approach-
ed nearer to the shore, the sea drove us upon the
rocks ; against which we should have been dashed
to pieces, but that we received the shock against
the end of the mast, which Mentor rendered as
serviceable upon this occasion as the best rudder
could have been in the hands of the most skilful
pilot. Thus, having passed the rocks in safety,
we found the rest of the coast rise from the sea
with a smooth and easy ascent ; and, floating at
ease upon a gentle tide, we soon reached the sands
with our feet. There we were discovered by the
coUdess who inhabits this happy island : and there
tue vouchsafed to take us into her protection,"
BOOK VII. 105
BOOK VIL
Calypso admires Telemachus for his adventures, and exerts all her
power to detain him in her island, b>- inciting him to return her
passion; but he is sustEiined by the wisdom ami friendship r,f Men-
tor, as well asrainst her artifices as the power of Cupid, whom Venug
sends to her" assistance. Telemachus, however, and Encharis, be-
Clime mutually enamoured of each other; which provokes Calypso
first to jealousy, and then to rage; and she swears, by the Styx, that
Telemachus shall leave her island; she is consoled by Cupid, who
excites the nymphs to burn the vessel which had been Suilt by Men-
tor, while Mentor was labouring to get Telemachus on board. Tel-
emachus is touched with a secret joy at this event: Mentor, who
perceives it, throws him from a rock into the sea, and leaps after
him, that they may swim to another vessel, which appeared not far
distant from the shore.
When Telemachus had concluded the relation of
Ms adventures, the nymphs, whose eyes had till
then been immoveably fixed upon him, looked at each
other with a mixture of astonishment and delight.
*'What men," said they, ''arethese! In the fortunes
of whom else would the gods have taken part ? and
of whom else could such wonders have been related?
Ulysses is already surpassed in eloquence, in wis-
dom, and in courage, by his son. What an aspect !
what manly beauty ! what a mixture of dignity and
complacence, of firmness and modesty ! If he was
not known to be born of a mortal, he might easily be
mistaken for a god ; for Bacchus, for IVIercury, or,
perhaps, even for Apollo himself! But who is this
Mentor ? His first appearance is that of a man ob-
scurely bom, and of mean condition : but when he is
examined with attention, something inexpressible is
discovered, something that is more than mortal !"
Calypso heard these exclamations with a confu-
sion which she could not hide; and her eyes were in-
cessantly glancing from Mentor to Telemachus, and
from Telemachus to Mentor. She was often about
to request a repetition of the story to which she had
listened with so much delight, and as often suppress-
ed her desire. At length she rose hiistily from her
seat ; and taking Telemachus with her, retired to a
neighbouring grove of myrtle, where she laboured,
with all horiu-t, to learn from liim, whether M-.^ntor
106 TELEMACHUS.
was not a deity concealed under a human form. It
was not, however, in the power of Telemachus to
satisfy her curiosity ; for Minerva, who accompanied
him in the hkeness of Mentor, thought him too young
to be ti-usted with the secret, and made the confidant
of her designs: she was, besides, desirous to prove
him in the greatest dangers ; and no fortitude would
have been necessary to sustain him against any evU,
however dreadful, and however near, if he had known
himself to be imder the immediate protection of Mi-
nerva. As Telemachus, therefore, mistook his divine
companion for Mentor, all the artifices of Calypso to
discover what she wished to know were ineffectual.
In the mean time, the nymphs, who had been left
with Mentor, gathered round him, and amused them-
selves by asking him questions. One inquired the
particulars of his journey from Ethiopia ; another de-
sired to know what he had seen at Damascus ; and
a third asked him whether he had known Ulysses
before the siege of Troy. Mentor answered them
aU with complacence and affability; and though he
Osed no studied ornaments of speech, yet his ex-
pression was not only significant but graceful. The
return of Calypso soon put an end to this conversa-
tion ; her nymphs then began to gather flowers, and
to sing for the amusement of Telemachus ; and she
took Mentor aside, that she might, if possible, dis-
cover who he was from his own discourse.
The words of Calypso were wont to steal upon the
heart, as sleep steals upon the eyes of the weary,
with a sweet and gentle, though irresistible, influ-
ence ; but, in Mentor, there was something which de-
feated her eloquence, and eluded her beauty; some-
thing as much superior to the power of Calypso, aa
the rock that hides its foundation in the centre, and
its summit in the clouds, is superior to the wind that
beats against it. He stood immoveable in the pur-
poses of his own wisdom, and suffered the goddess
tx> exeit all her arts against b.im with the utmcjgt
BOOK VII. 107
indifference and security. Sometimes he would let
her deceive herself with the hope of having embar-
rassed him by her questions, and betrayed him into
the involuntary discovery of himself; but, just as
she thought her curiosity was on the point of being
gratified, her expectations were suddenly disappoint-
ed, all her conjectures were overthrown, and, by
some short and unexpected answer, she was again
overwhelmed in perplexity and doubt.
In tliis manner Calypso passed one day after an-
other ; sometimes endeavouring to gain the heart of
Telemachus by flattery, and sometimes labouring to
alienate him from Mentor, of whom she no longer
hoped to obtain the intelligence she desired. She
employed the most beautiful of her nymphs to in-
flame the breast of the young hero with desire; and
she was assisted in her designs against him by a
deity ^vhose power was superior to her OAvn.
Venus burned with resentment against Mentor and
Telemachus, for having treated the worship which she
received at Cyprus with disdain : and their escape
from the tempest, which had been raised against
them by Neptune, fiUed her breast with indignation
and grief: she therefore complained of her disap-
pointment and her wrongs to Jupiter, and from his
superior power she hoped more effectual redress.
But the father of the gods only smiled at her com-
plaint; and, witliout acfiuainthig her that Telema-
chus had been preserved by Minerva in the likeness
of Mentor, he left her at liberty to gratify her
resentment as she could. The goddess immediately
quitted Olympus ; and, thoughtless of all the rich
perfumes that were risin*,'- from her altars at Cythe-
ra, Idalia, and Paphos, mounted her chariot, and
called her son : the grief which was diffused over
her countenanre rather increased than diminished
her beauty, and she addressed tlie god of love in
these terms: " Wlio, my son, shall henceforth
Ltym. incense upon our ultaix-, if tho?e tvIk* deppiae
108 TELEMACHUS.
our power escape unpunished ? The wretches who
have thus offended with impunity are before thee;
make haste, therefore, to secure our honour, and
let thy arrows pierce them to the heart : go down
with me to that island, and I will speak to Calypso."
The goddess shook the reins as she spoke ; and,
gliding through the air, surrounded by a cloud
which the sun had tinged with a golden hue, she
presented herself before Calypso, who was sitting
pensive and alone by the side of a fountain at some
distance from her grotto.
' ' Unhappy goddess !" said she, ' ' thou hast already
been despised and deserted by Ulysses, whom the ties,
not only of love, but of gi-atitude, should have bound
to thee ; and the son, yet more obdurate than the fa-
ther, is now preparing to repeat the insult. But love
is come in person to avenge thee : I will leave him
with thee ; and he shall remain among the nymphs
of this island, as Bacchus did once among those of
the island of Naxos, who cherished him in his in-
fancy. Telemachus will regard him, not as a deity,
but as a child; and, not being upon his guard against
him, will be too sensible of his power. The queen
of beauty then, turning from Calypso, re-ascended
to Olympus, in the golden cloud from which she had
alighted upon the earth, and left behind her a train of
celestial fragrance, which, expanding by degrees,
filled all the groves of Calypso with perfumes.
Cupid remained in the arms of Calypso ; and,
though she was herself a deity, yet she felt his fires
diffused in her breast. It happened that a nymph,
whose name was Eucharis, was now near her, and
Calypso put the boy into her arms. This was a
present relief; but, alas ! it was purchased too dear.
The boy seemed at first to be harmless, gentle,
lovely, and engaging; his playful "caresses, and
perpetual smiles, might well have persuaded all
about him that he was born only to delight ; but the
jnoment the hefirt is open to his evAcRxmants, it
EOOK VII. 109
fefls that tlicy have a malignant power. He is,
beyond ronreption, doreitlul and malicious ; his
caresses have no view but to betray ; and his smiles
have no cause, but the mischiefs that he has perpe-
trated, or that he meditates. But, with all his
power and all his subtiltv, he did not dare to ap-
proach Mentor. In INIentor, there was a severity
of virtue that intimidated and kept him at a dis-
tance : he knew also, by a secret sensation, that
this inscrutable stranger could not be wounded by
his arrows. The nymphs, indeed, were soon sensible
ol"his power; but the wound which they could not
cure, they were very careful to conceal.
In the mean time, Telemachus, who saw the hoy
playing- sometimes with one of these nymphs, and
sometimes with another, was surprised at his sweet-
ness and beauty : he sometimes pressed him to his
bosom, sometimes set him on his knee, and frequently
took him in his amis. It was not long before he be-
came sensible of a certain disquietude, of which he
could not discover the cause ; and the more he en-
deavoured to remove it by innocent amusements, the
more restless and enervated he giew. He observed
to Mentor, that the nymphs of Calypso were very
different from the women they had seen in the island
of Cyprus, whose indecent behaviour rendered them
disgusting in spite of their charms : "In these im-
mortal beauties," says he, " there is an innocence, a
modesty, a simplicity, which it is impossible not to
admire and love." The youth blushed as he spoke,
though he knew not why : he could neither forbear
speakino", nor go on with his discourse, which was in*
ternipted and incoherent, always oliscure, and some-
times quite unintelligible. " O Telemachus," said
Mentor, " the dangers to which you was exposed in
the isle of Cyprus were nothing in comparison of
those which you do not now suspect. As vice, when
it is undisguised, never fails to excite liorror, we are
V.armed r* flie war.ton wlui 1k;s llirown off all ro.
J
no TELEJuACHUS.
straint ; but our danger is much greater wlteu the
appearance of modesty remains : we then persuade
ourselves that virtue only has excited our love, and
give ourselves up to a deceitftil passion, of which
beauty is, indeed, the object ; and which we seldom
learn to distrust till it is too strong to be subdued.
Fly, therefore, my dear Telemathus, from these fatal
beauties, who appear to be virtuous, only that they
may deceive the confidence they raise ; fly ft-om the
dangers to w^iich you are here exposed oy your
youth : but, above all, fly from this boy, whom you
do not dread, only because you do not know him.
This boy is Cupid, whom his mother has brought into
tills island, to punish us for treating her worship at
Cyprus with contempt : he has already pierced the
heart of Calypso, who is enamoured of you: he has
inflamed all the beauties of her train ; and his fires
have reached even thy breast, O unhappy youth! al-
though thou knowest it not 1" Telemachus often in-
terrupted Mentor, during this admonition : "Why,"
said he, " should we not continue in this island ?
Ulysses is no longer a sojourner upon the earth: he
has, without doubt, been long buried in the deep:
and Penelope, after waiting in vain, not only for his
return, but for mine, must have yielded to the impor-
tunities of some fortunate suitor, among the number
that sunounds her ; especially as it can scarcely be
supposed but that her father Icarus must have ex-
erted his paternal authority to oblige her to accept
another husband. For Avhat, then, can I return to
Ithaca, but to sec her disgraced by a new alliance,
and to witness the violation of that truth which
she plighted to my father? And if Penelope has thus
forgotten Ulysses, it cannot be thought that he is
remembered by the people ; and neither indeed, can
we hope to get alive into the island ; for her suitors
will certainly have placed, at every port, a band of
rufiiaus, sufficient to cut us off at our return." — ** All
that you have said." replied Mentor, " is only an-
BOOK VII. in
other proof liiat you are under the influence of a
foolL>li and fatal passion. You labour with great
subtilty to find every argument that can favour it,
and to avoid all those by whi-h it would be con-
demned: you are ingenious only to deceive yourself,
and to secure forbidden pleasures from the intrusion
of remorse. Have you forgot that the gods them-
selves have interposed to favour your return ? Was
not your escape from Sicily supernatural ? Were not
the misfortunes that you suffered in Egypt convert-
ed into sudden and unexpected prosperity? And were
not the dangers which threatened you at Tyre avert-
ed by an invisible hand ? Is it possible that, after so
many miracles, you should still doubt to what end
you have been preserved ? But why do I remon-
strate ? Of the good fortune which was designed for
thee, thou art unworthy ! As for myself, I make no
doubt but I shall find means to quit this island: and
if here thou art determined to stay, here am I deter-
mined to leave thee. In this place let the degene-
rate son of the great Ulysses hide himself among
women, in the shameful obscurity of voluptuousness
and sloth ; and stoop, even in spite of Heaven, to
that which his father disdained."
This reproach, so forcible and so keen, pierced Te-
lemachus to the heart : he was melted with tender-
ness and grief; but his grief was mingled with shame,
and his shame with fear. He dreaded the resentment
of Mentor, and the loss of that companion to whose
sagacitv and kindness he was so much indebted. But,
at the s;ime time, the passion which had just taken
possession of his breast, and to which he was himself
a stranger, made him still tenacious of his purpose.
" What !" said he to Mentor, with tears in his eyes,
•' do you r<;ckon as nothing that immortality which I
may now share with Calypso ?" — "I hold as nothing,"
replied Mentor, '' all that is contrary to the dictates
of virtue, and to the commands of Heaven. Virtue
now cdla you back to your country, to Ulysses, and
112 TELEMACHUS.
to Penelope: virtue forbids you to give up you?
heart to an unworthy pussion : and the gods, who
have delivered you from so many dangers, that your
name might not be less illustrious than that of
Ulysses, command you to quit this island, where
only the tyranny of love could detain you ; a tyranny
which to resist is to subdue, and which therefore it
is infamous to suifer. Immoi-tality ! alas, what is
immortality without liberty, without virtue, and
without honour ? Is it not a state of misery without
hope ; still more deplorable, as it can never end ?"
To this expostulation, Telemachus replied only by
sighs. Sometimes he almost wished that Mentor
would force him from the island in spite of himself;
sometimes he was impatient to be left behind, that he
might be at liberty to gratify his wishes without fear-
ing to be reproached for his weakness : a thousand
different wishes and desires maintained a perpetual
conflict in his breast, and were predominant by turns;
his mind, therefore, was in a state of tumult and fluc-
tuation, Uke the sea when it is at once urged by dif-
ferent winds of equal force. Sometimes he threw
himself on the ground near the sea, and remained a
long time extended motionless on the beach; some-
times he hid himself in the gloomy recesses of a wood,
where he wept in secret, and uttered loud and pas-
sionate complaints. His body was emaciated, and
his eyes were grown hollow and eager; he was pale
and dejected, and in every respect so much altered as
scarcely to be known : his beauty, sprightliness, and
vigour had forsaken him ; all the grace and dignity
of his deportment were lost; and life itself suffered
by a swilt but silent decay. As a flower that blows
in the morning fills the air with fraerance, and then
gradually fades at the approach of night, loses the
vivid brightness of its colours, droops, withers, and
at length falls with its own weight ; so the son of
Ulysses was sinking insensibly into the grave.
RIentor, perceiving that all his virtue and raeolB-
BOOK Vn. 113
tion were irresistibly borne down by the violence o\
his passion, had recourse to an artifice, which he
hoped might preserve him from its most pernicious
elfects. He had remarked that Calypso was ena-
moured of Telemachns, and Telemachus of Eucharis ;
for as Cupid is always busy to give pain under the
appearance of pleasure, it seldom happens, that by
those whom we love we are beloved again: he there-
fore resolved to make Calypso jealous: and it having
been agreed between Eucharis and Telemachus that
they would go out together a-hunting. Mentor took
that opportunity to alarm her. " I hiive observed,"
Sfiid he, "that Telemachus has of late b^'en more
fond of the chase than I ever knew him before : he
seems now to take pleasure in nothing else, :«.nd is ia
love only with mountains and forests. Is the chase
also thy favourite pleasure, O goddess ? and has he
caught this ardour from thee ?" Calypso was so stung
by tliis question, that she could neither dissemble
her emotion, nor hide the cause. " This Telema-
chus," said she, "whose heroic virtue despised the
pleasures that were offered him in the isle of Cyprus,
has not been able to withstand the charms of one of
my nymphs, who is not remarkable for beauty. How
di 1 he dare to boast of having achieved so many won-
ders ? a wretch, whom luxury has rendered sordid
anil effeminate, and who seems to have been intended
by nature for a life of indolence and obscurity, among
women !" Mentor observed, with pleasure, that Ca-
lypso suffered great anguish from her jealousy; and
therefore said nothing more to inflame it at that
time, lest she should suspect his design; but he as-
sumed a look that expressed dejection and concern.
The godde^s discovered, without reserve, her uneasi-
ness at all that she saw, and incessantly entertained
him with new complaints. The hunting match, to
which Mentor had called her attention, exasp(^rated
her beyond all bounds; for she knew tliat Telema-
chus had nothing in view but to draw Eucharis from
114 TELEMACHUS.
the rest of the nymphs, that he might speafe to ner
in private. A second hunting match was proposed
soon afterwards, and Calypso knew that it was in-
tended for the same purpose as the first; which being
determined to disappoint, she declared that she would
be of the party ; but her emotion being too violent
to be concealed, she suddenly broke out into this
reproachful expostulation : "Is it thus, then, pre-
sumptuous boy! that thou hast made my dominions
an asylum from the resentment of Neptune, and
the righteous vengeance of the gods ? Hast thou
entered this island, which mortals are forbidden to
approach, only -to defy my power, and despise my
love? — Hear me, ye gods of the celestial and infer-
nal world ! let the sufi'erings of an injm-ed deity
awaken your vengeance ! Overtake this perfidious,
this nngrateful, this impious mortal, with swift
destruction ! — Since thy obduracy and injustice are
{^•eater than thy father's, may thy sutferings also
be longer and more severe ; may thy country be for
ever hidden from thv eyes, that wretched, that
despicable conntrv, which, in the folly of thy pre-
sumption, thou hast, v>itliout a blush, preferred to
immortality with me ! Or rather, may^st thou
perish, when in the distant horizon it first rises
before thee! Mayest thou, then, plunged in the
deep, be driven back, the s^port of the waves, and
cast lifeless upon these sands, which shall deny thee
burial ! May my eyes see the vultures devour theel
They shall see them : and she whom thou love:*t
shall see them also ; she shall see them with despair
and angiaish, and her misery shall be my delight!"
While Calypso was thus spealdng, her whole
countenance was suffused with rage : there was a
gloomy fierceness in her looks, which continually
hurried from one object to another: her lips trembled,
a livid circle surrounded them; and her colour,
which was sometimes pale as death, chanircd every
moment: her tears, which she had be.?^n used io
BOOK VII. 115
shed in gi-eat plenty, now ceased to floAv, as it*
despair and ruge hud dried up tiieir source ; and
her voice was hoarse, tremulous, and interrupted.
Mentor remarked all the changes of her emotion,
but said nothing more to Telemachus ; he treated
him as a man intected with an incurable disease, to
whom it was in vain to administer remedies ; but
he frequently regarded him with a look that strongly
expressed his compassion, Telemachus was sensible
of his weakness, ane :
hall I still go ? Alas ! shall I be a foil to her
Deauties? Shall 1 increase her triumph and his
passion ? Wretch that 1 am, what have I done ?
] will not go ; nor shall they : I know well how to
prevent them. If I entreat Mentor to quit the
island with his friend, he will immediately conduct
him to Ithaca. But what do I say ? When Tele-
machus is departed, what will become of Calypso ?
Where am I ? What shall I do ? — O cruel Venus !
J Venus, thou hast deceived me ; thou hast be-
•rayed me with a fatal gift ! — Pernicious boy ! I
opened my heart to thee, seduced by the pleasing
hope that thou woulJst introduce felicity ; but
tliou hast perfidiously Mlled it with anguish and
despair. My nymphs have combined against me;
ind my divinity serves only to perpetuate my
ufferings. O that I could put an end to my being
ind my sufferiuirs together ! But I cannot die :
ind therefore, Telemachus, thou shalt not live 1 I
^ill revenge myself of thy ingratitude : the nymph,
who is the partner of thy crime, shall be the witness of
diy punishment : and in her presence will I strilve
•hee to the heart. But I rave : unhappy Calypso I
what wouldst thou do ? Wouldst thou destroy the
guiltless youth whom thou hast already made wretch-
ed ? It is I that have kindled, in the chaste bosom
of Telemachus, a guilty flame. H(Jvv pure was his
innocence, and how uniform liis virtue ! how noble
lis detestation of vice, how heroic his disdain of
inglorious pleasure! VVhv did I taint s"» immacu-
late a breast? lie would Ivave left mo, alas! And
must he noi leave me now? Or, since tie lives but
for my rival, if he stays, mu:>L ne not stay oniy to
JKOOK VII. 117
despise me ? But 1 have merited the misery that 1
suffer! — Go, then, Telemachusl a'j^^ain let the seaa
divide us; go, andleaveCalvpso without consolation,
unable to sustain the burden of life; unable to lay it
down in the grave! Leave me, without consola-
tion, overwhelmed with shame, and despoiled of hope,
the victim of remorse, and the scorn of Eucharis 1"
Thus she sighed alone in the obscurity ot her
grotto : but, the next moment, starting suddenly
from her seat, she ran out with a furious impetuo-
sity : " A^'liore art thou, Mentor?" says she: "is
it thus that thy wisdom sustains Telen)achus against
the mischief that is even now ready to overwhelm
him ? Thou sleepest while Love is vigilant against
thee. I can bear this slothful indifference no longer 1
Wilt thou always see the oon of the great Ulysses
dishonour liis birth, and forego the advantages of
liis fortune, with this negligent tranquillity ? It is
to thy care, and not mine, that his Iriends have
committed him : wilt thou then sit idle while I am
busy ibr his preservation ? The remotest part of
this forest abounds in tall poplars, of which a com-
modious vessel may easily be built : in that place
Ulysses himself built the vessel in which he set sail
from this island ; and, in that place, you will lind a
deep cave, which contains all the implements that
are necessary for the work." She had no sooner
given Mentor this intelligence, than she repented
of it; but he losi not a moment to improve it. He
hasted immediatclv to the cave, found the imple-
ments, felled the trees, and in one day constructed
a vessel fit for the seas ; for, to Minerva, a short
time was sufficient for a great work.
Calypso, in the mean time, suffered the most
tormenting anxiety and suspense : she was, at the
same time, impatient to know what Mentor would
do in conseijuence of her information, and unable
to bear the thought of leaving Telema<'hus and
Euciviris at tuii liberty, by (luiUing the cka^e.
118 TELEMACHUS.
Her jealousy would not permit her to lose sigtt o^
the lovers ; and Iherelbre she contrived to lead tho
hunters towards that part of the forest where she
supposed Mentor would be at work. She soon
thoug^ht she heard the strokes of the axe and the
mallet : she listened, and every blow that she heard
made her tremble; yet she was distracted in the
very moment of attention by her fears, that some
amorous intimation, some sigh, or some glance,
between Telemachus and Eucharis, might escape
her notice.
Eucharis, at the same time, thought fit to rally
her lover: " Are you not afraid," says she, "that
Mentor will chide you for going to the chase with-
out Jiim ? What a pity it is that you have so
severe a master ! He has an austerity that nothing
van soften : he affects to despise pleasure himsell,
and therefore interdicts it to you, not excepting
even the most innocent amusement. It might,
indeed, be proper for you to submit to his direction
before you was able to govern yourself; but after
you have given such proofs of wisdom, you ought no
lonuer to suffer yourself to be treated like a child."
This subtle reproach stung Telemachus to the
heart : he felt a secret indignation against ^leuffer,
and an impatient desire to throw off his yoke ; yet
he was still afraid to see him ; and his mind was in
such agitation, that he made the nymph no reply.
The hunt, during which all parties had felt equal
constraint and uneasiness, being now over, they
returned home by tluit part of the forest where
Mentor had been all day at work. Calypso saw
the vessel finished at a distance: and a thick cloud,
like the shades of death, fell instantly upon her
*yes : her knees trembled, she was covered with a
cold sweat, and obliged to support herself by lean-
ing on the nymphs that surrounded her; among
whom Eucharis pressing t(j assist her, she pushed
ber back with a Irown of indiicnation and disdain.
BO;.K VII. 119
Telemachus, -who saw e vessel, but not Mentoi",
who had finished his w k, and was retired, asked
Calypso to whom it helongod, and for what purpose
it was intended ? She could not answer him imme-
diately ; but at length she told him it was to send
away Mentor, whom she had directed to build it
for that purpose, "You," said she, "shall be no
longer distressed by the austerity of that severe
censor, who opposes your happiness, and would
become jealous of your immortality." — "To send
away Mentor I" said Telemachus : " if he forsakes
me, I am inidone : if he Ibrsakes me, whom shall I
have left, Eucharis, but thee !" Thus, in the un-
guarded moment of surprise and love, the secret
escaped him in words, which his heart prompted,
and of which he did not consider the import. Ho
discovered his indiscretion the moment it was too
late : the whole company was struck dumb with
confusion : Eucharis blushed ; and, fixing- her eyes
upon the ground, stood behind the crowd, not
daring to appear : but though shr.me glowed upon
her cheek, yet joy revelled at her heart. Tele-
machus so far lost hiS recollection, that he scarce
knew what he had done : the whole appeared to
him lik.' :\ -1 ■•■<- 120="" 121="" 1="" :="" a="" above="" abuse="" acquaint-="" acquainted="" added="" affliction="" after="" against="" age="" alas="" all="" alone="" among="" an="" and="" another="" anrl="" any="" appearance="" approached="" are="" art="" as="" assured="" at="" attempted="" awav="" b-.it="" bacchus="" be="" beauty.="" begone="" behind="" being="" bestow.="" bonds="" book="" bosom.="" bosom="" bound="" bounty="" boy="" breath="" burned="" burst="" but="" butl="" by="" calling="" calvpso="" calypso="" can="" ceived="" celestial="" characteristics="" co="" cocytus="" come="" comforted="" complaining="" confusion="" conjure="" countenance="" course="" coveiy="" crag="" cried="" cyprus="" dare="" dead="" death:="" deep="" deities="" deity="" deliver="" desire="" despised="" did="" directed="" dis-="" dis="" dismiss="" do="" dominions="" dotard="" dream="" e-="" echo="" ed="" embraced="" encouraged="" end="" enjoy="" ensnared="" entrance="" er="" eternity="" eucharis="" evaporated="" even="" ever="" everlasting="" eves="" evils="" excite="" exhale="" expressed="" eyes="" failed="" far="" father="" favour="" favoured="" fctood="" felt="" first="" fitrthet="" follow="" following="" for="" forest="" forsake="" fortune.="" found="" frenzy.="" friendship="" from="" furies="" fury="" fusioii="" goddess="" gods="" going="" gone="" grotto="" ground="" hand="" has="" hast="" hasty="" have="" he="" heart.="" heightened="" her="" here="" herself="" hidden="" highly="" hiiniself="" him.="" him="" himself="" his="" hither="" hoary="" hope="" horror="" hour="" however="" hy="" i="" if="" immor-="" impressed="" in="" infatuated="" inhabitants="" injury="" inspires="" instantly="" inter-="" interrupt="" interval="" into="" inviolable="" invoke="" irremeable="" is="" ishmd="" isle="" it="" ithaca="" itself="" javelin="" jrdered="" just="" knees="" knew="" know="" knowing="" last="" learn="" left="" length="" let="" lie="" liegun.="" life.="" lift="" liim="" like="" live="" look="" loss="" love.="" love="" machus="" made="" may="" mayest="" me="" mee="" menace="" mentor:="" mentor="" middle="" misfortunes:="" more="" moun-="" my-="" my="" myself="" naked="" neck="" neither="" neptune="" never="" new="" nill="" no="" nor="" not="" now="" nymph="" nymphs="" o="" oath="" of="" on="" only="" or="" ought="" out="" own="" pace="" paring="" passed="" passion="" passions="" peace="" per-="" perbpicacily="" perceived="" perhaps="" persecutions="" pestilential="" pierce="" place="" power="" pre-="" preclude="" punish.="" punishment="" put="" quitted="" r="" rage="" received="" reconciled="" reflect="" regret="" repentance="" resents="" rest="" retaining="" retinn.="" return="" revenge="" revenged="" revived="" rock="" round="" rry="" rushed="" said="" scorn="" secst="" see="" seemed="" self="" set="" severest="" shall="" shalt="" she="" short="" should="" shouts="" sicily="" silence="" silently="" since="" sion="" so="" softened="" solicited="" solitary="" some="" son="" soothing="" speak.="" speak="" started="" stay="" still="" stranger="" strength="" strike="" struck="" styx="" submis-="" suddojilv="" suffer="" sufferings="" surround="" suspended="" swear="" swimming="" sworn="" tains="" tality="" tears:="" tears="" tele-="" telemachus.="" telemachus="" telemarhus="" tempests="" terrified="" testimonies="" th="" than="" that="" the="" thee.="" thee="" their="" there="" these="" they="" this="" thk="" those="" thou="" though="" thoughts="" thrace="" threatening="" threw="" thronged="" through="" throw="" thunder="" thy="" time="" tiorted="" tlie="" to="" track="" trans-="" tremble="" trembled="" trouuc="" ulysses="" up="" upon="" vain.="" value="" vapours="" venus="" very="" vii.="" violence="" voice="" votaries="" vvat="" w="" waiting="" was="" waters="" way="" weakness="" were="" what="" when="" where="" which="" while="" whither="" who="" whole="" whom="" whose="" will="" wisdom="" wise="" with="" within="" without="" witli="" woods="" words="" worse="" worsliip="" would="" yet="" you="">T is he aware how little his own heart
122
is to be trusted. The gods have led thee, as it
were by the hand, to the brink of destruction : they
have show^ed thee the depth of the abyss, but they
have not suffered thee to fall in: secure now the
knowledge which otherwise thou couldst never hav
acquired ; and improve that experience, without
which it would have been in vain to tell thee of the
treachery of love, who flatters onlv to destroy, and
who conceals the keenest anguish under the appear-
ance of delight. Thou hast now seen, and known,
this lovely, this perfidious boy : he came hither
blooming in immortal beauty, and all was mirth
and sport, elegance and dissipation : he stole away
thy heart, and thou liadst pleasure in permitting
the theft; yet didst thou wish to persuade layselt
that it was still thy own. Thou wast solicitous to
deceive nie, and to flatter thyself; and thou art
now gathering the fruits of thy indiscretion. Thou
art importuning me to take away thy life ; and that
I will comply, is the only hope that lingers in thy
breast. The goddess is transformed, by the violence
of her passions, to an infernal fury : Eucharis is
tormented by a flame less tolerable than the pains
of death ; and among the other nymphs of Calypso,
Jealousy has scattered her plagues with an unspar-
ing hand. Such are the exploits of that boy, whose
appearance was so gentle and lovely ! How greatly,
then, art thou beloved by the gods, who have opened
a way for thee to flv fi'om him, and return to thy
country, the object not of a blameless only, but a
noble passion ! Calypso is herself compelled to drive
thee hence : the vessel is ready ; call up, then, all thy
courage, and let us make haste to quit this island,
where it is certain that virtue can never dwell." i
Mentor, while he was yet speaking, took Telema-
chus by the hand, and led him towards the shore.
Telemachus consented with silent reluctance, and
looked behind him at every step. Eucharis was still
bi sight, though at a considerable distance : and not
OOK VII. 123
bein^^ arJe to see her face, he gazed at her fine hair,
which, tied in a lock, played gracetiilly behind her,
and at her loose light robe that flowed negligently
in the wind : he remarked the easy majesty of her
gait, and could have kissed the mark of her footsteps
on the ground. When his eye could no longer reach
her, he listened ; and he persuaded hiniselt that he
heard her voice : he still saw her, though she wks
absent : his fancy realised her image ; and he thought
that he was talking with her, not knowing where he
was, nor hearing anything that was said by Mentor.
But, at length awaking as from a dream — " Men-
tor," said he, "I am resolved to follow you ; but I
have not vet taken leave of Eucharis : and 1 would
rather peri^^. than abandon her with ingratitude 1
Stav only till I see her once more : stay only till I
bid her iarewell for ever. Let me tell her, that the
gods, jealous of my felicity, ct)mpel me to depart;
but tliat they shall sooner put a period to my life,
than blot her from my reniembrance. O my father ;
grant me this last, this most reasonable request ; or
destroy me this moment, and let me die at your feet.
1 have no desire to continue in this island ; nor will
I give up my heart to love ; it is, indeed, a stranger
to the passion ; for all thrtt I feel lor Eucharis
amounts but to friendship and gi-atitude. I desire
only to bid her farewell, and I will then follow you
without a moment's delav."
" My son," replied Mentor, " my pity for you is
more than I can expret-s : your passion is so violent,
that you are not sensible it possesses you : you
imisLMue yourself to be in a state of tranquillity, even
while yr>u are adjuring me to take away your life.
You declare that you are not under the influence
of love, while you feel yourself unable to quit the
object of your passion ; while you see and hear her
only, and are blind and deaf to all besides : so tha
wretch, whom a fever has rendered delirious, tel
y r,:?"r«r himself to ta
BOOK VII. 125
led fonrard without n'sistance. Minerva, in tliis
crisis ot his fate, still>>conc^aled under the form of
Mentor, covered him invisibly with her shield, and
infused round him the divine radiance of uncreated
Ught : its influence was immediate and irresistible;
and Telenuichus was conscious to a strength of mind,
which, since he came into the island of Calypso, he
had never felt. They came at length to the sea-
shore, which in that place was steep and rocky ; iti
projected in a cliff, which was broken by the foaming
surge below, and which, from the top, commanded
an extensive prospect of the country : from this pro-
montory they looked to see whether the ship, which
had been built by ^lentor, was still in the place
where they had left it ; and they beheld a scene
which, to Mentor at least, was extremely mortifying
and distressful.
Love, who was conscious that liis shafts could
make no impression upon Mentor, now saw him carry
off Telemachus, with new pangs of disappointed ma-
lignity : he wept with rage and vexation ; and went
in search of Calypso, who was wandering about in
the most doomy recesses of the forest. The moment
Bhe saw him, a deep sigh escaped her, and she felt
every wound in her bosom begin to bleed afresh.
'* Art thou a goddess!" said the disdainful boy;
"and dost thou suffer thyself to be denied by a
feeble mortal, who is captive in thy dominions! Why
ishe sntT.'rcd to depart with impunity?" — " O fatfil
pow«'r !" replied Calypso, " let me no more listen to
thy dangerous counsel, which has jilready seduced me
from a state of perfect and delicious tranquillity, and
plunged me into an abyss of misery, where thought
itself can Hnd no bottom. All couns<^] is, indeed, too
late : I have swoi-n. by the waters of tlie Styx, that I
will not detain liim ; and this awhil oath, Jupiter
himself, the father of the gods, omnipotent and eter-
nal, does not dare to violate. — Depart then, Telema-
chu^ from this island. Depart thou also, pemicioiia
120 TELEMACHUS.
boy ! for my misfortunes are derived rather from
thee than from him !"
Love drying up his tears, replied with a smile of
derision and disdain — •' And this oath has left you
without an expedient ! Leave the matter, then, to my
management. As you have sworn to let Telemachus
depart, take no measures to detain him ; but neither
I nor your nymphs are bound by your oath. I will
incite them to burn the vessel that Mentor has so
hastily built, and his diligence to circumvent us shall
be ineffectual : he also sludl be circumvented in his
turn, and find himself unexpectedly deprived of all
means to rescue Telemachus from your power."
The voice of Love thus soothed the despair of
Calypso, as the breath of the ZephjTs, upon the mar-
gin of a stream, refreshes the languid Hock which
are fainting in the burning heat of the summer's sun :
the sweet influence of hope and joy was again felt
in her breast ; her countenance became serene, and
her eyes soft and placid ; the glooms of care were
dissipated for a moment : she stopped, she smiled;
and she repaid the flattery of the wanton boy with ca-
resses, which prepared new anguish for her heart.
Cupid, pleased with the success upon Calypso,
went to try his influence \ipon her nymphs : thej
were scattered about upon the mountains like a flock
of sheep, which pursued by some hungry wolf, had
fled far from the shepherd. Having soon got them
together — " Telemachus," says he "is stiU in your
hands ; but if a moment is lost, he will escape you :
make haste, then, and set fire to the vessel which
the temerity of Mentor has constructed to carry him
oft" !" Torches were now Hgbted in a moment : they
rushed towards the sea-shore, with the cries and
gestures of frantic Bacchanals, their hair dishevelled,
and their limbs tremblina- ; the flames spread ; the
whole vessel was soon in a blaze ; and the smoke, in-
termixed with sheets of fire, rose in a cloudy voloiue
to tlie sky.
BOOK VI!. W
Telemachus and Mentor saw the flames, and heard
the cries of the uyniphs from the top of the rocks.
Telemachus was secretly inclined to rejoice at what
had happened : the health of his mind was not yet
p<'rfectly restored ; and Mentor remarked, that his
passion was Uke aSre not totally extinguished, which,
from time to time, gleams from the embers, and fre-
qnentlv throws out sparks with a sudden and unex-
pected viirour. "Now," says Telemachus, "our
retreat is cut ofl^, and our escape from this island is
in-possihle ! Mentor w!io p^'rceived that he was
relapsing into all his follies, knew that not a moment
was to be Inst : he saw a vessel lying at anchor at a
distance, which did not approach the shore, because
it was well kno^v^l to all pilots that the island of
Calypso was inaccessible. This wise guardian of
unexperienced youth, therefore, suddenly pushed
Telemachus from the top of the rock into the sea,
and instantly leaped after him. Teleinachus, who
was at first stunned by the fall, drank of the briny
wave, and became the sport of the surge : but, at
length, recovering from the astonishment, and see-
ing Mentor, who stretched out his hand to assist
him in swimming, he thought only how to leave
the island at a distance.
The nymphs, who before imagined that they had
secured their captives, uttered a dreadful cry when
tlicy saw them escape. Calypso again overwhelmed
witii despair, retired to her grotto, which she filled
with unavailing complaints ; and Love, who saw his
triumph suddenly changed into a defeat, sprung up
into the air ; and spreading his wings, took his flight
to the groves of Idalia, where he was expected by
Venus. The boy, still more cruel than his mother,
consoled himself for his disappointment, by laughing
with her, at the mischief they had done.
Telemachus felt, with pleasure, that his fortitude,
bnd his love of virtue, revived as his distance from
the fatal island of Calypso increased. " I now,"
128 TELEMACHUS.
said he to Mentor, " experience what you h.ive told
me; but what, if I had not experienced, I could
never have believed : ' Vice can only be conquered
by flight I' My father, how dear a testimony have
the gods given me of their love, by granting me the
guidance and protection of thy wisdom ! I deserve,
indeed, to be deprived of both ; I deserve to be
abandoned to mv own folly. I now fear neither
seas nor winds ; I apprehend danger only from my
passions : love alone is more to be dreaded than
all the calamities of shipwreck."
BOOK VIIL
The vessel appears to be a Tyrian, commanded by Adoarj the brother
ofNarbal, by whom the adventurers are kindly received. Adoam
recollects Telemachus, and relates the tragical death of Pygmalion
and Astarbe, and the accession of Beleazar, whom the tyrant his
fcither had disgraced at her instii^'ation. During the banquet which
he prepares for his guests, Achit-Vis entertains them with music,
which brings the Tritons, tlie Nereids, and other divinities of the sea,
in crowds round the vessel : Mentor, caking up a lyre, plays much
better than Achitoas. Adoam relates the wonders of Boeotica: he
describes the soft temperament of the air, and the beauties of the
countrv, where the utmost simplicity of manners secures to the peo-
ple iminterrupted tranquillity.
The vessel which lay at anchor, and which Tele-
machus and Mentor were approaching, was of Phoeni-
cia, and bound to Epirus. The Phanicians who
were on board, had seen Telemachus in his voyage
from Egypt ; but he could not be sufficiently dis-
tinguished to be known, while he was swimming in
the sea. When Mentor was near enough the vessel
to be heard, he raised ixis head above the water, and
called out with a loud voice, "Phoenicians! you,
who succour alike the distressed of all nations, refuse
not your assistance to two strangers, whose life de-
pends upon your humanity : if you have any rever-
ence for the gods, take us on board, and we will
accompany you whithersoever you are bound." The
commander of the vessel immediately answered,
" We will receive you with joy : it is not neces-
sary that you should be known to us : it suffices
that you are men. and in distrc**'* " He gave
BOOK VIII. 129
orders accordingly, and they were taken into the
ship.
When they first came aboard, they were so ex-
hausted and out of breath, that they could neither
ppeak nor move ; for they had been swimming a long
time, nndstrusrgled hard with the billows : they re-
covered, however, by degrees, and had change of
apparel brought them ; their own being heavy with
the water it had imbibed, which ran off from all parts.
As soon as they were able to speak, the Phoenicians
gathered round them, and were impatient to hear
their adventures: "How," said the commander,
••did you get into that island, from whence you
came hither ? It is in the possession of a goddess,
who suffers no man to enter it : and, indeed, it is
surrounded by rocks, which are always beaten by so
dreadful a sur^e, that it can scarcely be approached
without certain shipwreck." Mentor replied — •' We
were driven on shore by a storm : we are Greeks
from Ithaca, an island not far from Epirus, whither
you are bound ; acd if you should not touch there,
which however is in ycir course, we will be satisfied
to be put on shore at your port : for we shall find
friends at Epirus, wl\o will procure us a passage to
Ithaca ; and we shall still think ourselves indebted
to your humanity, for the happiness of beins: again
restored to all that is dear to us in the world."
TeU^machus remained silent ; and left Mentor to
answer for them both : tlie faults which he IumI com-
mitted in the island of Calypso having greatly in-
creased liis prudence, he was now diffident of him-
self; and so conscious how much he always stood in
need of the directions of superior wisdom, when he
had no opportunity of asking Mentor's advice, he
watched his countenance, and endeavoured to dis-
cover his sentiments in his looks.
The PhoMiician commander, observing the silence
of 'I'elemachus, looked earnestly at him, and thought
he itimembered to have seen him before ; but uoi
130 TELEMACHUS.
beingable to recollect any particulars, "Permit me,**
said he, " to ask, if you have not some remembranca
of having seen me before ; for I tliink this is not the
first time I have seen you : your countenance is well
known to me ; it struck me at the first glance, but
I cannot recollect where we have met ; perhaps my
memory may be assisted by yours." Telemachus
immediately replied, with a mixture of surprise and
pleasure, " I have felt at the sight of you exactly
what you have felt at the sight of me : I well re-
member to have seen you ; but I cannot recollect,
whether in Egypt or at Tjrre." The Phoenician, at
the mention of Egypt and Tyre, like a man, who,
waking in the morning, has brought back, by degrees,
and as it were from a remote distance, the evanes-
cent images of a dream which had fled with the sha-
dows of the night, suddenly cried out, " Thou art
Telemachus, with whom Narbal contracted a friend-
ship when we were returning from Egypt ! I am hi»
brother, of whom you have doubtless heard him
often speak : I left you with him, when we anived
at Tyre, being myself obliged to make a voyage to
Boeotica, that celebrated country, near the pillars of
Hercules, on the remotest confines of the deep : hav-
ing, therefore, but just seen you, it is not strange
that I did not perfectly recollect you at first sight."
•♦ I perceive," said Telemachus, *' that you are
Adoam : I had no opportunity of a personal acquaint-
ance with you, but I have heard much of you from
Narbal. How should I rejoice to hear of him, from
you ! for to me, his memory will be for ever dear.
Is he still at Tyre ? Has he suffered nothing from the
suspicion and cruelty of Pygmalion?" — " Telema-
chus," said Adoam, interrupting him, " fortune has
now given you in charge to a man, who will, to the
utmost of his abilities, deserve the trust : I will put
you on shore at Ithaca, before I proceed to Epirus :
and you shall not find less friendship in the brothet
of Narbal, than in Narbal himself." Having looked
BOOK VIII. 131
aloft while he was speaking, he observed tliat the
wind, for which he had waited, began to blow : he,
therefore, gave orders instantly to weigh anchor: the
sails were spread to the breeze, and the oars divided
the flood.
Adoam then took Telemachus and Mentor apart :
" I will now," said he to Telemachus, " gratify your
curiosity. The tyranny of Pygmalion is at an end:
from that scourge, the righteous gods have delivered
the earth ! As he dared to trust no man, so no man
dared to trust him ; the good w ere content to sigh
in secret, and to hide themselves from his cruelty,
without attempting any thing against him ; the
wicked thought there was no way of securing their
owTi lives but by putting an end to his. There was
not a man in Tyre who was not in perpetual danger
of alarming his suspicion ; and to this danger his
gu; rds themselves were more exposed than othei-s ;
as his life was in their hands, he feared them in pro-
portion to their power ; and he sacrificed them to
his safety, upon the slightest mistrust. Thus, liia
very search of security, rendered the finding of it
impossible ; those, in whose hands he had deposited
his life, were themselves in perpetual danger by his
suspicion ; and the only expedient to deliver them-
selves from this dreadful situation was to anticipate
the effects of his suspicion by his death. The first,
however, who took a resolution to destroy him was
the impious Astarbe, whom you have heard so often
mentioned already. She was passionately enamoured
)f a young Tyrian, who had great possessions, and
vliose name was Joazar ; and had conceived a design
of placing him upon the throne : to facilitate the execu-
tion of this project, she persuaded the king, that
Pliadael, the eldest of his two sons, being impatient
to succeed him, had conspired against his Ufe : she
snijorned witnesses to .support the charge, and the
nnliappy tyrant caused Pliadael to be put to death,
liiiloazar, ins second son, was sent to Samos, under
132 TELEMACHUS.
pretence of learning the manners land the sciences of
Greece ; but, in reality, because Astarbe had per-
suaded the king, that it was necessarj' to send Mm
away, lest he should associate himself with the
malecontents. The ship, in which he was embarked,
had scarce quitted the port, when those who had
been appointed to navigate her, having been cor-
rupted by the perfidious inhumanity of Astarbe,
contrived to make a sliipwreck of the vessel in the
night ; and having throwTi the young prince into
the sea, they preserved themselves by swimming to
some foreign barks that waited for them at a con-
venient distance.
" In the mean time, the amours of Astarbe were
secrets to none but Pygmalion, who fondly imagined
himself to be the only object of her affection : he, who
heard even the whispers of the breeze with dLstnist
and dread, relied on this abandoned woman with a
blind and implicit confidence : at the time, however,
when love rendered him the dupe of her artifices, he
was incited, by avarice, to find some pretence for
putting Joazar, her favourite, to death, that he might
seize upon his riches.
"But while suspicion, love, and avarice, were
thus sharing the heart of Pygmalion, Astarbe was
contriving liis immediate destruction: she thought it
possible, that he might have discovered something
of her connexion with Joazar, and if not, she knew
that avarice alone would furnish him with a sufficient
motive to cut him ofl^: she concluded, therefore, that
not a moment was to be lost: she saw that all the
principal officers of the court were ready to dip their
hands in his blood, and she heard of some new con-
spiracy every day: yet there were none whom she
could make the confidants of her design, without
putting her own life in their power : and, therefore,
she determined to destroy Pygmalion by poison, and
to administer it herself.
** It was his general practice to eat with har in
BOOK VIII. 138
private ; and he always dressed his food himself, not
daring to trust any hand but his own : while he was
thus employed, he used to lock himself up in th
most retired part of his palace, the better to conceal
his fears, and elude observation. He did not dare to
enjoy any of the plepbures of the table, nor even to
taste any thing whicli had not been prepared wholly
by himself: he was thus precluded from the use, not
only of .'itlicacies and refinements in cookery, but of
wine, f'rciul, salt, oil, milk, and all other ordinary
food : lie lived entirely upon fruit, which he gathered
himself from his garden, or such roots and herbs as he
sowed and dre^sed with his hands: he drank no
liquor, but the water which he drew from a fountain
that was inclosed in a part of the palace, of which he
always kept the key; and notwithstanding his confi-
dence in Astarbe, he did not, in this particular, lay
aside his precaution even with respect to her: he
made her eat and drink of every thing that furnished
out their repast, before he tasted it himself, that he
miglit be sure not to be poisoned without her, and
that she might have no hope of surviving him. She
contrived, however, to render this precaution ineflfec-
tual ; for she took a counterpoison, which she had ob-
tained of an old woman yet more wicked than herself,
whom, upon this occasion, she made no scruple to
tnist, as siie wat already the confidant of her amours.
A> she was thus secured against danger, in poisoning
the king with food of which she was herself to par-
take, she accomplished her pui-pose in the following
manner : —
"At the moment when they were sitting down to
their repast, the old woman made a noise at one of
the doors of the apartment; the king, always under
the terror of assassination, was greatly alarmed, and
ran in haste to the door, to see that it was secured:
the old woman, having perlormed her part, with-
drew; and the king stood torpid in suspense, not
knowing what to think of the noise he hud heard, nor
134 TELEMACHUS.
daring to resolve bis doubts by opening the door.
Astarbe encouraged him, caressed him, and pressed
him to eat, having thrown poison into his golden cup,
K'hile he ran to the door upon the alarm. Pygmalion,
with his usual precaution, gave the cup first into her
jiand, and she drank without fear, confiding in the
antidote she had taken : Pygmalion then drank him-
self, and, in a short time afterwards, sank down in a
state of total insensibility. Astarbe, who knew that
he was capable of stabbing her to the heart upon the
slightest suspicion, and that he might recover from
this fit while he had yet strength to do it, immedi-
ately rent her clothes, tore her hair, and burst into
clamorous lamentations : she took the dying king in
her arms, pressed him to her bosom, and shed over
him a flood of tears, which she always had at com-
mand: but when she saw that his strength was just
exhausted, and the last agony coming on, she dropped
the mask, and to prevent a possibility of his recovery,
threw herself upon him, and smothered him: she
then took the royal signet from his finger, and the
diadem from his head, and presented them both to
Joazar, whom she called in for that purpose. She
imagined, that all her partizans would readily concur
in the gratification of her passion; and that her lover
would not fail to be proclaimed king : but those who
had paid their court to her with the gi-eatest assiduity,
were base and mercenary wretches, who were inca-
pable of a sincere affection ; and who, besides, being
destitute of courage, were deterred from supporting
Astarbe, by the fear of her enemies : her own pride,
dissimulation, and cruelty, were yet more formidable ;
and every one wished that she might perish, as a
pledge of his own security. In the mean time, the
palace was in the utmost confusion; nothing was
heard, but a repetition of the words, ' The king is
dead!' Some stood terrified and in-esolute; others
ran to arms; every one rejoiced at the event, but
every one api)reheuded the consequences. The news
BOOK Viri. 135
presently circulated, from moutli to mouth, through
the whole city, where there was not so much as a
single person that regretted the death of the king,
which wjis an universal deliverance and consolation.
" Narhal, struck with an event so sudden and
awful, compassionated the misfortunes of Pygmalion,
though he could not but detest his vices; he regret-
ted, like an honest man, his having betrayed himself
to destruction, by an unlimited and unreserved con-
fidence in Astarbe ; choosing rather to be a tyrant,
disclaimed by nature, and abhoiTed by mankind,
than to fulfil the duties of a sovereign, and become
the father of liis people. He was also attentive to
the interests of the state, and made haste to assem-
ble tlie friends of their country, to oppose the mea-
s\ires of Astarbe ; under whose influence, there was
the greatest reason to apprehend a reign yet more
oppressive than that of Pygmalion himself.
" Narbal knew that Baleazar was not drowned
when he was thrown into the sea: though the
wretches, who assured Astarbe of his death, thought
otherwise: he saved himself, under favour of the
night, by swimming; and some Cretan merchants,
touched with compassion, took him into their vessel:
having no reason to doubt but that his destruction
was intended, and being equally afraid of the cruel
jeak^usy of Pvirmalion and the fatal artifices of
Astarbe, ho did not dare to return into his father's
dominions, but wandered about on the coast of Syria,
where he had been left by tlie Cretans who took him
up, and gained a scanty subsistence by tending a
flock of slinep : at length, however, he found means
to make Narbal acquainted with his situation ; not
doul>ting but that he might safely trust his secret and
his life witli a man whose virtue had been so often
tried. Narbal, though he had been ill-treated by the
father, did not look with less tenderness upon the
son: nor was he les« attentive to his interests, in
which, however, his principal view was to prevent Uis
136 TELEMACHUS.
undertaking any thing inconsistent witli the duty he
still owed to his father; and therefore he exerted
aU his influence to reconcile him to liis ill fortune.
' ' Baleazar had requested Narbal to send him a
ring as a tokt n whenever it should be proper for
him to repair to Tyre : but Narbal did not think it
prudent, during the life ol Pygmalion, as it would
have been attended with the utmost danger to them
both : the tyrant's inquisitive circumspection being
such as no subtilty or diligence could elude : but,
as soon as the fate he merited had overtaken liim,
Narbal sent the ring to Baleazar. Baleazar set out
immediately, and arrived at the gates of Tyre, while
the whole city was in the utmost trouble and per-
plexity, to know who should succeed to the throne :
he was at once known and acknowledged, as well by
the principal Tyrians as by the people : they loved
him, not for the sake of his father, who was the
object of universal detestation, but for his own ami-
able and gracious disposition ; and even his misfor-
tunes now threw a kind of splendour around him,
which showed his good qualities to the greatest advan-
tage, and produced a tender interest in his favour.
" Narbal assembled the chiefs of the people, the
elders of the council, and the priests of the great
goddess of Phoenicia. They saluted Baleazar as
their king : and he was immediately proclaimed by
the heralds, amidst the acclamations of the people.
The shouts were hoard by Astarbe in one of the
innermost recesses of the palace, where she had shut
herself up with Joazar, her effeminate and infamous
favourite : she was abandoned by all the sycophants
and parasites, the corrupt prostitutes of power,
who had attached themselves to her during the life
of Pygmalion ; for the wicked fear the wicked ;
they know them to be unworthy of confidence, and
therefore do not wish tbcy should be invested with
power. Men of corrupt principles know how much
others, of the same characters, abuse authority.
ROiin VIII. 137
aud to what exco&s they carry oppression : they
wish rather to have the good set over them ; for
though they cannot hope for reward, they know-
that they shall not suHer injury. Astarbe, there-
fore, ^vas deserted by all but a few wretches, who
had 60 far involved themselves in her guilt, that
whatever party they should espouse, they could
not hope to escape punishment,
"The palace wius soon forced : guilt naturally
irresolute and timid, made little resistance, and the
criminals endeavoured to save themselves by tlight.
Astarbe attempted to make her escape, disguised like
a slave; but she was detected aud seized by a sol-
dier, who knew her: and it was with great difficulty
that the people were prevented from tearing her to
pieces: they had already thrown her down, and were
dragging her along the pavement, w hen Narbal res-
cued her out of their hands. She then entreated that
she might speak to Baleazar, whom she hoped to in-
fluence by her beauty, and to impose upon by pre-
tending that she could make important discoveries,
Baleazar could not refuse to hear her ; and she ap-
proached him with an expression of sweetness and
modestv in her countenance, which gave new power
to her beauty, and might have soitened rage into
pitv and complacency. She addresse Ithaca, enters full sail into the port of Salentum. Telemachus is
kindly received by Idonieneus in his new city, where he is preparing
a sacrifice to Jupiter, that he may be successful in a war against the
Maiidurians. The entrails of the victims being consulted by the
priest, he perceives the omens to he happy, but declares that Idomeueus
vriU owe his good fortune to his guests.
While Telemachus and Adoam were engaged in
this convpr:>ation, forgetful of sleep, and not per-
ceiving that the night was already half spent; an
unfriendly and deceitful power turned their course
from Ithaca, which Athamas, their pilot, sought in
vain. Neptune, although he was propitious to the
Pha-nicians, could not bear the escape of Telemachus
from the tempest which had shipwrecked him on the
island of Calypso ; and Venus was still more provoked
at the triumph of a youth who had been victorious
agaii;>t all the power and the wiles of love. Her
bosom throbbed at once with gi-ief and indignation;
and she could not endure the places where Telema-
chus had treated her sovereignty with contempt;
turning therefore from Cythera, Paphos, and Idalia,
and Jit regarding the homage that was paid her in the
isle of Cyprus, she ascended the radiant summit of
Olympus, where the gods were assembled round the
throne of Jupiter. From this place they beheld the
stars rolling beneath their feet : and this earth, an
obscure and diminutive spot, is scarcely distinguished
among them : tlie vjist oceans, by which its conti-
nents are divided, appear but as drops of water; and
the most extended empires but as a little sand, scat-
tered between them : the innumerable multitudes
tliat swann upon the surlace are but like insects
quickening in the sun; and the most powerful armies
resemble a cluster of emmets, that are coiitendinef
for a grain of corn, or a blade of gjass. Whatever is
most important in the cc:jsideration of P'en, excites
154 TELEMACHUS.
the laughter of the gods as the sport of children;
and what we distinguish by the names of grandeur,
glory, power, and policy, are, in their sight, no bet-
ter than misery and folly.
On this awful, this stupendous height, Jupiter
has fixed his everlasting throne. His eyes penetrate
to the centre, and pass in a moment through all the
labyrinths of the heart: his smile diffuses over all
nature serenity and joy ; but at his frown, not earth
only, but heaven trembles. The gods themselves
are dazzled with the glory that surrounds him ; and
approach not his throne but with reverence and fear.
He was now surrounded by the celestial deities:
and Venus presented herself before him, in all the
splendour of that beauty of which she is herself the
source: her robe, which flowed negligently round
her, exceeded in brightness all the colours with
which Iris decks herself amidst the dusky clouds,
when she promises to affrighted mortals, that the
storm shall have an end, and that calm and sun-
shine shall return. Her waist was encircled by that
mysterious zone, which comprises every grace that
can excite desire ; and her hair was tied negligently
behind, in a fillet of gold. The gods were struck
with her beauty, as if they never had seen it before;
and their eyes were dazzled with its brightness, like
those of mortals, when the first radiance of the sun
unexpectedly breaks upon them after a long night.
They glanced a hasty look of astonishment at each
other, but their eyes still centred in her: they per-
ceived, however, that she had been weeping, and that
grief was strongly pictured in her countenance.
In the mean time, she advanced towards the throne
of Jupiter, with a light and easy motion, like the
flight of a bird, which glides unresisted through the
regions of the air. The god received her with a
smile of divine complacency; and, rising from his
seat, embraced her: " Wliat is it, my dear child,"
soid he, '* that Yms troubled you? I cmmot behold
BOOK IX. l[>r>
your tears with indifference: fear not to tell me all
that is in your heart; you know the tenderness of
my affection, and my readiness to indulge your wish. "
" O lather, both of sfods and men," replied the
goddess, with a sweet and gentle, but interrupted,
voice, " can you, from whom nothing- is hidden, be
i^iorant of the cause of my distress ? Minerva, not
sati>fied with having subverted to its foundation the
superb city which was under my protection, nor
with having gratified her revenge upon Paris, for
judging her beauty to be inferior to mine, conducts
in safety, through every nation, and over every sea,
the son of Ulysses, by whose cruel subtil ty the ruin
of Troy was effected. Minerva is now the compan-
ion of Telemachus; and it is therefore, that her
place among the deities, who surround the throne of
Jupiter, is vacant : she has conducted that presump-
tuous mortal to Cyprus, only that he might insult
me : he has despised my power ; he disdained even
to bum incense upon my altars ; he turned with
abhorrence from the feasts which are there celebrated
to my honour ; and he has barred his heart against
every pleasure tii;it I inspire. Neptune has, at my
request, provoked the winds and waves against him
in vain. He was shipwrecked in a dreadful storm
upon the island of Calypso ; but he has there tri-
umplied over Love himself, whom I sent to soften
his unfeebng heart : neither the youth nor the beauty
of Calypso and her nymphs, nor the burning shafts
of immortal Love, have been able to defeat the
artifices of Minerva : she has torn him from that
island; a stripling has triumphed over me; and I
am overwhelmed with confusion.
'* It is true, my daughter," said Jupiter, who was
desirous to soothe her son-ows, " that Minerva de-
fends the breast of Telemachus against all the arrows
of your son ; and designs a glory for him, which no
youth has yet deserved. I am not pleased that ho
has d(!?piscd your altcirs ; but 1 cannot subject him
156 TELEMACHUS.
to your power: I consent, however, for your sake,
that he shall he still a wanderer hy land and sea ;
that he shall he still distant from his country, and
still exposed to danger and misfortune: hut the Des
tinies forbid that he should perish ; nor will they
permit his virtue to he drowned in the pleasui-e
which you vouchsafe to man. Take comfort, then,
my child ; remember over how many heroes and
gods your sway is absolute, and be ooutont."
While he thus spoke, a gracious smile blended in-
effable sweetness and majesty in his countenance :
and a glancing radiance issued from his eye, brighter
and more piercing than lightning: he kissed the god-
dess with tenderness, and the mountain was suffused
with ambrosial odours. This favour, from the sove-
reign of the sides, could not fail to touch the sensi-
bility of Venus : her countenance kindled into a live-
ly expression of joy, and she threw down her veil
to hide her blushes and confusion. The divine as-
sembly applauded the words of Jupiter ; and Venus,
without losing a moment, went in search of Nep-
tune, to concert new means of revenging herself
upon Telemachus.
She told Neptune all that Jupiter had said. *' I
know already, "replied Neptune, "the unchangeable
decrees of Fate : but if we cannot overwhelm Tele-
machus in the deep, let us neglect nothing that may
make him wretched, or delay his return to Ithaca.
I cannot consent to destroy the Phcenician vessel, in
which he is embarked ; for I love the Phcpnicians;
they are my peculiar people ; and they do more honour
to my dominion, than any other nation on earth :
they have rendered the ocean itself the bond of society,
by which the most distant countries are united : their
sacrifices continuallv smoke upon my altars ; they
are inflexibly just ; they are the fathers of commerce,
and diffuse through all nations convenience and
plenty. I cannot, therefore, permit one of their
vessels to suffer shipwreck ; but I will cause tti)
BOOK IX. 1J7
pilot to niistake his course, and steer from Ithaca,
tlie port that he desiii^iis to make." Venus, satisfied
with this promise, expressed her pleasure by a malii,'-
nant smile ; and turned the rapid wheels of her
celestial chariot over the blooming plains of Idaha,
where the graces, the sports, and smiles, expressed
their joy at her return, bv dancing round Iier upon
the flowers, which, in that delightful country, vane-
gate the ground with beauty, and impregnate the
gale with iVagrance.
Neptune immediately despatched one of the deities
that preside over those deceptions which resemble
dreams ; except that dreams affect only those that
sleep, and these impose upon the waking. This
malevolent power, attended l)y a multitude of wing-
ed illusions, that perpetually fluttered round him,
shed a subtile and fascinating liquor over the eyes
of Athamas the pilot, while he was attentively con-
sidering the brightness of the moon, the course of
the stars, and the coast of Ithaca, the cliffs of w4iich
he discovered not far distant. From that moment
the eyes of Athamas became unfaithful to their ob-
jects, and presented to him another heaven and
another earth : the stars appeared as if their course
had been inverted ; Olympus seemed to move by
new laws, and the earth itself to have changed its
position. A false Ithara rose up before him, while
he was steering from the real country : and the de-
lusive shore fled as he approached it : he perceived
that he did not gain upon it, and he wondered at
the cause : yet sometimes he fancied he heard the
noise of people in the port : and he was about
to make preparations according to the orders he had
received for putting Televnachus on shore upon a
little island adjacent to that of Ithaca, in order to
conceal his return from the suitors of Penelope, who
had conspired his destruction. Sometimes he thouglit
himself in dantrer of tl;e rocks which surround the
roa«t, a:..' *• iL'ined that he heard ^e dreac^fijl roar-
]-2
158 TELEMACHUS.
ing of the surge that broke against them : theu the
land suddenly appeared to Le again distant ; and the
moTintaius looked but like the clouds, which some-
times obscure the horizon at the setting of the sun.
Thus was Athamas astonished and confounded .
and the ii;ifluence of the deity which had deceived his
sight, impressed a dread upon his mind, which, till
then, he had never felt : he sometimes almost doubt-
ed whether he was awake, or whether what be saw
was not the illusion of a dream. In the mean time,
Neptune commanded the east wind to blow, that the
vessel might be driven upon the coast of Hesperia :
and the wind obeyed with such violence, that the
coast of Hesperia was immediately before them.
Aurora had already proclaimed the day to be at
hand ; and the stars, touched at once with ftar and
envy at the rays of the sun, retired to conceal their
fading fires in the bosom of the deep ; when the pilot
suddenly cried out, " lam now sure of my port ; the
island of Ithaca is before us, and we almost touch
the shore. Rejoice, O Telcmachus! for, in less than
an hour, you will embrace Penelope, and perhaps
again behold Ulysses upon his throne."
This exclamation roused Telemachus, who was
now in a profound sleep : he awaked, started up, and
running to the helm, embraced the pilot ; at the same
time fixing his eyes, wliich were scarcely open, upon
the neighbouring coast, tlie view struck him at once
with surprise and disappointment ; for, in these
shores, he found no resemblance of Lis country.
* ' Alas !" said he, " where are we ? This is not Ithaca,
the dear island that I seek. You are certainly mis-
taken ; and are not perfectly acquainted with a coun-
try so distant from your own." " No," replied
Athamas, "I cannot be mistaken in the coast of
this island : I have entered the port so often, that
I am acquainted with every rock, and have not a
more exact remembrance even of Tyre itself. Ob-
eerve that mountain which runs out from the shore,
BOOK IX. I5f>
Bnd that rock wliich rises like a tower ; do not you
see others that, projecting from above, seem to
threaten the sea with their fall ? And do you not
hear the waves that break against them below ?
There is the temple of Minerva, which seems to
penetrate the clouds ; and there the citadel and the
palace of Ulvsses !" " Still you are mistaken," re-
plied Telemachus: " I see a coast which is elevated
indeed, but level and unbroken ! I perceive a city,
but it is not Ithaca. Is it thus, ye gods ! that ye
sport with men ?"
While Telemachus was yet speaking, the eyes of
Athamas were again changed : the charm v/as broken ;
he saw the coast as it was, and acknowledged his
mistake. " I confess," said he, " O Telemachus ! that
some unfriendly power has fascinated my sight. I
thought I beheld the coast of Ithaca, of which
perfect image was represented to me, that is no\
vanished like a dream. I now see another city, am
know it to be Salentum, which Idomeneus, a fugitive
from Crete, is founding in Hesperia : I perceive
rising walls a? yet unfinished ; and I see a port not
entirely fortified."
While Athamas was remarking the various works
which were can-ying on in this rising city, and Te-
h^machus was deploring his misfortunes, the wind,
which Neptune had commanded to blow, carried
them with full sails into the road, where they found
themselves under shelter, and very near the port.
Mentor, who was neither ignorant of the resent-
ment of Neptune, nor the cruel artifices of Venus,
only smiled at the mistake of Athamas. When they
had got safe into the road, "Jupiter tries vou," said
he to Telemachus, "but he will not suffer you to
perish : he tries you, that he may open before you
the path of glory. Remember the labours of Her-
cules, and let the achievements of your father be
always present to your mind : he that knows not
bow to suiter, has no greatness of soul. You
160 TELEMACHUS.
inust weary fortuue, who deliglits to persecute you,
by patience and fortitude ; and be assured, tiiat you
are much less endangered by the displeasure of
Neptune, than by the caresses of Calypso. But
why do we delay to enter the harbour ? The people
here are our friends, for they are natives of Greece ;
and Idomeneus, having himself been ill-treated by
fortune, will natiu-ally be touched with pity at our
distress." They immediately entered tlie port oi
Salentum, where the Phoenicians were admitted
without scruple ; for they are at peace, and in
trade, with every nation upon earth.
Telemachus looked upon that rising city with
admiration. As a young plant that has been
watered with the dews of the night feels the glow
of the morning sun, grows under the genial influ-
ence, opens its buds, unfolds its leaves, spreads out
its odoriferous flowers, variegated with a thousand
dyes, and discloses every moment some fresh beauty;
so flourished this infant city of Idomeneus on the
borders of the deep. It rose into greater magnifi-
cence every hour; and discovered, in a distant
prospect, to the strangers that approached it by sea,
new ornaments of architecture, that seemed to reach
the clouds. The whole coast resounded with the
voices of workmen, and the strokes of the hammer,
and huge stones were seen suspended from puUies
in the air. As soon as the morning dawned, the
people were animated to their labour by their
cliiefs; and Idomeneus himself being present to
dispense his orders, the works were carried on
with incredible expedition.
As soon as the Phoenician vessel came to shore,
the Cretans received Telemachus and Mentor with
all the tokens of a sincere friendship ; and immedi-
ately acquainted Idomeneus, that the son of Ulysses
was arrived in his dominions. " The son of
Ulysses," said he, "of my dear friend Ulysses! of
hiin, who i*} 9t once » hero and a saifc 1 by whose
BOOK IX. 161
counsel alone the destruction of Troy was accom-
plished ! Let him be conducted hither, that I may
convince him hew much 1 loved his father ! Tele-
mac has, beiu!,'- then presented to him, told him his
uame, and then demanded the rights of hospitaUty.
Idomeneus received him with a smile of tender
complacency: '"I believe," said he, "I should have
known you, if I had not been told your name. I
perceive your father's fire and firmness in your eye :
the same coldness and reserve in your first address,
wliich, in him, concealed so much vivacity, and such
various grace. You have his smile of conscious
penetration ; his easy negligence, and his sweet,
simple, and msinuating elocution, which takes the
soul captive, before it can prepare for defence.
You are, indeed, the son of Ulysses ! from this
hour you shall also be mine Tell me, then," says
he, " what adventure has brought you to this coast?
Are you in search of your father ? Alas ! of your
father, I can give you no intelligence. Fortune has
jqually persecuted both him and me : he has never
been able to return to his country ; and I became
the victim of divnie displeasure in mine." While
Idomeneus was thus speaking to Telemachus, he
lived his eyes attentively upon Mentor, as a man
whose countenance was not wholly unknown to
him, though he could not recoUect liis name.
In the mean time, the eyes of Telemachus were
filled with tears: "Forgive," said he, " O king ! the
grief that I cannot liide. I ought now, indeed, to
betray no passion, but joy at your presence, and
gratitude for your bounty ; yet, by the regret you
express for the loss of Ulysses, you impress me with
a new sense of my misfortune in the loss of a father!
I have already long sought him through all the
regions of the deep. Such is the displeasure of the
gods, that they neither permit me to find him, nor
to learn whether the sea has not closed over him for
ever ; nor yet to return to Ithaca, where Penelope
162 TELEMACHUS.
pines with an anxious desire to be delivered from
her lovers. I hoped to have found you in Crete,
where I only heard the story of your misfortunes ;
and I had then no thought of approaching the coast
of Hesperia, where you have founded another king-
dom. But fortune, who sports with mankind, and
keeps me wandering through every country that is
distant fi-om my own, has at length thrown me upon
your coast ; a misfortune which I regret less than
any other, since, though I am driven from Ithaca, I
am at least brought to Idomeneus, the most gene-
rous of men."
Idomeneus, having embraced Telemachus with
great tenderness, conducted him to his palace,
where he inquired wliat venerable old man it was
that accompanied him: " I think," said he, " that I
have somewhere seen him before." " That is Men-
tor," replied Telemachus, *'the friend of Ulysses,
to whose care he confided my infancy, and to whom
my obligations are more than I can express."
Idomeneus immediately advanced towards Men-
tor, and gave him his hand. ' ' We have seen each
other before," said he : "do you remember the voy-
age that you made to Crete, and the good counsel
that you gave me there ? I was then carried away
by the impetuosity of youth, and the love of deceit-
ful pleasure. It was necessary that what I refused
to learn from wisdom, I should be taught by adver-
sity : would to Heaven that I had confided in your
counsel ! But I am astonished to see that so many
years have made so little alteration in your ap-
pearance : there is the same freshness in your coun-
tenance, your stature is still erect, and your vigour
is undiminished : I see no diiference, except that
there are a few more grey hairs upon your head."
" If I was inclined to flatter," replied Mentor, "I
would say, that you also preserve the same bloom of
youth, which glowed iipon your countenance before
tta eiege of Troy ; but I had rather deny myself the
^ BOOK IX. It)3
jJeasuroof gralifyin^- you, tliiui offend agiiiust truth.
1 perceive, indeed, by the wisdom of your discourse,
tiiat, from flattery, you could receive no gratification;
and that he who speaks to Idomeueus, risks nothing
by his sincerity. You are, indeed, much changed :
so much, that 1 should scarcely have known you;
but I am not ignorant of tne cause ; the hand of
misfortune has been upon you : you are, however,
i gaiiujr, even by your sufferings, for they have
taught you wisdvJ'.n; and the wTinkles, that time
Impresses upon the face, ought not much to be
•egretted, if, in the mean while, he is planting
virtue in the breast. Besides, it should be con-
idered that kings must wear out faster than other
men; in adversity, the solicitude of the mind, and
the fati'^ues of thci bodv, bring on the infirmities oC
age before they are old ; and, in prosperity, the
indulgences of a voluptuous life wear them out still
more than corporal labour or intellectual sufferance.
Nothing is so fatal to health as immoderate plea-
mre; and, therefore, kings, both in peace and war,
dave pains and pleasures which precipitate old age.
A sober, temperate, and simple life, free from the
inquietudes both of accident and passion, divided in
due proportions between labour and rest, continues
long to the wise the blessmgs of youth ; which, it
these precautious do not retain them, are ever ready
to fly away upon the wings of time."
Idomeneus, who listened with delight to the wis-
dom of Mentor, would longer have indulged hiraseit
in so noble a pleasure, if he had not been reminded
of a sacrifice which he was to offer to Jupiter. Tele-
raachus and Mentor followed him to the temple,
Burrounded by a crowd of people who gazed at the
two strangers with great eagerness and curiosity.
" These men," said they, " are very different from
each other. The younger has something sprightly
and amiable, that is hard to be defined : all the
g-i-aces of vtjnth and beauty are diffused over hit>
164 TELEMACHUS.
whole person: yet he has nothing effeminately soft:
though the bloom of youth is scarcely ripened into
manhood, he appears vigorous, robust, and inured
to labour. The other, though much older, htis
suffered no injury from time : at the first view, his
general appearance is less noble, and his comiteuance
less gracious ; but, upon a closer examination, we
find, under tliis unassuming simplicity, strong indi-
cations both of wisdom and of virtue ; with a kind
of nameless superiority, that excites at once both
reverence and admiration. When the gods de-
scended upon the earth, they doubtless assumed the
fonn of such strangers and travellers as these."
In the mean time, they arrived at the temple ot
Jupiter, which Idomeneus, who was descended from
the god, had adonied with the utmost magnificence.
It was surrounded with a double range of columns
of variegated marble ; the ctspitals of which were
of silver. The whole building was cased with
marble, enriched with bas relief: the carving repre-
sented the transformation of Jupiter into a bull,
and his rape of Europa, whom he bore into Crete
through the waves, which seemed to reverence the
god, though he was concealed imder a boiTowed
form ; and the birth of Minos, the events of his
youth, and the dispensation of those laws in his
more advanced age which were calculated to per-
petuate the prosperity of his country. Telemachus
observed also representations of the principal events
of the siege of Troy, at which Idomeneus acquired
great military reputation : among these representa-
tions, Telemachus looked for his father ; and he
found him seizing the horses of Rhesus, whom Dio-
medes had just slain ; disputing the armour of
Achilles with Ajax, before the princes of Greece ;
and, descending from the fatal horse, to deluge Troy
with the blood of her inhabitants. By these achieve-
ments Telemachus distinguif»hed his father : for he
had frequently heard them mentioned^ and they
ROOK IX. I(i5
hnd been particularly described to him by Mentor.
His mind kindled as he considered them ; the tears
swelled in his eyes, he changed colour, and hia
countenance was troubled : he turned away his fact
to conceal his confusion, which, however, was per-
ceived by the king : "Do not be ashamed," said
Idomene\is, " tliat we should see how sensibly yoii
are touched with the glory and misfortunes of your
father."
The people were now gathered in a throng, undei
the vast porticos, which were formed by the double
range of columns that surrounded the building.
There were two companies of boys and virgins, who
sung hvmns to the praise of the god, in whose hand
are the thunders of the sky : they were selected for
their beauty, and had long hair, which flowed in
loose curls over their shoulders : they were clothed
in white, and their heads were crowmed with roses,
and sprinkled with perfume. Idomeneus sacrificed
a hundred bulls to Jupiter, to obtain success in a
war which he had undertaken against the neighbour-
iniort the courage of my companionfl:
BOOK IX. 169
Let lis build a new city, said I, to console us for
wliat \\ c have lost. We are surrounded with people
who liave set us a fair example for tlic undertaking:
we see Tarentum risking near us, a city founded by
Phiilanthus and his Lacedaemonians ; Philoctetes is
buildinn: Petilia on the same coast, and Metapontum
is another colony of the like kind. Sliall we do less
than these strangers have done, who are wanderers
as well as we, and to whom fortune has not been
less severe ? But I wanted the comfort which I
Bought to bestow ; and concealed, in my own bosom,
that anguish which I soothed in others ; of this I
hoped no other alleviation, than to be released from
the constraint of hiding it, and anticipated the close
of the day with comfort, when, surrounded by the
shades of night, I might indulge my sorrows without
a witness. My eves were then drowned in tears,
and sleep was a stranger to my bed : yet, the next
morning, I renewed my labour with equal ardour
and perseverance : and these are the causes that I
am old before my time."
Idomeneus then requested tbe assistance of Tele*
machus and Mentor, in the war that he had under-
taken : " I will send you to Ithaca," said he, "as
goon as it shall be over; and, in tlic mean time, I
will despatch ships to every country in quest of
Ulysses; and from whatever part of the known
world on which he shall have been cast by a tempest,
or by the resentment of some adverse deity, he shall
be brouirht in safety ; may the gods grant that he
be still alive ! As for you, I will embark you in the
best vessels that ever were built in the island of
Crete : vessels that are constructed of trees which
crew upon Mount Ida, the birtli-place of Jupiter :
that sacred wood can never perish in the deep ; it
is reverenced equally by the rocks and winds ; and
Neptune himself, in the utmost fury of his wrath,
does not dare to swell the waves against it. Be
'dNsured, therefore, that you shall return to lthac«
170 TELEMACHUS.
in safety ; and that no adverse deity shall again
drive you to another coast : the voyage is short,
and easy ; dismiss, therefore, the Phoenician vessel
that has brought you hither, and think only of the
glory you will acquu'e by establishing the new
kingdom of Idomeneus, to atone for his sufferings
that are past. This, O son of Ulysses ! shall
prove that thou art worthy thy father; and if the
inexorable Fates have already compelled him to
descend into the gloomy dominions of Pluto, Greece
shall think with pleasure, that she still sees her
Ulysses in thee." >
Here Idomeneus was interrupted by Telemachus :
" Let us send away the Phoenician vessel," said he;
*' why should we delay to take arms agamst your
enemies, since your enemies must also be ours ? Ii
we have been victorious in tlie behalf of Acestes,
a Trojan, and consequently an enemy to Greece,
should we not exert ourselves with more ardour,
and shall we not be more favoured by the gods, is
the cause of a Grecian prince, a confederate o)
those heroes by whom the perfidious city of Priam
was overturned ? Surely, the oracle that we hav
'ust heard has made doubt impossible."
BOOK X.
(lomeneus acquaints Mentor with the cause of the war: he tells him,
that the Mandurians ceded to hun tha coast of Hesperia, where he
bad founded his new city as soon as he arrived; that thev withdrew
to the neighbouiing mountains, where having been ill-treated by
gome (if his people, they had sent deputies, with whom he had settled
articles of peace; and that after a breach of that treaty, on the part
of Idomeneus, by some hunters who knew nothing of it, the Man-
durians prepared to attack him. Durini; this recital, the Mandurians,
having already taken arms, appear at the gates of Salentum. Nestor,
Philoctetes, auil Phalanthus, whom Idomenetis supposed to be neuter,
appear to liave joined them with their forces. Mentor goes out of
Salentum alone, £ind proposes new conditions of peace.
Mentor turned to Telemachus, who, while he was
speaking, felt an heroic ardour kindle in his bosom,
with a look of calm complacency: "I see with
pleasure," said he, "O son of Ulysses! the desire
of glory that r.(nv sparkles in your eyes; but yoTi
BOOK X. 171
must remember, that your father acquired his pre-
eminence among the confederate princes at the
siege of Troy by his superior wisdom and dispas-
sionate counsels. Achilles, thouirh he was invincible
and invulnerable, though he was sure to spread
terror and destruction wherever he fought, could
never take the city of Troy, which, when he expired
under her walls, stood yet unshaken, antl triumphed
over the conqueror of Hector: but Ulysses, whosf
valour was under the direction of consummate pru-
dence, carried fire and sword to its centre; and it i&
to Ulysses that we owe the fall of those lolty towers,
which threatened confederate Greece more than tea
years with destruction. A circumspect and sagacious
valour is as much superior to a thoughtless and
impetuous courage, as Minerva is to Mars : let lis,
therefore, before we engage in this war, inquire upon
what grounds it is undertaken. I am willing tc
incur any danger; but it is fit I should first learc
from Idomcneus, whether his war is just, against
whom it is waged, and on what forces he builds his
hopes of success."
" When we arrived at this coast," replied Idome-
neus, " we found it inhabited by a savage people,
who lived wild in the forests, subsisting upon such
animals as they could kill by hunting, and such
fruits and herbage as the seasons produced without
culture. These people, who were called Mandurians,
being terrified at the sight of our vessels and our
arms, fled to the mountains ; but as our soldiers were
curious to see the countrv, and were fi'equently led
far into it in pursuit of their game, they met with
some of the fugitives, and were addressed by their
chiefs to this efi'oct: ' We have abandoned the plea-
sant borders of the sea, that you might possess them :
and nothing remains for us, but motintains that are
almost inaccessible: it is therefove but equitable, that
of those mountains you should leave us the peaceable
i)o^esd»jn. You aro fallen into our hands, a wa»i-
172 TELEMACIirJS.
deriiiir, dispersed, and defenceless party ; and we
could uovv destroy you, without leaving to your com-
panions a possibility of discovering your fate: but
we will not dip our hands in the blood of those, who,
though strangers, partake of one common nature with
ourselves. Go, then, in peace ! Remember, that you
are indebted for your lives to our humanity; and
that a people, whom you have stigmatized with the
name of savages and barbarians, have given you this
lesson of moderation and generosity,'
" Our people, thus dismissed by tlie barbarians,
came back to the camp, and told what had hap-
pened. The soldiers took fire at the relation ; they
disdained that Cretans should owe their lives to a
company of wandering savages, who, in their opinion,
were more like bears than men. They went out,
therefore, to the chase in greater numbers and better
armed: t!i"v soon fell in with a party of the natives,
and immediiitely attacked them: the contest was
bloody; the aiTows ilew on each side, as thick as hail
in a storm ; and the savages were at length driven
back to their mountains, whither our people did not
dare to pursue them,
" A short time afterwards, they sent two of the
wisest of their old men to me, demanding peace.
They brought me such presents as they hsd ; the skins
of wild beasts, and the fruits of the country. After
they had given them, they addressed me in these
terms: — 'We hold, as thou seest, Oking! in one
hand the sword, and an olive branch in the other ;
peace and war ; choose either. Peace has the preler-
ence in our estimation : it is for peace that we have
yielded, to thy people, the delightful borders of the
sea, where the sun renders the earth fertile, and
matures the most delicious fi-uits : peace is still more
sweet than these fruits ; and, for peace, we have re-
tired to the mountains that are covered with eternal
snow, where spring is decorated with no flowers and
autumn is enriched with no fruit : wc abhor that bni
BOOK X. 173
tality, which, under the spacious names of ambition
and glory, desolates the earth, and destroys mankind.
If thou h^st placed glory in carnage and desolation,
we do not envy, but pity the delusion ; and beseech
the gods, that our minds may never be pei verted
by so dreadful a phreuzy. If the sciences, which
the Greeks learn with so much assiduity, and the
politeness which they boast with such a conscious
superiority, inspire them with desires so sanguinary
and inj iirious, we thhik ourselves happy to be without
these advantages. It will be our glory to contmue
ignorant and unpolished, but just, humane, faithful,
and disinterested ; to be content with little ; and to
despise the false delicacy which makes it necessary
to have much. We prize nothing but health, fru-
gality, freedom, and vigour both of body and of
mind ; we cultivate only the love of virtue, the
fear of the gods, benevolence to our neighbours,
zeal fen- our friends, and integrity to the world ;
moderation in prosperity, fortitude in distress,
courage to speak truth in every situation, and a
just abhorrence and contempt of flattery. Such are
the people whom we offer thee as neighbours and
allies ! If thou shalt be so blinded by the gods in
their displeasure, as to reject them, experience shall
teach thee, when it is 'too late, that those whose
moderation inclines them to i)eace, are most to be
dreaded, when compelled into war.*
" While I listened to the untutored wisdom of
these children of nature, I regarded them with a fixed
attention ; yet my eye was still unsatisPed. Their
beards were long, just as they grew ; their hair was
shortcr,lnit white assnow ; their eyebrows were thick,
and their eves piercing : their look Avas firm, their
speech deliberate and commanding, and their deport-
ment simple and ingenuous. They were covered
only with some furs, which being thrown loosely
over them, were fastened with a knot on the shoul-
;Vt. v.r.cl discovered muscles of a bolder swell, ar.d
174 TELEMACHU3.
arms of more sinewy strength, than those of our
wrestlers.
** I told these singular envoys that I was desirous
of peace; and settled several articles of a treaty
between us, with an honest intention to fulfil them,
which we called upon the gods to witness ; and hav-
ing made them presents in my turn, I dismissed them.
The gods, however, who had driven me from a king-
dom that I was born to inherit, continued to perse-
cute me in this. Our hunting parties that were at
this time out, and were consequently ignorant of our
treaty, met a numerous body of these poor savages,
who had accompanied their envoys, as they were
returning home on the very day that the treaty had
been concluded ; and falling upon them with great
fury, killed many of them, and pursued the rest into
the woods. The war was thus kindled ; and the bar-
barians have conceived an opinion that we are not to
be tnisted, either upon our promise or our oath.
" That they may be the better able to take the
field against us, they have called in to their assistance
the Locrians, the Apulians, the Lucanians, the Bru-
tians, and the people of Crotona, Neritum, andBrun-
dusium. The Lucanians come to battle with chariots
that are armed with scythes : the Apulians are cover-
ed with the skins of the wild beasts they have slain,
and are armed with maces that are covered with
knots, and stuck full of iron spikes ; they are of a
gigantic stature ; and the laborious exercises to which
they are addicted render them so brawny and robust,
that their very appearance is terrifying. The
Locrians, who came anciently from Greece, have
not yet lost all traces of their origin : they are less
savage than the rest ; but they have added, to the
regular discipline of the Greek troops, the native
vigour of the barbarians, and the habitual hardiness
produced by constant activity and coarse fare, which
render them invincible : they are armed with a lo g
sword ; and, for defence, carry a light tar^ft
BOOK X. 1/5
wicker-work covered wiih skins. The Brutians
are as liLj-^ht of foot as a roe, so that the grass
scarcely bends under them ; nor is it easy to trace
their steps even upon the sand ; they rush upon
their enemies ahnost before they are seen, and again
vanish with the same rapidity. The Crotonians
are formidable for their archery ; they carry such
bows as few Greeks are able to bend, and if ever they
should become candidates in the Olympic games,
they would certainly carry the prize : their arrows
are dipped in the juice of some poisonous herb, which
is said to grow upon the banks of Avernus ; and the
wound which they give is mortal. As for the inha-
bitants of Neritum and Brundusium, they have no-
thing to boast, but corporal strength and instinctive
courage ; but they make their onset with a yell,
which, of all suunds, is the most dreadful; they
make no bad use of the sling, from which they dis-
charge a shower of stones that darkens the air ; but
they fight altogether without order. You now know
the origin of the war, and the nature of our enemies."
After this explanatiight: theirspears covered the earth to the
horizon ; like therich harvests which Ceres, under the
summer's sun, ripens in the fields of Enna, to reward
the labour of the husbandman. Among these, were
discovered the chariots armed with scythes ; and all
the different nations in the confederacy were, by
their arms and habits, easily to be distinguished.
Mentor, that he might view them to greater ad-
vantage, ascended a high tower; and Idomeneus and
Telemachus followed him. They presently discover-
ed Philoctetes on one side, and Nestor, who was
easily known by his venerable age. with his son
Pisistratus on the other: "How is this ?" cried
Mentor: "you supposed that Philoctetes and Nes-
tor would content themselves with aiiording you no
assistance ; but yon see that they are in arms against
you; and, if I am not deceived, those other troops,
that come on with so deliberate a pace, and in such
perfect order, are Lacedaemonians, under the com-
mand of Phalauthus. All are against you : there
is not a single nation upon the coast, of which you
have not made an enemy, without intending it."
Mentor, the moment he had made this di>^rovery,
descended hastily from the tower, and went towards
a gate of the city, on that side towards which the
enemy advanced : he immediately ordered the sen-
tinel to open it ; and Idomeneus, astonished at the
commanding dignity of his deportment, did not dare
to ask his design. He went out at the gate ; and,
making a sign with his hand, that nobody should fol-
low him, advanced directly towards the front of the
enemy, who were astonished to see a man, wholly un-
attended, present himseli' before them. WTiile he wag
182 TELEMACHUS.
yet at a distance, he lield out to them the branch of
an olive, as a token of peace : when he was come
near enough to be heard, he demanded that their
chiefs should be assembled ; and as soon as they were
got together, he addressed them in these terms : —
" I see before me the strength of every nation that
flourishes in this happy country ; and I know that the
generous purpose of this assembly is the defence oi
a common cause ; of that liberty which is at once the
birth-right, the happiness, and the glory of mankind.
I honour your zeal : but permit me to point out an
easy way, by which your liberty and honour may be
preserved, without the effusion of blood. Among
other princes in this assembly, I see Nestor : thy
years and wisdom, O Nestor! have acquainted thee
with the calamities of war, even when it is under-
taken with justice, and favoured by the gods : war
is the most dreadful of all evils, by which Heaven
has afflicted man. Thou canst never forget what
was suffered by the Greeks, during the ten years
that they spent before the walls of Troy: what
divisions among their chiefs! what caprices of for-
tune ! what carnage by the hand of Hector I what
calamity in distant cities, during the long absence
of their kings ; and what misfortunes at their re-
turn 1 how tome were shipwrecked on the promon-
tory of Caphareus ; and some perished, witli circum-
stances of yet more horror, in the bosoms of their
wives. The gods, doubtless, in their wrath, suffered
them to be seduced by the false splendour of that
expedition : may they never, O people of Hesperia I
distinguish you by so fatal a victory! Troy, in-
deed, is in ashes ; but it would have been better for
Greece, if she had still flourished in all her glory,
and Paris had still enjoyed, with Helen, such plea-
sures as are permitted to infamy and guilt. Does
not Philoctetes, who was so long wretched and
abandoned in the isle of Lemnos, fear the like calam-
ities from a like war ? Have not the people of
BOOK X. 183
Laoonia siifFtM-od equally by the long absence of
their princes, their captains, and their soldiers, who
went to the siege of Troy ? And is there a single
Grecian, at this hour, upon the coast of Hesperia,
that is not a fugitive from his country, in conse-
qu(Mice of that fatal expedition ?"
During this address. Mentor advanced towards
the Pylians ; and Nestor, recollecting his features,
came forward to salute him: "It is with great
pleasure, "said he, "that I once more give my hand
to Mentor. It is many years since I first saw you
in Phocis : you were then only fifteen years old ;
hut I perceived the dawning of that wisdom that
has been since so conspicuous to the world. Tell
us, however, by what chance you came hither; and
what expedient you have thought of to prevent a
war. Idomeneus has compelled us to attack him.
We demand only peace ! which is our interest and
our desire ; but it is impossible that peace should
be secured, till he is destroyed. He has violated all
his engagements with the neighbouring people ; and
if we were now to conclude a treaty with him, it
would serve no other end than to dissolve our con-
federacy, upon which only our safety depends. He
has sufficiently manifested his ambition to reduce
every other nation to slavery ; and we have no
means to establish our own liberty, but the subver-
sion of his new kingdom. His want of public faith
has reduced us to this alternative ; either of putting
an end to his power, or of receiving his yoke. If
you can show that he may still be trusted with
safety, and assure us of peace in consequence of a
treaty, all the nations that you see here confeder-
ated airainst him, will gladly lay down their anna,
and we will confess that your wisdom is greater
than ours."
"You know," replied Mentor, " that Ulysses has
intrusted his son Telemachus to my care. The
young man, impatient to discover what w;i3 become
184 TELEMACHUS.
of his fatlier, went first to Pylos, where you received
lura with all the kindness that he had reason to ex-
pect from the friend of his father; and when he left
you, appointed your own son to conduct him on his
way. He went afterwards many distant voyages by
sea: he had visited Sicily and Egypt, and the islands
of Cyprus and Crete: the winds, or rather the gods,
have at length thrown him upon this coast, as he was
returning to Ithaca. We are just come in time to
spare you the horrors of another war ; for you shall
not now trust in Idomeneus, but in the son of
Ulysses and myself, for the fulfilling of whatever
shall be stipulated in a treaty of peace."
During this conference between Mentor and
Nestor, in the midst of the confederated troops,
Idomeneus and Telemachus, with all the Cretans
under arms, were spectators of the scene from the
walls of Salentum : they were very attentive to
discover in what manner Mentor's discourse was
received ; and wished they could have been present
at the coni'erence of two men, so venerable for age
and wisdom. Nestor had always been considered
as s\iperior to the other princes of Greece in ex-
perimental knowledge and graceful elocution : it
was he that restrained the anger of Achilles, the
pride of Agamemnon, the ferocity of Ajax, and the
precipitate courage of Diomedes: persuasion, sweet
as honey, distilled from liis lips ; and the sound of
his voice alone was sufficient to excite attention :
when Nestor spoke, surrounding heroes were silent,
and he only had the power of soothing discord into
peace. He began now to feel the chilling influence
of age ; but his words were still forcible and still
sweet. He frequently related past events, that
youth might be instructed by his experience ; and
though his speech was somewhat slow, yet his nar-
ratives were pleasing.
But this venerable sage, so admired by all Greece,
seemed to lose all his eloquence, and all his dignity.
BOOK XL 185
from the moment that he appeared in competitkm
with Mentor; in comparison with liini, he seemed
to be withered and depressed by age ; for the vigour
and activity of Mentor appeared to have suffered
no injury from time. In the elocution of Mentor,
though it was grave and simple, there w as a vivacity
and authority, which began to be wanting in that
of Nestor : what he said was short, precise, and
nervous; he made no repetitions, and he spoke only
to the point in question : if it was necessary to
mention tlie same thing more tlian once, either to
inculcate or to pei'suade, it was always by some
happy simile or allusion ; he had also the art of
insinuating truth, by a kind of nameless compli-
ance and good humour, when it was necessary to
accommodate himself to particular dispositions and
capacities. There was something in the appearance
of these persons, tliat strongly excited veneration
and love among the multitude that surrounded
them : the forces that were confederated against
Salentum, crowded one upon another that they
might get a nearer view of their persons, and catch
up some fragment of their discourse : and Idome-
neus, and the people that were with him, fixed
their eyes upon them with the utmost eagerness
and ardour, to discover the purport of what they
said, by their gestures and countenance.
BOOK XI.
Telemachns seeing Mentor in the midst of the allies, is impatient to
know what passes between thcia: lie causes the gates of Salentnm
to be opened, and joins his friend : his presence inclines the allies to
accept the terms that Mentor has offered on the part of Idomeneiu:
the allies entt?r Salentnm as friends : Idonieneus confirms the pro-
positions of Mentor, hostages are recipro<'ally given, and all parties
usfist at a sacrifice between the city and the camp, as a solemn rati-
fication of the treaty.
In the mean time, Telemachus, who could no
longer restrain his impatience, disengaged himself
from the crowd, and, running to the gate by which
Mentor had gone out. commanded it to be opened.
183 TELEMACHUS.
with a tone of authority which was immediately
obeyed. Idomeneus, who believed him to be still
standing at his side, was in a few moments surprised
to see him running across the pliiin, and not far
from the place where Nestor stood. Nestor imme-
diately knew him : and advanced, with haste in his
loolcs, but with a slow and heavv pace, to receive
him. Telemachus threw himself on his neck, and
held him locked in his arms, without power to
speak: at last he cried out, '• O my father! I fear
not to claim you by the dearest tie. The loss of
him from whom I derived my birth, and the
parental kindness which I have experienced in you,
give me a right to call you by that tender name.
You are a father whom I am again permitted to
embrace ! O might I once more be permitted thus
to embrace Ulysses ! If any thing can atone for
his loss, it is the finding of his wisdom, ins virtues,
and his tenderness, in you."
The affectionate ardour of his address, melted
Nestor into tears ; and he was touched with a
secret pleasure at perceiving the same expression of
tender sensibility in his young friend, which gave
new grace to his countenance. The beauty, the
sweetness, and the noble confidence of this young
stranger, who had without precaution ventured
among so many enemies, astonished the allies : " Is
not this the son of the old man," said they, '* who
came to speak with Nestor ? We certainly see the
same wisdom at two ages : in one of them it is only
in blossom, in the other it is matured into fruit."
Mentor, who had with great pleasure observed
the tenderness with which Nestor received Telema-|
chus, availed himself of a disposition so favourable
to his purpose; "Here is the son of Ulysses," said,
he, "so dear to all Greece, and so tenderly beloved '
by you ! I offer him as an hostage, as the dearest
pledge that can be given, for the accomplishment of
whatever shall be promised on the port of Idome-
liOOK XI. 187
neus. You cannot suppose that I would aggravate
the loss of the father by that of the son ; or expose
myself to the reproaches of Penelope, for having sa-
crificed her child to the ambition of the new king of
Salentum. With this pledge, ye nations of Hesperia !
voluntarily offered by himself, and sent by the gods
that are lovers of amity, I begin my propositions for
establishing a lasting peace."
At the name of peace, a confused murmur was
heard spreading from rank to rank : an inarticulate
expression of anger, which was with difficulty re-
strained ; for all that were present thought every
moment lost by which the battle was delayed: they
imagined, that Mentor had no design but to soften
their resentment, and rob them of their prey. The
Mandurians, in particular, could not bear to think
of being again deceived ; and as they feared that
the eloquence of Mentor would gain over their
allies, they frequently attempted to interrupt him:
they began to suspect all the Greeks that were in
the field: and Mentor, who perceived this suspicion,
immediately resolved to increase it, that he might
weaken the confederacy, by dividing it into factions.
" I confess," said he, "that the Mandurians hare
reason to complain, and to insist upon satisfaotion
for the injury they have suffered ; but is it not
equally reasonable, that the ancient inhabitants of
the country should regard all Greeks, who have es-
tablished colonies upon the coast, with suspicion and
malignity ? The Greeks, therefore, ought to main-
tain a firm union among themselves, that they may
be able to compel a proper treatment from the
nations that surround them ; although they ought
not, upon any pretence, to usurp their territory.
I know that Idomeneus has unfortunately given
sufficient cause of jealousy ; but this jealousy may
easily be removed : Telemachus and myself are
both ready to become hostages for his future good
faith ; and to continue in your power till his stipu-
188 TELEMACHUS.
lations shall be fulfilled. I know," said he, address-
ing himself to the Mandurians, "that you are
provoked at the Cretans having seized the passes
of the mountains by surprise; and secured to them-
selves the power of entering, at pleasure, the
country to wliich you have retired, that you might
leave them the level country upon the sea-coast ;
these passes the Cretans have fortified by liigK
towers, strongly gan-isoned: these towers, then,
are the immediate cause of the war ? If there is
any other, let it be assigned."
The chief of the Mandurians then advanced, and
spoke to the following effect : ' ' Whatever is the cause
of the war, we have done eveiy tiling that was possi-
ble to avoid it : the gods are our witnesses that we
made use of every art to keep peace among us, till
she was driven away by the restless ambition of the
Ci'etans, and the perfidy that made it impossible to
trust them, even on their oath. These infatuated
people have reduced us to the fatal necessity of pe-
rishing ourselves, or destroying them. \Miile they
continue in possession of the passes they have forti-
fied, we shall always apprehend a design to invade
our territory, and enslave our persons. If they had
a sincere desire to live at pccice with their neigh-
bours, they would rest satisfied with the country that
we have voluntarily ceded to them, they would
have formed no ambitious designs against the hberty
of others ; and, consequently, could never be soli-
citous to secure the avenues by which their teiTito-
ries could be invaded. But, wise as thou art, O full
of days ! thou knowest them not : and it is by mis-
fortune only that we know them : cease, then, O
beloved of Heaven ! to prevent so just and necessary
a war, without which Ilesperia must for ever despair
of peace. They are an ungrateful, a perfidious, an
inhuman people, whom the gods have sent among
us in their anger, to interrupt our tranquillity, and
punish our offences : but the gods "hon they have
BOOK XL 189
punished, will avenge us : and our enemies also shall
experience, that they are just."
At these words, the whole assembly was moved ;
Hud it seemed as if Mars and Bellona were passing
from rank to rank, and kindling in every bosom
that rage of war which Mentor had laboured to ex-
tinguish. But he addressed himself again to the
assembly in these terms: ''If 1 offered promises
only, they might reasonably be rejected ; but what
I offer vou is certain and immediate advantage. If
you are not content to receive Telcmachus, and my-
self as hostages, twelve of the noblest and bravest
Cretans, shall be delivered into your hands. It is,
however, but just, that hostages should also be
given on vour part ; for Idomcueus, though he de-
sires peace, desires it without fear and without
meanness ; he desires peace upon the same principles
on which you say you desire it, wisdom and mo-
deration ; not because he desires to repose in volup-
tuous tranquilUty, or is terrilied by a prospect of
the dangers of war : he is, like you, ready to perish
or to conquer ; but he prefers peace to the most
splendid victory : he disdains the fear of being van-
quished ; but he confesses, that he fears to be unjust,
and is not ashamed to make an atonement for his
faults. He offers you peace with the sword in his
hand, but he would not haughtily impose it upon
his own conditions ; for he sets no value upon a
compulsory treaty. He desires a peace, in which
all parties shall be content : which shall put an end
to all jealousies, appease all resentment, and re-
move all distnist. His sentiments are just what you
would wish them to be ; and nothing is necessary,
but to convince you oi' this tnith, which would not
be difficult, if you would hear me without prejudice
and passion. Hear, then, ye nations, distinguished
by valour ! and hear, ye chiefs, whom wisdom has
united ! what I shall now offer on the part of Ido-
meneu,'. '^ is not just that he shouhl invade the
14 ■*
190 TELEMACHUS.
territory of his neighbours ; neither is it just that
his teiTitory sliould be invaded : he consents that
the towers, by wliich he has fortified the passes,
should be garrisoned by neutral troops. You Nes-
tor, and you Philoctetes, are of Grecian origin : yet,
in this quarrel, you have declared against Idomene-
us ; you cannot, therefore, be suspected of partiality
to his interests ; you take part only in the common
cause, the peace and liberty of Hesperia. To you
then, the passes, which have been the cause of the
war, shall be confided : you have not less interest in
preventing the original natives of Hesperia from de-
stroying Salentum, a new colony like your own;
than in preventing Idomeneus from usurping the
possessions of his neighbours: hold, then, the ba-
lance between them, and, instead of destroying, by
fire and sword, a people whom you ought to cherish
and to love, secure to yourselves the glory of acting
at once as mediator and judge. You will, perhaps,
tell me, that these conditions are too good to be
fulfilled ; but I shall abundantly satisfy you, that
Idomeneus is sincere. The hostages which I have
already mentioned, shall be reciprocally given and
detained, till the passes shall be put into your hands.
When the security, not only of Salentum, but of all
Hesperia, is at your discretion, will you not be con-
tent ? Wliom then can you distrust, but yourselves ?
You do not dare to confide in Idomeneus ; but as a
proof that liis intention is honest, he is ready to con-
fide in you : he is readv to trust yon with the quiet,
the life, and the liberty of himself and his people : if
it is true, that you desire only an equitable and last-
ing peace, such a peace is now offered you upon
terms that leave you no pretence to reject it. Let
me, however, once more caution you against ima-
gining that Idomeneus has made this proposal from
fear : his motives are prudence and equity ; and, con-
scious to the rectitude of his intention, he wUl be
under no concern about your opinion, though yon
BOOK XI. ISl
ahoiild impute that to weakness, which he knows
to proceed from virtue. He was, in the beginning,
guilty of some faults ; and he tlunks it an honour to
acknowledge tliem by the offer of such terms as an-
ticipate your wishes. He who hopes that he shall be
able to liide his faults, by affecting to support them
with arrogance and pride, discovers the most deplo-
rable weakness, the most despicable vanity, and the
grossest ignorance of his own interest ; but he who
acknowledges his faults to an enemy, and offers re-
paration, gives the strongest proof that he can never
commit them again ; and displays a wisdom and for-
titude which, if peace is rejected, must make his en-
mity foi-midable. Beware, then, that the fault, in
the present quarrel, does not become yours. If you
reject justice and peace, when they sue for accep-
tance, be assured, that the cause of peace and justice
will be avenged ; and Idomeneus, who has just rea-
son to fear the displeasure of the gods, will engage
them in his favour against you. Telemachus and
myself will take up arms in his defence ; and I ca
the powers, both of heaven and of hell, to witness, that
the proposals which }h?ve now offered you are just."
Mentor then lifted up the olive branch which he
held in his hand, that the distant multitude might
behold the symbol of peace. The chiefs, who saw
him near, were astonished and dazzled with the
celestial radiance that sparkled in his eyes ; and per-
ceived in him something majestic and commanding,
beyond all that fancy had given to created beings.
The magic of his eloquence, at once so forcible and
so sweet, had, as it were, stolen away their hearts :
its power was secret, but irresistible ; like that of the
mysterious spells, which, in the dead silence of the
night, arrest the moon and the stars of heaven,
calm the raging of the sea, command the winds and
the waves to be still, and suspend the most rapid
rivers in their course.
He appeared, in the midst of thi»rude impetuons
192 TELEMACHU8.
multitude, like Bacchus surrounded by tigers, whose
ferocity had been charmed away by the sweetness of
his voice, till they expressed their fondness by their
caresses, and their submission by licking his feet. At
first the whole assembly was silent ; the chiefs looked
upon each other, unable to oppose the eloquence of
Mentor, and wondering who he could be. Every
eye of the surrounding multitude was immoveably
fiked upon him ; and every tongue was held silent,
for fear he should have still something to say, which
the words of another might prevent from being heard.
Though they conceived nothing that could be added
to what he had said already, yet they wished that he
had not been silent so soon ; and his words might be
■aid to be engraven upon their hearts. His elocution
made him not only believed, but beloved ; and held
in suspense all the faculties of those that heard him,
who scarcely dared even to breathe, lest they should
lose the least word that issued from his lips.
This silence was succeeded by a kind of low mur-
mur, which gradually diffused itself through the
whole assembly : it was not the confused sound of
inarticulate indignation, but rather the whisper of
gentleness and complacency, which were before
silently expressed in every countenance. The Man-
durians, who had been so lately transported with
rage, now let their weapons fall from their hands ;
and the fierce Phalanthus, with his Laeedsemonians,
wondered to find themselves softened into kindness.
The rest of the united nations began to sigh after
the peace which had been held up before them ; and
Philoctetes, whose sensibility had been increased by
misfortune, could not refrain from tears. Nestor,
who was so transported with admiration and delight
at the discourse of Mentor, that he was unable to
speak, embraced him with ineffable tenderness; and
the whole multitude cried out together, as if by a
signal, " O stranger! thy wisdom has disarmed us:
Peace! Peace!" In the first interval of silence.
BOOK XI. 193
Nestor attempted to speak : but the troops, fearing
ae nih^ht start some difliciilty, again cried out, with
the utmost impatience, " Peace I Peace!" and the
chiefs found no way of putting them to silence, but
by joining in the exclamation.
Nestor, perceiving that a set discourse could not
be heard, contented himself with saying : "You see,
O Mentor ! what wonders the words of a good man
can produce. When wisdom and virtue speak, every
passion is calm : our resentment, however just, is
changed into fi-iendship; and our impatience for
war, into a desire of perpetual peace. The peace
that you have offered, we accept." The chiefs, at
the same time, stretched out their hands in token
of their consent.
Mentor now ran towards the gate of Salentum, to
get it opened, and to acquaint Idomeneus that he
might leave the city without fear. In the mean
time, Nestor went up to Telemachus and embraced
him: *' My amiable young friend," said he, "thy
father was the wisest of all the princes of Greece ;
mayest thou be favoured with equal wisdom and
with better fortune. The similitude of your persons
is great ; and the remembrance of Ulysses, which
that has revived, contributed to soften our resent-
ment." Phalanthus, though he was by nature fierce
and unfeeling, and though he had never seen Ulysses,
was, notwithstanding, touched at his misfortunes,
and those of his son : and the chiefs gathering round
Telemachus, were pressing him to relate his ad-
ventures, when Mentor returned with Idomeneus,
and the Cretan youth who followed in his train.
At the sight of Idomeneus, the resentment of the
confederated nations began to revive ; but Mentor
extinguished the fire before it broke out : " Why do
we dt'lay," said he, "to conclude this sacred alliance,
which the powei-s of heaven shall w itness, and de-
fend ? May the gods avenge its violation, by whom-
e like a forest on every side : their
shields glittered in the sun ; and a cloud of dust
ascended to the sky. The kings were conducted to
the plain by Idomeneus and Mentor, who attended
them to a considerable distance from the city. At
hist they parted, liaving given and received reciprocal
crs.iiouies of sincere ftiendslup. And the allica
212 TELKMACIIUS.
being now acquainted with the true character of
Idomeneus, which had suffered so much by misre-
presentation, had no doubt but that the peace would be
lasting: ,they had, indeed, formed their judgment
of him, "hot from his natural sentiments, but from
the pernicious counsel of flatterers, which he had
implicitly taken.
When the army was gone, Idomeneus led Mentor
into every quarter of the city. "Let us see," said
Mentor, "how many people you have, as well in the
city as the country : let us number the whole ; and
let us also examine how many of them are husband-
men. Let us inquire how much corn, wine, oil,
ana other necessaries, your lands will produce one
year with another : we shall then know whether it
will yield a surplus for foreign trade. Let us also
see how many vessels you have, and how many sailors
to man them, that we may be able to judge of your
strength." He then visited the port, and went on
board every vessel; he informed himselfof the several
ports to which they traded, what merchandise they
carried out, and what they brought back in return;
what was the expense of the voyage ; what were the
loans of the merchants to each other, and what trad-
ing societies were established among them, that ho
might know whether their articles were equitable, and
faithfully observed. He also inquired, what was the
risk of the several voyages, and to what losses the trade
was exposed, that such restrictions might be made as
would prevent the ruin of the merchants, who some-
times, from too eager a desire of gain, undertake
what they are not in a condition to accomplish.
He ordered that bankruptcy should be punished
with great severity, because it is generally the effect
of rashness and indiscretion, if not of fraud : he also
formed regulations, by which bankruptcies might
easily be prevented : he obliged the merchants to
give an account of their eflects, their profits, their
expenses, and their undertakings, to magistnitase&tfy-
BOOK XII. 213
blished for this purpose: he ordered that they should
never be permitted to risk the property of another ;
nor more than half their own : that they should un-
dertake, by association, what they could not under-
take sinylv ; and that the observance of the condi-
tions of such association should be enforced by
severe penalties. He ordered also that trade should
be perfectly open and free; and, instead of loading
it with imposts, that every merchant, who brought
the trade of a new nation to the port of Salentum,
should be entitled to a reward.
These regulations brought people in crowds from
all parts, and the trade of Salentum was like the dux
and reflux of the sea : riches flowed in upon it with
an impetuous abundance, like wave impelling wave :
every thing was freely brought in and carried out of
the port; every thing that was brought was useful,
and every thing that was carried out, left something
of greater advantage in its stead. Justice presided
over the port, which was the centre of innumerable
nations, with inflexible severity; and from the lofty
towers, that were at once its ornament and defence,
freedom, integrity, and honour, seemed to call toge-
ther the merchants of the remotest regions of the
earth: and these merchants, whether they came from
the shores of the east, where the sun rises from the
parting wave to begin the day ; or from that bound-
less ocean, where, wearied with his course, he extin-
guishes his fires ; all lived together in Salentum, as
in their native country, with security and peace.
Mentor thenvisited the magazines, warehouses, and
manuflictories of the interior part of the city. He
prohibited the sale of all foreign commodities that
might introduce luxury or effeminacy : he regulated
the dress and the provisions of the inhabitants of
every rank ; and the furniture, the size, and orna-
ments of their houses. He also prohibited all orna-
ments of silver and gold : "I know but one thing,"
'Wid ho to IdomeneuB, "that can reader your people
214 TELEMACHUS.
modest in their expenses — ^the example of their
prince : it is necessary that there should be a certain
dignity in your appearance : but your authority will
be sufficiently marked by the guards, and the great
officers of your court, that will always attend you.
As to your dress, be content with the iinest cloth of a
purple colour : let the dress of your principal officers
be of cloth equally fitie : and let your own be distin-
guished only by the colour, and a slight embroideiy
of gold round the edge : dirferent colours will serve
to distinguish different conditions, without either
gold or silver, or jewels, and let these conditions
be regulated by birth.
"Put the most ancient and Ulustrious nobility in
the first rank: those who are distinguished by perso-
nal merit, and the authority of office, wiU be content
to stand second to those who have been long in pos-
session of hereditary honour. Men who are not no-
ble by descent, will readily yield precedence to those
that are, if you take care not to encourage a false
opinion of themselves, by raising them too suddenly
and too high : and never fail to gratify those with
praise, who are modest in prosperity. No distinction
so little excites envy, as that which is derived from
ancestors by a long descent.
" To stimulate virtue, and excite an emulation to
serve the state, it will be sufficient to reward public
merit with honorary distinctions, a crown or a statue,
which maybe made the foundation of a new nobility,
for the children of those to whom they are decreed.
*' The habit of persons of the first rank may be
white, bordered with a fringe of gold: they may also
be distinguished by a gold ring on their finger, and a
medal ot gold impressed with your image hanging
from their neck. Those of the second rank may be
dressed in blue, with a silver fringe, and be distin-
guished by the ring without a medal. The third
lank may be dressed in green, and wear the me,^fil
without either irioge or rin;;. 'I'he colour o"^ ^
BOOK XII. 216
fourth class may be a full yellow ; the fifth a paie
red ; the sixth a mixture of red and white ; and the
seventh, a mixture of white and yellow. Dresses of
these ditfereut colours will sufficiently distinguish the
freemen of your state into seven cLisses. The habit
of slaves should be dark grey : and thus each will
be distinguished according to his condition, without
expense; and every art which can only gratify pride,
will be banished from Salentum. All the artificers,
which are now employed so much to the disadvan-
tage of their country, will betake themselves to such
arts as are useful, which are few; or to commerce or
agriculture. No change must ever be suffered to
take place, either in the quality of the stuff or the
form of the garment : men are, by nature, formed
for serious and important employments ; and it is
unworthy of them to invent affected novelties in the
clothes that cover them, or suffer women, whom
such employment would less disgrace, to fall into
an extravagance contemptible and pernicious."
Thus Mentor, Hke a skilful gardener, who lops from
his fruit-trees the useless wood, endeavoured to re-
trench the parade that insensibly corrupts the man-
ners, and to reduce every thing to a frugal and noble
simplicity. He regulated even the provisions, not of
the slaves only, but those of the highest rank :
" What ashame is it," said he, "that men of exalted
stations should place their superiority in eating such
food as eft'eminates the mind, and subverts the consti-
tution ! They ought to value themselves for the re-
gulation of their own desires, for their power of dis-
pensing good to othca"s, and for the reputation which
the exercise of private and public virtue will necessa-
rily procure. To the sober and temperate^ the sim-
plest food is always pleasant; and the simplest food
only can produce the most vigorous health, and give
at once capacity and disposition for the purest and
the highest enjoyments. Your meal should consi?t
of Uie beat food ; but it should always be plainly
2i0 TELEMACHUS.
dressed : the art of cookery is the art of poisoning
mankind, by rendering the appetite still importunate,
when the wants of natm-e are supplied."
Idomeneus easily conceived that he had done
wrong, in suffering the inhabitants of this new city
to corrupt and effeminate their manners, by violating
the sumptuary laws of Minos : but Mentor further
convinced him, that the revival of those laws would
produce little effect, if the king did not give them
force by his example : he, therefore, immediately re-
gulated his own table, where he admitted only plain
food, such as he had oaten with other Grecian princes
at the siege of Troy, with the finest bread, and a
small quantity of the wine of the country, which was
generous and well flavoured. No man dared to
murmur at a regulation which the king imposed
upon himself; and the profusion and false delicacy
of the table were given up without a struggle.
Mentor suppressed also two kinds of music : the
soft and effeminate strains, which dissolve the soxil
into lauguishment and desire ; and the Bacchanalian
airs, that transport it with causeless, tumultuous, and
opprobrious joy : he allowed only that sacred and
solemn harmony, which, in the temples of the gods,
kindles devotion, and celebrates heroic virtue. To
the temples also he confined the superb ornaments
of architecture, columns, pediments, and porticos :
he gave models, in a simple but elegant style of
building, for houses that would contain a numerous
family, on a moderate extent of ground, so designed,
that they should be at once pleasant and convenient;
that they should have a healthful aspect, and apart-
ments sufficiently separated from each other, that
order and decency might be easily preserved, and
that they might be repaired at a small expense. He
ordered, that every house above the middling class
should have a hall, and a small peristyle, with sepa-
rate chambers for all the free persons of the family;
but he prohibited, under severe penalties, the Buper-
BOOK XII. 217
fluous number and magniricence of apartments, that
ostentation and luxury had introduced. Houses
erected upon these models, according to the size of
the family, served to embellish one part of the city
at a small expense, and gave it a regular appearance;
while the other part, which was already finished ac-
cording to the caprice and vanity of individuals, was,
notwithstauding its magnificence, less pleasing and
convenient. This city was built in a veryshort time;
because the neighbouring coast of Greece furnished
verv sUilful architects, and a great number of masons
repaired thither from Epirus, and other countries,
upon the promise, that, after they had finished their
work, they should be established in the neighbour-
hood of Salentum, where land should be granted
them to clear, and where they would contribute to
people the country.
Painting and sculpture were arts wliich Mentor
thought should by no means be proscribed ; but he
permitted the practice of them to few. He esta-
blished a school, under masters of an exquisite taste,
by whom the performances of the pupils were examin-
ed : " There should be no mediocrity," says he, " in
the arts which are not necessjiry to life ; and conse-
quently, no youth shall be permitted to practise them,
but such as have a genius to excel : others were
designed by nature for less noble occupations, and
may be very usefully employed in supplying the
ordinary wants of the community. Sculptors and
painters should be employed only to preserve the
memory of great men, and great actions : and the
representations of whatever lias been achieved by
heroic virtue, for the service of the public, should
be preserved only in public buildings, or on the
monuments of the dead." I^ut whatever was the
moderation or the frugality of Mentor, he indulged
the taste of magnificence in the great buildings that
were intended ibr public sports ; the races of liorses
and chariote, combats with the cestus, wrestling, and
218 TELEMACHUS.
all other exercises which render the body more agile
and vigorous.
He suppressed a great number of traders that sold
wrought stuffs of foreign manufacture ; embroidery
of an excessive price; vases of silver and gold, em-
bossed with various figures in bas-relief; distilled
liquors, and perfumes : he ordered also, that the fur-
niture of every house should be plain and substantial,
so as not soon to wear out. The people of Salentum,
therefore, who had been used to complain of being
poor, began to perceive that they abounded in super-
fluous riches ; but that this superfluity was of a de-
ceitful kind ; that they were poor in proportion as
they possessed it, and that in proportion as they re-
linquished it only they could be rich : "To become
truly rich," said they, " is to despise such riches as
exhaust the state ; and to lessen the number of our
wants, by reducing them to the necessities of virtue."
Mentor also took the first opportunity to visit the
arsenals and magazines ; and examine whether the
arms, and other necessaries of war, were in a good
condition : " To be always ready for war," said he,
*' is the surest way to avoid it." He found many
things wanting, and immeLliately employed artificers
in brass and iron to supply the defects. Furnaces are
immediately built ; and smoke and flames ascend in
cloudy volumes, like those that issue from the sub-
terranean fires of mount Etna : the hammer rings
upon the anvil, which groans under the stroke : the
neighbouring shores and mountains re-echo to the
sound ; and a spectator of these preparatives for war,
made by a provident sagacity during a profound
peace, might have thought himself in that island,
where Vulcan animates the Cyclops by his example,
to forge thunder for the fatlier of the gods.
Mentor then went with Idomeneus out of the city,
«nd found a great extent of fertile country wholly
uncultivated ; besides considerable tracts that were
ciiltivated but in part, through the negligence or \w-
ij.jOtL XII. 219
. erty of tho husbandmen, or the want of spirit, or ll you by what means these false notions,
the cause of ail my misfortunes, were early planted
in my heart.
" Among other persons, whom I loved when I was
very young, were Protesilaus and Philodes. Prote-
sihius was somewhat older than myself, and was my
chit>f favourite : his natural disposition, which was
eprightly and enterprising, exactly corresponded with
my own ; he entered into all my pleasures, he flat-
tered all my passions, and he endeavoured to render
me suspicious of Philocles. Philocles had great re-
Terence of the gods, an elevated mind, and obedient
pasuioua : he place*^ • eatness not in the acquisition
228 TELEMACHUS.
of power, but the conquest of liimselt', and in never
stooping to a mean action : he often warned me of
my faults with great fi-eedom ; and when he did not
dare to speak, his silence, and the sorrow that was
expressed in liis countenance, sufficiently convinced
me, that I had given cause for reproach.
" This sincerity, at first, gave me pleasure; and I
frequently protested, that I would always listen to
the truths he told me, as the best preservative against
flattery : he directed me how to walk in the steps of
Minos, and give happiness to my people : his wisdom
was not, indeed, equal to thine ; but I now know,
that his counsel was good. By degrees, however,
the artifices of Protesilaus, who was jealous and
aspiring, succeeded. The frankness and integrity
of Philocles disgusted me : he saw himself deckue
under the ascendency of Protesilaus, without a
struggle ; and contented himself with always telling
me the truth, whenever I would hear it ; for he had
my advantage, and not his own interest, in view.
"Protesilaus insensibly persuaded me, that he was
of a morose and haughty temper ; that he was a
severe censor of my conduct, from a spirit of dis-
content : that he asked me no favour, only because
he disdained obligation, and aspired to the character
of a man superior to any honours that could be con-
ferred by his prmce. He added, that this youth,
who spoke so freely of my faults to myself, spoke of
them also with the same freedom to others ; that
he insinuated I was little worthy of esteem ; and
that, by thus rendering me cheap in the eyes of the
people, and by the artful parade of an austere vir-
tue, he intended to open liimself a way to the throne.
At first, I could not believe that Philocles intended
to deprive me of my crown : there is, in true virtue,
something open and ingenuous, which no art can
counterfeit, and which, if it is attended to, can
never be mistaken. But the steadiness with which
Philocles opposed my follies, began to weary me ;
BOOK XIII. 229
and the flattering^ compliance of Protesilaus, an'.l his
indefatigable industry to procuro me new pleasures,
made me still more impatient of his rival's austerity.
" In the mean time, Protesilaus, perceiving that
I did not believe all he hud told me of Philocles, his
pride disdaining the suspicion which his falsehood
had deserved, resolved to say nothing more to me
about him, but to remove my doubts by stronger
evidence than speculation and argument : he, there-
fore, advised me to give him the command of some
vessels that were fitted out against a fleet of the
Carpathians, and supported his advice v.ith great
Bubtilty. ' You know,' says be, ' that my commen-
dations of Pliilocles cannot be suspected of partiality :
he is certainly brave, and has a genius for war; he
is more fit for this service than any other person you
can send ; and I prefer the advancement of your
interest to the gratification of my own resentment.'
" This instance of generous integritv in a man, to
whom I had intrusted the most important affairs,
deliirhted me : I embraced him in a transport of joy,
and thought myself superlatively happy to have
placed my confidence in a man who appeared to be
at once superior to passion and to interest. But,
alas, how much are princes to be pitied 1 This man
knew me better than I knew myself: he knew that
kings are generally mistrustful and indolent ; mis-
trustful, by perpetually experiencing the artifices of
the designing and coiTupt ; and indolent, by the
pleasures that solicit them, and a habit of leaving
all business to others, without taking the trouble so
much as to think for themselves: he knew, therefore,
that it would not be diificult to render me jealous of
a man who could not fail to perform great actions;
especially when he was not present to detect the
fallacy.
" Philocles foresaw, at his departure, what would
happen : — 'Remember,' says he, ' that I can now no
longer defend myself; that you will be acces.--il;]e
230 TELEMACHUS.
only to my enemy ; and that w]ule I am serving ycj
at the risk of my life, 1 am likely to obtain no other
recompense than your indignation.' — ' You are mis-
taken,' said I : ' Protesilaus does not speak of you,
as you speak of him ; he commends, he esteems you
and thinks you worthy of the most important trust ;
if he should speak against you, he woiild forfeit my
confidence : go, therefore, upon your expedition
without fear; and think only how to conduct it
with advantage.' He departed, and left me in un-
common perplexity,
" I confess that I saw, very clearly, the necessity
of consulting many understandings ; and that no-
thing could more injure my reputation, or my inter-
est, than an implicit resignation to the counsels of
an individual. I knew that the prudent advice of
Philocles had preserved me from many dangerous
errors, which the haughtiness of Protesilaus would
have led me into ; I was conscious, that in the mind
of Philocles, there was a fund of probity and wis-
dom, that I did not find in Protesilaus ; but I had
suffered Protesilaus to assume a kind of dictatorial
manner, which at length I found myself scarcely
able to resist. I grew weary of consulting two men,
who could never agree ; and chose rather to hazard
something in the administration of my affairs, than
continue the trouble of examining opposite opinions,
and judging for myself which was the best. It ia
true, I did not dare to assign the motives of so shame-
ful a choice, even to myself; but these motives still
continued their secret influence in my heart, and
directed all my actions.
"Philocles surprised the enemy, and , having gained
a complete victory, was hastening home to prevent
the ill offices he had reason to fear; but Protesilaus,
who had not had time to effect his purpose, wrote
him word, that it was my pleasure he should improve
hia victory, by making a descent upon the island of
Carpathus. He had, indeed, persuaded me, that a
BOOK Xia 231
ooTiquest of that island r.iight easily be made ; but he
took care, that many things necessary for the enter-
prise should be wanting : he gave Philocles also such
orders as could not fail to embarrass him in the exe-
cution of it. In the mean time, he engaged one of
my domestics, a man of very corrupt manners, who
was much about me, to observe all that passed, even
to the minutest incident, and give him an account of
it ; though they appeared seldom to see each other,
and never to agree. This domestic, whose name was
Timocrates, came to me one day, and told me as a
great secret, that he had discovered a very dangerous
aflfair. ' Philocles,* says he, ' intends, by the assist-
ance of your forces, to make himself king of Carpa-
thus. The officers are all in his interest ; and he has
gained the private men, partly by his liberality, but
principally by the pernicious irregularities which ho
tolerates among them. He is greatly elated by his
victoiy ; and here is a letter which he has written
to one of his friends, concerning his project, which,
after such evidence, it is impossible to doubt.'
" I read the letter, which appeared to me to be in
the handwriting of Philocles ; but it was a forgery,
concerted and executed between Protesilaus and Ti-
mocrates. This letter threw me into great astonish-
ment : I read it again and again ; and when I called
to mind, how many affecting proofs Philocles had
given me of disinterested fidelity, I could not per-
suade myself that he wfis the writer : yet, seeing the
characters to be his, what could I determine !
" When Timocrates perceived that his artifice had
thus far succeeded, he pushed it farther : ' May I
presume,' said he, hesitating, ' to make one remark
upon this letter ? Philocles tells his friend that he
may speak in confidence to Protesilaus of one thing ;
but he expresses that one thing by a cypher. Pro-
tesilaus is certainly a party in the project of Philo-
cles, and they have accommodated their differences
at Your expensfi. You know, it was Protesilaus that
232 TELEMACHUS.
pressed you to send Philocles upon tliis expedition ;
and, for some time, he has desisted fi-om speaking
against him, as he has been used to do : he now
takes every opportunity to excuse and commend him ;
an 3. they have frequently met upon very good tenus.
There is no doubt, that Protesilaus has concerted
measures with Philocles, to share his conquest be-
tween them. You see, that he urged you to this
enterprise, against all rules of prudence and of
policy ; and that, to gratify his ambition, he has
endangered the loss of your fleet : is it possible,
that he would have rendered himself thus subser-
vient to the ambition of Philocles, if there had been
enmity between them ? It is manifest, that they
are associated in a design to aggrandize themselves,
and perhaps to supplant you in the throne. I know,
that, by thus revealing my suspicions, I expose
myself to their resentment, if you shall still leave
your authority in their hands : however, since I
have done my duty, I am careless of the event.*
*' The last words of Timocrates, sunk deep into
my mind : I made no doubt, but that Philocles was
a traitor, and I suspected Protesilaus as his friend.
In the mean time, Timocrates was continually tell-
ing me, that, if I waited till Philocles had made a
conquest of Carpathus, it would be too late to frus-
trate his designs: 'you must,' says he, * secure
him, while he is in your power.* — But I was struck
with such horror at the deep dissimulation of man-
kind, that I knew not whom to trust : after having
discovered Philocles to be a traitor, I knew no man
whose virtue could preclude suspicion. I resolved
to cut off Philocles immediately ; but I feared Pro-
tesilaus ; and with respect to him, I was in doubt.
what to do ; I feared equally to find him guilty,
and to trust him as innocent.
'* Such was the perplexity of my mind, that 1
could not forbear telling him, I had some suspicions
1 Philocles : he hoard me with an apnearance of the
BOOK Xlll. 303
groalest surprise : he reminded me of his integrity
and moderation, in many instances : he exaggerated
liis services ; and did every thing that could streng-
then my suspicions of there being too good an un-
derstanding between them. Timocrates, at the same
time, was eciually diligent on his part, to fix my atten-
tion upon ev(>ry circumstance that favoured the
notion of a confederacy ; and was continually urging
me to destroy Philocles, while it was in my power.
How unhappy a state, my dear Mentor, is royalty I
And how much are kings the sport of other men,
while other men appear to be trembling at their feet!
" I thought it would be a stroke of profound
policy, and totally disconcert Protesilaus, to cut
off Philocles immediately, by sending Timocrates
secretly to the fleet for that purpose. Protesilaus,
in the meantime, carried on his dissimulation with
the steadiest perseverance, and most refined sub-
tilty : he deceived me, by appearing to be himself
deceived. I sent away Timocrates, who found Phi-
locles greatly embarrassed in making his descent,
for which he was wholly unprovided : Protesilaus,
foroseeintr that his forged letter might fail of its
effects, had taken care to have another resource, by
making an enterprise difficult, which he had per-
suaded me would be easy, and the miscarriage of
wliich, therefore, could not fail of exposing Phi-
locles, who conducted it, to my resentment. Phi-
locles, however, sustained himself under all difficul-
ties by his courage, his genius, and his popularity
among the troops. There was not a private soldier
in the army, wlio did not see that the project of a
descent was raj
242 TELEMACHUS.
represent their necessities, and to exclaim against
unnecessary expense. He is even, as you know,
becontie eloquent in your praise ; he expresses the
greatest confidence in your wisdom and integrity,
and neglects nothing that he thinks will give you
pleasure. His Mendship with Timocrates seems
to decline ; Timocrates is endeavouring to throw
off his dependence; Protesilaus is become jealous
of him ; and it is partly by their disagreement that
I have discovered their treachery."
*' You have, then," said INIentor, with a smile,
** been weak enough to suffer even by detected vil-
lany; and to continue subservient to traitors, after
you knew their treason." — "Alas!" said Idome-
neus, " you do not know the power of artful men,
over a weak and indolent prince, who has put the
whole management of his affairs into tlieir hands :
besides, Protesilaus, as I have just told you, now
enters, with great zeal, into all your projects for
the general advantage of the state."
" I know but too weU," said Mentor, with a look
of some severity, " that, of those that sun-ound a
prince, the wicked prevail over the good. Of tliis
truth you are yourself a dreadful example : you say
that 1 haA'e opened your eyes to your true interest;
yet you are still so blind as to trust the administra-
tion of your government to a wretch that is not fit
to hve. It is time you should learn, that a man
may perform good actions, and be still wicked;
that men of the worst principles and disposition do
good, when it serves their purpose, with the same
facility as evil. It is true, that they do evil without
reluctance, because they are withheld neither by
sentiment nor principle ; but it is also true, that
they do good without violence to themselVes, be-
cause the success even of their vices depends upon
appearances of virtue, which they do not possess;
and because they gratily their own depravity, while
they are deceivinjr mankind. They are, however.
^ BOOK XIV. 2-3
incapable of virtue, though they appear to piaotLse
it : they can ouly add, to every other vice, that
which is more odious than all, hypocrisy. While
you continue resolute and peremptory that good
shall be done, Protesilaus will do good to preserve
his authority ; but if he perceives the least tendency
to relaxation, he wii'l seize, and with all his powers
improve, the opportunity to bewilder you again in
perplexity and eiTor ; and resume his natural dis-
simulation and ferofity. Is it possible that you
should live with honour or in peace, while you see
Buch a wretch as Protesilaus for ever at your side ;
and remember, that Philocles, the faithful and the
wise, still lives in poverty and disgrace at Samos!
" You acknowledge, O Idoraeneus ! that princes
are overborne and misled by bold and designing
men that are about them ; but you should not for-
get that princes are liable to another misfortune, by
no means inferior, a propensity to forget the vir
tues and the services of those that are absent.
Princes being continually surrounded by a multi
tude, are not forcibly impressed by any individual;
they are struck only with what is present and pleas-
ing : the remembranre of every thing else is svOU
obliterated : virtue affects them less than any other
object, for virtue can seldom please, as it opposes
and condemns their folUes. Princes love nothing
but pomp and pleasure ; and who, therefore . to
wonder, that princes are not beloved '
BOOK XIV.
Mentor prevails npon Mompnetis to banish Protesilaus and Timoorate*
♦o the island of Samos, and rerall Philocles to bis confidence and
..ouncils. Hegesippns, who is channel with this order, executes it
with jov. He arrives with his prisoners at Samos, where he tindg
his frieiid Philocles in ffreat indigence and obscurity, but content:
he at first refuses to return; but the gods havin^f siunified it to bo
their pleasure, he embarks with Hcsresippus, and arrives at Salentnrn,
where Idom-'neus, who now sustains a new charsicter, receives him
with great friendship.
After this conversation. Mentor persuaded Ido-
meneus immedi'*tely to dismiBs Protesilaus and Ti -
244 TELEMACHUS.
mocrates, and recall Philocles. The king would
immediately have complied, if there had not been
a severity of virtue in Philocles, of which he feared
the effects.
*' I confess," said he, *' that though I love and
esteem him, I cannot perfectly reconcile myself to
his return. I have, even from my infancy, been
accustomed to praise, assiduity, and compliances,
which, in Philocles, I shall not find. Whenever I
took any measures that he disapproved, the dejec-
tion of his countenance was sufficient to condemn
me ; and when we were to^^ether in private, his be-
haviour was respectful and decent, indeed, but it
was ungi-acious and austere."
" Do you not see," replied Mentor, "that to
princes who have been spoiled by flattery, every
thing that is sincere and honest appears to be un-
gracious and austere ? Such princes are even weak
enough to suspect a want of zeal for their service,
and respect for their authority, where they do not
find a servility that is ready to flatter them in the
abuse of their power : they are offended at all
freedom of speech, all generosity of sentiment, as
pride, censoriousness, and sedition; and contract
a false delicacy, which every thing, short of flattery,
disappoints and disgusts. But let us suppose that
Philocles is really ungracious and austere ; will not
his austerity be preferable to the pernicious flattery
of those that are now about you ? Where will you
find a man without fault ? And is not that oi
speaking tnith, in a manner something too rough
and free, a fault from which you have less to fear
than any other ? Is it not, indeed, a fault which
your own indiscretion has made necessary to your
interest, as that only which can surmount the
aversion to truth that flattery has given you ? You
stand in need of a man who loves only tnith and
you ; who loves you better than you know how to
iove yourself; who will speak truth, notwithstanding
BOOK XIV. 246
your opposition, and force a way for it through all
your intrenclimeuts. Such n man, and so necessary,
is Philocles. Remember, that the greatest good
fortune a prince can hope i?, that one man of such
magnanimous genero5»itv should be born in liis reign:
in comparison of such a man, all the treasures of
the state are of no value ; and a prince can suffer
no punishment so dreadful, as that of losing him,
by becoming unworthy of his virtue, and not know-
iug how to profit by his services. You ought cer-
tainly to avail yourself of worthy men, though it is
not necessary that you should be blind to their faults :
in these never implicitly acquiesce, but endeavour
to correct them. Give merit, however, always a
favourable hearing; and let the public see, that you
at once distinguish and honour it ; but, above all
things, strive to be no longer what you have been.
Princes, whose virtues, like yours, have sufl^red by
the vices of others, generally content themselves with
a speculative disapprobation of corrupt men ; and at
the same time employ them with the utmost confi-
dence, and load them with riches and honour: on the
other hand, they value themselves upon discerning
and approving men of virtue ; but they reward
them only with empty praise, and want magnani-
mity to assign tberc wnployments, to admit them
to their friendsmp, or distinguish them by their
favour."
Idomeneus then confessed, that he was ashamed
of having so long delayed to deliver innocence from
oppression, and to punish tliose that had abused his
confidence ; and all scruples about recalling Philocles
being removed, Mentor liad no difficulty in persuad-
ing the king to dismiss his favourite: for when once
an opposition to a favourite has so far succeeded,
that he is suspected, and becomes troublesome, the
prince, fechng himself perplexed and uneasy, thinks
only how to get rid of him : all friendship vanishes,
ond all services are forgotten. The fall of a favoui'ite
246 TELEMACHUS.
gives no pain to his master, if, as soon as he is un-
done, he is removed out of sight.
Idomeneus immediately gave private orders to
Hegesippus, one of the principal officers of his
household, to seize Protesilaus and Timocrates, and
conduct them in safety to the isle of Samos ; to leave
them there ; and to bring Philocles back to Salentum.
Hegesippns, at the receipt of this order, burst into
tears of surprise and joy : " You will now," said he
to the king, "make every heart in your dominions
glad ; for these men were the cause of all the misfor-
tunes that have befallen you and your people. Good
men have now groaned twenty years under an op-
pression so severe, that they scarcely dared even to
groan : to complain was impossible, for those who
attempted to approach you, otherwise than by the
favourites, were sure to be immediately crushed by
their power."
Hegesippus then acquainted the king with innu-
merable instances of their treachery and inhumanity,
of which he had never heard, because nobody dared
to accuse them ; and told him also, that he had dis-
covered a conspiracy against the life of Mentor.
The king was struck with horror at the relation.
Hegesippns, that he might seize Protesilaus with-
out delay, went immediately to his house. It was
not so large as the palace; but it was better designed,
both for convenience and pleasure : the architecture
was in a better taste, and it was decorated with a
profusionof expense, which the most cruel oppression
had supplied. He was then in a marble saloon that
opened to his baths, reclining negligently upon a
couch, that was covered with purple embroidered
■with gold : he appeared to be weary, and even ex-
hausted with Ins labours : there was a gloom of dis-
content upon his brow, and his eye expressed a kind
of agitation and ferocity not to be described. The
principal persons of the kingdom sat round him upon
carpets, watching his looks even to the slightest
BOOK XIV. 1 17
glance of his eye, and reflecting every expression of
his countenance from their oivn : if he oponod his
mouth, all was ecstasy and admiration ; and, before
he had uttered a word, they vied with each other,
which should be loudest in the praise of what he had
to say. One of them regaled him with an account of
the services he had rendered to the king, heightened
with the most ridiculous exaggeration : another de-
clared, that his mother had conceived him by Jupiter
in the likeness of her husband, and that he was son
to the father of the gods. In some verses, that were
recited by a poet, he was said to have been instructed
by the Muses, and to have rivalled Apollo in all the
works of imagination and wit ; and another poet, still
more servile and shameless, celebrated him as the
inventor of the polite arts, and the father of a people,
among whom he had scattered plenty and happiness,
from the horn of Amalthea, with a liberal hand.
Protesilaus heard all this adulation with a cold,
negligent, and disdainful air, as if he thought his me-
rit was without bounds, and that he honoured those
too much from whom he condescended to receive
praise. Among other flatterers, there was one who
took the liberty to whisper some just upon the new
regidations that were taking place under the direction
of Mentor : the countenance of Protesilaus relaxed
into a smile ; and immoderate laughter immediately
shook the whole company, though the greatest part
knew nothing of what had been said. The counte-
nance of Protesilaus became again haughty and
severe, and every one immediatelv shrunk back into
timidity and silence : all watched for the happy mo-
ment in which he would turn his eye upon them, and
permit them to speak; and each, having some favour
to ask, discovered the greatest agitation and per-
plexity : their supplicatory posture siipplied the want
of words ; and they seemed to be impressed with the
same humility and revei-ence, as a mother, who peti-
tions the godfl at tticir alt«a-, tor the life of ou only
248 TELEMACHUS.
son : every countenance expressed a tender compla-
cency and admiration ; but every heart concealed
the most malignant envy, and implacahie hatred.
At this moment, Hegesippus entered the saloon
and, seizing the sword of Protesilaus, acquainted him,
tliat he had the king's orders to carry him to Samos.
At these dreadful words, all the arrogance of th«
favourite fell from him in a moment, Uke the frag-
ment of a rock that is broken from the summit : he
threw himself at the feet of Hegesippus ; he wept,
hesitated, faltered, trembled, and embraced the
knees of a man, upon whom, an hour before, he
would have disdained to turn his eye. At the same
time, his flatterers, who saw that his ruin was com-
plete and irreparable, insulted him with a meanness
and cruelty worthy of their adulation.
Hegesippus would uotallow him time even to take
leave of his family, or to secure his private papers,
which were all seized, and put into the king's hands.
Timocrates was also arrested at the same time, to
his inexpressible surprise ; for being upon ill terms
with 1 rotesilaus he liad not the least apprehension
of heing involved in his ruin; and they were both
carried on board a vessel, which had been prepared
to receive them.
They arrived in safety at Samos, where Hegesippus
left his prisoners; and, to complete their misfortunes,
he left them together. Here, with a rancour natural
to their circumstancesand disposition, they reproach-
ed each other with the crimes that had brought on
their ruin : here they were condemned to live, with-
out the least hope of returning to Salentum, at a
distance from their wives and children, not to men-
tion friends, for a friend they never had : with the
country they were wholly unacquainted,'; and had no
meansof subsistence, but b their labour; asituation,
of which the disadvantages were greatly aggravated
by their luxury and splendour, which long habit had
made almost as necessary to them as food and rest.
BOOK XIV. 24y
In tills condition, like two wild beasts of the forest,
they were always ready to tear each other to pieces.
*. In the mean time, Hegesippus inquired in what
part of the island Philoclos was to be found ; and he
was told that he lived at a considerable distance from
the city, upon a mountain, in which there was a cave
that served him for a habitation. Every one spoke of
him with the utmost admiration and esteem : " He
has never given oifence," said they, " in a single in-
stance, since he has been in the island : every heart is
touched at the patience of his labour, and the cheer-
fulness of his indigence : he possesses notliing, yet is
always content. Though be is remote both from the
business and pleasures of the world, without pro-
perty and without influence ; yet he can still find
means to oblige merit, and has a thousand contri-
vances to gratify his neighbours."
Hegesippus immediately repaired to the cave, which
he found empty and open ; for the poverty of Philo-
cles, and the simplicity of his manners, made it unne-
cessary for him to shut his door when he went out.
A mat of coarse rushes served him for a bed : he
rarely kindled a fire, because his food was generally
such as needed no dressing: in summer he lived upon
fruits fresh gathered, and upon dates and dried figs in
winter, quenching his thirst at aclear spring, that fell
in a natural cascade from the rock. His cave con-
tained nothing but his tools, and some books that he
read at certain hours, which he appropriated to that
purpose, not to decorate his mind or gratify his cu-
riosity, but tliat, while he rested from his labour, he
might gain instruction, and avoid being idle by learn-
ing to be good ; and he employed himself in sculp-
ture, not to procure reputation or wealth, but merely
to keep his body in exercise, and procure the neces-
saries of life without contracting obligations.
When Hegesippus entered the cave, he admired
the pieces of art that were l)egun. He observed a
Jr.piter, in whose countenance there was a serene
250 TELE.MACHUS.
majesty, by which he was immediately known to he
the father of gods and men: he perceived also a Mars,
well distinguished by a proud and menacing ferocity :
but he was most struck with a Minerva, that was re-
presented as encouraging the arts : the expression of
her countenance was at once noble and gracious : her
stature was tall, her shape easy, and her attitude so
natural, that the spectator was almost persuaded she
wovild move. Hegesippus, having viewed these
statues with great pleasure, retired ; and as he was
coming out of the cave, saw Philocles at a distance,
sitting upon the gras§, under the shade of a large
tree, and reading. He immediately advanced to-
wards him, and Philocles, who perceived him, scarce
knew what to think: " Is not that Hegesippus," said
he to himself, " with whom I was so long fomiliar at
Crete ? But what can have brought him to an island
so remote as Samos ? Is he not dead, and is not
this his shade which has returned from the banks of
the Styx to revisit the earth ?"
While he was thus doubting of what he saw, Hege-
sippus came so near, that his doubts were at an end.
* ' Is it you, then, " said he, embracing him, "my dear,
my early friend ? What accident, or what tempest,
has thrown you upon this coast ? Have you volun-
tarily deserted the island of Crete ? or have you been
driven from your country, by misfortune hke mine?"
" It is not misfortune," said Hegesippus, " but the
favour of the gods, that has brought me hither." He
then gave his fiiend a particular account of the long
tyranny of Protesilaus, of his intrigues with Timo-
crates, of the calamities which they had brought upon
Idomeneus ; of his expulsion from the throne, his
flight to Hesperia, the founding of Salentum, the ar-
rival of Mentor and Telemachus, the wisdom which
Mentor had diffused into the mind of the king, and
the disgrace of the traitoi-s by whom he had been
abused. He added, that he had brought them in
oxile to Samos, whither they had uaiiished Philocles;
BOOK XIV. 251
and concluded, that he hud orders to bring him back
to Salentum, where the king, who was convinced of
his integrity, intended to intrust him with the ad-
ministration of his government, and distinguish him
by rewards adequate to his merit."
" You see that cave," said Philocles, " which is
more tit for the hamit of wild beasts, than the habi-
tation of a man ; and yet in that cave I have enjoyed
more tra!Kiuillity and repose than in the gorgeous
palaces of Crete. I am no more deceived by man ;
for with man I have no more connexion : I neither
see, nor hear, nor need him : my own hard hands,
which are now inm-ed lo labour, supply me with such
simple food as nature has made necessary ; and this
slitrlit stuff that you see, sufficing to cover me, I am
without wants; and I enjoy a sei'cne, perfect, and
delightful freedom, of which the wisdom thf.t is con-
tained in my books teaches me the proper use. Why
then should I again mix with mankind, and again
suffer by their jealousy, fraud, and caprice ? Envy
not, my dear Ilegesippus, the good fortune I possess.
Protesilaus has betrayed the king, and would have
murdered me : he is fallen into his own snare, but he
has done me no hurt : he has eventually done me
good, in the highest degree ; he hvertv, entwined with gold!" The tefirs then started
254 TELEMACHUS.
to his eyes, and prostrating himself to the earth, he
adored the Naiad of the translucent spring that had
quenched his thirst, and the Nymphs of the moun-
tains that surrounded his retreat. Echo heard his
expressions of tenderness and regret ; and with a
gentle and plaintive voice, repeated them to all the
sylvan deities of the place.
Philocles then accompanied Hegesippus to the city,
in order to embark. He thought that Protesilaus,
overwhelmed with confusion, and burning with re-
sentment, would be glad to avoid him ; but he was
mistaken : men without virtue are without shame,
and always ready to stoop to anv meanness. Phil-
ocles modestly concealed himself, for fear the unhappy
wretch should see him ; for he supposed, that, to see
the prosperity of an enemy, which was founded on
his ruin, would aggravate his misery : but Protesi-
laus sought him cut with great eagerness, and endea-
voured to excite his compassion, and engage him t6
solicit the king for permission to return to Salentum.
Philocles, hovv^ever, was too sincere to give him the
least hope that he would comply ; and he knew, bet-
ter than any other, the mischiefs that his return
woTild produce : but he soothed him with expressions
of pity, offered him such consolation as his situation
would admit, and exhorted him to propitiate the gods
by purity of manners, and resignation to his suifer-
ings. As he had heard that the king had taken from
him all the wealth that he had unjustly acquired,
he promised him two things, which he afterwards
faithfully performed — to take his wife and children,
who remained at Salentum, exposed to all the mise-
ries of poverty, and all the dangers of popular re-
sentment, under his protection ; and to send him
some supplies of money, to alleviate the distress he
must suffer in a state of banishment so remote fiom
his country.
The wind being fair, Hegesippus hastened the de-
parture of his friend. Protesilaus saw them embark :
BOOK XIV. 26fl
his eyes were directed invariably towards the sea;
and pursued the vessel, as she made her way through
the parting waves ; and the wind every moment in-
creased her distance. When his eye could distinguish
it no more, its image was still impressed upon his
mind : at last, seized with the frenzy of despair, he
rolled himself in the sands, tore his hair, and re-
proached the gods for the severity of their justice:
he c;dlod at last upon death, but even death rejected
his petition to die, and disdained to deliver him from
the misery from which he wanted courage to deliver
himself.
In the mean time, the vessel, favoured by Neptune
and the winds, soon arrived at Salentum. When tho
kiiiLT was told that it was entering the port, he ran out
with Mentor to meet Philocles, whom he tenderly
embraced, and expressed the utmost regret at having
so injuriously authorized an attempt upon his Hfe.
This acknowledgment was so far from degrading him
in the opinion of his people, that every one consider-
ed it as the effort of an exalted mind, wliich, as it
were, triumphed over its own failings, by confessing
them with a view to reparation. The public joy at
the return of Philocles, the friend of man, and at the
wisdom and goodness expressed by the king, was so
great, that it overflowed in tears.
Philocles received the caresses of his prince with the
most respectful modesty, and was impatient to escape
from the acclamations of the people. He followed
Idomeneus to the palace ; and though Mentor and
he had never seen each other before, there was imme-
diately the same confidence between them as if they
had been familiar from their birth ; as if the gods,
who have withheld from the wicked the power of
distinguishing the good, had imparted to the good
a faculty of immediately distinguishing each other:
those who have a love for virtue cannot be together
without being united by that virtue which they love
Philocles, after a short time, requested the king to
256 TELEMACHUS.
dismisshimtosome retirement near Salentum, where
he might live in the same obscurity that he had en-
joyed at Sam OS. The king granted his request ; but
went almost every day with Mentor to visit him in
his retreat, where they consulted how the laws might
best be established, and the government fixed upon
a permanent foundation for the advantage of the
people.
The two principal objects of their consideration
were the education of children, and the manner of
life to be prescribed during peace. As to the chil-
dren. Mentor said that they belonged less to their
parents than to the state; " They are the children
of the comxuunity," said he : "and they are, at once,
its hope, and its strength. It is too late to con-ect
them, when habits of vice haA'^e been acquired ; and
it is doing little to exclude them from employments,
when they are become unworthy of trust. It is
always better to prevent evil than to punish it. The
prince, who is the father of his people, is more par-
ticularly the father of the youth, who may be con-
sidered as the flower of the nation ; and it is in the
flower, that care should be taken of the fruit ; aking,
therefore, should not disdain to watch over the rising
generation, nor to appoint others to watch with him.
Let him enforce, with inflexible constancy, the laws
of Minos, which ordain, that children shall be so edu-
cated as to endure pain without impatience, and ex-
pect death without terror : that the contempt of luxury
and wealth shall be honour ; and injustice, ingrati-
tude, and voluptuous idleness, infamy ; that children,
from their tenderest youth, shall be taught to com-
memorate the achievements of heroes, the favourites
of Heaven, who have sacrificed private interest to
their country, and signalized their courage in battle,
byjoininginsongsto their honour, at once to animate
them by examples of heroic virtue, and harmonize
their souls by music; that they should learn to be
tender to their friends, faithful to their allies, and
BOOK XIV. 257
equitable to all men, their enemies not excepted ;
above all things, that they should be taught to dread
the reproach of conscience, as an evil much greater
than torture and death. If these maxims are im-
pressed early upon the heart, with all the power of
eloquence, and the charms of music, there will be
few, indeed, in whom they will not kindle the love
of virtue and of fame.
" It is," added Mentor, "of the utmost impor-
tance to establish public schools for inuring youth
to the most robust exercises, and preserving them
from effeminacy and idleness, which render the
most liberal endowments of nature useless." He ad-
vised the institution of public games and shows, with
as much variety as could be contrived, to rouse the
attention, and interest the passions of the people ;
but, above all, to render the body supple, vigorous,
and active : and he thought it proper to excite emu-
lation, by giving prizes to those that should excel.
He wished also, as the most powerful preservative
against general depravity of manners, that the people
might marry early ; and that parents, without any
views of interest, would leave the young men to
the free choice of such wives as their inclination
naturally led them to prefer.
But while these measures were concerted, to pre-
serve a blameless simplicity among the rising genera-
tion, to render them laborious and tractable, and, at
the same time, to give them a st-nse of honour, Pbi-
locles, whose military genius made him ibnd of war,
observed to Mentor, that it would signify little to
institute public exercises, if the youth were suft'ered
to languish in perpetual peace, without bringing their
courage to the test, or acquiring experience m the
field : " The nation," sayshe, "will be insensibly en-
feebled; courage will relax into effeminate softness;
and a general depravity, the necessary effect of un-
mterrupted abundance and tranquillity, will render
.hem an easy prey to any warlike nation that shall
258 TELEMACHUS.
attack them ; and to avoid the miseries of war, they
will incur the most deplorable slavery."
"The calamities of war," said Mentor, "are more
to be dreaded than you imagine. War never fails to
exhaust the state, and endanger its destruction, with
whatever success it is carried on. Though it may be
commenced with advantage, it can never be finished
without danger of the most fatal reverse of fortune :
vith whatever superiority of strength an engagement
s begun, the least mistake, the slightest accident,
may turn the scale, and give victory to the enemy.
Nor can a nation, that should be always victorious,
prosper; it would destroy itself by destroying others:
the country would be depopulated, the 'soil untilled,
and trade interrupted ; and, what is still worse, the
best laws would lose their force, and a corruption of
manners insensibly take place. Literature will be
neglected among the youth ; the troops, conscious of
their own importance, will indulge themselves in the
most pernicious licentiousness with impunity, and
the disorder will necessarily spread through all the
branches of government. A prince who, in the ac-
quisition of glory, would sacrifice the life of half his
subjects, and the happiness of the rest, is unworthy
of the glory he would acquire ; and deserves to lose
what he rightfully possesses, for endeavouring un-
justly to usurp the possessions of another.
" It is, however, easy to exercise the courage of the
people in a time of peace. We have already insti-
tuted public exercises, and assigned prizes to excite
emulation: we have directed that the achievements
of the brave shall be celebrated in songs to their
honour, which will kindle, in the breasts even of
children, a desire of glory, and animate them to the
exei-cise of heroic virtue : we have also taken care that
they shall be inured to sobriety and labour. But this
is not all. When any of your allies shall be engaged
in war, the flower of your youth, particularly those
who appear to have a militanr genius, and will profit
BOOK XIV. 259
most by experience, should be sent as auxiliaries into
the service: you will thus stand high in the estima-
tion of the states with which you are connected ;
your friendship will be sought, and your displeasure
dreaded; and, witliou* b'^ing engaged in war in your
own countrv, and a' your own expense, you will al-
ways have a nunT^rous youth of habitual courage and
experimental slvill. Though you are at peace your-
selves, yon should treat, with great honour, those
who have distinguished abilities for war : for the best
way of keeping" war at a distance is to encourage
military knowledge, to honour those who excel in the
profession of arms, and to have some of your people
alw ivs in foreign service, who will know the strength
a-..d discipline of the neighbouring states, and the
manner of their military operations; to be, at once,
superior to the ambition that would court war, and
to the effeminacy that would fear it. Thus being
always prepared for war, when you are driven into
it by necessity, you will find that the necessity of
making war will seldom happen.
" When your allies are about to make war upon
each other, you should always interfere as mediator.
You will thus acquire a genuine and lasting glory,
which sauiruinary conquest can never give; you will
gain the love and esteem of foreign nations, and
become necessary to them all : you will rule other
states by the confidence they place in you, as you
govern your own by the authority of your station :
you will be the common repository of their secrets,
the arbiter of their differences, and the object of their
love: your fame will then fly to the remotest regions
of the earth ; and your name, like incense from the
altars of the trods, shall be wafted from clime to
clime, as far as virtue can be known and loved. If,
in possession of this influence and this honour, a
neighbouring nation should, contrary to all the rules
of justice, commence hostilities against you, it will
find you disciplined and ready ; and, which is jet
260 TELEMACHUS.
more effectual strength, beloved and succoured when
you are in danger: your neighbours wiU be alarmed
tor themselves, and consider your preservation as es-
sential to public safety. This will be your security,
in comparison of which walls and ramparts are no
defence: this is true glory; the bright reality, which
few kings have distinguished and pursued ; which
few kings have not lett unknown behind them, to
foUow an illusive phantom, still distant from the
prize, in proportion to their speed !"
When Mentor had done speaking, Philocles fixed
his eyes upon him with an astonishment that pre-
vented reply : then, looking upon the king, he was
delighted to perceive that he drank the wisdom
which flowed froni the lips of the stranger, as the
traveller, thirsting in the desert, drinks of an unex-
pected spi-ing.
Thus Minerva, under the figure of Mentor, esta-
blished the best laws, and the wisest principles of
government, at Salentum ; not so much that the
kingdom of Idomeneus might fiourish, as to show
Telemachus, at his return, by a striking example,
what may be effected by a wise government, with
respect to the happiness of the people, and the honour
of the prince.
BOOK XV.
Telemachus, in the camp of the allies, grains the friendship of Philoc-
tetes, who was not at first favourably "disposed to him, on his father's
accoiinl. PhilocteieB relates his adventures; and introduces a par-
ticular account of the death of Hercules, by the poisoned garment
which the centaur Nessus had given to Deiauira : he relates how he
obtained from that hero his poisoned arrows, without which the
city of Troy could not be taken; how he was punished for betraving
his secret, by various sufferings iu the island of Lemnos ; and liow
Ulysses employed IS'eoptolemus to engage him in the expedition
against Troy, where he was cured of his wound.
Telemachus, in the mean time, was displaying
iiis courage among the perils of war. As soon as
lie had quitted Salentum, he appUed himself \Vith
great diligence to gain the esteem of the old com-
r.ianders, whose reputation and experience were
HOOK XV. 261
consummate. Nfstor, who had before seen him at
Pylos, and who had always loved Ulysses, treated
lum as if lie had been his son: he gave him many
lessons of instruction, and illustrated his precepts
by examples. lie related all the adventures of his
youth, and told him the most remarkable achieve-
ments which he had seen performed by the heroes
of the preceding age ; for the memory of Nestor,
who had lived to see three generations, contained
•he historv of ancient times with the same fidelity
£ an inscription iipon marble or brass.
Philoctetes did not at first regard Telemachus with
the same kindness: the enmity which he had so long
clierished in his breast against Ulysses, prejudiced
him airainst his son, and he could not see, without
paiu, that the gods appeared to interest themselves
in his fortunes, and to intend him a glory equal to
that of the heroes by whom Troy had been ovei*-
thrown. But the unaffected modesty of Telemachus
at length surmounted his resentment, and he could
not but love that virtue which appeared so amiable
and sweet. He frequently took him aside, and talk-
ed to him with the most unreserved confidence:
*' My son," said he, " for I now make no scruple to
call you so, I must confess that your father and I
have been long enemies to each other. I acknow-
ledge cdso that my enmity was not softened by mu-
tual danger and mutual success, for it continued
unabated after we had laid Troy in ruins; and when
I saw you, I found it difficult to love even virtue in
the son of Ulysses: I have often reproached myself
for this reluctance, which, however, I still felt : biit
virtue, when it is gentle, placid, ingenuous, and un-
assuming, nmst at last compel afiection and es-
teem." Philoctetes, in the course of these conversa-
tions, way insensibly led to acquaint Telemachus
with what had given rise to the animosity between
him and Ulysses.
•' It is necessary," said he, " that I should tell rav
2C2 TELEMACHUS.
story from the beginning. I was the inseparable
companion of Hercules, the great example of divine
virtue, the destroyer of monsters; whose prowess
was a blessing to the earth; and compared with
whom, all other heroes are but as reeds to the oak,
or sparrows to the eagle. Love, a passion that has
produced every species of calamity, was the cause of
his misfortunes: and his misfortunes were the cause
of mine. To this shameful passion the virtues of
Hercules were opposed in vain; and, after all his
conquests, he was himself the sport of Cupid, He
never remembered, without a blush of ingenuous
shame, his having laid by his dignity, to spin in the
chamber of Omphale, like the most abject and effe-
minate of men: he has frequently deplored this part
of his life, as having sullied his virtue, and ob-
scured the glory of his labours; and vet, such is the
weakness and inconsistency of man, who thinks him-
self all-sufficient, and yet yields without a struggle,
the great Hercules was again taken in the snare of
love, and sunk again into a captivity which he had
so often remembered with indignation and contempt.
He became enamoured of Deianira, and would have
been happy if he had continued constant in his
passion for this woman, whom he made his wife; but
the youthful beauty of lole, to whom the Graces had
given all their charms, soon seduced him to a new
passion. Deianira became jealous, and unhappily
recollected the fatal garment, which had been given
to her by Nessus, the centaur, when he was dying, as
a certam means of reviving the love of Hercules, if
he should ever neglect her for another. This garment
had imbibed the blood of the centaur, to which the
arrow that slew him had communicated its poison:
for the arrows of Hercules were dipped in the blood
of the Lernsean Hydra, which gave them a malignity
so powerful, that the slightest wouud they could
make was mortal.
" As soon as Hercules had put on the garment, he
BOOK XV. 263
feit tne poison burn even to the marrow in the bone :
he cried out, in his sigony, with a voice more than
human: the sound was returned by mount CEta, the
echo deepened in the valleys, and the sea itself
seemed to be moved. The roar of the most furious
bulls when thev fiu'ht, was not so dreadful as the
cries of Hercules. Lycas, who brought him the gar-
ment from Deianirn, happening unfortunately to ap-
proach him, he seized him in the distraction of his
torments, and whirling him round, as a slinger whirls
a stone that he would dismiss with all his strength,
he threw him from the top of the mountain ; and, fall-
ing into the sea, he was immediately transformed
to a rock, which still retains the figure of a man, and
which, still beaten by the surge, alarms the pilot,
while he is yet distant from the shore.
" After the fate of Lycas, I thought I could trust
Hercules no more: and, therefore, endeavoured to
conceal myself in the caverns of the rock. From this
retreat I saw kim, with one hand, root up the lofty
pil^os that towered to the sky, and oaks which had
repelled the storms of successive generations; and,
with the other, cn:'eavour to tear off the f :tal gar-
ments, which adhered like another skin, and seemed
) be incorporated with his body : in proportion as
he tore it off, he tore off also the flesh: his blood fol-
lowed in a torrent, and the earth was im purpled round
him. But his virtue at leuL-'th surmounted his sense
of pain, and he cried out, 'Thou art witness, Phil-
octetes ! to the tonnents which the gods inflict upon
me, and they are just: I have offended Heaven, and
violated the vows of connubial love : after all my
conquests, I have meanly given up mv heart to for-
biddiMi beauty. I perish, and am content to perish,
that Divine justice may be satisfied. But, ala> ! my
dear friend, whither art thou fled ? Transported by
excess of pain, I have, indeed, destroyed unhappy
Lycjis, by an act of cruelty for whi' h 1 abhor myself:
ne w;is a stranger to the poison that he brought me;
264 TELEMACHUS-
he committed no crime, he deserved no punishment.
But could the sacred ties of friendship be forgotten ?
Could I attempt the life of Philoctetes ? My love for
him can cease only with my life : into his breast will
I breathe my departini';' spirit, and to his care will
I confide my ashes. Where art thou, then, my dear
Philoctetes ? Where art thou, Philoctetes, the only
object of my hope upon earth?"
" Struck with this tender expostulation, I rushed
towards him, and he stretched out his arms to cm-
brace me : yet, before I reached him, he drew them
back, lest he should kindle in my bosom the fatal
fires that consumed his own ' Alas,' said he, ' even
this consolation is denied me !' He then turned
from me ; aud collecting all the trees that he had
rooted up, into a funeral pile, upon the summit of
the mountain, he ascended it with a kind of dread-
ful tranquilhty : he spread under him the skin of
the Nemean lion, which, while he was traversing
the earth from one extremity to the ©ther, destroy-
ing monsters, and succouring distress, he had warn
as a mantle ; and reclining upon his club, he com-
manded me to set fire to the wood. This command,
though I trembled with horror, I could not refuse
to obey ; for his misery was so great, that life was
no longer a bounty of Heaven : and I feared that,
in the extremity of his torment, he might do some-
thing unworthy of the virtue which had astonished
the world."
" When he perceived that the pile had taken fire,
* Now,' said he, * my dear Philoctetes, I know that
thy friendship is sincere, for my honour is dearer to
thee than my life. May thy reward be from Hea-
ven ! I give thee all I can bestow : these aiTows,
dipped in the blood of the Lernsean Hydra, I valued
more than all that I possessed ; and they are thine.
Thou knowest that the wounds which they make are
mortal : they rendered me invincible, and so they
will render thee; uor will any man dure to lift up his
BOOK XV. 266
hand BJ,-ainst thee. Remember that I die faithful to
our triendship, and forget not how close I held thee
to my heart. If thou art, indeed, touched with my
misfortunes, there is still one consolation in thy
power : promise to acquaint no man with my death,
and never to reveal the place where thou shalt hide
my ashes. I promised, in an agony of tenderness
and grief, and I consecrated my promise by an oath.
A beam of joy sparkled in his eyes; but a sheet of
flame immediately surrounded him, stilled his voice,
and almost hid him from my sight : I caught, how-
ever, a glimpse of him through the flame, and I
perceived that his countenance was as serene as if
he had been surrounded with festivity and joy at
the banquet of a friend, covered with perfume, and
crowned with flowers."
" The flames quickly consumed his terrestrial and
mortal part : of that nature which he had received
from his mother Alcmena, there were no remains ;
buj; he preserved, by the decree of Jove, that pure
and immortal essence, that celestial flame, the true
principle of life which he had received from the fa-
ther of the gods ; with the gods therefore he drank
immortality under the golden roofs of Olympus, and
they gave him Hebe to wife ; the lovely Hebe, the
goddess of youth, who had flUed the bowl of nectar
to Jupiter, before that honour was bestowed upon
Ganymede."
" In the mean time, the arrows that had been
given me as a pledge of superior prowess and fame,
proved an inexhaustible source of misfortune. When
the confederate princes of Greece undertook to re-
venge the wrong done to Menelaus by Paris, who
had basely stolen away Helen, and to lay the king-
dom of Priam in ruins, they learned from the oracle
of Apollo, that in this enterprise they would never
succeed, if they did not take with them the arrows
of Hercules."
•* Your father Ulysses, whose penetration and
2G6 tp:lemachus.
activity rendered him superior in every council, un-
dertook to persuade me to accompany them to the
siege of Troy ; and to take the arrows of Herculesj
which he believed to be in my possession, with me.
1g was now long since Hercules bad appera-ed in the
world ; no exploits of the hero was ndiitcd ; and
monsters and robbers began to appear with impunity.
The Greeks knew not what opinion to form concern-
ing him : some affirmed that he was dead ; others,
that he was gone to subdue the Scythians, under the
frozen bear ; but Ulysses maintained that he was
dead, and engaged to make me confess it. He came
to me, while 1 was still lamenting the loss of my il-
lustrious friend with inconsolable sorrow : he found
it exti-emely difficult to speak to me, for I avoided
the sight of mankind : I could not think of quitting
the deserts of mount (Eta, where I had been witness
to the death of Alcides ; and was wholly employed in
forming his image in my mind, and weeping at the
remembrance of his sufferings, which every view of
these mournful places renewed. But, upon the lips
of your father, there was a sweet and irresistible
eloquence : he seemed to take an equal part in my
affliction, and, when I wept, he wept with me : he
gained upon my heart by an insensible approach,
and he obtained my confidence even before I knew it.
He interested my tenderness for the Grecian princes,
who had undertaken a just war, in which, without
me, they could not be successful : he could not, how-
ever, draw from me the secret that I had sworn to
keep ; but though I did not confess it, he had suffi-
cient evidence that Hercules was dead, and he press-
ed me to tell him where I had concealed his ashes.
" I could not think of perjury without horror:
and yet, alas ! I eluded the vow that I had made to
Hercules and to Heaven, I discovered the place
where I had deposited the remains of the hero by
striking it with my foot ; and the gods have punished
ine for the fraud. I then joined the confederatee^.
BOOK XV. 267
who received me with as much joy as they would
have received Hercules himself. Wlien we were on
shore at the island of Lemnos, I was willing to show
the Greeks what my an-ows would do ; and, there-
fore, prepared to shoot a deer, which I saw^ rush into
the forest ; but, by some accident, I let the shaft slip
out of my hand, and, falling on my foot, it gave me
a wound, of which I still feel the effects. I was im-
mediately seized with the same pains that had
destroyed Hercules, and the echoes of the island
repeated my complaints day and night. A black and
corrupted blood flowed incessantly from my wound,
infected the air, and filled the camp with an intolera-
ble stench : the whole armv was struck with horror
at my condition, and concluded it to be the just
punishment of the gods.
" Ulysses, who had engaged me in the expedition,
was the first to abandon me, as I have since learned,
because he preferred victory and the common interest
of Greece, to private friendship and the punctilios of
decorum. The horror of my wound, the infection
that it spread, and the dreadful cries that it forced
from me, produced such an effect upon the army,
that it was no longer possible to sacrifice in the
camp. But when the Greeks abandoned me by the
counsel of Ulysses, I considered his policy as the
most aggravated inhumanity, and the basest breach
of faith. I was blinded by prejudice and self-love ;
and did not perceive that the wisest men were most
against me, and that the gods themselves were
become my enemies.
" I remained, during almost the whole time that
Troy was besieged, alone, without succour, without
consolation, without hope ; the victim of intolerable
anguish, in a desolate island, where I saw no object
but the rude productions of uncultivated nature, and
heard only the roaring of the surge that was broken
against the rocks. In one of the mountains of this
deoert, 1 found a cavern; the summit, which towered
268 TELEMACHUS.
to the skies, was divided into a fork , and at the bot-
tom, was a spring of clear water. This cavern, my
only dwelling, was the retreat of wild beasts of vari-
ous kinds, to whose fury I was exposed night and
Jay. I gathered a few leaves into an heap for my
bed ; and my whole possessions were a wooden
vessel of the rudest workmanship, and a few tattered
garments, which I wrapped round my wound to
staunch the blood, and used also to clean it. In this
place, forsaken of man, and hatefid to the gods, I
sometimes endeavoured to suspend the sense of my
misery by shooting at the pigeons and other birds that
flew round the rock. When I had brought one to the
ground, I crawled with great pain and difficulty to
take it up, that it might serve me for food ; and
thus my own hands provided me subsistence.
*' The Greeks, indeed, left me some provisions,
when they quitted the island ; but these were soon
exhausted. I dressed such as I procured, at a fire
wliich I kindled by striking a flint ; and this kind of
life, rude and forlorn as it was, would not have been
unpleasing to me, the ingratitude and perfidy of man
having reconciled me to sohtude, if it had not been
for the pain that I endured from my wound, and
the perpi^tual review of my singular misfortunes.
' What 1' said I to myself, ' seduce a man from his
country, upon pretence that he alone can avenge the
cause of Greece ; and then leave him in an unin-
habited island, when he is asleep!' for I was asleep
when the Greeks deserted me : and you may judge
in what an agony of consternation and grief I
awaked, and saw their fleet standing from the shore.
I looked round me, to find some gleam of comfort ;
but all was desolation and despair.
" Thisisland had neither port nor commerce; and
was not only without inhabitants but without visi-
tors, except such as came by force. As no man set
foot on the shore, but those who were driven there
by tempest, I could hope for society only by ship-
BOOK XV. 289
w reck ; and I l:ne\v, that if distress should force any-
unfortunate niarinors \ipon the island, they would
not dare to take mo with them when they lell it, lest
they should incur the resentment, not of the Greeks
only, but the s:ods. I suffered remorse, and pain,
and hunger, ten years : 1 languished with a wound
that I could not cure ; and hope itself was extin-
guished in my breast.
" One day, as 1 returned from seeking some medi-
cinal herbs for my wound, I was surprised to find,
at the entrance of my cave, a young man of a
graceful appearance, but a lofty and heroic port.
I took him, at the first glance, for Achilles, whom
he greatly resembled in his features, aspect, and de-
portmeul ; and I was convinced of my mistake only
by his age. I observed that his whole countenance
expressed perplexity and compassion : he was touch-
ed to see with what pain and difficulty I crawled
along ; and his heart melted at my complaints,
which the echoes of the shore returned.
" 1 called out, while I was yet at a distance, * O
stranger ! what misfortune has cast thee upon this
island, forsaken of men ? I know thy habit to be
Grecian; a habit which, in spite of my wrongs, I
love. O ! let me hear thy vdce ; and once more
find, upon thy lips, that language which I learned
in infancy, and which this dreadful solitude has so
long forbidden me to speak. Let not my appear-
ance alarm you ; for the wretch whom you behold
is not an object of fear, but of pity.' — The stranger
had no sooner answered, ' I am a Greek,' than I
cried out, • After such silence without associate,
such pain without consolation how sweet is the
sound ! O my son ! what misfortune, what tem-
pest, or rather, what favourable gale, has brought
thee hither, to put an end to mv sufferings ?' He
leplied, ' I am of the island of Scyros, whither I
am tibout to return ; and it is said, that I tim the
son of Achilles : I have now answered your inqui-
\9
270 TELEMaCHUS.
ries.' — So brief a reply left my curiosity unsatisfied :
' son of Achilles, said I, ' the f'rieud of in>
heart, who wert fostered by Lycomedes with the
tenderness of a parent, whence art thou come, and
what has brought thee to this place ?' — ' I come,'
he repUed, * from the siege of Troy.' — ' Thou wast
not,' said I, ' in the first expedition,' — ' Wast thou
in it, then?' said he. 'I perceive,' said I, 'that
thou knowest neither the name nor the misfortunes
of Pliiloctetes. Wretch that I am ! my persecutors
insult me in my calamity. Greece is a stranger to
my sufferings, which every moment increase. The
Atrides have reduced me to this condition : may
the gods reward them as they deserve 1*
" I then related the manner in which I had beeX
abandoned by the Greeks ; and, as soon as Neopto-
lemus had heard my complaints, he made me the
confidant of his own. — ' After the death of Achilles,'
said he. — ' How !' said I, ' is Achilles dead ? For-
give the tears that inteiTupt you, for I owe them
to the memoiy of your father,' — ' Such inteniip-
tion,' replied Neoptolemus, 'is soothing to my
sorrow : what can so much alleviate my loss as the
tears of Philoctetes !'
" Neoptolemus then re?umed the story — ' After
the death of Achilles,' said he, ' Ulysses and Phenix
came to me, and told me that Troy could not be
taken till I came to the siege. I was easily per-
suaded to go with them ; for my grief for the death
of Achilles, and a desire of inheriting his glory in so
celebrated a war, were inducements that almost
made persuasion unnecessary. When I arrived at
Sigeum, the whole army gathered round me : every
one was ready to swear, that he l^eheld Achilles ;
but, alas ! Achilles was no more. In the presump-
tion of youth and inexperience, I thought I might
hope every thing from those wlio were so liberal of
praise : I therelore demanded my father's arms of
the Atrides ; but their answer was a cruel disap-
BOOK XV. 271
pointment of my expectations : ' You shall have,'
said tliey, ' whatever else belonged to youi- father;
but his arms are allotted to Ulysses.'
" ' This threw me into confusion, and tears, and
rage. But Ulvsses rephed, without emotion, ' You
have not endured with us the dangers of a tedious
siege, you have not merited such arms ; you have
demanded them too proudly, and they shall never
be yours.' — My right being thus unjustly wrested
from me, I am returning to the isle of Scyros, yet
more incensed against the Atrides than Ulysses : to
all who are their enemies may the gods be friends !
And now, Philoctetes, I have told thee all.'
" I then asked Neoptolemus, how it happened
that Ajax, the son of Telamon, did not interpose
to prevent so flagitious an injustice ? — 'Ajax,* said
he, ' is dead.' — ' Is Ajax dead,' said I, ' and Ulysses
alive and prosperous ?' I then inquired after Anti-
lochus, the son of Nestor; and Patroclus, the
favourite of Achilles: 'they also,' said he, 'are
dead.' * Alas !' said I, ' are Antilochus and Patro-
clus dead ? How does war, with unrelenting and
undistinguishing destruction, sweep away the right-
eous, and spare the wicked ? Ulysses lives ; and
BO, I doubt not, does Thersites. Such is the ordi-
nation of the gods ! and yet we still honour them
with praise.'
" While I was thus burning with resentment
against your father, Neoptolemus continued to de-
caive me : ' I am going, ' said he, with a mournful
accent, ' to live content in the isle of Scyros ; which,
though uncultivated and obscure, is yet far from the
armies of Greece, where evil prevails over good.
Farewell ! may the gods vouchsafe to restore thy
health !' ' O my son !' said I, ' I conjure thee by the
manes of thy father, by thy mother, and by all that
is dear to thee upon earth, not to leave me alone in
this extremity of pain and sorrow : I know I shall
be a burden to you, but it would disgrace your
272 TELEMACHUS.
humamty to leave me here. Place me in the prcr»*,
the stern, or even the hold of your vessel, where-
ever I shall least offend you : in the estimation of a
nohle mind, there is glory in doing good. Do not
abandon me in a desert, where there are no traces
of men : take me with you to Scyros : or leave me
at Euboea, where I shall be near to mount (Eta,
to Trachin, and the pleasing banks of Thessalian
Spercius ; or send me back to my father ! Alas !
my tears suggest, that my father is dead : I sent to
him for a vessel, wliich has never arrived ; and it
is, therefore, certain, either that he is dead, or that
those who promised to acquaint him with my dis-
tresses have betrayed their trust. My last hope is in
thee, O my son ! Consider the uncertainty of aU
sublunaiy things. The prosperous should fear to
abuse prosperity ; and never fail to succour the
distress which they are liable t8 feel !*
" Such, in the intolerable anguish of my mind,
was my address to Neoptolemus, and he promised
to take me with him. My heart then leaped for
{*oy : ' O happy day !' said I : ' O amiable Neopto-
emus ! worthy to inherit the glory of thy father !
Ye dear companions, with whom I shall return to
the world of Hfe, suffer me to bid this mournful re-
treat farewell : see where I have lived, and consider
what I have endured ! My sufferings have been
more than another could sustain ; but I was instruct-
ed by Necessity, and she teaches what otherwise
could not be known : those who are without suffer-
ings, are without knowledge : they distinguish neither
good nor evil : and are alike strangers to mankind,
and to themselves.' After this effusion of my heart,
I took my bow and arrows in my hand.
*' Neoptolemus then requested that I would per-
mit him to kiss the celebrated arms that had been
consecrated by the invincible Alcidcs. ' To you,
said I, ' all tilings are permitted : you, my son,
restore me to light and life, to my country, my
BOOK XV. 273
father, my friends, and myself: yo\i may touch
these aiuns ; and boast, that you are the ouly Greek
that deserves to touch them.' Neoptolenius imme-
diatelv came into my coll, to .ulniire my arrows.
At tliis moment a sudden pang totally suspended
my facultii's : I no longer knew what I did, but
called for a sword, that I might cut off my foot.
I cried out for death, and reproached him with delay :
' Burn me,' said I to Neoptolcmus, ' this moment,
as I burnt the son of Jove upon mount CEta. O
earth ! receive a dying wretch, who shall never
more rise from thy bosom.' I lell immediately to
the i: round without appearance of life, a state in
wliich these fits of pain usually left me : a profuse
sweat at length relieved me, and a black and cor-
rupted ichor flowed from my wound. While 1 con-
tinued insensible, it would have been easy for Neop-
tolemus to have carried off my arms ; but he was the
son of Achilles, and his natiire was superior to fraud.
" When I recovered, I perceived great confusion
in his countenance ; and he sighed like a man new
to dissimulation, and practising it with violence to
himself: ' What !' said I, ' do yoii meditate to take
advantage of my infirmity ?' — ' You must go with
me,' said he, ' to the siege of Troy.' — ' What do I
hear !' said I : ' I am betrayed. O my son ! give
me back the bow ; to withhold it is to rob me of
life. Alas ! he answers me nothing : he looks
steadily upon me, without emotion : over his heart
I have no power ! Ye winding shores ! ye promon-
tories, that overhang the deep! ye broken rocks!
ye savage beasts, that prowl these scenes of desola-
tion I I complain to you ; for, beside you, there are
none to whom I can complain : to you my groans
are familiar. Must I be tluis betrayed by the son
of Achilles ! lie robs me of the bow, which the
hand of Hercules has made sacred ; he would compel
me to the camp of Greece, Jis a trophy of the war ;
nor sees, tliat hia victory is not over the living,
274 TELE HUS.
but the dead, a sKade, a phantom, that exists only
in idea I O that he had assailed me when my
vigour was unimpaired ! but even now he has taken
me by surprise. What expedient shall I try ! Re-
store what thou hast taken : restore my arms, O
my son ! and let thy conduct be worthy of thy
father and thyself. What dost thou answer ? Thou
art inexorably silent. To thee, thou barren rock,
I once more return, naked and miserable, forlorn
and destitute ! In this care I shall perish alone ;
for having no weapon to destroy the beasts, the
beasts will ineA^tably devour me ; and why should
I desire to live ! But as to thee, my son, the mark
of wickedness is not upon thee : thou art surely the
instrument of another's hand ? Restore my arm»,
and leave me to my fate !' "
" Neoptolemus was touched with my distress: th«
tear started in his eye, and he sighed to himself,
* Would to God that I had still continued at Scy-
ros !' At this moment I cried out, ' What do I see !
surely that is Ulysses!' Immediately the voice of
Ulysses confirmed it, and he answered, ' It is I.*
If the gloomy dominions of Pluto had been disclosed
before me, and I had suddenly beheld the shades of
Tartarus, which the gods themselves cannot see
without dread, I should not have been seized with
greater horror. I then cried out again, ' I attest
thee, O earth of Lemnos ! O sun ! dost thou behold
and suffer this ?' Ulysses answered without emo-
tion, ' This is ordained by Jupiter, and I but execute
his will.' — ' Barest thou,' said I, ' profane the name
of Jove, with unhallowed lips ? Hast thou not com-
pelled this youth to practise a fraud, which his soul
abhors?* — ' We come,' replied Ulysses, ' neither to
deceive nor injure you : we come to deliver you
from solitvide and misery, to heal your wound, and
to give you the glory of subverting Troy, and restore
you in safety to your native country. It is thyself,
and not Ulysses, that is the enemy of Philoctetes.*
BOOK XV. 275
" I answered otily by reproaches Mid insult :
* Since thoxi hast abandoned me upon this inhos-
pitable coast,' said I, ' why hast thou interrupted
Buch rest as it can give ? Go, and secure to thyself
the glory of battle and the delights of peace : enjoy
the sweets of prosperity with the Atrides, and leave
pain and sorrow to me. AVhy shouldst thou com-
pel me to go with thee? I am sunk into nothing:
I am dead already. Thou wast once of opinion,
that I ought to be left here ; that my complaints,
and the infection of my wound, would interrupt
the sacrifices of the gods : and why is not this thy
opinion now ? Thou author of all my misery !
May the gods But the gods hear me not : they
take part with my enemy ! O my country ! these
eyes shall behold thee no more ! O ye gods ! if
there is yet one among you, so just as to compas-
sionate my wrongs, avenge them ! punish Ulysses,
and I shall believe that I am whole !'
" While I was thus indulging an impotent rage,
your father looked upon me with a calm compassion,
which, instead of resenting the intemperate sallies ot
a wretch distracted by misfortune, makes allowance
for his infirmity, and bears with liis excess: he stood
silent and imnioved, in the stability of his wisdom,
till my passion should be exhausted by its own vio-
lence, as the summit of a rock stands unshaken
while it is beaten by the winds, which at length,
wearied by their idle fury, are heard no more. He
knew that all attempts to reduce the passions to
reason are ineffectual, till their violence is past;
when I paused, therefore, and not before, he said,
' Where are now, O Philoctetes ! thy reason and thy
courage ? This is the moment in which they can
most avail thee ! If thou shalt refuse to follow us,
and to concur with the great design which Jupiter
has formed for thee, farewell : thou art not worthy
to achieve the deliverance of Greece, or the destruc-
tion of Troy. Live still an exile in Lemnotj: these
21i> TELEMACnCS.
arms, which I have secured, will obtain a glory for
Ulysses, that was designed for thee. Let us depart,
Neoptolcmus ! Argument is lost upon him ; and
compassion for an individual should not make us
give up the common interest of Greece.'
" This threw me into a new transport of rage ; and
I was like a lioness, when she is robbed of her young,
and makes the woods echo with her roar. ' O cave!'
said I, ' thou shalt not henceforth be forsaken : I
will enter thee as my gi-ave for ever : receive me, O
mansion of sorrow ! receive me to famine and de-
spair ! O for a sword that I might die at once! O
that the birds of prey would devour me ! My an'ows
shall pierce them no more. O inestimable bow,
consecrated by the hand of the son of Jove ! O
Hercules ! if thou art still conscious to what passeth
upon earth, does not thy breast bum with indigna-
tion ? This bow is no longer in the possession of
thy friend, but in the profane and faithless hands of
Ulysses ! Come, without fear, ye birds of prey,
and ye beasts of the desert, to your ancient dwell-
ing ! there are now no fatal arrows in my hand.
Wretch that I am ! I can woxmd you no more :
come, then, and devour me. Or rather, inexorable
Jove ! let thy thunders crush me to nothing.'
"Your father, having tried every other art of per-
suasion in vain, thought it best to return me my
arms : he therefore made a sign to Neoptolemus for
that purpose, who instantly put the arrows and the
bow into my hand. ' Thou art, indeed,' said I, * the
son of Achilles, and worthy of his blood ! but stand
aside, that I may pierce my enemy to the heart.* I
^hea.drew an arrow against your father, but Neopto-
emus held my hand : ' Your anger,' says he, ' dis-
tracts you : you are not conscious of the enormity
you would commit.'
" But Ulysses stood equally unmoved, against
danger and reproach ; and his patience and intrepi-
dity struck me with reverence and admivation: I
BOOK XV. 277
was ashamed of the transport which hurried me to
use, for liis destruction, the arms that ne had re-
stored : my resentment, however, was not yet
wholly appeased; and I was grieved, beyond com-
fort, to have received weapons from a man whom I
could not love. But my attention was now engaged
by Neoptolemus : ' Know,' said he, ' that the divine
Helenu^, the son of Priam, came to us from the
city, impelled by the command and inspiration of
the gods, and disclosed to us the secrets of futurity.
'Unhappy Troy,' said he, 'must fall; but not till he
who bears the shafts of Hercules shall come against
lier. Under the walls of Troy only he can be cured :
the sons of iEsculapius shall give him health.'
" At this moment I felt my heart divided : I was
touched with the ingenuous simplicity of Neoptole-
mus, and the honesty with which he had restored my
bow ; but I could not bear the thought of submitting
to Ulysses, and a false shame held me some time in
suspense. ' Will not the world,' said I, ' despise me,
if I become, at last, the associate of Ulysses and the
Atrides ?'
" While I stood thus torpid in suspense, I was
suddenly roused by a voice that was more than
human ; and, looking up, I saw Hercules : he de-
sceiulod in a shining cloud, and was surrounded
with rays of glory. He was easily distinguished by
his strong features, his robust form, and the grace-
ful simplicity of his gesture ; but, in his present ap-
pearance, there was a loftiness and dignity, not
equally conspicuous, when he was destroying mon-
sters upon earth. ' Thou hearest,' said he, ' and
thou behoMcst Hercules. I am descended from
Olympus, to acquaint thee with the commands of
Jove. Thou knowest by what labours I accjuired
immortality ; and if thou wouldst follow me in the
path of glory, the son of Achilles must be now thy
guide. Thy wound shall be healed : Paris, who
lius filled the world with calamity, shall fail by my
278 TELEMACHUS.
arrows from thy hand. When Troy shall be taken,
thou shalt send costly spoils to Pseas, thy father,
upon mount CEta : and he shall place them upon
my tomb, as a monument of the victory which my
arrows obtained. Thou canst not, O son of Acliilles I
conquer without Philoctetes ; nor can Philoctetes
conquer without thee : go, then, like two lions, who
chase their prey together. Thou, Philoctetes,
shall be healed by the skill of ^Esculapius at Troy.
But, above all tilings, keep alive in* your hearts the
love and reverence of the gods : all other passions
and pleasures shall perish •with, their objects : these
only are immortal and divine.'
" At these words I cried out, in a transport of
joy, ' The night is past ; the dawn breaks upon
me ! O cheering light ! after these years of dark-
ness, art thou again returned ? I feel thy influence,
and I follow thy guiding ray. I quit these scenes,
and stay only to bid them farewell. Farewell, my
grotto ! Ye nymphs that haunt these dewy fields,
farewell ! I shall hear the sullen sound of these
inexorable waves no more. Farewell, ye cliffs,
where I have shivered in the tempest, and been
drenched in the rain I Farewell, ye rocks, whose
echoes have so often repeated my complaints I
Farewell, ye sweet foimtains, which my sufferings
embittered to me ! And thou uncultivated soil,
farewell ! I leave you ; but to my departure be
propitious, since I follow the voice of friendship
and the gods !'
" We then set sail from the coast, and arrived in
'.he Grecian army before the walls of Troy. Machaon
ind Podalirius, by the sacred science of their father
iEsculapius, healed my wound ; at least restored me
to the state you see. I am free from pain, and I
have recovered my strength : but I am still some-
what lame. I brought Paris to the giound, like a
timid fawn that is pierced by the arrows of tlip
huntsman ; and the towei-s of Ilium were soo \ in
BOOK XVI. 279
Bslies. All that followed, you know already. But
the remembrance of my sufferings, notwithstanding
t e success and glory that followed, still left upon
my mind an aversion to Ulysses, which all his vir-
tues could not surmount: but, loving irresistibly
his resemblance in a son, my enmity to the father
'nsensibly relents."
BOOK XVI.
Telemachns quarrols with Phalanthus about some prisoners to which
each nt them lays claim : he tights and vanquishes Hippias, who,
despising his youth, had seized the prisoners in question *or his
brother; but being afterwards ashamed of his victory, he laments
in secret his rashness and indiscretion, for which he is very desirous
to atone. At the same time Adrastus, king of the Daunians, being
informed that the allies were wholly taken up in reconciling Tele-
maohus and Hippias, marches to attack them by surprise. After
havin'^ seized an hundred of their vessels to transport his own troops
to their camp, he first sets it on tire, and then falls upon Phalanthns's
quarters. Phalanihus himself is desperately wounded, and his bro-
ther Hippias .slain.
While Philoctetes was thus relating his adven-
tures, Telemachus stood suspended and immove-
able: his eyes were fixed upon the hero that spoke;
and all the passions which had agitated Hercules,
Philoctetes, Ulysses, and Neoptolemus, appeared
by turns in his countenance, as they were succes-
ively described in the series of the narration. Some-
times he interrupted Philoctetes, by a sudden and
involuntary exclamation ; and sometimes he appear-
ed to be absorbed in thought, like a man who reasons
deeply from causes to effects. When Philoctetes
described the confusion of Neoptolemus, in liis first
attempt at dissimulation, the same confusion ap-
peared in Telemachus, and he might, in that moment,
have been taken for Neoptolemus himself.
The allied army marched in good order against
Adrastus, the tyrant of Daunia, a contemner of the
gods, and a deceiver of men. Telemachus found it
very diflicult to behave, without offence, among so
many princes who were jealous of each other : it was
necessary that he should give cause of suspicion to
iwme ; and that he should conciliate the good will of
2:80 TELEMACKDS.
all. There was great goodness and sincerity Id his
disposition ; but he was not naturally obliging, and
gave himself little trouble to please others : he was
not fond of money, yet he knew not how f o gire it
away: and thus, with an elevated mind, and a
general disposition to do good, he appeared to be
neither kind nor liberal, to be neither sensible of
friendship, nor grateful for favours, nor attentive
to merit. He indulged his humour, without the
least regard to the opinion of others ; for his mo-
ther Penelope, notwithstanding the care of Mentor,
had encouraged a pride of birth and lofty demean-
our, which cast a shade over all his good qualities :
he considered himself as participating a nature supe-
rior to the rest of men, whom, he seemed to think,
the gods had placed upon the earth, merely for his
pleasure and convenience, to prevent his wishes,
and refer all to him as a visible divinity. To serve
him was, in his opinion, a happiness that suffici-
ently recompensed the service : nothing that he
required was to be supposed impossible ; and, at the
least delay, the impetuous ardour of his temper
burst into a flame. Those who should have seen him
thus, unguarded and unrestrained, would have con-
cluded him incapable of loving any thing but him-
self, and sensible only to the gratification of his own
appetites and vanity ; but this indifference for others,
and perpetual attention to himself, was merely the
effect of the continual agitation that he suffered
from the violence of his passions. He had been
flattered and humoured by his mother from the
cradle, and was a striking example of the disadvan-
tages of high birth. Misfortune had not yet abated
either his haughtiness or impetuosity ; in every state
of dereliction and distress, he had still looked round
him with disdain; and his pride, like the palm,
still rose under every depression.
While he was with Mentor, his faults were
scarce^'' visible; and thev became insensibly less
BOOK XVI. 281
and less every day. Like a fiery steed, that, in his
course, disdains the rock, the precipice, and the
tonent, and is obedient only to one commanding
voice, and one guiding hand, Telemachus, impelled
by a noble ardour, could be restrained only by Men-
tor. But Mentor could arrest him with a look, in
the midst of his career: he knew, he felt, the
meaning of his eye, the moment that it glanced upon
him ; lus lieart became sensible to virtue, and his
countenance softened into serenity and complaisance ;
the i-ebellious tempest is not more suddenly rebuked
into peace, when Neptune lilts his trident, and
frowns upon the deep.
When Telemachus was left to himself, all his pas-
sions, which had been restrained like the course of a
torrent by a mound, burst away with yet greater
violence. He could not suffer the arrogance of the
Lacedaemonians, nor of Phalanthus their commander.
This colony, which had founded Tarentum, consisted
of young men, who, having been born during the
siege of Troy, had received no education ; their illegi-
timate birth, the dissoluteness of their mothers, and
the licentiousness in which they had been brought up,
gave them an air of savage barbarity; they resembled
rather a band of robbers, than a Grecian colony.
Phalanthus took every opportunity to show his
contempt of Telemachus: he frequently interrupted
liim in their public councils, and treated his advice
as the crude notions of puerile inexperience : he also
frequently made him the subject of his raillery, as
a feeble and elfeminate youtii : he pointed out his
slightest failings to the chiefs ; and w;is perpetually
busy in fomenting jealousies, and rendering the
haugiity manner of Telemachus odious to the allies.
Telemachus having one day taken some Daunians
prisoners, Phalanthus pretended that they belonged
to him, because, as he said, he had defeated the
party at the head of his Lacedujmomans ; and Tele-
machus, rinding them already vanquished and put
282 TELExMACHUS.
to flight, liad nothing to do but to give quarter tc
those that threw down their arms, and lead them
to the camp : Telemachus, on the contrary, insisted,
that he had prevented Phalanthus from being de-
feated by that very party, and had turned the scale
in his favour. This question was disputed before
an assembly of all the princes of the alUance ; and
Telemachus being so far provoked as to threaten
Phalanthus, they would immediately have fought,
if the assembly had not interposed.
Phalanthus had a brother whose name was Hippias,
andwhowas much celebrated for his courage,streugth,
and dexterity: " PoUux," said the Tarentines,
' ' could not wield the cestus better ; nor could Castor
surpass him in the management of a horse." He had
almost the stature and the strength of Hercules; and
he was the terror of the whole army, for he was yet
more petulant and brutal, than courageous and strong.
Hippias, having remarked the haughtiness with
which Telemachus had menaced his brother, went, in
great haste, to cany off the prisoners to Tarentum,
withoutwaiting for the determination of the assembly;
and Telemachus, who was privately informed of it,
rushed out after him, burning with rage. He ran
eagerly from one part of the camp to the other like a
boar, who, being wounded in the chase, turns enraged
upon the hunter. His eye looked round for his
enemy, and his hand shook the spear, which he was
impatient to launch against him. He found him at
length ; and at the sight of him, he was transported
with new fury.
He was no longer Telemachus, a noble youth,
whose mind Minerva, under the form of Mentor, had
enriched with wisdom ; but an enraged lion, or a lu-
natic, urged on by desperate frenzy. " Stay," said he
to Hippias, "thou basest of mankind ! stay ; and let
us see if thou canst wrest from me the spoils of those
whom I have overcome. Thou shalt not carry them
to Tarrvilunu Thou shait, tliismonicnt descend to
BOOK XVI. 2 33
the gloomy borders of the Styx!" His spear instant\y
followed his words; but he threw it with po much
fury, that he could take uo aim, and it fell to the
ground, wide of Hippias. He then drew liis sword,
of w'jcii the jj^uard was gold; and which had been
p' en him by Laertes, when he departed from Ithaca,
rts a pledge of his affection. Laertes had used it
with glory, when he himself was young ; and it had
been stained with the blood of many chiefs of Epirus,
during a war in which Laertes had been victorious.
The sword was scarcely drawn by Telemachus,
when IIi{)pias, willing to avail himself of his superior
strength, ri.>hed upon him, and endeavoured to force
it from his hand : the weapon broke in the contest.
They then sei^d each other, and were in a moment
locked together ; they appeared like two savage
beasts, striving to tear each other in pieces : fire
sparkled in their eyes: their bodies are now contract-
ed, and now extended ; they now stoop, and now rise ;
they spring furiously upon each other, and pant with
the tliirst of blood. Thus they engaged, foot to foot,
and hand to hand ; and their limbs were so entwined
with each other, that they seemed to belong to one
body. The advantage, at last, inclined to Hippias;
to wliom a full maturity of years had given firmness
and strength, which, to the tender age of Telemachus,
wiui wanting. His breath now failed him, and his
knees trembled : Hippias perceived his weakness ;
and doubling his etlorts, the fate of Telemachus
would now have been decided, and he would have
8u tiered the punishment due to his passion and teme-
rity, if Minerva, who still watched over him from
afar, and suifered him to fall into this extremity of
danger only for his instruction, had not determined
the victory in his favour.
She did not herself quit the palace of Salentum;
but sent Iris, the swift messenger of the gods, who,
spreading her light wings in tiie air, divided tlie pure
and imlj/ -inded space above, leaving behind her a
£84 TELEMACHUS.
long train of light, which diversified the silver clouds
with a thousand dyes. She descended not to the
earth, till she came to the sea shore, where the innu-
merable army of the allies were encamped. She saw
the contest at a distance, and marked the violence
and fury of the combatants ; she perceived the dan-
ger of Telemachus, and trembled with apprehension ;
she appi-oached in a thin vapour, wliich she had con-
densed into a cloud; and, at the moment when Hip-
pias, conscious of his superior strength, believed his
victory to be secure, she covered the young charge of
Minerva with the shield of the goddess, which, for
this purpose, had been confided to her care. Telema-
chus, who was exhausted and fainting, instantly
became sensible of new vigour; and, ifi proportion as
he revived, the strength inid courage of Hippias de-
clined: he was conscioxis to something invisible and
divine, which overwhelmed and confounded him.
Telemachus now pressed liim closer ; and assailed
him sometimes in one posture, and sometimes in an-
other: he perceived him stagger; andleavinghimnot
a moment's respite to recover, he at length threw
him down, and fell upon him. An oak of mo\int Ida,
which at last yields to a thousand strokes, that have
made the depths of the forest resound, falls not with
a more dreadful noise than Hippias; the eai-th groaned
beneath him, and all that v>as around him shook.
But the aegis of INIinerva infused into Telemachus
wisdom as well as strength; and at the moment
that Hippias fell under him, he was touched with a
senseof the fault he had committed, byattacking the
brother of one of the conferlerate princes whom he
had taken arms to assist. He recollected the coun-
sels of Mentor, and they covered him with confusion:
he was ashamed of his victory, and conscious that he
ought to have been vanquished. In the mean time,
Phalanthus, transported with rage, ran to the suc-
cour of his brother; and would have pierced Telema-
chus with the spear that he carried in his hand, if he
BOOK XVL 285
hnS not fearcfl to pierce Ilippias also, whom Telema-
(•lm>liekl under him in the dust. The son of Ulysses
niiirbt then easily have taken the life of his enemy:
but his anger was appeased; and he thought only
of atoning for liis rashness by showing his modera-
tion. Getting up, therefore, from his antagonist, he
g-.iid, " I am satisfied, O Hippuis ! with having taught
thee not to despi>e my youth: I give thee life; uiid
I admire thy valour and thy strength. The gods
have protected me: yield, therefore, to the power of
the eods. Henceforth, let us think only of uniting
our strength against the common enemy."
While Telemachus was speaking, Ilippias rose from
the erround, covered with dust and blood, andbiirning
with shame and indignation. Phalanthus did not
dare to take the life of him who had so generously
jiven life to his brother ; yet he was confused, and
scarcely knew what he would do. All the princes of
the alliance ran to the place, and carried off Telema-
chus on one side, and on the other Phalanthus with
Hippias, who, having lost all his arrogance, kept his
eyrs fixed upon the gi-ound. The whole army was
struck with astonishment, to find thatTelemachus, a
youth of so tender an age, who had not yet acquired
the full strength of a man, had been able to prevail
against Hippias ; who, in strength and stature, re-
sembled the giants, those children of the earth, who
onre attempted to dispossess the gods of Olympus.
Telemachus, however, was far from enjoying his
victory; and, while tlie camp was resounding with his
pniise, he retired to his tent, overwhelmed with the
sense of his fault, and wishing to escape fi-om himself.
He bewailed the impetuosity of his temper; and ab-
horred himself for the injurious extravagances which
his passions hurried him to commit : he was con-
scious to something of vanitv atid meanness in his
unbounded pride; and he felt that true greatness
consists in moderation, justice, modesty, and huma-
•\\ JJf. f.u\x liif defects; but lie did not dare to
286 TELEMACHUS.
hope, that, after being so often betrayed into the
same faults, he should be ever able to correct them.
He was at war with himself: and, in the anguish
of the conflict, his complaints were like the roaring
of a lion.
Two days he remained alone in his tent, tormented
by self-reproach, and ashamed to return back to so-
ciety: " How can I," said he, "again dare to look
Mentor in the face ? Am I the sou of Ulysses, the
wisest and most patient of men : and have I filled the
camp of the allies with dissension and disorder? Is
it their blood, or that of their enemies, the Daunians,
that I ought to spill? I have been rash, even to mad-
ness, so thatlknew not even how to launch a spear:
I exposed myself to danger and disgrace, by engaging
Hippias with inferior strength ; and had reason to ex-
pect nothing less than death, with the dishonour of
being vanquished. And what if I had thus died ?
My faults woiild have perished with me ; and the
turbulent pride, the thoughtless presumption ol'Te-
lemachus would no longer have disgraced the name
of Ulysses, or the counsels of Mentor. that I could
'but hope never more to do, what now, with unutter-
able anguish, I repent having done! I should then,
indeed, be happy : but alas ! before the sun that is
now risen shall descend, 1 shall, with the full consent
of my will, repeat the very same faults, that I now
regret with shame and horror. O fatal victory! O
mortifyingpraise ! at once the memorial and reproach
of my folly !"
While he was thus alone and inconsolable, he was
visited by Nestor and Philoctetes. Nestor had in-
tended to convince him of his fault ; but instantly
perceiving his distress and contrition, lie changed
his remonstrances into consolation; and, instead ol
reproving liis misconduct, endeavoured to soothe his
despair.
Tliis quan-el retarded the confederates in their ex-
pedition ; for they could not march against their ene-
BOOK XVI. 2S7
mies, till they liad reconciled Telemachus to Phalan-
thus and his brother. They were in continual dread,
lest the Tarentines should fall upon the company of
young- Cretans, who had followed Telemachus to the
war. Every thing was thrown into confusion, merely
by the folly of Telemachus ; and Telemachus, who
saw how much mischief he had caused already, and
how much more might follow from his indiscretion,
gave himself up to remorse and sorrow. The princes
were extremely embarrassed : they did not dare to
put the army in motion, lest the Tarentines and Cre-
tans should fall upon each other in their march ; for
it was with great difficulty that they were restrained
even in the camp, where a strict watch was kept over
them. Nestor and Philoctetes were continually
passing and repassing, between the tents of Telema-
chus and Phalanthus. Phalanthus was implacable;
he had an obdurate ferocity in his nature; and being
pei-petually stimulated to revenge by Hippias, whose
discourse was full of rage and indignation, he was
neither moved by the eloquence of Nestor nor the
authority of Philoctetes. Telemachus was more
pentle : but he was overwhelmed with gi'iefi and
refused all consolation.
While the princes were in this perplexity, the troops
were struck with consternation ; and the camp ap-
peared like a house, in which the father of the family,
the support ot his relations, and the hope of his
children, is just dead. In tlie mi.l^t of this distress
and disorder, the army was suddenly alarmed by a
confused and dreadful noise, the rattling of chariots,
the clash of arms, the neighing of horses, and the
cries of men : some victorio\is, and urging the slaugh-
ter; some flying and terrified; some wounded and
dying. The dust rose, as in a whirlwind ; and formed
a cloud tliat obscured the sky, and surrounded the
camp. In a few moments this dust was mixed with a
thick smoke, which polluted the air, and prevented
rcfipiration : soon after was heard a hollow noise, lika
288 TELEMACHUS.
the roaring of mount ^tna, when her fires are urged
by Vulcan and the Cyclops, who forge thunder for
the father of the gods : every knee trembled, and
every countenance was pale.
Adrastus, vigilant and indefatigable, had surprised
the allies in their camp. He had concealed his own
march ; and, perfectly acquainted with theirs, he had,
with incredible expedition and labour, marched round
a mountain of very difficult access, the passes of
which had been secured by the allies. Not dreaming
that he would march round it, and knowing that the
defiles, by which alone it could be passed, were in
their hands ; they not only imagined themselves to
be in perfect security, but had formed a design to
march through these defiles, and fall upon their enemy
behind the mountain, when some auxiliaries, which
they expected, should come up.
Of this design, Adrastus, who spared no money to
discover the secrets of an enemy, had gained intelli-
gence ; for Nestor and Philoctetes, notwithstanding
their wisdom and experience, were not sufficiently
careful to conceal their undertakings. Nestor, who
was in a declining age, took too much pleasure in
telling what he thought would procure him applause.
Philoctetes was naturally less talkative ; but he was
hasty ; and the slightest provocation would betray
him into the discovery of what he had determined to
conceal : artful people, therefore, soon found the way
to unlock his breast, and get possession of whatever
it contained. Nothing more was necessary than to
make him angry : he would then lose all command
of himself, express his resentment by menaces, and
boast that he had certain means to accomplish his
purposes : if this was ever so slightly doubted, he
would immediately disclose his project, and give up
the dearest secret of his heart. Thus did this great
commander resemble a cracked vessel, which, how-
ever precious its materials, suffers the liquor* that
aro intrusted with it to drain away.
BOOK XVI. 289
Those who had been corrupted by the money of
Adnistus, did not fail to take advantage of tlie weak-
ness both of Nestor and Philoctetes. They flattered
Nestor with excessive and perpetual praise, they re •
lated the victories he had won, and expatiated upon
his foresight, in ecstacies of admiration. On the
other side, they were continually laying snares for
the impatience of Philoctetes : they talked to him of
nothing but difBculties, crosses, dangers, inconveni-
encies, and iiTemediable mistakes; and the moment
his natural impetuosity was moved, his wisdom for-
sook liim, and he was no longer the same man.
Telemachus, notwithstanding his faults, was much
better qualified to keep a secret : he had acquired
habit of secrecy by his misfortunes, and the necessity
he had been under of concealing his thoughts fronj
the suitors of Penelope, even in his infancy. He
had the art of keeping a secret without falsehood, and
even without appearing to have a secret kept, by that
reserved and mysterious air, which generally distin-
guishes close people. A secret did not appear to lay
him under the least difficulty or restraint ; he seemed
to be always unconstrained, easy, and open, as if his
heart was upon his lips ; he said all that might be
said safely, with the utmost freedom and unconcern ;
but he knew, with the utmost precision, where to
stop, and could, without the least appearance of de-
sign, avoid whatever glanced, however oblicjuely, at
tViat which he would conceal. His heart, therefore,
was wholly inaccessible, and his best fr'ends knew
only what he thought was necessary to enable them
to give him advice, except only Mentor, from whom
he concealed nothing. In other friends, he placed
dilTcrent degrees of confidence, in proportion as he
experienced their fidelity and wisdom.
Telemachus had often observed, that the resolu-
tions of the council were too generally known in
the camp ; sind had complained of it to Nestor and
wliiloct^tes, who did not treat it with the attention it
290 TELEMACHUS.
deserved. Old men are too often inflexible, for long
habit scarce leaves tbem the power of choice. The
faults of age are hopeless : as the trunk of an old
knotty tree, if it is crooked, must be crooked forever;
so men, after a certain age, lose their pliancy, and
become fixed in habits which have grown old with
them, and become, as it were, part of their constitu-
tion. They are sometimes sensible of these habits;
but, at the same time, are also sensible that they can-
not be broken, and sigh over their infirmity in vain ;
youth is the only season in which human nature can
be con-ected ; and, in youth, the power of correction
is without limits.
There was in the allied army, a Dolopian, whose
name was Eurymachus, an insinuating sycophant,
who paid his court to all the princes, and could ac-
commodate himself to every one's taste and inclina-
tion. His invention and diligence were continually
upon the stretch, to render liimself agreeable. If
Eurymachus might be believed, nothing was difficult;
if his advice was asked, he guessed immediately what
answer would be most pleasing, and gave it. He had
a talent at humour, which he indulged, in raillery,
against those from whom he had nothing to fear; but
to others he was respectful and complaisant ; and
had the art of rendering fiattery so delicate, that the
most modest received it without disgust. He was
grave with the sober, and with the jovial he was
gay ; he could assume all characters, however diflFe-
rent, with equal facility : men of sincerity appear al-
ways in their own ; and their conduct, being regu-
lated by the unalterable laws of virtue, is steady and
uniform ; tliey are, therefore, much less agreeable
to princes, than those who assimilate themselves to
their predominant passions. Eurymachus had consi-
derable military skill, and was very able in business :
he was a soldier of fortune, who, having attached
himself to Nestor, had entirely gained his confidence;
and could, by flattering that vanity and fondness for
BOOK xvL UJl
praise which a little sullied the lustre of his charac-
ter, draw out of him whatever he wanted to know,
Philoctetes, though he never trusted him, was not
less in his power; for, in him, irascihility and impa-
tience produced the same effect that an ill-placed
confidence produced in Nestor. Eurymachus had
nothing- to do, but to contradict him ; for when once
he was provoked, all his secrets were discovered.
This man had been bribed, with large sums of money,
to betray the councils of the allies to Adrastus, who
had, in his army, a certain number of chosen men,
who went over to the allies as deserters, and came
back, one by one, with intelligence fi-om Eurymachus,
as often as he had any thing of importance to com-
municate : this treachery was practised, without
much danger of detection ; for these messengers car-
ried no letters, and therefore, if they happened to be
seized, nothing was found upon them that could
render Eurymachus suspected. Every project of the
allies, therefore, was constantly defeated by Adras-
tus ; for an enterprise was scarcely resolved upon in
council, before the Daunians made the very disposi-
tions which alone could prevent its success. Tele-
machus was indefatigable to discover the cause; and
endeavoured to put Nestor and Philoctetes upon
their guard, by alarming their suspicion : but his
care was ineffectual, and their blindness desperate. •
It had been resolved, in council, to wait for a con-
siderable reinforcement that was expected ; and an
hundred vessels were dispatched secretly by night, to
convey tliese troops from that part of the coast,
whither they had been ordered to repair, to the place
where the army was encamped, with greater speed
and facility ; the ground over which they would
otherwise have been obliged to march being in some
places very difficult to pass. In the mean time, they
tliought themselves in perfect sccuritv, having taken
possession of the passes of the neighbouring moun-
tain, which was a part of the Appenine, most difficult
292 TELEMACHUS.
of access. The camp was upon the banks of the river
Galesus, not far from the sea, in a delightful country,
abounding with forage, and whatever else was neces-
sary for the subsistence of an armv. Adrastus was
on the other side of the mountain, which it was
thought impossible for him to pass; but as he knew
the allies to be then weak, that a large reinforcement
was expected to join them, that vessels were waiting
to receive them on board, and that dissension and
animosity had been produced in the army by the
quarrel between Telemachus and Phalanthus, he un-
dertook to march round without delay. He proceed-
ed with the utmost expedition, advancing, night and
day, along the borders of the sea, through ways which
had always been thought impassable : thus courage
and labour surmount all obstacles ; and, to those who
can dare and suffer, notliing is impossible; and those,
who, slumbering in idleness and timidity, dream that
every tiling is impossible that appears to be difficult,
deserve to be surprised and subdued.
Adrastus fell, unexpectedly, upon the hundred
vessels of the allies, at break of day. As they were
not prepared for defence, and those on board had not
the least suspicion of an attack, they were seized
without resistance, and served to transport his troops,
with the greatest expedition, to the mouth of the Ga-
lesus : he then proceeded, without delay, up the
river. The advanced guard of the allies on that side,
believing that these vessels brought the reinforcement
they expected, received them with shouts of joy : and
Adrastus and his men got on shore before they dis-
covered their mistake. He fell upon them, when they
had no suspicion of danger; and he found the camp
open, without order, without chief, and withoutarms.
The quarter of the camp which he first attacked,
was that of the Tarentines, commanded bv Pbalan-
thus. The Daunians entered so suddenly, and with
so much vigour, that the surprise of the Lacedsemo-
nians rendered them incapable of resistance; and
BOOK XVI. 293
while they were seeking their arms, with a confusion
that made them embarrass and impede eacli other,
Adrastus set fire to t!ie camp. The flames immedi-
ately rose from the tents to the sky ; and the noise
of the fire was Uke that of a torrent, which rolls over
a whole country, bearing- down trees of the deepest
root, and sweeping away the treasured harvest with
the bam, and flocks and herds with the fold and the
stall. The flames were driven by the wind, from
tent to tent ; and the whole camp had soon the ap-
pearance of an ancient forest, which some accidental
spark had set on fire.
Phalanthus, though he was nearest to the danger,
could apply no remedy. He saw that all his troops
must perish in the conflagration, if they did not im-
mediately abandon the camp; yot he was sensible,
that a sudden retreat before a victorious enemy,
might produce a final and a fatal disorder. He be-
gan, h jwever, to draw up his Lacediemonian youth,
before they were half armed : but Adrastns gave him
no time to breathe ; a band of expert archers killed
many of them on one side, and a company of slingers
threw stones as thick as hail on the other. Adrastiis
liiniself, sword in hand, at the head of a chosen num-
ber of Daunians, pursued the fugitives by the light of
the flames, and put all that escaped the fire to the
sword. Blood flowed round him in a deluge ; yet he
was still insatiable of blood : his lury exceeded that
of lions and tigers, when they tear in pieces tlie shep-
herd with the flock. The troops of Piialanthns stood
torpid in despair ; death appeared betore them like a
spectre led by an iniernal fury, and their blood I'roze
in their veins ; their limbs would no longer obey
their will, and their trembling knees deprived them
even of the hopes of flight.
Phalanthus, whose faculties were in some degree
roused by shame and despair, lifted up his hands
and eyes to heaven : he saw his brother Hippias fall
at, his feet, under the hand of Adrastus. He was
294 TELEMACHUS.
stretched upon the earth, and rolled in the dust :
the blood gnshed fi-om a deep wound in his side,
like a river; his eyes closed against the light; and
his soul, furious and indignant, issued with the tor-
rent of his blood. Phalanthus himself, covered with
the vital effusion from his brother's wound, and unable
to afford him succour, was instantly surrounded by
a crowd of enemies, who pressed him with all their
power: his shield was pierced by a tliousaud aiTows,
and he was wounded in many parts of his body :
his troops fled, without a possibility of being brought
back to the charge ; and the gods looked down upon
his sufferings without pity.
BOOK XVIL
Telemachus, ha\-ing put on his di^-ine armour, runs to the asnsteno*
of Phalanthus : he kills Iphicles, the son of Adrastus, repulses the
victorious enemy, and would have put an end to the war, if a tem-
pest had not intervened. Telemachus orders the wounded to be carri-
ed off, and takes great care of them, particularly of Phalanthus. He
performs the solemnities at the funer;il of Hippia')- himself, and having
collected his ashes in a golden uin, presents them to his brother.
Jupiter, sun-ounded by the celestial deities, sur-
veyed the slaughter of the allies from the summit
of Olympus ; and, looking into futurity, he beheld
the chiefs, whose thread of life was that day to be
divided by the fates. Every eye, in the divine
assembly, was fixed upon the countenance of Jupiter,
to discover his will : but the father of gods and men
thus addressed them, with a voice in which majesty
was tempered with sweetness : ' ' You see the distress
of the allies, and the triumph of Adrastus ; but the
scene is deceitful : the prosperity and honour of the
wicked are short ; the victorv of Adrastus, the im-
pious and perfidious, shall not be complete. The
allies are punished by this misfortune, only that they
may correct their faults, and learn better to conceal
their councils : Minerva is preparing new laurels for
Telemachus, whom she delights to honour. " Jupiter
ceased to speak, and the gods continued in silence to
Dehold the battle.
BOOK XVII. 295
In the mean time, Nestor ati'l Pliiloctetos received
an account, that one part ot the camp was already
burned, and that the wind was spreadin^^ the tlames
to the rest ; that the troops were in disorder ; and
that Phalanthus, with liis Lacedaemonians, had given
way. At this dreadful intelligence they ran to arms,
assembled the leaders, and gave orders for the camp
to be immediately abandoned, that the men might
not perish in the conflagration.
Telemachus, who had been pining with inconsolable
dejection, forgot his anguish in a moment, and re-
sumed his arms. His arms were the gift of Minerva,
who, under the figure of Mentor, pretended to have
received them from an excellent artificer of Salen-
tum ; but they were, indeed, the work of Vulcan,
who, at her request, had forged them in the smok-
ing caverns of mount ^tna.
These arms had a polish like glass, and were efful-
gent as the rays of the sun. On the cuirass was the
representation of Neptune and Pallas, d;?-puting
which of them should give name to a rising city.
Neptune struck the earth with his trident, and a
horse sprung out at the blow ; his eyes had the ap-
pearance of living fire, and the foam of his mouth
sparkled like light ; his mane floated in the wind :
au(i his legs, at once nervous and supple, played
under him with equal agility and vigour ; his motion
couM not be reduced to any pace ; but he seemed to
bound along with a swiftness and elasticity that left
no trace of his foot, and the spectator could scarcely
believe but that he heard him neigh. In another
compartment, Minerva appeared to be giving the
branch of an olive, a tree of her own planting, to the
inhabitants of h(!r new city : the branch, with its
fruit, representeil that plenty and peaco, which wis-
dom cainu)t fail to prefer before the disorders of war,
of which the horse was an emblem. This simple and
useful gift decided the contest in favour of tlie god-
dess ; and Athens, the pride of Gree.e, was distin-
996 TELEMACHUS.
guished by her name. * Minerva was also represent-
ed as assembling round her the libei-al arts, under
the symbols of Uttle children with wings ; they ap-
peared to fly to her for protection, terrified at the
brutal fury of Mars, who marks his way with desola-
tion, as lambs gather round their dam at the sight of
an hungi-y wolf who has already opened his mouth to
devour them. The goddess, with a look of disdain
and anger, confounded, by the excellence of her
works, the presumptuous folly of Arachne, who vied
with her in the labours of the loom : Arachne herself
was also to be seen in the piece ; her limbs attenu-
ated and disfigured, and her whole form changed into
that of a spider. At a little distance, Minerva was
again represented as giving counsel to Jupiter, when
the giants made war upon heaven, and encouraging
the inferior deities in their teiTor and consternation.
She was also represented with her spear and aegis,
upon the borders of Simois and Soamander, leading
Ulysses by the hand, animating the flying Greeks
with new courage, and sustaining them against the
heroes of Troy, and the prowess even of Hector
liimself. She was last represented as introducing
Ulysses into the fatal machine, by which, in one
night, the whole empire of Priam was subverted.
Another part of the shield represented Ceres in the
fruitful plains of Enna, the centre of Sicily. The
goddess appeared to be collecting together a scatter-
ed multitude, who were seeking subsistence by the
chase, or gathering up the wild fruit that fell from
the trees. To these ignorant barbarians she seemed
to teach the art of meliorating the earth, and deriving
sustenance from its fertility. She presented them
a plough, and showed them how oxen were to be
yoked : the earth was then seen to part in furrowf;
under the share, and a golden harvest waved upon
the plain : the reaper put in his sickle, and was
rewarded for all his labour. Steel, which in other
* The Greek name of Minerva is ' Afir^v*}, Athene.
BOOK XVII. 297
places was devoted to works of destruction, was here
employed only to produce plenty, and provide for
delight. The nymphs of the meadows, crowned with
fluwors, weredancinG^ on the borders of the river, with
a rrrove not far distant : Pan gave the music of liis
pipe ; and the fauns and satyrs were seen frolicking
toL-'ethor, in a less conspicuous portion of the com-
partment. Bacchus was also represented crowned
with ivv, leaning with one hand on his thyrsis, and
holding the branch of a vine, laden with grapes, in
the other. The beauty of the god was effeminate,
but mingled with something noble, impassioned, and
languishinsr, that cannot be expressed. He appeared
upon the shield as he did to the unfortunate Ariadne,
when he found her alone, forsaken, and overwhelm-
ed with grief, a stranger upon a foreign shore.
Numbers of people were seen crowding from all
parts : old men canying the first fruits of their labour
as an offering to the gods ; young men returning
weary with the labour of the day, to their wives,
who were come out to meet them, leading their
children in their hands, and interrupting their walk
with caresses. There were also shepherds, some ot
whom appeared to be sinking, while others danced to
the music of the reed. The whole was a representa-
tion of peace, plenty, and delight : every thing was
smiling and happy ; wolves were sporting w'ith the
sheep in the pastures ; and the lion and tiger, quitting
their ferocities, grazed peaceably with the lamb ; a
shepherd, that was still a child, led them, obedient
to his crook, in one flock, and imagination recalled
the pleasures of the golden age.
Telemachus, having put on this clvine armour,
took, instead of his own shield, the dreadful aegis of
Minerva, which had been sent him by Iris, the speedy
messenger of the gods. Iris had, unperceived, taken
away his shield ; and had left, in its stead, this jegis
at the sight of which the gods themselves are im-
qresc-ed with dread.
258 TELEMACIIUS.
When he was thus armed, he ran out of nie camp
to avoid the flames, and called to him all the chiefs
of the army: he called with a voice that restored the
courage they had lost, and his eyes sparkled with a
brightness that was more than human. His aspect
was placid, and his manner easy and composed : he
gave orders with the same quiet attention as that of
an old man who regulates his family, and instructs
his children. But, in action, he was sudden and
impetuous: he rcsemhled a torrent, which not only
rolls on its own waves with irresistible rapidity, but
carries with it the heaviest vessel that floats upon its
surface.
Philoctetes and Nestor, the chiefs of the Manduri-
ans, and the leaders of other nations, felt themselves
influenced by an irresistible authority : age appeared
to be no longer conscious of experience ; and every
commander seemed to give up implicitly all preten-
sions to counsel and wisdom ! Even jealousy, a pas-
sion so natural to man, was suspended ; every tongue
was silent, and every eye was fixed with admiration
upon Telemachus : all stand ready to obey him with-
out reflection, as if they had always been under his
command. He advanced to an eminence, from which
the disposition of the enemy might be discovered ;
and, at the first glance, he saw, that not a moment
was to be lost ; that the burning the camp had thrown
theDaunians into disorder; and that they might now
be surprised in their turn. He, therefore, took a
circuit with the utmost expedition, followed by the
most experienced commanders, and fell upon them
in the rear, when they believed the whole army of
the allies to be surrounded by the conflagration, j
This imexpected attack threw them into confusion ;|
and they fell under the hand of Telemachus, as leavesi
fall from the trees in the declining year, when the-
northern tempest, the harbinger of winter, makes the
veterans of the forest groan, and bends the branches
to the trunk. Telemachus strewed the earth with
BOOK XVII. 299
the victims or his prowess, and his spear pierced the
heart of Ipliicles, the younarest son of Adra>tus : Iphi-
clos rashly presented himself hefore him in battle, to
preserve the life of his father, whom Telemaclnis
was about to attack by surprise. Telemachus and
Iphicles were equal in beauty, vigour, dexterity, and
counis-e ; they were of the same stature, had the
same sweetness of disposition, and were both tenderly
beloved by their parents : but Iphicles fell like a
flower of the field, which, in the full pride of its
beauty, is cut down by the scvthe of the mower.
Te'e'iiachus then overthrew Euphorion, the most ce-
lebrated of all the Lydians that came from Etruria;
and his sword at last pierced the breast of Cleo-
menes, who had just plighted his faith in marriage,
and had promised rich spoils to the wife whom he
was destined to see no more.
Adrastu-s behold the fall of his son and of his cap-
tains, and saw liis victory wrested from him when he
thought it secure, in a transport of rage, which shook
him like the hand of death. Phalanthus, almost
prostrate at his feet, was like a victim, woulided but
not slain, that starts from the sacred knife, and flies
terrified from the altar; in one moment more, his life
would have been the prize of Adrastus. But in this
crisis of his fate, he heard the shout of Telemachus,
rushing to his assistance, and looked upward : his
life was now given him back, and the cloud which
was settling over his eyes vanished. The Dauuians,
alarmed at tiiis unexpected attack, abandoned Pha-
lanthus, to repress a more formidable enemy : and
Adrastus was stung with new racje, like a ti^'er, from
whom the shephertls, with united force, snatch the
prey that he was ready to devour. Telemachus
sought him in the throng, and would have finished
the war at a stroke, by delivering the allies from their
impLicable enemy : but Jupiter would not vouclisafe
him so sudden and easy a victory : and even Mi-
nerva, that he might better learn to govern, was
300 TELEMACHUS.
willing that he should longer continue to suffer.
The impious Adrastus, therefore, was preserved by
the father of the gods, that Telemachus might acquire
new virtue, and be distinguished by gi-eater glory.
A thick cloud was interposed, by Jupiter, between
the Daunians and their enemies : the will of the gods
was declared in thunders, that shook the plain, and
tlireatened to crush the reptiles of the earth under
the ruins of Olympus ; the lightning divided the fir-
mament fx-om pole to pole : and the light, which, this
moment, dazzled the eye, left it, the next, in total
darkness : an impetuous shower, that immediately
followed, contributed to separate the two aniiies,
Adrastus availed himself of the succour of the
gods, without any secret acknowledgment of their
power ; an instance of ingratitude, which made him
worthy of more signal A-eugeance! He possessed
himself of a situation, between the ruins of the camp
and a morass which extended to the river, with such
promptness and expedition as made even his retreat
an honour ; and at once showed his readiness at ex-
pedients, and perfect possession of himself. The al-
lies, animated by Telemachus, would have pursued
him ; but he escaped, by favour of the storm, like
a bird from the snare of the fowler.
The allies had now nothing to do, but to return to
the camp, and repair the damages it had suffered : but
the scene, as they entered it, exhibited the miseries
of war in their utmost horror. The sick and wound-
ed, not having strength to quit their tents, became a
prey to the flames : and many, that appeared to be
half burnt, were still able to express their misery in a
plaintive and dying voice, calling upon the gods, and
looking upward. At these sights, and those sounds,
Telemachus was pierced to the heart, and burst into
tears : he was seized, at once, with hoiTor and com-
pjission; and involuntarily turned away his eyes
from objects which he trembled to behold: wretches,
whose dfiath was inevitable, but painfMl and slow;
BOOK XVII. 301
whose bodies, in part devoured by the fire, had the
upi.eardiice of the flesh of victims that is burnt
upon the altar, and niLxes the savour of sacrifices
with the air.
' ' Aliis !" said Telemachus, ' ' how various and how
dreadful are the miseries of war ! What horrid infa-
tuation impels mankind ! Their days upon the earth
are few, and those few are evil ; why then should
tfiey precipitate death, which is already near? why
should thev add bitterness to life, that is already
bitter? All men are brothers, and yet they hunt
each other as prey. The wild beasts of the desert
are loss cruel : lions wage not war against lions ;
and, to the tiger, the tiger is peaceable ; the only
objects of their ferocity are animals of a different
species : man does, in opposition to his reason, what,
by animals that are without reason, is never done,
And for what are these wars undertaken? Is there
not land enough in the world, for every man to ap-
propriate more than he can cultivate ? Are there no*",
deserts, which the whole race could never people?
What then is the motive for war ? Some tyrant sighs
for a new appellation : he would be called a con-
queror ; and, for this, he kindles a flame that deso-
lates the earth. Thus a wretched individual, who
would not have been born but for the anger of the
gods, bnatally sacrifices his species to his vanity :
ruin mu>t spread, blood must flow, fire must con-
sume ; and he who escapes from the tlame and the
sword, must perish by famine with yet more anguish
and horror ; that one man, to whom the misery ot
a .vorld is sport, may, from this general destruction,
obtain a fanciful possession of what he calls glory.
How vile the p<^rversion of so sacred a name ! how
worthy, above all others, of indignation and cou-
tempt, those who have so far forgotten humanity !
Let those who f.mcy they are demi-gods, hencefortii
remember that they are less than men: and let evi ry
fcucceedin,"- sco, bv which they hoped to be admired.
302 TELEMACHUS.
hold them in execration. With what caution should
princes undertake a war ! Wars, indeed, ought
. ilways to be just : but that is not sufficient ; they
ought, also, to be necessary to the general good.
The blood of a nation ought never to be shed, except
["or its own preservation in the utmost extremity.
But the perfidious counsels of flattery, false notions
of glory, groundless jealousies, insatiable ambition,
disguised under specious appearances and connexions
Insensibly formed, seldom fail to engage princes in a
war which renders them unhappy ; in which every
thing is put in hazard without necessity; and which
produces as much mischief to their subjects as to
their enemies." Such were thereflectionsof Telema-
chus. But he did not content himself with deploring
the evils of war ; he endeavoured to mitigate them.
He went himself from tent to tent, aifording to the
sick, and even to the dying, such assistance and com-
fort as they could receive ; he distributed among
them not only medicine, but money : he soothed and
consoled them by expressions of tenderness and
friendship, and sent others on the same errand to
those whom he could not visit himself.
Among the Cretans that had accompanied him
from Salentum, w^ere two old men, whose names were
Traumatopliilus and Nosophugus. Traumatophilus
had been at the siege of Troy with Idomeneus, and
had learned the art of healing wounds from the sons
of iEsculapius. He poured into the deepest and most
malignant sores, an odoriferous liquor, which re-
moved the dead and mortitieil tlesh, without the as-
sistance of the knife, and facilitated the formation
of a new substance, of a fairer and better texture than
the first. Nosophugus had never seen the sons oi
iEsculapius; but by the assistance of Merion, he had
procured a sacred and mysterious book, which was
written by iEsculapius for their instruction. Noso-
phugus was also beloved by the gods : he had com-
])osed hymns in honour of the offspring of Latona;
BOOK XVII. 803
and he offered, every day, a lamb, white and spotless,
to ApoUo, by whom he was frequently mspired.
As soon as he saw the sick, he knew by the ap-
pearance of the eyes, the colour of the skin, the tem-
perament of the body, and the state of respiration,
wliat was the cause of the disease. Sometimes he ad-
ministered medicines, that operated by perspiration;
and the success showed how much the increase or
diminution of that secretion can influence the me-
chanism of the body, for its hurt or advantage. To
those that were languishing under a gradual decay,
he gave infusions of certain salutary herbs, that by
degrees fortified the noble parts, and, by purifying the
blood, brought back the vigour and the freshness of
youth. But he frequently declared, that if it were
tiot for criminal excesses, and idle fears, there would
be but little employment for the physician. " The
number of diseases," says he, " is a disgrace to man-
kind ; for virtue produces health. Intemperance
converts the very food that should sustain life, into a
poison that destroys it; and pleasure, indulged to ex-
cess, shortens our days more than they can be length-
ened by medicine. The poor are more rarely sick
for want of nourishment, than the rich by taking
too much: high seasoned meats, that stimulate ap-
petite after nature is sufficed, are rather poison than
food. Medicines themselves offer violence to na-
ture : and should never be used, but in the most
pressing necessity. The great remedy, which is al-
ways innocent, and always useful, is temperance, a
moderate use of pleasure, tranquillity of mind, and
exercise of the body : these produce a pure and
well tempered blood, and throw off superfluoua
humours that would corrupt it." Thus was Noso-
phugiis yet less honoured for the medicines bv which
he cured diseases, than for the rules he prescribed
to prevent them, and render medicine unnecessary.
These excellent persons were sent by Telemachus,
visit the sick of the army ; manv of whom they
804 TELEMACHUS.
reco7Gi-ed by their remedies, but yet more by the
care which they took to have them properly attend-
ed, to keep their persons clean, and the air about
them pure ; at the same time confining the con-
valescent to an exact regimen, as well with respect
to the quality as the quantity of their food. The
soldiers, touched with gratitude at tliis seasonable
and important relief, gave thanks to the gods, for
having sent Telemachus among them. "He is not,"
said they, "a mere mortal like ourselves : he is cer-
tainly some beneficent deity, in a human shape ; or,
if he is, indeed, a mortal, he bears less resemblance
to the rest of men than to the gods. He is an in-
habitant of the earth, only to diff"use good ; his af-
fability and benevolence recommend him still more
than his valour. O ! that we might have him for
our king ! but the gods reserve him for some more
favoured and happy people; among whom they
design to restore the golden age !"
These encomiums were overheard by Telemachus,
while he was going about the camp in the night, to
guard against the stratagems of Adrastus; and,
therefore, could not be suspected of flattery, like
those which designing sycophants often bestow
tipon princes to their face ; insolently presuming,
that they have neither modesty nor dehcacy, and
that nothing more is necessary to secure their fa-
vour than to load them with extravagant praise.
To Telemachus, that only was pleasing whicli was
true : he could bear no praise, but that which,
being given when he was supposed to be absent,
he might reasonably conclude to be just. To such
praise he was not insensible ; but tasted the pure
and serene delight which the gods have decreed
alone to virtue, and which vice can neither enjoy
nor conceive. He did not, however, give himself
np to this pleasure : his faults immediately rushed
into his mind ; he remembered his excessive regard
for himself, and indilfcrence to others ; he felt a
] OOK XVII. 305
secret shame at having received from nature a dis-
position which made him appear to want the feehngs
of humanity ; and he referred to Minerva all the
praise that he had I'eceived, as having grafted ex-
cellence upon him, which he thought he had no
right to appropriate to himself. " It is thy bounty,"
said he, " goddess ! which has given me Mentor,
to till my mind with knowledge, and connect the
infirmities of my nature. Thou hast vouchsafed
me wisdom to profit by my faults, and mistrust
myself. It is thy power that restrains the impetu-
osity of my passions ; and the pleasure that I feel
in comforting the afflicted, is thy gift. Men would
hate me but for thee ; and without thee, I should
deserve hatred ; I should be guilty of in-eparable
faults ; and resemble an infant, who, not conscious
of its own weakness, quits the side of its mother,
and falls at the next step,"
Nestor and Philoctetes were astonished to see Te-
lemachus so affable, so attentive to oblige, so ready
to supply the wants of others, and so diligent to pre-
vent them. They were struck with the difference of
his behaviour, but could not conceive the cause ; and
what surprised them most was, the care that he took
about the funeral of Hippias. He went himself and
drew the body, bloody and disfigured, from the spot
where it lay hidden under a heap of the slain ; he
was touched with a pious sorrow, and wept over it.
" O mighty shade 1" said he, " thou art not now ig-
norant of my reverence for thy valour. Thy haugh-
tiness, indeed, provoked me : but thy fault was from
the ardour of vouth. Alas ! I know but too well
how much youth has need of pardon. We were in
the way to be united by friendship : O why have the
gods snatched thee from me, before 1 had an oppor-
tunity to compel thy esteem!"
Teleniachus caused the body to be washed with
odoriferous liquors; and, by his orders, a funeral pile
wns prepared. The lotty pines groaned under the
806 TELEMACHUS.
strokes of the axe, and, as they fell, rolled down the
declivity of the mountain. Oaks, those ancient
children of the earth, which seemed to threaten
heaven, and elms and poplars, adorned with thick
foliage of vivid green, with the spreading beech, the
glory of the forest, strewed the borders of the river
Galesus ; and a pile was there raised, with such order,
that it resembled a regular building : the flame began
to sparkle among the wood, and a cloud of smoke
ascended in volumes to the sky.
The Lacedaemonians advanced with a slow and
mournful pace, holding their lances reversed, and fix-
ing their eyes upon the ground; the ferocity of their
countenances was softened into grief; and the silent
tear dropt, unbidden, from their eyes. These Lace-
daemonians were followed by Phericides, an old man,
not less depressed by the weight of years, than by
soiTow to have survived Hippias, whom he had edu-
cated from his earliest youth. He raised his hands
and his eyes that were drowned in tears, to heaven :
since the death of Hippias he had refused to eat,
and the lenient hand of sleep had not once closed
his eyes, or suspended the anguish of his mind. He
walked on with trembling steps, implicitly following
the crowd, and scarce knowing whither he went : his
heart was too full for speech; and his silence was
that of dejection and despair : but when he saw the
pile kindled, a sudden transport seized him, and he
cried out, ' ' O Hippias, Hippias ! I shall see thee no
more. Hippias is dead, and I am still living. O my
dear Hippias ! it was I that taught thee, cruel and
unrelenting; it was I that taught thee the contempt
of death. I hoped that my dying eyes would have
been closed by thy hand, and that I should have
breathed the last sigh into thy bosom. Ye have pro-
longed my life, ye gods ! in your displeasure, that I
might see the life of Hippias at an end. O my child,
thou dear object of my care and hope, I shall see
thee no more ! But I shall see thy mother, who.
BOOK XVII. 307
dying of grief, will reproach me with thy death; and
1 chall see thy wile, fading in the bloom of youth,
aud agonized with despair and sorrow, of which I am
the cause I O call me from these scenes, to the bor-
ders of the Styx, which have received thy shade : the
light is hateful to my eyes; and there is none but
thee whom I desire to behold ! I live, O my dear
Hippias, only to pay the last duty to thy ashes."
The body of the hero appeared stretched upon a
bier, that was decorated with purple and gold. His
eyes were extinguished in death, but his beauty was
not totally effaced, nor had the graces faded wholly
from his countenance, however pale. Around hy
neck, that was whiter than snow, but reclined upon
the shoulder, floated his long black hair, still more
beautitid than that of Atys or Ganymede, but in a
iew moments to be reduced to ashes; and on his side
appeared the wound through which, issuing with the
torrent of his blood, his spirit had been dismissed to
the gloomy regions of the dead.
Telemachus followed the body sorrowful and de-
fected, and scattered flowers upon it; and when it
was laid upon the pile, he could not see the flames
catch the linen, that was wrapped about it, w ithout
again bursting into tears: "Farewell," said he, " O
magnanimous youth, for I must not presume to call
thee friend. Let thy shade be appeased, since thy
glory is full, and my envy is precluded only by my
love. Thou art delivered from the miseries that we
continue to sufl'er, and hast entered a better region,
by the most glorious path I How happy should I
be to follow thee by the same way ! May the Styx
yield a passage to thy shade, and the flelds of
Elysium lie open before thee ! May thy muiie be
preserved, with lionour, to the latest generation; and
thy ashes rest for ever in peace 1"
As soon as Telemachus, who had uttered these
words in a broken and interrupted voice, was silent,
lie xhr.\c army sent uu a ireneral crv: the fate of
808 TELEMACHUS.
Hippias, whose exploits they recounted, melted them
into tenderness; and grief at once revived his good
qualities, and buried in oblivion all the failings which
the impetuosity of youth and a bad education had
concurred to produce. They were, however, yet more
touched by the tender sentiments of Telemachus:
" Is this," said they, " the young Greek that was so
proud, so contemptuous, and intractable? He is now
affable, humane, and tender. Minerva, who had
distinguished his father by her favour, is also, cer-
tainly, propitious to him. She has, undoubtedly, be-
stowed uponhim the most valuable gift which the gods
themselves can bestow Tipon man ; a heart that is at
once replete with wisdom and sensible to friendship."
The body was now consumed by the flames; and
Telemachus himself sprinkled the still smoking ashes
with water, which gums and spices had perfumed : he
then deposited them in a golden uni, which he
crowned with flowers; and he carried the urn to
Phalanthus. Phalanthus was stretched out upon a
couch, his body being pierced with many wounds; and
life was so far exhausted, that he saw, not far distant,
the irremeable gates of death.
Traumatophilus and Nosophugus, whom Telema-
chus sent to his assistance, had exerted all their art:
they had brought back his fleeting spirit by degrees,
and he was insensibly animated with new strength : a
gentle, but penetrating power, a new principle of life
gliding from vein to vein, reached even to the heart ;
and a genial warmth relaxing the frozen hand of
death, the tyrant remitted his grasp. But the insensi-
bility of a dying languor was immediately succeeded
by an asrony of grief; and he felt the loss of his bro-
ther, which before he was not in a condition to feel.
*' Alas !" said he, *• why all this assiduity to preserre
my life ! it would be better, that I should follow Hip-
pias to the grave ! my dear Hippias ! whom I saw
perish at ray side. O my brother, thou art lost for
ever; and with thee all the comforts of life ! I shal
BOOK XVIL 309
ee thee, I shall hear thee, I shall emhrace thee no
more ! I shall no more unhurden my breast of its
troubles, to thee; and my friendship shall participate
of thy sorrows no more 1 And is Hippias thus lost,
for ever? O ye gods, that delight in the calamities of
men ! can it be ? or is it not a dream, from which I shall
awake ? Ah ! no ! it is a dreadful reality ! I liave, in-
deed, lost thee, O Hippias ! I saw thee expire in the
dust ; and I must, at least, live till I have avenged thee;
till I have offered up, to thy manes, the merciless
Adrastus, whose hands are stamed with thy blood !"
While Philanthus was uttering these passionate ex-
clamations, and the divine dispensers of health were
endeavouring to soothe him into peace, lest the per-
turbation of his mind should increase his malady, and
render their medicines ineffectual, he suddenly be-
held Telemachus, who had approached him unper-
roi ved. At the first sight of him, he felt the conflict
of two opposite passions in his bosom : his mind still
glowed with resentment at the remembrance of what
had passed between Telemachus and Hippias; and
the grief that he felt for the loss of his brother gave
this resentment new force ; but he was also conscious,
that he was himself indebted for his life to Telema-
chus, who had rescued him, bleeding and exhausted,
from the hands of Adrastus. During this struggle,
he remarked the golden urn, that contained the dear
remains of his brother; and the sight instantly melt-
ed him into tears : he embraced Telemachus. at first,
witliout power to speak ; but at length he said, in a
feeble and interrupted voice, •' Thy virtue, O son of
Ulysses! has compelled my love: I am indebted to
thee for my life; I am indebted to thee also, for
something yet more precious than life itself! The
limbs of my brother would have been a prey to the
vulture, but for thee: and but for thee the rites of se-
I)ulture had been denied him ! His shade would
have wandered, forlorn and wretched, upon the bor-
ders of the Styx, still repulsed by Charon with inexo-
310 TELEivIACIIUS.
rable severity ! Must I lie under such obligations to
a man whom I have so bitterly hated ? May the gods
reward thee, and dismiss me from life and misery to-
gether ! Render to me, O Telemachus ! the last du-
ties that you have rendered to my brother, and your
glory shall be complete." Phalanthus then fell back,
fainting and overwhelmed with grief: Telemachus
continued near him, but, not daring to speak, waited,
in silence, till his spirits should return. He revived
after a short time ; and, taking the urn out of the
hands of Telemachus, he kissed it many times, and
*pept over it : " O precious dust," said he, " when
shall mine be mingled with you, in the same urn ?
O my brother ! I will follow thee to the regions of
the dead 1 There is no need that I should avenge
thee, for Telemachus will avenge us both !"
By the skill of the two sages who practised the
science of iEsculapius, Phalanthus gradually recover-
ed. Telemachus was continually with them, at the
couch of the sick, that they might exert themselves
with more diligence to hasten the cure; and the
whole army was more struck with admiration at the
tenderness with which he succoured his most inve-
terate enemy, than at the wisdom and valour with
which he had preserved the armies of the allies. He
was, however, at the same time, indefatigable in the
ruder labours of war : he slept but little ; and his
sleep was often interrupted, sometimes by the intel-
ligence which was brought him at every hour of the
night, as well as of the day; and sometimes by ex-
amining every quarter of the camp, which he never
visited twice together at the same hour, that he
might be more sure to surprise those that were negli-
gent of their duty. Though his sleep was short, and
his labour great, yet his diet was plain : he fared, in
every respect, like the common soldiers, that he
might give them an example of patience and sobriety;
and provisions becoming scarce in the camp, he
thought it necessary, to prevent raurmurings anddis-
BOOK XVIII. 311
content, by suffering' voluntarily tlie same inconvt;-
niencies wiiick they suffered by necessity. But this
labour and temperance, however severe, were so far
from impairing his vigour, that he became every day
more hardy and robust: he began to lose the softer
graces, which may be considered as the flower of
youth: his complexion became browner and less
delicate, and his limbs more muscular and firm.
BOOK XVIII.
Telemachus beins; pcrsualed, by several dreams, that his father
Ulysses was no longer alive, executes his desi^ of seeking him
among the dead : he retires from the camp, and is followed by two
Cretans as far aa a temple near the celebrated cavern of Acherontia : he
enters it, and descends through the ploom to the borders of the Styx,
where Charon takes him into his boat : he presents himself before
Pluto, who, in obedience to superior powers, permits him to seek his.
father: he passes through Tartarus, and is witness to the torments
that are inflicted upon in^'ratitude, perjury, impiety, hypocrisy, and,
above all, upon bad kings.
Adrastus, whose troops had been considerably
diminished by the battle, retired behind mount
Aulon ; where he expected a reinforcement, and
watched for another opportunity of surprising the
allies. Thus, a hungry lion, who has been repulsed
from the fold, retires into the gloomy forest, enters
again into his den, and waits for some favourable
moment, when he may destroy the whole flock.
Telemachus having established an exact discipline
among the troops, turned his mind entirely to the
execution of a design, which, though he had formed
a considerable time, he had wholly concealed from
the commanders of the army. lie had been long
disturbed in the night by dreams, in which he saw
his father Ulysses. The vision never failed to re-
turn at the end of the night ; just before the ap-
proach of Aurora, with her prevailing fires, to chase
from heaven the doubtful radiance of the stars, and
from earth the pleasing delusions of sleep. Some-
times he thought he saw Ulysses naked upon the
banks of a river, in a flowery meadow of somebhss-
ful island, surrounded by nymphs, who threw clotlie3
812 TELEMACHUS.
to cover liim, within his reach : sometimes he thought
he saw him in a palace, that shone with ivory and
gold ; where a numerous audience, crowned with
flowers, listened to his eloquence with delight and
admiration : he sometimes appeared suddenly among
the guests at a magnificent banquet, where joy shone
upon every countenance ; and the soft melody of a
voice, accompanied by the l}'Te, gave sweeter music
than the lyre of Apollo, and the voices of the Nine.
From these pleasing dreams Telemachus always
awaked dejected and sorrowful ; and while one of
them was recent upon his mind, he cried out, " O
my father ! O my dear father Ulysses ! the most
frightful dreams would be more welcome to me than
these. These representations of felicity convince
me, that thou art already descended to the abodes
of those happy spirits whom the gods reward, for
their virtue, with everlasting rest. I think I behold
the fields of Elysium ! How dreadful is the loss of
hope ! Mus't I then, O my father, see thee no more
for ever ? Must I no more embrace him, to whom I
was so dear, and whom I seek with such tender soli-
citude and persevering labour ? Shall I no more
drink wisdom firom his lips ? Shall I kiss those hands,
those dear, those victorious hands, which have sub-
dued so many enemies, no more ? Shall they never
punish the presumptuous suitors of Penelope ? And
shall the glory of Ithaca be never restored ?
'* You, ye gods, who are unpropitious to Ulysses,
have sent these dreams, to expel the last hope from
my breast, and leave me to despair and death ! I
can no longer endure this dreadful suspense. Alas !
what have I said ? Of the death of my father I am
but too certain. I will then seek his shade in the
world below. To those awful regions, Theseus de-
scended in safety ; yet Theseus, with the most hor-
rid impietv, sought only to violate the deities of the
place : my motive, the love of my father, b consist-
ent with mv dutv to the gods. Hercules also de^
I50UK XVIII. 313
pceiuletl ami returned : I pretend not, indeed, to hia
prowess; but, without it, I dare to imitate his exam-
ple. Orpheus, by the recital of his misfortunes,
softened into pity that deity, who was thought to
be inexorable ; and obtained permission for the re-
t-irn of Eurydice to the world of life : I am more
worthy of compassion than Orpheus : the loss that
I have sustained is greater than his; for what is a
youthful beauty, to whom a thousand youthful beau-
tit's are ecjual, in comparison of the great Ulysses,
unrivalled and alone, the admiration and the pride
of Greece! The attempt shall be made ; and if I
perish, I perish. Why should death be dreadful,
when life is wretched ? I come, then, O Pluto ! O
Proserpine ! to prove, whether ye are, indeed, with-
out pity. O my father ! having traversed the earth
and the seas, in vain, to find thee ; I will now seek
thee among the gloomy dwellings of the dead. If
the gods will not permit me to possess thee upon the
earth, and enjoy with thee the light of heaven; they
may, perhaps, vouchsafe me the sight of thy shade,
by the dim twilight of the realms of darkness !"
He immediately rose from the bed, which he had
bedewed with his tears : and hoped that the cheer-
ful light of the morning would have dissipated the
melancholy that he suffered from the dreams of the
night : he found, however, that the shaft which had
pierced him, was still in the wound, and that he
carried it witli liim, whithersoever he went. He
determined, therefore, to descend into boll, by a
celebrated avenue not far from the camp. This
avenue was near a city called Acherontia, from a
dreadful cavern that led down to the banks of Ache-
ron, an infernal river, which the gods themselves
attest with reverence and dread. The city was
built upon the summit of a rock, like a nest upon
the top of a tree. At the foot of the rock was the
cavern, which no man ventured to approach : the
shepherds were always careful to turn their flocks
314 TELEMACHUS.
anotiier way : and the sulphureous vapour that ex-
haled by this aperture, from the Stygian fens, con-
taminated the air with a pestilential malignity: the
neighbouring soil produced neither herb nor flower;
and in this place, the gentle gales of the zephyr,
the rising beauties of the spring, and the rich gifts
of autumn, were alike unknown. The ground was
thirsty and sterile, and presented nothing to the
eye but a few naked shrubs, and the cypress clothed
with a funereal green. In the fields that surround-
ed it, even at a distance, Ceres denied her golden
harvests to the plough: Bacchus never gave the
delicious fruit which he seemed to promise ; for
the grapes withered, instead of ripening, upon the
tree. The Naiads mourned : and the waters of
their urn flowed not with a gentle and translucent
wave, but were bitter to the taste, and impenetrable
to the eye. Thorns and brambles here covered the
ground; and as there was no grove for shelter,
there were no birds to sing: their strains of love
were warbled beneath a milder sky : and here no-
thing was to be heard but the hoarse croaking of
the raven, and the boding screams of the owl. The
very herbage of the field was bitter; and the flocks
of these joyless pastures felt not the pleasing im-
pulse that makes them bound upon the green : the
bull turned from the heifer, and the dejected shep-
herd forgot the music of his pipe. A thick black
smoke frequently issued from the cavern, in a cloud
that covered the earth with untimely darkness in the
midst of the day : at these seasons, the neighbouring
people doubled their sacrifices, to propitiate the in-
fernal gods ; yet the infernal gods were frequently m-
exorable ; and would accept no sacrifice, but youth
in its sweetest bloom, and manhood in its ripest
vigour, which they cut off by a fatal contagion.
In this place, Telemachus resolved to seek the
way that led down to the dark dominions of Pluto.
Minen'a, who watched over him with incessant
BOOK XVIII. 315
care, and covered him vvitli lier aegis, had rendered
Pluto propitious : and at her request, Jupitor him-
self had commissioned Mercury, who descends
daily to the infernal regions, to deliver a certain
number of the dead to Charon, to tell the sove-
reign of the shades it was his pleasure that Telema-
chus should be permitted to enter his dominions.
Telemachus withdrew, secretly, from the camp
in the night ; and going on by the light of the
moon, he invoked that powerful divinity, who, iu
heaven, is the radiant planet of the night, upon
earth the chaste Diana, and the tremendous Hecate
in hell : the goddess heard his prayer, and accept-
ed it ; for she knew that his heart was upright,
and his intention pious.
As he drew near to the cavern, he heard the
subterraneous empire roar : the earth trembled
under his feet, and the heavens seemed to rain
down fire tipon his head. A secret horror thrilled
to his heart, and his limbs were covered with a
cold sweat : yet his fortitude sustained him ; and
lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, " Great
gods," said he, " I accept these omens, and believe
them to be happy : fulfil them, and confii-m my
hope !" His breast glowed with new ardour as he
spoke, and he rushed forward to the mouth of the pit.
The thick smoke whicli rendered it fatal to aU
that approached it, immediately disappeared ; and
the pestilential stench was, for a while., suspended.
He entered the cavern alone ; for who would have
dared to follow him? Two Cretans, to whom he had
communicated his dosi:,'-n, and who accompanied him
part of the way, remained, pale and trembling, in
a temple at some distance, putting up prayers for
his deliverance, but despairing of his return.
Tclemachus, in the mean time, plunged into the
ti"emcndous darkness before him, having his sword
drawn in his hand. In a few minutes he perceived
a feeble and dusky light, like that which is seen nt
316 TELEMACHUS.
midnight upon the earth : he could also distinguish
airy shades that fluttered round liim, which he
dispersed with his sword : and soon after he dis.-
covered the mournful banks of the Styx, whose
waters, polluted by the marsh they cover, move
slowly in a sullen stream, that returns in perpetual
eddies upon itself. Here he perceived an innumer-
able multitude of those, who, having been denied
the rites of sepulture, presented themselves to
inexorable Charon in vain, Charon, whose old
age, though vigorous and immortal, is always
gloomy and severe, kept them back with menaces
and reproach ; but he admitted the young Greek
into his bark, as soon as he came up.
The ear of Telemachus, the moment he entered,
was struck with the groans of inconsolable grief.
" "V^Tio art thou," said he to the complaining ghost,
"and what is thy misfortune?" — "I was," replied
the phantom, ' ' Nabopharzan, the king of Babylon
the Great. All the nations of the east trembled at
the sound of my name ; and I compelled the Baby-
lonians to worship me in a temple of marble,
where I was represented by a statue of gold, before
which the most costly perfumes of Ethiopia were
burnt night and day. No man contradicted me
without instant pimishment ; and every invention
was upon the stretch, to discover some new plea-
sure, that might heighten the luxury of my life. I
was then in the full bloom and vigour of youth ;
and life, with all its pomp and pleasures, was still
before me. But alas ! a woman whom I loved with
a passion that she did not return, too soon con-
vinced me that I was not a god : she gave me
poison, and I now am nothing. Yesterday they
deposited my ashes, with great solemnity, in a
golden urn : they wept, they tore their hair, and
seemed ready to throw themselves on the funeral
pile, that they might perish with me : they are now
surrounding the superb maasoleuni :n wliich they
BOOK XVIII. 817
placed my remains, with all the external parade of
sorrow. But secretly, and in sincerity, I am
regretted by none. Even my family hold my
memory in abhorrence ; and here I have been al-
ready treated with the most mortifying indignity !"
An oljject so deplorable touched the breast of
Telemachus with pity. " And was you then truly
happy," said he, *' during your reign ? Did you
taste that sweet tranquillity, without which the
heart shrinks and withers like a blighted flower ; nor,
even in prosperity, can expand to delight ?" — "Far
from it," replied the monarch; "Iknewit not, even
in idea. A peace like this, indeed, has been extol-
led by the sages, as the only good ; but it never
made my felicity : my heart was perpetually agitated
by new desires, and throbbing with fear and hope :
I wished that passion should perpetually succeed
to passion, with a tumultuous rapidity which ex-
cluded thought; and practised every artifice to
effect it : this was my expcidient to avoid the pangs
of reflection ; such was the peace I procured ; I
thouirht all other a fable and a dream j and such
wer(! the pleasures I regret !"
Dunng this relation, Nabopharzan wept with
the effeminate pusillanimity of a man enervated by
good fortune ; unacquainted with adversity, and,
therefore, a stranger to fortitude. There were
with him some slaves who had been put to death to
honour his funeral, and whom Mercury had de-
livered to Charon with their king; giving them, at
the same time, an absolute power over him, who
hiid been their tyrant upon earth. The shades of
these slaves no longer feared the shade of Nabo-
pharzan : they held him in a chain, and ti-eated
him with the most cniel indignity. " As men,"
said one of thorn, "had we not the same nature
with thee ? How couMst thou be so stupid as to
imagine thyself a god, and forget that thy parents
were mortal ?" — •« His unwillingness to be taken
318 TELEMACHUS.
for a man," said another, " was right ; for he was
a monster, without humanity." — " Well," said
another, ' ' what are become of your flatterers now ?
Poor wretch! there is now nothing that thou canst
either give or take away : thou art now become
the slave even of thy slaves. The justice of the
gods is slow ; but the criminal is, at last, certainly
overtaken !"
Nabopliarzan, stung with these insults, threw
himself upon his face in an agony of rage and de-
spair ; but Charon bid the slaves pull him np by his
chain : " He must not," said he, " be allowed the
consolation even of hiding his shame ; of which all
the ghosts that throng the borders of the Styx must
be witnesses ; that the gods, who so long suffered
this impious tyrant to oppress the earth, may at
last be justified. Yet this, O scourge of Babylon,
is but the beginning of son-ows : the judgment of
Minos, impartial and inexorable, is at hand !"
The bark now touched the dominions of Pluto ;
and the ghosts ran down in crowds to the shore,
gazing witli the utmost curiosity and wonder, at
the living mortal, who stood distinguished among
the dead in the boat : but, the moment Telemachus
set his foot on the shore, they vanished, like the
shades of the night before the first beams of the
moi*ning. Then Charon, turning towards him, with
a brow less contracted into frowns, and a look less
severe than usual, " O favoured of Heaven," said he,
" since thou art permitted to enter the realms of
darkness, wjiich to all the living, besides thyself, are
interdicted; make haste to push forward, whither-
soever the Fates have called thee. Proceed, by
this gloomv path, to the palace of Pluto, whom thou
wilt find sitting upon his throne, and who will per-
mit thee to enter those recesses of his dominion, the
secrets of which I am not permitted to reveal !"
Telemachus, immediately pressing forward with
a hasty s-.?p, discovered the shades gliding about
BOOK XVIII. 319
on every side, more numerous than the sands upon
the sea shore ; and he was struck with a religious
dread, to perceive that, in the midst of the tumult
and hurry of this incredible multitude, all was silent
as the grave. He sees, at length, the gloomy resi-
dence of unrelenting Pluto : his hair stands erect,
his legs tremble, and his voice fails him. •• Tre-
mendous power !" said he, with faltering and
interrupted speech, " the son of unhappy Ulysses
now stands before thee, I come to inquire, whether
mv father is descended into your dominions, or
whether he is still a wanderer upon the earth ?"
Pluto was seated upon a throne of ebony : his
countenance was pale and severe, his eyes hollow
and ardent, and his brow contracted and menacing.
The sight of a mortal still breathing the breath of
life was hateful to his eyes : as the day is hateful to
those animals that leave their recesses only by night.
At his side sat Proserpine, who seemed to be the
only object of his attention ; and to soften him into
some degree of complacency, she enjoyed a beauty
that was perpetually renewed : but there was
mingled with lier immortal charms, something of
her lord's inflexible severity.
At the foot of the throne sat the pale father of
destruction, Death, incessantly whetting a scythe
which he held in his hand. Around this horrid
spectre, hovered ripening Cares, and injurious
Suspicions ; Vengeance, distained with blood, and
covered with wounds ; causeless Hatred ; Avarice,
gnawing her own tiesh ; and Despair, the victim of
her own rage ; Ambition, whose fury overturns all
things, like a whirlwind; and Treason, thirsting for
blood, and not able to enjoy the mischief she pro-
duces , Envy, shedding round her the venom that
corrodes her heart, and sickening with rage at the
impotence of her malice ; and Impiety, that opens
for herself a gulf without bottom, in which she shall
plunge at last without hope. Besides these, were
320 TELEMACHUS.
nameless spectres without number, all hideous to
behold ! phantoms that represent the dead, to
terrify the lining ; frightful dreams ; and the horrid
vigils of disease and pain ! By these images of wo
was Pluto surrounded ; and such were the atten-
dants that filled his palace. He replied, to the son
of Ulysses, in a hollow tone ; and the depths of
Erebus murmured to the soimd.
"If it is by fate, O mortal 1 that thou hast
violated this sacred asylum of the dead ; that fate,
which has thus distinguished thee, fulfil 1 Of thy
father, I will tell thee nothing : it is enough that
here thou art permitted to seek him. As upon the
earth he was a king, thy search may be confined,
on one side, to that part of Tartarus w here wicked
kings are consigned to punishment ; and, on the
other, to that part of Elysium, where the good re-
ceive their reward : but, from hence, thou canst
not enter the fields of Elysium, till thou hast passed
through Tartarus. Make haste thither ; and linger
not in my dominions!"
Telemachus instantly obeyed, and passed through
the dreary vacuity that surrounded him with such
speed, that he seemed almost to fly ; such was his
impatience to behold his father, and to quit the
presence of a tyrant, equally the ten-or of the living
and the dead ! He soon perceived the gloomy tract
of Tartarus, at a small distance before him : from
this place ascended a black cloud of pestilential
smoke, which would have been fatal in the realms
of life. This smoke hovered over a river of fire ;
the flames of which, retuniing upon themselves,
roared in a buraing vortex, with a noise like that
of an impetuous torrent, precipitated from the
highest rock ; so that in this region of wo no other
sound could be distinctly hoard.
Telemachus, secretly animated by Minerva,
entered the gulf without fear. The first object
that presented, was a gi'eat nuT.ber of men, who.
BOOK XVIII. 821
bom in a mean condition, were now punished for
liaWng sought to acquire riches by fraud, treachery,
and violence. Among them, he remarked many of
those impious hypocrites, who, aftecting a zeal for
religion, played upon the creduhty of others, and
gratified their own ambition. These wretches, who
had abused virtue herself, the best gift of Heaven,
to dishonest purposes, were punished as the most
criminal of men : the child who had murdered his
parents, the wife who had imbrued her hands in a
husband's blood, and the traitor who had sold his
country in violation of every tie, were punished
with less severity than these. Such was the decree
pronounced by the judges of the dead ; because
hypocrites are not content to be wicked upon the
common terms : they would be vicious, with the
reputation of virtue; and by an appearance of virtue,
which at length is found to be false, they prevent
mankind from putting confidence in the true. The
gods, whose omniscience they mock, and whose
honour they degrade, take pleasure in the exertion
of all their power to avenge the insult.
After these appeared others, to whom the world
scarce imputes guilt, but whom the Divine ven-
geance pursues without pity ; the liar; the ungrate-
ful ; the parasite, who lavishes adulation upon vice;
and the slanderer, who falsely detracts from virtue;
aD who judge rashly of what they know but in part,
and thus injure the reputation of the innocent.
But, among all who sulVered for ingratitude,
those were punished with the most severity, who
had been ungrtiteful to the gods. " What 1" said
Minos, " is he considered as a monster, who isguUty
of ingratitude to his father or his friend, from whom
he has received some such benefits as mortals can
bestow ; and shall the wretch glory in his crime,
who is ungrateful to God, the giver of life, and of
every blessing it includes ? Does he not owe his
existence rather to the Author of Nature, than to
322 TELEMACHUS.
the parents through whom his existence was de»
rived? The less these crimes are censured and
punished upon earth, the more are they obnoxious,
in hell, to implacable vengeance, which no force
can resist, and no subtilty elude."
Telemachus, seeing a man condemned by the
judges, whom he found sitting, ventured to ask
them what was his crime: he was immediately
answered by the offender himself. " I have done,"
said he, " no evil : my pleasure consisted wholly in
doing good. I have been just, munificent, liberal,
and compassionate : of what crime then, can I be
accused?" — •" With respect to man," replied Minos,
"thou art accused of none; but didst thou not
owe less to man than to the gods ? If so, what
are thy pretensions to justice ? Thou hast punctu-
ally fulfilled thy duty to men, who are but dust :
thou hast been virtuous ; but thy virtue terminated
wholly in thyself, without reference to the gods who
jave it : thy virtue was to be thy own felicity ; and,
io thyself, thou wast all in all. Thou hast, indeed,
been thy own deity. But the gods, by whom all
things have been created, and who h-ive created all
things for themselves, cannot give up their rights :
thou hast forgotten them, and they will forget thee.
Since thou hast desired to exist for thyself, and not
for them ; to thyself they will deliver thee up :
seek, then, thy consolation in thine own heart. Thou
art separated, for ever, from man, whom, for thine
own sake, thou hast desired to please : and left to
thyself alone, that idol of thy heart ! I^eam, now
at least, that piety is that virtue of \'^hich the gods
are objects ; and that, without this, no virtue can
deserve the name. The false lustre of that with
which thou hast long dazzled the eyes of men, who
are easily deceived, will deceive no more : men dis-
tinguish that only from which they derive pain or
pleasure, into virtue and vice ; and are, therefore,
alike ignorant both of good and evil : but here the
BOOK XVIII. 323
perspicacity of Divine wisdom discerns all things
as they are: the judgment of men, from external
appearances, is rcvei-sed : wliat they have admired,
is frequently condemned ; and what they have con-
demned, approved.
These words, to the boaster of philosophic virtue,
were like a stroke of thunder ; and he was unable to
sustain the shock. The self-complacence with which
he had been used to contemplate liis moderation, his
fortitude, his generosity, was now changed to anguish
and regret : the view of his own heart, at enmity with
the gods, became his punishment : he now saw, and
was doomed, for ever, to see himself by the light of
truth : he perceived, that the approbation of men,
which all his actions had been directed to acquire,
was erroneous and vain. When he looked inward he
found every thing totally changed ; he was no longer
the same being; and all comfort was eradicated from
his heart. His conscience, wliich had hitherto wit-
nessed in his favour, now rose up against him, and
reproached him even with his virtues ; which, not hav-
ing Deity for their principle and end, were eiToneous
and illusive. He was overwhelmed with consterna-
tion and trouble; with shame, remorse, and despair.
The furies, indeed, forbore to torment him ; he was
delivered over to himself, and they were satisfied : his
own heart was the avenger of the gods whom he had
despised. As he could not escape from himself, he
retired to the most gloomy recesses, that he might be
concealed from others : he sousrht for darkness, but
he found it not ; light still persecuted and pursued
him : the li^ht of truth which he had not followed,
now punished him for the neglect ; and all that he
had beheld with pleasure became odious in his eyes,
as the source of misery that could never end.
"Dreadful situation!" said he: "I have known
neither the ijods, mankind, nor myself : I have, indeed,
known nothing; since I have not distinguished, from
specious evil, that only which is truly good. All my
324 TELEMACHUS.
steps have deviated from the path I should have
trodden; all my wisdom was folly, and all my
virtue was pride, which sacrificed, with a bUnd
impiety, only to that vile idol myself.
Thenext objects that Telemachus perceived, as he
went on, were Idngs that had abused their power.
An avenging fuiy held up, before them, a mirror,
which reflected their vices in all their deformity : in
this they beheld their undistingTiishing vanity, that
was gratified by the gi-ossest adulation ; their want of
feeling for mankind, whose happiness should have
been the first object of their attention; their insensi-
bility to virtue, their dread of truth, their partiality to
flatterers, their dissipation, efi^eminacy, and indo-
lence; their causeless suspicions; their vain parade and
ostentatious splendoui- — an idle blaze, in which the
pubhc welfare is consumed ; their ambition of false
honour, procured at the expense of blood ; and their
inhuman luxury, wliich extorted a perpetual supply
of superfluous delicacies, from the wretched victims
of grief and anguish. AVhen they looked into this
mirror, they saw themselves faithfully represented ;
md they ibund the picture more monstrous and hor-
tid than the chimera vanquished by Bellerophon, the
Lernaean hydra slain by Hercules, and even Cerberus
himself, though from three infernal mouths he dis-
gorges a stream of pestilential fire, the fumes of
which are suflicient to destroy the whole race of man
that breathe upon the earth. At the same time an-
other fury tauntingly repeated all the praises which
sycophants had lavished upon them in their hves;
and held up another mirror, in which they appeared
as flattery had represented them. The contrast of
these pictures, widely difl'erent, was the punishment
of their vanity ; and it was remarkable that the most
wicked were the objects of the riost extravagant
praise ; because the most wicked are most to be fear-
ed, and because they exact with less shame the ser-
vile adulation of the poets and orators of their time.
BOOK XVIII. 325
Their LToaus perpetually ascended from this dread-
ful abyss, wliere they saw nothing- but the derision and
insult, of which they were themselves the objects ;
where every thingrepulsed, opposed, andconfounded
them. As they sported with the lives of mankind
upon the earth, and pretended that the whole species
was created for their use ; they were, in Tartarus, de-
livered over to the capricious tyranny of slaves, who
made them taste all the bitterness of servitude in
their turn : they obeyed with unutterable anguish;
and without hope that the iron hand of oppression
would lie lighter upon them. Under the strokes of
these slaves, now their merciless tyrants, they lay
passive and impotent, like an anvil under the ham-
mers of the Cyclops, when Vulcan urges their
labour at the flaming furnaces of mount ^Etna.
Telemachus observed the countenance of these cri-
minals to be pale and ghastly, strongly expressive of
the torment they suffered at the heart. They looked
inward with a self-abhoiTence, now inseparable from
their existence ; their crimes themselves were be-
come their punishment, and it was not necessary that
greater should be inflicted ; they haunted them like
hideous spectres, and continually started up before
them in all their deformity. They wished for a
second death, that might separate them from these
ministers of vengeance, as the first had separated their
;pirits from the body; a death, that might at once
extinguish all consciousness and sensibility : they
called upon the deptlis of hell to hide them, from
the persecuting beams of truth, in impenetrable dark-
ness : but they are reserved for the cup of vengeance,
which, though they drink of it for ever, shall be ever
full ! The truth, from which they fled, has overtaken
them, an invincible and unrelenting enemy ! The
ray, which once might have illuminated them, like
the mild radiance of the day, now pierces them like
lightning: a tierce and fatjd fire, that, without in-
jury to the extcraal parts, infixes a burning torment
S26 TELEMACHUS.
at the heart ! By truth, now an avenging flame, the
very soul is melted, like metal in a furnace : it dis-
solves all, but destroys nothing ; it disunites the
first elements of life, yet the sufferer can never die :
he is, as it were, divided against liimself, without
rest, and without comfort ; animated by no vital
principle, but the rage that kindles at his own mis-
conduct, and the dreadful madness that results from
despair ! Among these objects, at the sight of which
the hair of Telemachus stood erect, he beheld many
of the ancient kings of Lydia ; who were punished
for having preferred the selfish gratification of an
idle and voluptuous life, to that labour for the good
of others, which, to royalty, is a duty of indispen-
sable obligation.
These kings mutually reproached each other with
their folly. " Did I not often recommend to you,"
said one of them to his son, " during the last years
of my life, when old age had given weight to my
counsel, the reparation of the mischiefs that my
negligence had produced?" — " Unhappy wretch!"
replied the son ; " thou art the cause of my perdi-
tion : it was thy example that made me vain-glo-
rious, proud, voluptuous, and cruel. While I saw
thee surrounded with flattery, and relaxed into
luxury and sloth, I also insensibly acquired the love
of pleasure and adulation. I thought the rest of
men were, to kings, what horses and other beasts of
burden are to men ; animals wholly unworthy of
regard, except for the drudgery they perform, and
the conveniences they procure : this was my opi-
nion, and I learnt it of thee. I followed thy exam-
ple, and share thy misery !" These reproaches
were mingled with the most hoii id execrations : and
mutual rage and indignation aggravated the tor-
ments of hell.
Around these wretched princes there still hover-
ed, like owls in the twilight, causeless Jealousies and
vain Alarms ; i^li&trust and Drd all the dignity of age with all
the graces of youth; for to those who enter the fields
of Elysium, however old and decrepit, the gi-aces of
youth are immediately restored. This venerable
figure came up hastily to Telemachus ; and looking
upon him with a familiar complacency, as one whom
he knew and loved, the youth, to whom he was
wholly a stranger, stood silent, in confusion and
suspense. "I perceive, my son," said the shade,
"that thou dost not recollect me; but I am not of-
fended. I am Arcesius, the father of Laertes; and
my days upon earth were accomplished, a little before
Ulysses, my grandson, went from Ithaca to the siege
of Troy: thou wast yet an infant in the arms of thy
nurse: but I had then conceived hopes of thee, which
are now justified ; since thou hast descended into the
dominions of Pluto, in search of thy father, and the
gods have sustained thee in the attempt. The gods,
O fortunate yculh ! regard thee with peculiar love.
BOOK XIX. 833
and will distinj^uish thee by glory equal to that of
Ulvsses. I am happy once more to behold thee ; but
search for Ulysses no more among the dead : he still
lives, and is reserved to render my line illustrious,
by new honours at Ithaca. Laertes himself, though
the hand of time is now heavy upon him, still draws
the breath of life, and expects that his son shall re-
turn to close his eyes. Thus transitory is man, like
the flower that blows in the morning, and in the
evening is withered, and trodden under foot. One
generation passes away after another, like the waves
of a rapid river ; and Time, rushing on with silent but
irresistible speed, carries with him all that can best
preteuvl to permanence and stability. Even thou, O
my son ! alas ! even thou, who art now happy in the
vigour, the vivacity, and the bloom of youth, shalt
find this lovely season, so fruitful of delight, a tran-
sient flower, that fades as soon as it is blown : without
having been conscious that thou wert changing, thou
wilt perceive thyself changed : the train of graces
and pleasures that now sport around thee, health,
vigour, and joy, shall vanish like the phantoms of
a dream, and leave thee nothing but a mournful
remembrance that they once were thine. Old age
shall insensibly steal upon thee : that enemy to joy
shall diffuse! through thee his own languors ; shall
contract tliy brow into wrinkles, incline thy body
to the earth, enfeeble every limb, and dry up, for
ever, that fountain of delight which now springs
in thy breast : thou shalt look round upon all that
is present with disgust ; anticipate all that is future
with dread; and retain thy sensibility only lor pain
and anguish. Tiiis time appears to thee to be far
distant; but, alas! thou art deceived ; it approaches
with irresistible rapidity, and is, therefore, at hand :
that which draws near so fast, can never be remote ;
and the present, for ever flying, is remote already:
even while we speak it is past, and it returns no
innre. T *^t the present, therefore, be lidit in thv
2'.i
384 TELEMACHUS.
estimation : tread tlie path of virtue, however rug-
ged, with perseverance ; and fix thine eye upon
futurity : let purity of manners, and a love of
justice, secure thee a place in this happy residence
of peace. Thou shalt soon see thy father resume
liis authority in Ithaca ; and it is decreed that thou
shalt succeed him on the throne. But royalty, O
my son ! is a deceitful thing : those who behold it
at a distance see nothing hut greatness, splendour,
and delight : those who examine it near, find only
toil, perplexity, solicitude, and fear. In a private
station, a life of ease and obscurity is no reproach :
but a king cannot prefer ease and leisure to the
painful labours of government, without infamy : he
must live, not for himself, but for those he governs:
the least fault he commits produces infinite mischief;
for it dift'uses misery through a whole people, and
sometimes for many generations. It is his duty to
humble the insolence of guilt, to support innocence,
and repress calumny. It is not enough to abstain
from doing evil: he must exerthimself to the utter-
most in doing good : neither will it suffice to do
good as an individual; he must prevent the mischief
that others would do, if they were not restrained.
Think, then, of royalty, O my son! as a state not of
ease and security, but of difficulty and danger, and
call up all thy courage to resist thyself, to control
thy passions, and disappoint flattery."
While Arcesius was yet speaking, he seemed' to
glow with the divine ardour of inspiration : and
■when he displayed the miseries of royalty, Tele-
machus perceived in his countenance strong expi-ps-
sions of pity. " Royalty," said he, "when it is
assumed to procure selfish indulgences, degenerates
into tyraimy : when it is assumed to fulfil its duties,
to govern, cherish and protect, an innumerable peo-
ple, as a father protects, cherishes, and governs
liis children, it is a servitude most laborious and
ir.iinlul, and requires the forliturle and patience of
BOOK XIX. 335
heroic virtue. It is, however, certain, that those who
fiiltil the duties of government with diligence and
intpgritv, shall here possess all that the power of
the gods can bestow, to render happiness complete 1"
While Telemachus listened to this discourse, it
sunk deep into his heart : it was engraven upon
that living tablet, as a sculptor engraves upon brass,
the characters which he woiild transmit to the latest
generation. It w.is an emanation of truth and
wisdom, that, like a subtle flame, pervaded the
most secret recesses of his soul : it at once moved
and warmed him ; and he felt his heart, as it were,
dissolved by a divine energy, not to be expressed;
by something that exhausted the fountain of life :
his emotion was a kind of desire, that could not be
satisfied ; an impulse, that he could neither support
nor resist ; a sensation exquisitely pleasing, and yet
mixed with such pain, as it was impossible long to
endure and live. After some time its violence
abated, he breathed with more freedom, and he
discovered in the countenance of Arcesius a strong
likeness of Laertes : he had also a confused remem-
brance of something similar in the features oi
Ulysses, when he set oUt for the siege of Troy.
This remembrance melted him into tears of tender-
ness and joy: he vvislied to embrace a person whom
he now regarded with reverence and affection, and
attempted it many times in vain : the shade, light
and unsubstantial, eluded his grasp, as the flattering
images of a dream deceive those who expect to
enjoy them ; the thirsty lip is sometimes in pursuit
of water, that recedes before it ; sometimes the
imagination forms words, which the tongue ref\ises
to utter; and sometimes the hand is eagerly stretch-
ed out, but can grasp nothing: so the tender wish
of Telemachus could not be uTatified ; he beheld
Arcesius, he heard him speak, and he spoke to him;
but to touch lum wiis impossible. At length he in-
quired who the persons were that he saw around him.
336 TELEMi\CHUS.
"You see," said the hc/ry sage, "those who
were the ornament of their ige, and the glory and
happiness of mankind ; the ft w kings who have been
worthy of dominion, and filled the character of
deities upon earth. Those whom you see not far
distant, but separated from them by that small
cloud, are allotted to much inferior glory : they
were heroes, indeed; but the reward of courage
and prowess is much less than that of wisdom,
integrity, and benevolence.
" Among those heroes you see Theseus, whose
countenance is not perfectly cheerful : some sense of
his misfortune, in placing too much confidence in a
false and designing woman, still remains; and he still
regrets his having unjustly demanded the death of
his son Hippolytus, at the hands of Neptune : how
happy had it been for Theseus, if he had been less
liable to sudden anger I You see also Achilles, who
having been mortaUy wounded in the heel by Paris,
supports himself upon a spear : if he had been as
eminent for wisdom, justice, and moderation, as for
courage, the gods would have granted him a long
reign ; but they had compassion for the nations
whom he would have governed by a natural succes-
sion, after the death of Peleus his father ; and would
not leave them at the mercy of rashness and pre-
sumption ; of a man more easily irritated than the
sea by a tempest. The thread of his life was cut
short by the fates ; and he fell as a flower, scarcely
blown, falls under the ploughshare, and withers
before the day is past in which it sprang up. They
made use of him only as they do of torrents and
tempests, to punish mankind for their crimes : he was
the instrument by which they overthrew the walls oi
Troy, to punish the perjury of Laomedon, and the
criminal desires of Paris. WTien this was done they
were appeased ; and they were implored in vain,
even by the tears of Thetis, to suffer a young hero
to remain longer upon the earth, who was fit only
BOOK XIX. 337
to destroy cities, to subvert kingdoms, and to fill
the world with concision and trouble.
*' You see another, remarkable for the ferocity of
hip countenance ; that is Ajax, the son of Tolamon,
ami the cousin of Achilles : you cannot be ignorant
of his glory in battle. After the death of Achilles,
he laid claim to his arms, which, he said, ought not
to be given to another ; but they were claimed also
by your father, who insisted upon his right : the
Greeks determined in favour of Ulysses, and Ajax
slew himself in despair. The marks of rage and in-
dignation are still visible in his countenance: ap-
proach him not, my son, for he will think you come
to insult the misfortune that you ought to pity : he
has discovered us already, and he rushes into the
thick shade of the wood that is behind him, to avoid
a sight that is hateful to his eyes. On the other side
you see Hector, who would have been invincible,
if the son of Thetis had lived in another age. That
gliding shade is Agamemnon, whose countenance
Btill expresses a sense of the perfidy of Clytemnestra,
O my son ! the misfortunes that have avenged the
impiety of Tantalus in his family, still make me
tremble: the mutual enmity of the two brothers,
Atreus and Thyestes, filled the house of their father
with horror and death. Alas I how is one crime, by
a kind of dreadful necessity, the cause of more I
Agamemnon returned in triumph from the siege of
Troy ; but no time was allowed him to enjoy, in
peace, the glory he had acquired in war. Such is
the fate of almost all conquerors 1 All tliat you see
have been great in battle, but they have neither been
amiable nor virtuous ; and they enjoy only the
second place in the fields of Elysium.
*' Those who have reigned with justice, and loved
their people, are considered as the friends of the
gods; while Achilles and Agamemnon, still full of
their quarrels and combats, are not perfect even
hare, but retain their natural defects, and suffer the
338 TELEMACHUS.
infelicity they produce. Tliese heroes regret, in vain,
the life that they have lost ; and grieve at their
change fi-om a substance to a shade. But the kings
who, with an equal hand, have dispensed justice and
mercy, being purified by the divine light whi'^h per-
petually renovates their being, feel their wishes anti-
cipated, and their happiness complete. They look
back upon the vain solicitude of mankind with com-
passion, and despise the gi-eat affairs that busy ambi-
tion, as the play of an infant: they drink of truth and
virtue at the fountain head, and are satisfied they
can sufl'er nothing, either from themselves or others ;
they have no wants, no wishes, no fears : with re-
spect to them, all is finished, except their joy, which
shall have no end.
" The venerable figure you see yonder, is Tnachus,
who founded the kingdom of Argos. The character
of old age is tempered with inefi^able sweetness and
majestv : he moves witha light and gliding pace, that
resembles the flight of a bird, and may be traced by
the flowers that sprhig up under his feet ; he holds a
lyre of ivory in his hand; and an eternal rnpture
impels him to celebrate the wonders of the gods with
eternal praise: his breath is a gale of fragi-ance, like
the breath of themorningin spring; andthehannony
of his voice and his lyre might add to the felicity,
not of Elysium only, but Olympus. This is the re-
ward of his paternal afi"ection to the people, whom
be surrounded with the walls of a new city, and
secured in the blessings of society by legislation.
" Among those myrtles, at a little distance, you
see also Cocrcps the Egyptian, the first sovereign of
Athens, a city dedicated to the goddess of wisdom,
whose name it boars. Cecrops, by bringing excel-
lent laws from Egypt, the great source from which
learning and good morals have flowed through all
Greece, softened the natural ferocity of the people
that he found in the scattered villages of Attica, and
tiuited them by the bands of society. lie was just.
BOOK XlX. 339
humane, and compassionate : he left his people in
affluence, and his family in a modest mediocrity ; for
he wiis not willing that his children should succeed
to his power, hecause there were others whom he
'udgod more worthy of the trust.
'* Hut I must now show vou Ericthou: you see him
in that little valley. Ericthou was the first who in-
troduced the use of silver as money, in order to
facilitate commerce among the islands of Greece;
but he foresaw the inconveniences which would
naturally result from this expedient : ' Apply your-
selves,' says he to the people among whom he circu-
lated his new coin, ' to accumulate natural riches ;
lor thev only deser\'e the name. Cultivate the
earth, that you may have wealth in corn and wine,
and oil and fruit : multiply your Hocks to the ut-
most, that you may be nourished by their milk, and
clothed with their wool ; and it will then be impos-
sible that you should be poor. The increase, even
of your children, will be the increase of your wealth,
if you inure them early to diligence and labour ; for
the earth ii inexhaustible ; and will be more fruitful
in proportion as it is cultivated by more hands : it
will reward labour with boundless liberality ; but, tc
idleness, it will be parsimonious and severe. Seek
principally, therefore, for that which is tnily wealth,
as it supplies that which is truly want. Make no
account of money, but as it is useful either to sup-
port necessary wars abroad, or for the purchase of
such commodities as are wanted at home; and, in-
deed, it is to be wished, that no commerce should
be earned on in articles that can only support and
gratify luxury, vanity, and sloth.
" 'My children,' said the wise Ericthon, who
thought frequent admonition necessarv, ' I greatly
fear that 1 have made you a fatal present : I foresee
that this money will excite avarice and ambition, the
lust of the eye and the pride of life ; that it will
produce innumerable arts, which can on'.y corrupt
340 TELEMACHUS.
virtue and gratify idleness ; that it will destroy
your relish for that happy simplicity, which is at
once the blessing and the security of life; and
make you look with contempt upon agriculture, the
support of your existence, and the source of every
valuable possession. But I call the gods to witness,
that I made you acquainted with money, a thing
useful in itself, in the integi'ity of my heart !' Eric-
thon, however, having lived to see the mischiefs that
he dreaded come to pass, retired, overwnelmed with
grief, to a desert mountain ; where he lived to an ex-
treme old age, in poverty and solitude, disgusted with
government, and deploring the folly of mankind.
' ' Not long afterwards, Greece beheld a new won-
der in Triptolemus, to whom Ceres had taught the
art of cultivating the earth, and of covering it every
year with a golden harvest. Mankind were, indeed,
already acquainted with corn, and the manner of
multiplying it by seed ; but they knew only the first
rudiments of tillage ; and Triptolemus, being sent by
Ceres, came, with the plough in his hand, to offer the
bounty of that goddess to all who had spirit to sur-
mount the natural love of rest, and apply themselves
diligently to labour. The Greeks soon learned of
Triptolemus to part the earth into furrows, and ren-
der it fertile by breaking up its surface. The yellow
corn soon strewed the fields under the sickle of the
reapers ; and the wandering barbai iiius, that were dis-
persed in the forests of Epirus and EtoUa, seeking
acorns for their subsistence, when tliey had learnt to
sow corn and make bread, threw off their ferocity,
and submitted to the laws of civil society. Triptole-
mus made the Greeks sensible of the pleasure that is
to be found in that independent wealth which a man
derives from his own labour ; and in the possession
of all the necessaries and conveniences of life, the
genuine produce of his own field. This abundance,
so simple, and so blameless, arising from agriculture,
recalled to their minds the counsel of Ericthon, They
BOOK XIX. 341
held money in contempt ; and all other factitious
wealth, which has no value but in the vain imagina-
tions of men ! which tempts them to pleasures that
are neither sincere nor safe ; and diverts them from
that labour, which alone supplies all that is of real
value, with innocence and liberty. They were now
convinced, that a paternal field, with a kindly soil and
diligent cultivation, was the best inheritance for
those that were wisely content with the simple plenty
that contented their fathers ; who, wanting nothing
that was useful, desired nothing that was vain-
Happy would it have been for the Greeks, if they
had steadily adhered to these maxims, so fit to render
them free, powerful, and happy ; and to inspire and
maintain an uniform and active virtue, which would
have made them worthy of such blessings ! But, alas!
they began to admire false riches : by degrees, they
neglected the true ; and they degenerated from thjs
Hdmirable simplicity ! O my son! the sceptre of thy
father shall, one day, descend to thee : in that day,
remember to lead thy people back to agriculture, to
honour the art, to encourage those that practise ic.
and to suffer no man either to live in idleness, or
employ himself only to propagate luxury and sloth.
These men who govern with such benevolence and
wisdom upon earth, are here the tavourites of Hea-
ven ! They were, in comparison with Achilles and
ctne»* heroes, who excelled onlv in war, what the
genl.e and gonial gales of spring are to the desolat-
ing storms of winter ; and they now as far surpass
them in glory, as the sun, that gives the day, sur-
passes, in spli'iidour, the moon that can only lessen
the darknci-s of the night."
Vriiile Arcesius was thus speaking, he perceived
that Telemachus had fixed his eyes upon a little grove
of laurels, and a rivulet of pure water, that was bor-
dered with roses, violets, lilies, and a thousand other
odoriferous flowers, the vivid colours of which re-
sembled those of Iris, when she descends upon earth.
342 TELEMACHUS.
with some message from the gods to man. He saw,
in this delightful spot, an iniiabitant of Elysium,
whom he knew to be Sesostris. There was, now, a
majesty in the appearance of this great prince, infi-
nitely superior to that which distinguished liim upon
the throne of Egypt : his eyes sparkled with a divine
adiance, that Telemachus could not steadfastly be-
hold : and he appeared to have drank, even to excess,
of immortality and joy : such was the rapture, be-
yond all that mortals have the power to feel, which
the divine Spirit, as the reward of his virtue, had
poured into his breast !
" O my father!" said Telemachus to Arcesius,
" I know him : it is Sesostris, the wise and good,
whom I beheld, not long since, upon his throne in
Egypt !" — " It is he, "replied Arcesius ; "and in him
you have an example of the boundless liberality with
which good kings are rewarded by the gods ; yet all
the felicity, which now overflows his bosom and
sparkles in his eye, is nothing, in comparison of what
he would have enjoyed, if, in the excess of prosperity,
he had been still moderate and just. An ardent de-
sire to abase the pride and insolence of the Tyrians,
impelled him to take their city. This acquisition
kindled a desire of more, and he was seduced by the
vainglory of a conqueror; he subdued, or rather he
ravaged, all Asia. At his return into Egypt, he found
the throne usurped by his brother, who had rendered
the best laws of the country ineffectual, by an iniqui-
tous administration. His conquest of other king-
doms, therefore, served only to throw his own into
confusion : yet he was so intoxicated with the vanity
of conquest, that he harnessed the princes, whom he
had subdued, to his chariot. This was less excus
able than all the rest : but he became, at length,
ensible of his fault, and ashamed of his inhumanity.
Such was the fruit of his victories; and the great
Sesostris has left an example of the injury done by
a conqueror to his country and himself, wnen he
BOOK XIX. 343
usiu-ps the dominions of others : this degraded the
character of a prince, in other respects so just and
beneticent ; and this has diminished the glory which
the gods intended for his reward."
" But seest thou not another shade, my son, dis-
tinguished by a wound, and a hmibent light that plays
round it like a glory ? Th.it is Dioclides, a king of
Caria, who voluntarily gave up his life in battle, be-
cause an oracle had foretold, that, in a war between
the Carians and Lycians, the nation, whose king
should be slain, would be victorious."
" Observe yet another : that is a wise legislator,
who, having instituted such laws as could not fail to
render his people virtuous and happy, and bound
them by a solemn oath not to violate them in his ab-
sence, immediately disappeared, became a voluntary
exile from his country, and died poor and unnoticed,
on a foreign shore, that his people might, by that
oath, be obliged to keep his laws inviolate for ever.
* ' lie, whom thou seest not far oif from these, is
Eunesimus, a king of Pylos, and an ancestor of Nes-
tor. During a pestilence, that desolated the earth,
and crowded the banks of Acheron with shades newly
dismissed from above, he requested of thegodsthathe
DCight be permitted to redeem the lives of liis people
withhisown: the gods granted his request; and have
here rewarded it with I'elicity and honour, in compari-
son of which all that royalty upon earth can bestow,
is vain and unsubstantial, like a shadow or a dream.
" That old man, whom you see crowned with
flowers, isBelns. lie reigned in Egypt, and espoused
Ancliinoe, the daughter of tlie god Niliis, who ferti-
lizes the earth with a flood that lie pours over it Irom
a secret source. He had two sons ; Danaus, whoso
history you know; and iEgvptus, from whom that
mighty kingdom derives its name. Belus thought
liimself more enriched by the plenty which he dilfiised
among his people, and the love that he acquired ii?
return, than h\ all the levies he cuuid have raised, ii
344 lELEMACHUS.
he had taxed them to their utmost ability. These,
my son, whom you belieA'e to be dead ; these only
are the living : those are the dead who languish
upon earth, the victims of disease and sorrow ! the
terms are inverted, and should be restored to their
proper place. May the gods vouchsafe thee sucli
virtue as this life shall reward; a life which nothing
shall embitter or destroy 1 But haste, now, from
this world, to which thou art yet unborn : it is time
the search for thy father should be renewed. Alas,
what scenes of blood shalt thou behold, belore he is
found! What glory awaits thee in the fields of Hes-
peria ! Remember the counsels of Mentor; let
these be the guide of thy life : and thy name shall
be great to the utmost limits of the earth, and the
remotest period of time !"
Such was the admonition of Arcesius ; and he im-
mediately conducted Telemachus to the ivory gate
that leads from the gloomy dominions of Pluto.
Telemachus parted from him, with tears in Ins eyes;
but it was not possible to embrace him ; and leaving
behind him the shades of everlasting night, he made
haste back to the camp of the allies ; having joined
the two young Cretans in his way, who had accom-
panied him to the mouth of the cavern, and despaired
i)f his return.
BOOK XX.
Vennsinm ha\'lnajbeen left as a deposit hy both parties in the hands of
the Lucanians, Telemachus declares asrainst seizing it, in an assembly
of the chiefs, and persuades them to be of his opinion; he discovert
great penetration and sagacity with respect to two deserters, one of
whom, Acanthus, had undertaken to poison him; and the other,
Dioscorus, had offered to bring him Adrasttis'a head. In the battle
w'lich soon follows, Telemachus strews the field with dead in search
of Adrastus: Adrastus, who is also in search of Telemachus, engafes
and kills Pisistratus, the son of Nostor; Philoctetea comes up, and at
the moment when he is about to pierce Adrastus, is himself wounded,
and obliged to retire: Telemachus, alarmed by the cry of his friends,
among whom Adrastus is making a terrible slaughter, rushes to their
assistance: he engages Adrastus, and prescribes condition's, up 'U
which he gives him his life: Adrastus, risiug from the ground, at-
tempts treacherously to kill his conqueror by surprise, who engagea
him a second time, and kills him.
In the mean time, the chiefs of the armv assembled.
KOOK XX. 345
to consiilor whether it was expedient to possess them-
selves of Venusium, a strong- town, which Adrastus
liad formerly taken from a neighbouring- people,
the Peucesian Apulians. They had entered into
the alliance that was formed against him, to obtain
satisfaction for the injury; and Adrastus, to soften
}heir resentment, had put the town as a deposit
mto the hands of the Lucanians: he had, however,
at the same time, corrupted the Lucanian gan*ison
and its commander, with money ; so that he had
still more authority in Venusium, than the Luca-
lians; and the Apulians, who had consented that
Venusium should be garrisoned with Lucanian forces,
were thus defrauded in the negotiation.
A citizen of Venusium, whose name was Demo-
phantes, had secretly offered to put the allies in
possession of one of the gates by night; an advan-
tage which was of the greater importance, as Adras-
tus had placed his magazine of military stores and
provisions in a neighbouring castle, which could not
hold out against an enemy that was in possession
»f Venusium. Philoctetes and Nestor had already
^ven their opinion, that this offer should be accept-
ed; and the rest of the chiefs, influenced by their
authority, and struck with the facility of the enter-
prise, and its immediate advantages, applaud their
determination: but Tolemachus, as soon as he re-
t-amed, exerted his utmost abilities to set it aside.
*' I confess," said he, " that if any man can de-
serve to be surprised and deceived, it is Adrastus,
who has practised fraud against all mankind ; and I
am sensible that the surprise of Venusium will only
put you in possession of a town, which, by right,
is yours already; because it belongs to the Apu-
lians, who are confederates in your expedition: I
also acknowledge that you may improve this op-
portunity with the greater appearance of justice,
a» Adrastus, who has made a deposit of the town
• n over his head : in his eyes
there was something that expressed, at once, cour-
age and tranquillity : and such was his apparent
superiority to danger, that he might have been
taken for Minerva herself. He turned aside the
lance that was thrown against him by Adrastus,
who instantly drew his sword, that he might pre-
vent Telemachus from discharging his lance in re-
turn : Telemachus, therefore, relinquished his spear;
and, seeing the sword of Adrastus in his hand, im-
mediately unsheathed his own.
When the other combatants on each side saw them
thus closely engaged, they laid down their arms; and,
fixing their eyes upon them, waited in silence for the
event that would determine the war. Their swords
flashed like the bolts of Jove, when he thunders from
the sky : and their polished armour resounded with
the strokes. They advanced, retired, stooped, and
sprung suddenly up : till at length closing, each seized
his antagonist at the same moment. The clasping
ivy less closely embraces the elm, than these com-
batants each other. The strength of Adrastus was
undiminished ; but that of Telemachus was not yet
mature. Adrastus frequently endeavoured to sur-
BOOK XX. 366
prise and stagger him, by a sudden and violent
effort, but without success: he then endeavoured
to seize his sword ; but the moment he relinquishied
his grasp for that purpose, Telemachus lifted him
i'rom the ground, and laid him at his feet. In this
dreadful moment, the wretch, who had so long de-
lied the gods, betrayed an unmanly fear of death.
He was ashamed to beg his life ; yet not able to
suppress his desire to live, he endeavoured to move
Telemachus with compassion : " son of Ulysses !"
said he, " I now acknowledge that there arc gods,
and that the gods are just : their righteous retri-
bution has overtaken me ! It is misfortune only
that opens our eyes to truth : I now see it, and it
condemns me. But let an unhappy prince bring thy
father, now distant fi-om his country, to thy remem-
brance, and touch thy breast with compassion!"
Telemachus, who kept the tyrant under him with
his knee, and had raised the sword to dispatch him,
suspended the blow: " I fight," said he, " only for
victory, and for peace ; not for vengeance, or for
blood. Live then : but live, to atone lor the wrongs
you have committed : restore the dominions you have
nsui-ped : and establish justice and tranquillity upon
tlie coast of Hcsperia, which you have so long pol-
luted by cruelty and fraud? Live from henceforth,
a convert to truth and virtue ! Learn from your
defeat, that the gods are just, and that the wicked
are miserable; that to seek happiness in violence and
deceit, is to insure disappointment ; and that there
is no enjoyment like the constant exercise of inte-
grity and benevolence 1 As a pledge of your sin-
cerity, give us your son Metrodorus, and twelve
chiefs of your nation, for hostages."
Telemachus then suffered Adrastus to ris-e ; and,
not suspecting his insincerity, offered him his hand.
But the tyrant, in tliis unguarded moment, perfidi-
ously threw a short javelin at him which he had hi-
therto k'^pt concealed : the weapon wns so keen, and
'2o
366 TELEMACHUS.
thrown with such dexterity and strength, that it
would have pierced the armour of Telemachus, if it
had not been of divine temper ; and Adrastus, being
now without arms, placed himself, for security, be-
hind a tree. Telemachus then cried out, "Bear wit-
ness, Daunians, the victory is ours ! The Ufe of your
king was mine, by conquest ; and it is now forfeited
by treachery. He that fears not the gods, is afraid of
death: he that fears the gods, can fear nothing else."
He advanced hastily towards the Daunians, as he
spoke ; and made a sign to his people, that were on
the other side of the tree, where Adrastus had taken
refuge, to cut off his retreat. The tyrant, perceiving
his situation, would have made a desperate effort to
force his way through the Cretans ; but Telemachiis,
rushing upon him, sudden and irresistible as the
bolt which the father of the gods launches from the
summit of Olympus to destroy the guilty, seized
him with his victorious hands, and laid him prostrate
in the dust ; as the northern tempest levels the
harvest, not yet ripe for the sickle. The victor was
then deaf to entreaty, though the perfidious tyrant
again attempted to abuse the goodness of his heart :
he plunged the sword in his breast ; and dismissed
his soul to the flames of T»~* i.rus, the jv^i ^Tiiiish-
ment of his crimes.
BOOK XXL
Adrastus being dead, the Daunians offer their hands to the allira in
token of peace, and request that one of their own nation may ba
given them for a kin^. >;estor bein;? inconsolable for the loss of his
uon, absents himself from the assembly of the chiefs, where some are
of opinion that the conquered lands should be divided among them,
and allot the territory of Arpos to Telemachus. Telemachus rejects
this offer, and couviui-.'s the chiefs that it is tlieir common interest to
appoint Polydamas kmg of the Daunians, and leave them in possession
of their country. He afterwards persu;ules the Daunians to bestow
Arpos upon Diomede, who had accidentally landed upon their coast.
Hostilities being now at an end, the allies separate, and every one re*
turns to his couu'.ry.
TiiK Daunians, as soon as Adrastus was dead, in-
stead of deploring the c defeat, and the loss of their
chief, r,.*oicetl in their lehverancc; and gave their
BOOK XXL 367
hands to the allies, iu token of peace and recon-
ciliation. Metrodorus, the son of Adrastus, whom
the tyrant had brought up in the principles of dis-
simulation, injustice, and cruelty, pusillanimously
fled ; but a slave, who had been the confidant and
companion of his vices, whom he had enfranchised
and loaded with benefits, and to whom alone he
trusted in his flight, thought only how he might
improve the opportunity to his own advantage : he
therefore attacked him behind, as he fled ; and hav-
ing cut off his head, brought it into the camp of the
allies, hoping to receive a great reward for a crime^
which would put an end to the war : the allies, how-
ever, were struck with horror at the fact, and put
the traitor to death.
Telemachus, when he saw the head of Metrodorus,
a youth of great beauty and excellent endowments,
whom the love of pleasure and bad example had
corrupted, could not refrain from tears : " What an
instance," said he, " of the mischief of prosperity to
a young prince! The greater his elevation, and the
keener his sensibility, the more easy and the more
certain is his seduction from virtue ! And what has
now liiippcned to Metrodorus, might, perhaps, have
happened to me, if I had not been favoured by the
gods with early misfortune and the counsels ot
Mentor."
The Daunians being assembled, required, as the
only condition of peace, that they should be permit-
ted to choose a king of their own nation, whose vir-
tues might remove the disgrace which Adrastus had
brought upon royalty : they were thankful to the
gods, who had cut him off: they came, in crowds, to
kiss the liand of Telemachus, as the instrument ot
divine justice ; and they celebrated their defeat as
a triurapli. Thus, the power which threatened all
Hesperia, and struck united nations with terror, fell,
in a moment, totally and for ever 1 So the ground,
that is gradually undennined, in appearance main-
b68 TELEMACHUS.
tains its stability : the slow progress of the work be-
low is disregarded or despised ; nothing shakes, no-
thing is broken, and, in appearance, nothing is weak:
yet the secret support is certainly, though insensibly,
destroyed ; and the moment, at last, arrives, when
the whole falls at once into ruin, and notliing re-
mains but an abyss, in which the surface, and all that
covered it, is swallowed up. An illegal authority,
however founded, is gi-adually subverted by fraud
and cruelty : it is gazed at with admiration and ter-
ror, and every one trembles before it, till the mo-
ment when it sinks into nothing : it falls by its own
weight, and it can rise no more ; for its support is
not only removed, but annihilated : justice and in-
tegrity are wanting, which alone can produce confi-
dence and love.
On the next day, the chiefs of the army assembled
to give the Dauniaus a king: they saw the two camps
intermingled by an amity so sudden and unexpected,
and the two armies, as it were, incorporated into one,
with infinite pleasure. Nestor, indeed, could not be
present ; for the death of his son was more than the
weakness of age could support : he sunk under this
misfortune, in the decline of life, as a flower sinks
under the showers of the evening, which was the glory
of the field, when Aurora first gave the day: his eyes
continually overflowed, from an inexhaustible somxe ;
the lenient hand of sleep closed them no more ; and
the soothing prospects of hope, in which misery itself
can rejoice, were cut off". All food was bitter to his
taste, and light was painful to his eye : he had no
wish, but to be dismissed from life, and covered with
the veil of eternal darkness. The voice of friend-
ship soothed and expostulated in vain; for even
kindness itself disgusted him, as the richest dainties
are disgustful to the sick. The soft condolence
and tender expostulation, he answered only by
sounds of inarticulate sorrow : yet he was some-
times heard to break out into passionate excluma-
ROOK XXI. 360
tions, alone : " O Pisistratus !" he would say, " O
my son ! thou callest me, and I will follow thee :
thou hast made death welcome ; and I have no wish,
ut once more to behold thee upon the borders of
he Styx !" After such bursts of ^ief, he would
pass whole liours in silence; except that, lifting up
his hands and eyes to heaven, groans would invo-
luntarily escape him.
In the mean time, the princes that were assem-
bled, waited impatiently for Telemachus, who still
continued near the body of Pisistratus, burning the
richest perfumes, scattering flowers over it with a
liberal hand, and mingling the fragrant shower with
his tears : " O my dear companion," said he, " can
our first meeting at Pylos, our journey to Sparta,
and our meeting on the coast of Hesperia, be for-
gotten ? How many obligations am I under to
thee ! how tenderly did I love thee ! and how faith-
fully was my love returned ! I knew thy valour :
it would have rivalled the greatest heroes of Greece ! '
but, alas ! it has destroyed thee ! It has, indeed,
consecrated thy name; but it has impoverished
the world ! We have lost the virtues that would
have been equal to those of thy father ; another
Nestor, whose wisdom and eloquence would, in
future times, have been the pride and admiration
of Greece ! that soft persuasion was already upon
thy lips, which, when Nestor speaks, is irresistible ;
that native simplicity and truth, that gentle expos-
tulation, which soothes anger into peace ; and that
authority, which equanimity and wisdom neces-
sarily acquire, were already thy own ! To thy voir
every ear was attentive : and every heart was ir.
clined to approve thy judgment ! Thy words, plai>
and artless, distilled upon the heart, as the dews o
heaven distil upon the rising herbage of the field i
In thee, how many blessings, within a few hours,
did we possess! with thee, how manv blessings have
we now lost for ever ! Pisistratus, whom, but
S70 TELEMACHUS.
yesterday, I clasped to my breast, is now insensible
to my friendsbip ; and a mournful remembrance ot
him is all that remains ! If, instead of our closing
thy eyes, thou hadst closed the eyes of Nestor, the
gods would have spared him this sight of anguish
and hoiTor ; and he would not have been distin-
guished, among fathers, by unexampled calamity !"
After these exclamations of tenderness and pity,
Telemachus ordered the body to be washed from the
wounded side of Pisistratus, and the body to be laid
upon a purple bier. Upon this bed of death, his
head reclined, and his countenance pale, he resem-
bled a young tree, which, having covered the earth
with its shade and shot up its branches to heaven,
is cut down by the axe with an untimely stroke :
it is severed at once from its root, and from the
earth, a proHfic mother, that cherishes her offspring
in her bosom ! The branches languish, and the
• verdure fades ! it is no longer self-supported ; it
falls to the ground, and its spreading honours, that
concealed the sky, are stretched, withered and sap-
less, in the dust : it is no more a tree, but a lifeless
trunk ; it aspires, and is graceful no more ! Thus
fallen and thus changed, Pisistratus was now borne
to the funeral pile, attended by a band of PyHans,
moving with a slow and mournful pace ; their arms
reversed, and their eyes, swimming in tears, fixed
upon the ground ! And now the flame ascends in
ruddy spires to the sky ; the body is quickly con-
sumed, and the ashes deposited in a golden urn.
This urn, as an invaluable treasure, Telemachus,
who superintended the whole, confided to Callima-
chus, to whom Nestor had once confided the son
whose remains it contained : " Preserve," said he,
** these mournful but precious relics, of one whom
you tenderly loved ; preserve them for his father ;
but do not give them till he has fortitude enough
to ask for them : that, which at one time exaspe-
rates son'ow, will soothe it at another "
BOOK XXI. 871
Telemachus, having thus fulfilled the last duties
to his friend, repaired to the assembly of the con-
federate princes, who, the moment they saw him,
became silent with attention : he blushed at the
deference that was paid him, and could not be pre-
vailed upon to speak. The acclamations that fol-
lowed increased his confusion ; he wished to hide
himself, and now, for the first time, appeared to be
irresolute and disconcerted. At last, he entreated,
as a favour, that they would praise him no more ;
" Not," says he, " because it displeases me, espe-
cially from those who are so well able to distinguish
virtue, but because I am afraid it should please me
too much : praise is the gi-eat corrupter of mankind :
it renders them arrogant, presumptuous, and vain :
and ought alike to be deserved and avoided. Notliing
is so like honest praise, as flattery : tyrants, the
most wicked of all men, are most the objects of
adulation : and what pleasures can I derive frora
Buch tribute ? Honest praise, if I am so happy
to deserve it, will be paid when I am absent ; and,
if you believe that I have merit, you must also
believe that I desire to be humble, and am afraid
of being vain. Spare me then, if you esteem me ;
and do not praise me, as if you thought praise was
delightful to my car.
Telemachus, having thus expressed the sentiments
of his heart, took no farther notice of those who still
continued loud in extravagant encomiums, and his
neglect soon put them to silence ; for they began to
fear that their zeal would displease him : praise,
therefore, was at an end, but admiration increased;
for the tenderness which he had shown to Pisistra-
tus, and the affectionate assiduity with which he
had paid the last duties of a friend, were univer-
sally known ; and the whole army was more touched
with these testimonies of sensibility and benevo-
lence, than with all the prodigies of wisdom and
valour that had distinguished liis character with
372 TELEMACHUS.
unrivalled lustre. " He is wise," said they to each
other ; ' ' and he is brave : he is beloved of the
gods ; he stands alone, the hero of our age ; he is
more than man ! but this is only wonderful, this
excites no passion but astonishment. He is, besides,
humane ; he is good ; he is a faithful and a tender
friend; he is compassionate, liberal, beneficent, and
devoted, without reserve, to those who merit his
affection ! Of his haughtiness, indiiference, and
ferocity, nothing remains : and he is now, not the
wonder only, but the delight of mankind. His
character is now distinguished by useful and endear-
ing excellence ; by qualities that reach the heart,
that melt us with tenderness, that make us not
only acknowledge but feel his virtues, and would
prompt us to redeem his life with our own."
The princes, having thus given vent to their
esteem and admiration, proceeded to debate the
necessity of giving the Daimians a king. The
greater part of the assembly was of opinion, that
the territories of Adrastns should be divided among
them, as a conquered country; and Telemachus was
oflFered, as liis share, the fertile country of Arpos,
where Ceres pours out her golden treasures, Bac-
chus presents his delicious fruit, and the olive,
consecrated to Minerva, pays her green tribute
twice a-year. " This country," said they, "ought
to obliterate Ithaca from your remembrance, its
barren soil, its mean cottages, the dreary rocks of
Dulichium, and the savage forests of Zacynthus.
Think no more of your father, who has certainly
been buried in the deep at the promontory of Ce-
phareus, by the vengeance of Nauplius, and the
anger of Neptune ; nor of your mother, who must
have yielded to her suitors, in your absence ; nor
of your country, which the gods have not favoured
like that which is now offered you."
Telemachus heard them patiently; but the rocks
of Thessaly and Thrace are not more deaf and in-
BOOK XXI. 373
exorable to the complaints of despairing love, than
the son of Ulysses to these offers. ' ' I have no
wish," said he, "either for luxury or wealth: and
why should I possess a wider extent of country, or
command a gi-eater number of men ? I should only
be more embarrassed, and less at liberty. I\Ien of
the greatest wisdom, and most moderate desires,
have found life full of trouble, without taking upon
them the government of others, who are restless
and untractable, injurious, fraudulent, and ungrate-
ful. He that desires to command others for his
own sake, without any view but to his own power,
and pleasure, and glory, is a tyrant; an enemy to
the gods, and a punishment to man ! He, who
governs mankind with justice and equity, for their
own advantage, is rather their guardian than their
lord ; his trouble is inconceivable ; and he is far
from wishing to increase it, by extending his autho-
rity. The shepherd, who does not riot upon the
flesh of his flock, who defends them from the wolf
at the hazard of his life, who leads them to the best
pasture, and watches over them night and day, has
no desire to increase the nimiber of his sheep, or to
seize upon those that belong to his ncighl)Our ; for
this would only increase his care, by multiplying
its objects. Though I have never governed, I have
learnt from the laws, and from the sages by whom
laws have been made, that government is an anxious
and laborious task : I am, therefore, content with
Ithaca, however small, and however poor ; and if
I can reign there with fortitude, justice, and piety,
I shall have no need to wish for a larger dominion
to increase my glory. My reii,'-n, indeed, may
commence but too soon. Woidd to Heaven, that
my father, escaping the fury of the waves, may reign
himself to the longest period of human life ; and that,
under him, I may learn to subdue my own passions,
till I know how to restrain those of a whole nation!"
Telemachus then addressed the assembly in these
374 TELEMACHUS.
tei-ms : ' ' Hear, O ye princes ! what your interest
makes it my duty to declare. If you give the Dau-
nians a just king, he will make them a just people :
he will show them the advantage of keeping their
faith unbroken, and of not invading the territories of
their neighbours ; a lesson which, under the impious
Adrastus, they could never learn. From these
people, while they are under the direction of a wise
and good prince, you will have nothing to fear : if
such a prince you shall give them, they will be in-
debted for the peace and prosperity that they will
enjoy under him, instead of attacking, they will
bless you ; and both king and people will be, as it
were, the work of your own hands. But, on the
contrary, if you divide their country among you,
the mischiefs which 1 now predict, will certainly
come to pass. The Daunians, pushed to despera-
tion, will renew the war ; they will fight in a just
cause, the cause of liberty; and the gods, who
abhor tyranny, will fight for them : if the gods shall
take part against you, first or last, you must be
confounded, and your prosperity will dissipate like
a vapour ; counsel and wisdom will be withdrawn
from your chiefs, courage from your armies, and
plenty fi-om your country : your hope will be pre-
sumptuous, and your undertakings rash: j'ouwill im-
pose silence upon those that warn you of your danger ;
and your ruin will be sudden and irretrievable. It
will then be said, ' Is this the mighty nation that was
to give laws to the world ; this, that is now vanquish-
ed, pursued, and trampled in the dust ? Such is
the desert of the lawless, the haughty and the cruel:
and such is the righteous retribution of Heaven !'
" Consider, also, that if you undertake to divide
your conquest, you will unite all the surrounding
nations against you : your alliance, which was formed
in delence of the common liberty of Hesperia, against
the usurpations of Adrastus, will become odious;
and you will yourselves be justly accused of aspiring
BOOK XXI. 375
at an universal tyranny. But suppose tliat you
should be victorious against theDauiiians, and eveiy
other people, your siiccess will inevitably be your
ruin. This measure will disunite you: it cannot be
taken, without a violation of those very rules by
whicli alone vou can regulate your own pretensions,
it will substitute power for justice, and therefore
each of you will make liis power the measure of his
claim. Not one of you will have sufficient authority
over the rest, to make a peaceable division of the
common property; and thus a new war will com-
mence, of which your descendants, that are not yet
born, will probably never see the end. Is it not
better to sit down in peace, with justice and mode-
ration, than to follow ambition, where all is tumult,
danger and calamity? Is not perfect tranquillity
and blameless pleasure, a plentiful country and
friendly neighbours, the glory that is inseparable
from justice, and the authority that must result from
an integrity, to which foreign nations refer their con-
tests for decision, more desirable thau the idle vanity
of lawless conquests ? I speak, O princes ! without
interest: I oppose your opinions, because I love you;
I tell you the truth, though I risk your displeasure.
Should the counsel of integrity be lightly rejected ?"
While Telemachus was thus speakingwithanewand
irresistible authority, and the princes were admiring
the wisdom of his counsels in astonishment and
suspense, a confused noise spread through the camp,
and came at last to the place where they were assem-
bled. It was said that a stranger had just landed,
with a company of men in arms; that he was of a
lofty port, and had a military greatness in his aspect
and demeanour; that he appeared to have endured
great adversity, and to be superior to all sufferance.
The soldiers, wiio were stationed to guard the coast,
at first prepared to repulse him as an enemy that
was invading their country: upon which he drew his
Bword with an air of intrepidity, and declared that it
376 TELEMACHUS.
he was attacked, he could make good his defence ;
but that he required only peace and hospitality. He
then held out an olive branch as a supplicant; and,
desiring to be conducted to those who commanded
that part of the coast, he was accordingly brought
to the royal assembly.
The moment after this intelligence was received,
the stranger entered. His majestic appearance
struck the whole assembly with surprise : he looked
like the god of war, when he calls together his san-
guinary bands upon the moimtains of Thrace ; and
he addressed the princes in these tenns :
" Surely I see the guardians of mankind assem-
bled to defend their country, or distribute justice!
Here, then, a man, persecuted by fortune, may hope
to be heard ! May the gods preserve you from the
like calamity ! I am Diomede, the king of ^tolia,
who wounded Venus at the siege of Troy; and her
vengeance pursues me whithersoever I fly. Neptune,
who can refuse nothing to the divine daughter of the
sea, has given me up to the iury of the winds and
waves; and I have suffered shipwreck almost upon
every rock. Inexorable Venus has left me no hope
of again returning to my kingdom, or clasping my
family to my breast ! In the country where I first
beheld the light, I shall behold it no more : from all
that is dear to me, I am severed for ever ! Upon
this unknown coast, after all my shipwrecks, I seek
only security and rest. Jupiter himself is the
stranger's titulary god: if, therefore, ye have any
reverence of Heaven, if ye have any feelings of com-
passion, vouchsafe me some neglected corner of this
vast country, some barren spot, some untrodden
waste, some sandy plain, some craggy rock, where I
may take refuge with my associates in misfortune,
and build a little town, a sad memorial of the coun-
try we have lost ! We ask but a small tra«-k of such
ground as is useless to you ; we will be peaceful
neighbours, and firm allies ; we will have no enemy,
BOOK XXL 377
jiinl no interest but yonrs; and we desire no other
distinction or peculiarity, than the liberty of living
according to our own laws."
While Diomede was speaking, Telemachus kept
his eye fixed upon hira ; and all the changes of pas-
ion were, by turns, expressed in his aspect. When
the hero at first mentioned his long misfortunes, he
thought this majestic stranger might be his fatlier,
and his countenance brightened with hope: the mo-
ment he declared himself to be Diomede, it faded,
like a flower at the chill blast of the north; and when
he complained of inexorable anger, and an offended
goddess, the heart of Telemachus was melted, by the
remembrance of what his father and himself had
suffered from the same cause: the conflict was, at
last, more than he could sustain; and, bursting into
tears of gi-ief and joy, he threw himself upon the
neck of Diomede, and embraced him.
" I am," said he, "the son of Ulysses, your asso-
ciate in the war; who, when you carried off the
horses of Rhesus, was not idle. The gods have
treated him with unrelenting severity, as they hav
treated you. If the oracles of Erebus may be believed ,
he is still alive; but, alas ! he is not alive to me. I
have left Ithaca to seek him; and I have now los*
him, and my country, for ever! Judge, from ray
misfortunes, of my compassion for yours ; for Misfor '
tune is the parent of Pity, and so far it is an advan-
tage. In this coiuitry I am but a stranger myself; and
I have, from my infancy, suffered various distresses
in my own. Yet, O mighty Diomede ! I was not
there ignorant of the glory you have acquired ; nor
am I, here, unable, O next to Achilles in courage and
prowess ! to procure you some succour. The princes
which vou see in this assembly are not strangers to
humanity; they are sensible that witliout it there is
neither virtue, nor courage, nor honour. The truly
great become more illustrious by adversity: without
adv^'-sity, something is wanting in their character;
TELEMACHUS.
they cannot be examples either of patience or o* for-
titude : when virtue suffers, every heart is melted,
that is not insensible to virtue. Entrust, then, yoxu*
affairs implicitly with us, to whom the gods have
given you : we receive you as a boimty from their
hands, and shall think ourselves happy in the power
of alleviating your distress."
Diomede, astonished at what he heard, fixed his
eyes upon Telemachus; and feeling himself moved
to the heart, they embraced, as if they had been long
united by the most intimate friendship. " O son of
the wise Ulysses," said he, '* how worthy art thou of
such a father ! Thou hast the same sweetness of
couQtenance, the same graceful elocution, the same
force of eloquence, the same elevation of sentiment,
and the same rectitude of thought !"
The hero was also embraced by Philoctetes ; and
they related their imfortunate adventures to each
other. " You would, certainly," said Philoctetes,
" be glad once more to see Nestor: he has just lost
his last sui-viving child, Pisistratus; and, to him, thia
world is now only a vale of tears, leading to the
grave. Come with me, and comfort him : an unfor-
tunate friend is more likely than any other to soothe
his distress."
They went immediately to his tent ; but grief had
so much affected both his senses and his understand-
ing, that he recollected Diomede with difficulty.
Diomede, at first, wept with him ; and the old man
felt his grief increased by the interview : the presence
of his friend, however, soothed his anguish by de-
grees ; and it was easy to perceive that the sense or
his misfortunes was, in some degree, suspended by
the pleasure of relating them, and of hearing what
had befallen Diomede in return.
In the mean time, the assembled princes consulted
with Telemachus, what was proper to be done. Te-
lemachus advised them to bestow the country of
Axpos upon Diomede, and to give Polydamas to the
BOOK XXI. 371>
Daunians for tlieir king. Polydamas was their
countryman; a soldier, of whose eminent abilities
Adrastus was jealous, and whom, therefore, he would
never employ, lest he should share the glory of suc-
cess, which he wished to secure to himself. Polyda-
mas had often told him, in private, that in a war
against united nations, his life, and the public wel-
fare, were too much exposed; and would have per-
suaded him to treat the neighbouring states with
more justice and equity : but men who hate truth,
hate those also who are bold enough to speak it;
they are not touched either with their sincerity, their
zeal, or their disinterestedness. A deluded prosperity
hardened the heart of Adrastus against the counsels
of virtue; and the neglect of them afforded him
every day a new triumph; for fraud and violence
gave him the advantage over all his enemies. The
misfortunes wliich Polydamas predicted did not hap-
pen. Adrastus despised the timid prudence which
foresaw nothing but difficulty and danger. Polyda-
mas became, at length, insupportable: he was dis-
missed from all his employments, and left to languish
in poverty and solitude.
Polydamas was at first overwhelmed with this re-
verse of fortune; but at length it supplied what was
wanting in his character, a sense of the vanity of
external greatness. He became wise at his own
expense, and rejoiced that he had felt adversity : he
learnt, by degrees, to suffer ; to live upon little ; to
regale with tranquillity upon truth; to cultivate the
virtues of private life, which are infinitely more esti-
,. mable than those that glitter in the public eye; and
not to depend for his enjoyments upon mankind.
He dwelt in a desert at the foot of Mount Garganus,
where a rock, that formed a kind of rude vault, shel-
tered him from the weather; a river that fell from
the mountain quenched his thirst, and the fruit of
some neighbouring trees allayed his hunger. He had
two slaves, whom he employed to cultivate a small
BbO TELEMACHUS.
spot of ground; and he assisted them in their work
with his own hands. The soil repaid his labour with
usury, and he was in want of nothing. He had not
only fruit, herbs, and roots, in abundance, but most
fragrant flowers of every kind. In this retirement
he deplored the misfortune of those nations which
the mad ambition of their prince pushes on to their
ruin. He expected, every day, that the gods, who,
though long-suffering, are just, would put an end to
the tyranny of Adrastus : he thought he perceived
that the more the tyrant rose in prosperity, the nearer
he approached to destruction ; for successful impru-
dence, and absolute authority in its utmost stretch,
ire, to kings and kingdoms, the certain forerunners of
a fall. Yet when he heard of the defeat and death of
Adrastus, he expressed no joy, either in having fore-
seen his ruin, or in being delivered fi-oni his tyranny :
he was anxious only for his country, which he feared
the conquerors might reduce to a state of slavery.
Such was the man wliom Telemachus proposed to
give the Daunians for their king. He had been some
time acquainted both with his abilities and his virtue ;
for Telemachus, as he had been advised by Mentor,
applied himself, with incessant diligence, to discover
the good and bad qualities of all persons who had any
considerable trust, whether under the allied princes
with whom he served in the war, or among their ene-
mies: and it was one of his principal employments,
in every place, to discover and examine men who
were distinguished by some singular talent or quali-
fication, wherever they were to be found.
The confederate princes were, at first, something
unwilling to bestow the kingdom upon Polydamas.
" We have learnt," said thev, "by fatal experience,
that a king of the Daunians who has a military dispo-
sition, and m.ilitaryskill, mustbe extremely formida-
ble to his neighbours. Polydamas is a gi-eat com-
mander, and he may bring us into great danger." —
" It is true," said Telemachus, "that Polydamaeis
BOOK XXI. 381
;i • juainted with war ; but it is also tnie, that ho is a
lover of peace ; which, together, make the very cha-
racter that our interest requires, A man who has
experienced the difficulties, the dangers, and the ca-
himities of war, is much better qualified to avoid
them, than he that knows them only by report. Po-
lydamas has learnt to relish, and to value, the bless-
ings of tranquillity : he always condemned the en-
terprises of Adrastus, and foresaw the ruin in which
they would terminate. You will have much more to
fear, from a weak prince, without knowledge, and
without experience, than from one who sees all mth
his own eye, and determines all by his own will.
The weak and ignorant prince will see all things
with the eyes of another ; either of some capricious
favourite, or some flattering, turbulent, and ambi-
tious minister: lie will therefore be engaged in a war
without intending it; and you can certainly have no
dependence upon him who acts implicitly by the
direction of others : there can be no hope that Ids
promises will be kept ; and you will, in a short time,
have no alternative but to destroy him, or suffer
yourselves to be destroyed by him. Is it not, there-
fore, more advantageous, more safe, and at the same
time more just and more generous, faithfully to fulfil
the trust which the Daunians have placed in you,
and give them a king that is worthy of dominion?"
All scruples being entirely removed by this dis-
course, Polydamas was immediately proposed to the
Daunians, who waited the determination of the as-
sembly with great impatience. As soon as they heard
the name of Polydamas, they answered, "Theallies
have now proved the sincerity of their intentions, and
given us a pledge of perpetual peace, by proposing a
man of such virtue and abilities for our king : if they
had proposed a man without spirit, without virtue,
without knowledge, we should have concluded that
they designed only to make us weak and contempti-
ble, by rendering inir government corrupt; r. fruoJ
382 T LEMACHUS.
subtilty which we could not have seen practised
ag-aiucit us wiihout a secret but strong resentment !
The choice of Polydamas, indeed, is a pi'oof of nobler
principles ; for, as the allies have given us a king
who is incapable of doing anything inconsistent with
the liberty and honour of our state, it is manifest
that they expect nothing which can either degrade or
oppress us ; and on our part, we take the gods to
witness, that, if the rivers return not back to their
sources, we will not cease to love those who have
treated us with so noble a beneficence. May our
latest posterity remember the benefits which have
this day been conferred upon us; and renew, from
generation to generation, the peace of the golden
age of Hesperia, till time shall be no more !"
Telemachus then proposed to tlie Daunians, that
the plains of Arpos should be given to Diomede, for
the settlement of a colony : " You will lay this new
people," said he, "under an obligation without ex-
pense. You do not occupy the country in which they
will settle ; yet they will be indebted for their settle-
ment there to you. Remember that all men should
be united by the bands of love : that the earth is of
an extent much larger than they can fill ; that it is
necessary to have neighbours, and eligible to have
such neighbours as are obliged to you for their settle-
ment: nor should you be insensible to the misfortunes
of a prince, to whom his native country is inter-
dicted for ever. An union between him and Poly-
damas will be immediately formed, upon mutual
principles of rectitude and benevolence, the only
principles upon which any union can be lasting: yon
will therefore secure all the blessings of peace t
yourselves, and become so formidable to all tl; >
neighbouring states, that none of them will attempt
the acquisition of greatness and power that would
be dangerous to tlie rest. As we have given to your
country and people, a king that will procure to both
tho highest degree of prosperity and honour, let
BOOK XXII. 383
four liberality, at our request, bestow a country,
that you do not cultivate, upon a kin5
tachment, wliich made it impossible for him to leave
Salentum without regret. The secret, however, cost
him some pain : " You will blame me, perhaps," said
he, " for yieldint^ too easily to impressions of love,
in the countries through which I pass ; but my heart
would always reproacli me, if I should hide fi-om you
that passion that I have conceived for Antiope, the
dauL lorn. I would cease to be, rather than be thus : life
itself is of less value than a friend : take my life,
therefore, but leave me Mentor !"
When Telemachus was speaking, liis voice became
stronger, and his timidity vanished. Idomeneus could
not acquiesce, though he knew not what to reply •
and being unable to speak, he attempted to excit«
pity by looks and gestures of distress.
412 TELEMACHUS.
At this moment he perceived Mentor, who address-
ed him in a solemn tone, but without severity : " Do
not give way," said he, " to unreasonable soitow.
We leave you ; but we leave you to that wisdom
which presides in the councils of the gods. Remem-
ber, with gratitude, that we were sent by the direc-
tion of that wisdom, to correct your errors and pre-
serve your state. We have restored Philocles, and
he will serve you with fidelity ; reverence for the
gods, delight in virtue, love for the people, and com-
passion for the wretched, will be always predominant
in his bosom. Listen to his advice, and employ him
without jealousy or distrust. The most important
service he can render you, is to tell you your faults
without disguise or palliation ; require tliis service of
him, therefore, in the first place. A good king is
distinguished by the noblest fgrtitude ; he fears not
the monitor in the friend, nor shrinks from the sight
of his own failings : if you are endowed with this for-
titude, you have nothing to fear from our absence ;
the felicity of your life is secure ; but if flattery,
which steals its winding way like a serpent, should
once more get access to your heart, and render you
suspicious of disinterested counsel, you are undone.
Pineno longer m voluntary subjection to sorrow; but
follow virtue with the utmost efi*ort of your mind. I
have instructed Philocles to lighten your cares, and
deserve your confidence ; and I will be answerable
for his integi-ity. The gods have given him to you,
as they have given me to Telemachus : the destiny
which they have allotted us, we should fulfil boldly ;
for to regret it is in vain . If my assistance should be
necessary, after I have restored TeJemachus to his fa-
ther and his country, I will return ; and what could
give me more sensible delight ? I seek, for myself,
neither wealth nor power ; and I wish only to assist
others, in the searcli of justice and virtue. To you, I
have a particular attachment ; for the generous con-
fidence of youi" friendship can never be forgotten.**
BOOK XXIII. 413
While Mentor was opeaking, Idomeneus became
ronscions to a sudden and pleasing change. He felt
his passions !>ub«;ide into peace, as the waves sink
to rest, and the tempest is hushed to silence, when
the father of the deep lius his trident against them.
Nothing now remained but a kind of tender regret ;
something that was rather a soft and soothing melan-
choly, than grief; and courage, hope, virtue, and
confidence in the gods, began once more to kindle
in -his bosom.
" Well then, my dear Mentor," said he, "I must
lose all, and be content : let me, however, be still pre-
sent to your mind. Vv^hen you shall have arrived in
Ithaca, where the reward of wisdom shall fill all
your wishes, remember that Salentum is your own
work; and that Idomeneus is inconsolable for ycriir
loss, has no hope but in vour return. Farewell, O
son of Ulysses ! my ports shall detain you no more :
the gods reclaim the treasure which they lent, and
it is my duty to comply. Farewell, Mentor, the
greatest and wisest of men ! if such excellence as
thine is within the limits of our nature, and thou art
not a divinity, that has assumed the form, to call
strength from weakness, and from simplicity wisdom :
be still the guide and the guardian of Telemachus,
who is more fortunate to be thy charge, than to be
the conqueror of Adrastus. I dismiss you both: I
will restrain my words ; my sighs are involuntary,
and may, therefore, be foruiven. Go, live togeiher,
and together be happy ! I have nothing left, but the
remembrance that I once shared your felicity : the
golden moments are past, and I knew not their value ;
they fled in haste, alas! and they will never return!
I have possessed you; but the joy is vanished! I
now see you, but I shall see yon no more."
Mentor took this opportunity to withdraw ; he
embraced Philoclos, who burst into tears, and was
unable to speak. Telemachus would have taken
hold of Mentor's hand, that he might have quitted
414 TELEMACHUS.
that of laomeneus : but Idomeneus, placing himself
between them, went towards the port : he gazed
upon them by turns ; he sighed ; and he frequently
began to speak; but his voice faltered, and he left
the sentence unfinished.
Aud now they heard, in a confused murmur, the
voices of the mariners that crowded the shore ; the
cordage was stretched, the sails were made ready,
and a favourable gale sprang up. Telemachus and
Mentor, with tears in their eyes, took leave of
the king, who held them long in his anns, and follow-
ed them with his eyes as far as they could be seen.
BOOK XXIV.
Telemachus, during the voyage, prevails with Mentor to explain many
difficulties in the art of government, particularly that of distiumiish-
ing the characters of men, so as to employ the good, and avoid oeing
deceived by the bad; during this con versatio:i, a calm obliges them
to put into alittle island where Ulysses had just gcme ashore: Telema-
chus sees and speaks to him, without knowing who he is ; but after
having seen him embark, feels a secret uneasiness, of which he cannot
imagine the cause : Mentor explains it, and comforts him, assuring
him that he shall soon meet with his father again : he puts his patience
and piety to another trial, by detaining him to sacrifice to Minerva:
the goddess, who had been concealed under the figure of Mentor,
resumes her own form, aud is known and acknowledged by Telema-
chus : she gives him her last instructions, and disappears. Telemachus
arrives in Ithaca, and finds his father at the house of his faithful
servant Eumenes.
The sails now swell with the breeze, and the shore
seems to retreat : the pilot perceived, at a distance,
the promontory of Leucate, which conceals its sum-
mit in the hoary mists, that are blown round it by
the freezing whirlwind : and the Acroceraunian
mountains, which still lift their presumptuous brow
to heaven, though blasted so often by the bolts of
Jove.
" I believe," said Telemachus to Mentor, during
the voyage, " that I now perfectly understand the
maxims of government that you have given me.
They appeared, at first, like the confused images of
a dream ; but, by degrees, thev became clear and
distinct : so all objects appear obscure and clou^^y,
at the first dawn of the morning ; but, at length,
BOOK XXIV. 415
tKey rise gradually, like a new creation out of chaos,
as the light, increasing by insensible degrees, dissi-
pates the mist that surrounds them, defines their
true figure, and tinges them with their proper hue.
I am persuaded, that the great secret of government
is to distinguish the different characters of men, to
select them for different purpose?, and allot each to
the employment which is most suited to his talents :
but I am still to learn how characters are thus to be
distinguished."
"Mankind," replied Mentor, "tobe known, must
be studied; and to be studied, they must Irequently
be seen and talked to. Kings ought to convei'se
with their subjects, hear their sentiments, and con-
sult them: they should also trust them with some
small employment, and take an account how they
discharge it, in order to judge whether they are ca-
pable of more important service. By what means,
my dear Telemachus, did you acquire your know-
ledge in horses ? Was it not by seeing them fi-equent-
ly, and conversing with persons of experience con-
cerning their excellencies and defects ? In the same
manner, converse with the wise and good, who are
grown old in the study of human nature, concern-
ing the defects and excellencies of men : ycni will
thus, insensibly, acquire a nice discernment of cha-
rjicter, and know what may be expected from every
man that falls under your observation. How have
you been taught to distinguish the poet from the
mere writer of verses, but, by frequent reading, and
conversation with persons who have a good taste for
poetry? And how have you acquired judgment in
music, but by the same application to the subject ?
How is it possible that men should be well governed,
if they are not known ; and how can the knowledge
of men be acquired, but by living among them?
But seeing them in public, where they talk of in-
different subjects, and say nothing even of th«'m
that has not been premeditated, is by no means
416 TELEMACHUS.
liviug among them : they must be seen in privaw ;
their latent sentiments must be traced to the secret
recesses of the heart ; they must be viewed in every
light ; all their depths and shallows must be tried,
and their principles of action ascertained. But to
form a right judgment of mankind, it is principally
necessary to know what they ought to be : a clear
and definite idea of real merit, is absolutely neces-
sary to distinguish those who have it, from those
who have it not. Men are continually talking of
virtue and merit : but there are few, who know, pre-
cisely, w^hat is meant by either : they are splendid
terms, indeed; but with respect to the greatest part
of those who take a pride in perpetually repeating
them, of uncertain signification. Justice, reason,
and virtue, must be resolved into some certain prin-
ciples, before it can be determined who are just,
reasonable, and virtuous : the maxims of a wise and
good administration must be known, before those
who adopt them can be distinguished from those who
substitute false refinement and political cunning in
their stead. To take the dimensions of different bo-
dies, we must have a standard measure ; to judge of
qualities and characters, we must have some fixed
and invariable principles, to which they may be re-
ferred. We must know, precisely, what is the gi-eat
purpose of human life ; and to what end the govern-
ment of mankind should be directed : the sole end of
all government is to render mankind virtuous and
happy; and with this great end, the notion that a
prince is invested with the regal power and authority
for his own sake, is wholly incompatible. This notion
can only gratify the pi-ide of a tyrant: a good king
lives but for his people ; and sacrifices his own ease
and pleasure to their advantage. He whose eye is
not invariably fixed upon this great end, the public
good, if in any instance he attains it, will attain it by
chance ; he will float in the stream of time, like a
ship in the ocean, without a pilot, the stars un-
BOOK XXIV. 417
marked, and the shores unknown: in such a situa-
tion, is it possible to avoid shipwreck?
" It frequently happens, that princes, not knowing
in what virtue consists, know not what they ought
to seek in mankind: they mistake virtue for auste-
rity; it olTends them, by appearing to want com-
placency, and to affect independence : and, touched
at once with fear and disgust, they turn from it to
flattery. From this moment, sincerity and virtue
are to be found no more; the prince is seduced by a
phantom of false glory, which renders him unworthy
of the true: he persuades himself that there is no
such tiling as virtue upon the earth : for though the
good can distinguish the wicked, the wicked cannot
distinguish the good; and, what they cannot distin-
guish, they suppose not to exist : they know enough
to render them suspicious; but not knowing more,
they suspect all ahke: they retire from the public
eye , and immure themselves in the palace ; they im-
pute the most casual trifles to craft and design ; they
are a ten-or to mankind, and mankind is a terror to
them : they love darkness, and disguise their charac-
ters, which, however, are perfectly known; the ma-
lignant curiosity of their subjects penetrates every
veil, and investigates every secret; but he that is
thus known by all, knows nobody ; the self-interested
wretches that surround him, rejoice to perceive that
he is inaccessible; and a prince that is inaccessible
to men, is inaccessible to truth: those who avail
themselves of his blindness, are busy to calumniate
or to banish all who would open his eyes; he lives
in a kind of savage and unsocial magnificence, al-
ways the dupe of that imposition which he at once
dreads and deserves. He that converses only with
a small number, almost necessarily adopts their pas-
sions and their prejudices, and from passions and
prejudices the best are not free: he must also re-
ceive his knowledire by report, and therefore lie
at the mercy of tiile-beurer& ; a despicable and de-
418 TELEMACHUS.
testable race, who are nourished by the poison that
destroys others ; who make what is little great, and
what is blameless criminal; who, rather than not
impute evil, invent it ; and who, to answer their own
purposes, play upon the causeless suspicion and un-
worthy curiosity of a weak and jealous prince.
" Let the great object of your knowledge, there-
fore, O my dear Telemachxis ! be man. Examine
him : hear one man's opinion of another ; try them
by degrees ; trust implicitly to none ; and profit of
your experience when you shall have been deceived
in your judgment, which sometimes will certainly
happen: wicked men disguise themselves with too
much art to be always detected : form your opinion
of others, therefore, with caution; and do not hastily
determine, either that they are bad or good ; for, in
either case, a mistake may be dangerous : and thus,
even from error, you will derive wisdom. When
you find a man of virtue and abilities, do not use
him only, but trust him : for such men love that
others should appear sensible of their merit, and set
a much higher value upon confidence and esteem,
than pecuniary rewards. But do not endanger their
virtue, by trusting them with absolute power; for
many men, who have stood against common temp-
tations, have fallen, when unlimited authority, and
boundless wealth, have brought their virtue to a se-
vere test. The prince who shall be so far favoured oi
the gods as to find two or three, whose wisdom and
virtue render them worthy of his friendship, will, by
their means, find others of the same character, to fill
the inferior departments of state : and thus, by the
few that he can trust, he will acquire the knowledge
of others, whom his own eye could never reach."
*• But I have often heard," said Telemachus, "that
men of ability should be employed, even though vir-
tue be wanting." — " The service of such men," re-
plied Mentor, "is sometimes necessary. When a na-
tion is in a state of tumult and disorder, authority in
BOOK XXIV. 419
often found in the hands of wicked find designing
men, who are possessed of important employments,
from which they cannot immediately be removed ; and
have acquired the confidence of persons in power,
who must not abruptly be opposed; nor must they
be abruptly opposed themselves, lest they should
throw all things into irremediable confusion: they
must be employed for a time ; but care must con-
stantly be taken to lessen their importance by de-
grees; and, even while they are employed, they must
not be trusted. He that trusts them with a secret,
invests them with power which they will certainly
abuse, and of which, from that moment, he will bo
the slave : by his secret, as with a chain, he will be
led about at pleasure; and, howcA'er he may regi'et
his bondage, he will find it impossible to be free.
Let them negotiate superficial ati'airs, and be treated
with attention and kindness; let them be attached
to their duty, even by their passions, for by their pas-
sions only they can be held; but let them never be
admitted to secret and important deliberations. Some
spring should be always ready to put them in mo-
tion, when it is fit they should act; but a king should
never trust them with the key, either of his bosom,
or his state. When the public commotion subsides,
and government is regularly administered by men of
approved integrity and wisdom, the wicked, whose
services were forced upon their prince for a time, will
insensibly become unnecessary and insignificant;
but even then, they should be well treated ; for to be
ungrateful, even to the wicked, is to be like them:
but in all kindness showed to such characters, there
should be a view to their amendment : some of their
faults should be overlooked, as incident to human in-
firmity ; but the king's authority should be gradually
resumed, and those mischiefs prevented, which they
would openly perpetrate if not restrained. It must,
however, be confessed, that, after all, the necessity of
using wicked men as instruments of doing good, is a
420 TELEMACHUS.
misfortime : and though it is sometimes inevitable,
it should he remedied as soon as possible. A wibe
prince, who has no wish but to establish order and
distribute justice, will soon find honest men of suffi-
cient ability to effect his purposes ; and be able to
shake off the fraudulent and crafty, whose characters
disgrace the best service they can perform.
' ' But it is not enough for a king to find good sub-
'ects: he must make them." — " That," said Telema-
chus, " must surely be an arduous task." — " Not at
all," replied Mentor ; " the very search after virtue
and abilities will produce them; for rewards, weU
bestowed, will excite universal emulation. How
many languish in idleness and obscurity, who would
become distinguished, if the hope of fortune was to
excite them to labour ! and how many, despairing to
rise by virtue, endeavour to surmount the distresses
of poverty by vice ! If you distinguish genius and
virtue by rewards and honours, your subjects will ex-
ceed in both characters, by a voluntary and vigorous
effort of their own : and how much farther may you
carry that excellence, by gradually bringing forward
the merit that is thus produced, and advancing those
that appear capable of public and important service,
fi-om the lowest to the highest employments ! You
will exercise their various talents ; and bring the ex-
tent of their understanding, and the sincerity of their
virtue, to the test. Those who fill the great offices
of state, will then have been brought up, under your
own eye, in lower stations : you will have followed
them, through life, step by step; aud you will judge
of them, not from their professions, nor from a single
act, but the whole tenor of their conduct."'
While Mentor and Teleniachus were engaged in this
conversation, they perceived a Pbseacian vessel, which
had put into a little island wholly desolate, and sur-
rounded by craggy precipices of an enormous height.
It was, at this time, a dead calm, so that the zephyrs
themselves seemed to hold their breath : the whole
BOOK XXIV. 421
S'lrface of the sea was Lriglit and smoollias a mirror;
llie sails, which clung to the mast, could no longer
impel the vessel in its course ; and the rowers, ex-
hausted with labour, endeavoured to supply the de-
ficiency of the gale in vain. It became, therefore,
absolutely necessary to go on shore at this place,
which was rather a rock of the sea, than an habita-
tion for men ; and, at another time, it could not
have been approached without the utmost danger.
The Phaiacians, who were waiting for a wind, were
not less impatient of delay than the mariners who
had the conduct of Telemachus and Mentor. As
soon as Telemachus was onshore, he advanced over
the crags, towards some of these people, who had
landed before him ; and inquired of the first man
he met, whether he had seen Ulysses, the king o*
Ithaca, at the palace of Alcinoiis.
It happened, that the person to whom he address-
ed himself was not a Phseacian ; but was a stranger,
whose country was unknown : he was of a majestic
depovtmont, but appeared sorrowful and dejected.
When he was accosted, he was lost in thought, and
seemed not to hear the question that was asked him ;
but soon recollecting himself, he replied, " You sup-
pose that Ulysses has been seen in the island of the
Phaeacians, and you are not mistaken : he was re-
reived at the palace of Alcinoiis, as at a place where
the gods are reverenced, and the duties of hospitality
fulfilled : but he soon after left that country, where
you will now seek him in vain. He set out, that he
might once more salute his household gods in Ithaca,
if the superior powers shall forget their anger, and
vouchsafe the blessing."
Thestrangerpronounced these words in a mournful
voice, and immediately rushed into a wild tliicket
upon the top of a rock ; where fixing his eyes upon
the sea, he seemed desirous of solitude, and impa-
tient to depart. Tehniarhus remarked him with
great attention : and the more he g:ized, the ^^'roattr
422 TELEMACHUS.
was his emotion and astonishment. " The answer
of this stranger," said he to Mentor, ** is that of a
man so absorbed in affliction, as scarce to take cogni-
zance of external objects. The unfortunate have ray-
pity, for I am myself unfortunate : and for this man
I am particularly interested, without knowing why :
he has not treated me with courtesy, he seemed to
pay no attention to what I said, and he scarce
vouchsafed me an answer ; yet I cannot but wish
that his misfortunes were at an end."
*' See then," said Mentor with a smile, *' what ad-
vantage is derived from the calamities of Ufe : they
humble the pride of greatness, and soften insensibility
to compassion. Princes, who have been fatally flat-
tered with perpetual prosperity, imagine themselves
to be gods : if they have an idle wish to be gratified,
they expect mountains to sink, and seas to vanish :
they hold mankind as nothing, and would have all
nature the mere instrument of their will : when they
hear of misfortune, they scarce understand the term :
with respect to them, misfortune is a dream ; and
they know not the difference between good and evil.
Affliction only can teach them pity ; and give them,
for the adamant in their bosom, the heart of a man :
when they are afflicted, they become sensible that
they participate a common nature with others, to
whom they should administer the comfort of which
they feel the want. If a stranger has thus forcibly
excited your pity, because, like you, he is a wan-
derer upon the coast, how much more compassion
should you feel for the people of Ithaca, if, hereafter,
you should see them suffer ! — yet the people of Ithaca,
whom the gods will confide to your care, as a flock
is confided to a shepherd, may, perhaps, become
vretched by your ambition, your prodigality, or
imprudence ; for nations are never wretched but by
the fault of kings, who, like their guardian gods,
ahould watch over them for good."
To this discourse of Mentor, Telemachus listened
BOOK XXIV. 423
with crief and trouble ; and at length, with some
emotion, replied, " If these things are true, royalty
is, of all conditions, the most wretched. A king is
the slave of those whom he appears to command ; his>
people are not subordinate to him, but he is sub-
ordinate to his people : all his powers and faculties
are referred to thein, as theirobject: he is the servant,
not of the community only, but of every individual;
he must supply all their wants, accomniodato him-
self to all their weaknesses, correct their vices, teach
them wisdom, and endow them with happiness. The
authority with which he appears to be invested is
not his own ; he is not at liberty to exert it, either
for his glory, or his pleasure : it is, indeed, the autho-
rity of the laws, to which he must himself be obedi-
ent, as an example to others : the laws must reign,
and of their sovereignty he must be their defence ;
for them he must pass the night in vigils, and the day
in labour : he is less at liberty and at rest, than any
other in his dominions ; for his own freedom and
repose are sacrificed to the freedom and happiness
of the public."
" It is true," replied Mentor, " that a king is in-
vested with the character, only that he mavbe, to his
people, what a shepherd is to his flock, or a father to
his family : but can you imagine, my dear Telema-
chus, that a king, who is continually employed to
make multitudes happy, can himself be wretched ?
He corrects the wicked by punishment, he encourages
the good by rewards, he forms the world to virtue, a
visible divinity, the vicegerent of Heaven ! It is not
sufficient glory, to secure the laws from violation ?
To affect being above their authority, is not to acquire
glory, but to become the object of detestation and
contempt. A king, if he is wicked, must indeed
be miserable ; for his passions, and his vanity, will
keep him in perpetual tumult and solicitude: but,
if he is good, he will enjoy the purest and most
Bublime of all pleasures, in promoting the cause of
424 TELEMACHUS.
virtue, and expecting an eternal recompense from
tlie gods."
Telemachus, whose mind was in great uneasiness
and agitation, seemed, at this time, never to have
comprehended these principles, though they had long
been familiar to his mind, and he had often taught
them to others: a splenetic humour, the frequent
concomitant of secret infelicity, disposed him, con-
trary to his own sentiments, to reject the ti'ulhs
which Mentor had explained, with subtile cavils and
pertinacious contradiction. Among other objections,
he urged the ingratitude of mankind: " WTiat,"
says he, " shall life be devoted to obtain the love of
those who will, perhaps, hate you for the attempt;
and to confer benefits upon wretches, who may
probably use them to your destruction ?"
" Ingratitude," replied Mentor, with great calm-
ness, "must be expected from mankind: but, though
mankind are ungrateful, we should not be weary of
doing good : we should serve them less for their own
sakes, than in obedience to the gods, who command
it. The good that we do is never lost : if men forget
it, it is remembered and rewarded by the gods. Be-
sides, if the multitude are ungrateful, there will
ahvays be virtuous men, by whom virtue wiU be re-
garded with reverence and love; and even the mul-
titude, however inconstant and capricious, wUl,
sooner or later, be just to merit. But, if you would
prevent the ingi-atitude of mankind, donot load them
with such benefits as, in the common estimation, are
of most value : do not endeavour to make them
powerful and rich ; do not make them the dread or
the envy of others, either by their prowess, or their
oleasures. This glory, this abundance, these delights
will corrupt them; they will become more wicked,
and consequently more ungrateful. Instead, there-
fore, of oflering them a fatal gift, a delicious poison,
endeavour to improve their morals, to inspire them
with justice, sincerity, the fear of the gods, hiunan-
BOOK XXIV. 425
ity, fidelity, moderation, and disinterestedness : by
implanting goodness, you will eradicate ingratitude;
when you give virtue, you give a permanent and
substantial good; and virtue will always attach those
who receive it to the giver. Thus, by communi-
cating real benefits, you will receive real benefit in
return : and the very nature of your gift will make
ingratitude impossible. Is it strange that meu
should be ungrateful to princes, who have trained
them to nothing but injustice and ambition ; and
taught them only to be jealous, arrogant, perfidious,
and cruel? A prince must expect, that his people
will act towards him, as he has taught them to
act towards others. If he labours to render them
good both by his example and authority, he will
reap the fruit of his labour from their virtue :
or at least, in his own, and in the favour of the
gods, he will find abundant consolation for his dis-
appointment."
As soon as Mentor had done speaking, Telema-
chus advanced hastily towards the Phjeacians, whose
vessel lay at anchor near the shore. He found
among them an old man, of whom he inquired
whence they came, whither they were going, and if
he had not seen Ulysses. " We are come," said the
old man, " from our own island, Corcyra, and we
are going for merchandise to Epirus: Ulysses, as
you have been told already, has been in our country,
and has now left it."
"But who," said Telemachus, **is he, that, while
h,^ waits for the departure of your vessel, seems to be
acsorbed in the contemplation of his own misfortunes,
and retires from society to the most solitary parts of
theisland?" — "He," said the old man, "isa stranger
of whom we have no knowledge. It is said, that
his name is Cleomenes ; that he is a native o*
Phrygiii ; and tb *t, before his birth, it was declared,
by an oracle, to his mother, that, if he quitted his
country, he si\( Id be a king; but that, if he con-
426 TELEMACHUS.
tmued in it, the gods would denounce their anger
against the Phrygians by a pestilence.
" He was, therefore, delivered to some sailors, by
his parents, as soon as he was born, who conveyed
him to the island of Lesbos, where he was privately
educated at the expense of his country, which had so
great an interest in keeping him at a distance. As
he increased in stature, his person became, at once,
comely and robust : and he excelled in all exercises
that render the body agile and strong : he also ap-
plied, with gi-eat genius and taste, to science, and the
polite arts : but no people would suffer him to conti-
nue among them. The prediction of the oracle con-
cerning him became generally knonna, and he was
soon discovered wherever he went : the kings were
every where jealous, lest he should supplant them
in the throne ; and thus he became a fugitive from
hisyouth, wandering about from country to country,
without finding any place in which he might be al-
lowed to remain. He has visited nations very re-
mote from his own : but the secret of his birth, and
the oracle concerning him, is discovered as soon as
he arrives. He endeavours to conceal himself, where-
ever he comes, by entering into some obscure class
of life ; but he is soon discovered, by his superior
i,alents for war, literature, and government, which
break out with irresistible splendour, notwithstand-
ing his efforts to repress them. In every country,
he is surprised into the exertion of his abilities, by
some unforeseen occasion ; and these, at once, make
him known to the public. His merit is his mis-
fortune ; for this, he is feared wherever he is known,
and excluded from every country where he would
reside : it is his destiny, to be every where esteemed,
beloved, and admired ; and to be excluded from
all civil societies upon earth.
" He is now advanced in years; and yet he has not
hitherto been able to find any district, either of Asia
or Greece, where he may be pennitted to live in uu-
BOOK XXIV. 427
molested obscnvitv. He appears to be wholly with-
out ambition, andtodesireneithcrhonouvnorriches;
and it" the oracle had not promised him royalty, he
would think himself the happiest of mankind. He
indulges no hope of returning to his native country ;
for he knows, that to return thither would be to
give up every familv to mourning and tears. Even
royalty itself, for which he suffers, is not desirable
in his opinion : he is fulfilling the condition upon
which it is to be acquired, in spite of himself ; and
impelled by an unhappy fatality, he pursues it from
kingdom to kingdom, while it flies like a splendid
illusion before him, as it were, to sport with his dis-
tress, and continue an idle chase, till life itself shall
have lost its value with its use. How fatal a gift is
reserved for him by the gods ! How has it embittered
those hours,wluch youth would havedevoted to joy !
and how has it aggravated the infirmities of age,
when the only felicity of wearied nature is rest !
*' He is now going, " continued the old mariner, ' ' to
Thrace, in search of some rude and lawless savages,
whom he may collect into a society, civilize, and
govern for a certain time ; that thus, having ac-
complished the oracle, the most flourishing state
may admit him without fear. If he succeeds in this
design, he will immediately retire to a village in
Caria ; and apply himself wholly to his favourite
employment, agriculture. He is a wise man, his
desires are moderate, he fears the gods, and he
knows mankind ; and though he does not think
them worthy of esteem, can live peaceably amotiL'
them. Such is the account that I have heard of
the stranger, after whom you inquire."
Telemachus, while he was attending to this nar-
rative, often turned his eyes towards the sea. which
began to be troubled: the wind now swelling the
surliice into waves, which breaking auainst the rocks,
whitened them with foam. The man observed it;
and turnintr hastilv to Telemachus, " I mu^t be
428 TELEMACHUS.
gone," said he, " or my companions will sail with-
out me." He then ran towards the vessel, the
mariners hurried on hoard, and a conCused clamour
echoed along the shore.
The stranger, whom they called Cleomenes, had
wandered about in the middle of the island ; and,
climbing to the summit of many of the rocks, had
eyed the boundless diffusion of waters around him,
with a tixed and mournful attention. Telemachus
had still kept sight of him, and remarked lum in
every situation ; not with an idle curiosity, for his
heart melted with compassion for a man who,
though virtuous, was wretched and a fugitive ;
fonned for great achievements, yet condemned to
be the sport of fortune, and a stranger to his coun-
try. "I," said he to himself, "may, perhaps, onco
more see Ithaca; but the return of this Cleomenes
to Phrygia is impossible." Thus Telemachus re-
ceived comfort, from contomphiting the misery of
a man more wretched than himself.
The stranger no sooner perceived his vessel ready
to sail, than he rushed down the craggy sides of
the rock, with as much agility and speed as Apollo
bounds from precipice to precipice, in the forests
of Lycia, when, with his silver hair gathered in a
knot behind him, he pursues the stags and the
boars, that fly from the terrors of his bow in vain.
When the stranger was on board, and the vessel,
dividing the waves, became gradually more distant
from the shore, the heart of Telemachus died within
him : he felt the keenest affliction w^ithout knowing
the cause ; the tears flowed unbidden from his
eyes, and he found nothing so pleasing as to weep.
In the mean time, the mariners of Salentum, over-
come with fatigue, were stretched upon the grass
near the beach in a profound sleep. A sweet insen-
sibility wsis diffused through every nerve; and the
secret but powerful influence of Minerva had, in full
day, scattered over them the dewy poppies of the
BOOK XXIV. 429
night. Telemachus was astonished to see the Salen-
tines thus resign themselves to sleep, while the
Phaeacians, ever active and vigilant, had improved
the gale ; yet he was more intent upon watching
their vessel, which was now fading from his sight in
the horizon, than upon recalling his mariners to
their duty. A secret and irresistible sense of asto-
nishment and concern kept his eyes fixed upon the
bark that had left the island, and of which the sails
only could be seen, which, by their whiteness, were
just distinguished from the azure of the sea. Mentor
called to him, but he was deaf to the voice ; his
faculties seemed to be suspended, as in a trance ;
and he had no more the possession of himself, than
the frantic votaries of Bacchus, when grasping the
thyrsis in their hands, the ravings of their frenzy
are re-echoed from the banks of the Hebrus, and
the rude acclivities of Ismerus and Rhodope.
At length, however, the fascination was suspend-
ed ; and, recovering his recollection, he a^rain
melted into tears. " I do not wonder," said Men-
tor, *' my dear Telemachus, to see you weep ; for
the cause of your trouble, though to you a secret,
is known to me. Nature is the divinity that speaks
within you: it is her influence that you feel; and,
at her touch, your heart has melted. A stranger
has filled your breast with emotion : that stranu^er is
the great Ulysses. What the Phaeacian has told you
concerning him, imder the name of Ch'omenes, is
nothing more than a fiction, invented more effec-
tually to conceal his return to Ithaca, whither he
is now going; he is already near the port ; and the
scenes, so long desired, are at lenirth given to
his view. You have seen him, as it was once fore-
told you, but have not known him : the time is at
nand, when you shall see him again : when you
shall know him, and be known by him : but the
gods would permit this only in Ithaca. His heart
did not suffer less emotion than vours : but he is loo
2j
430 TELEMACHUS.
wise to trust any man with his secret, while it
might expose him to the treachery and insults of
the pretenders to Penelope. Your father Ulysses
is the wisest of mankind ; his heart is an unfathom-
able depth ; his secret lies beyond the line of sub-
tilty and fraud : he is the friend of truth, he says
nothing that is false: but, when it is necessary,
he conceals what is true ; his wisdom is, as it were,
a seal upon liis lips, which is never broken, but for
an important purpose : he saw you, he spoke to
yoy, yet. he concealed himself from you: what a
conflict must he have sustained, what anguish must
he have felt ! Who can wonder at his dejectiou
and soiTow !"
During tliis discourse, Telemachus stood fixed in
astonishment, and at length burst into tears : his
wonder was mingled with the tenderest and deepest
distress : and it was long before the sighs, that
struggled in liis bosom, would permit a reply. At
length he cried out, " O my dear Mentor! there
was, indeed, in this stranger soniething that con-
trolled all my heart ; something that attracted and
melted me : a powerful influence without a name !
But, if you knew him, why did you not tell me,
before he departed, that he was Ulysses ? And
why did you not speak to him yourself, and ac-
quaint him that he was not concealed from you ?
What do these mysteries conceal ? Is it, that I
shall be wretched for ever ? Will the gods, in their
anger, doom me to the torments of Tantalus, whose
burning lips a delusive stream approaches for ever,
and for ever flies ! O my father, hast thou escaped
me for ever ? Perhaps I shall see thee no more !
Perhaps the suitors of Penelope may take thee in
the snares which they spread for me ! O had I
followed thee ; then, if Hfe had been denied us, we
might at least have died together! O Ulysses,
Ulysses! if thou shouldst escape another shipwreck,
which, from the persevering malice of fortune there
BOOK XXIV. 431
b reason to doubt, I fear lest thou shouldst meet
at Ithaca as disastrous a fate as Agamemnon at
Mycene I But wherefore, O my dear Mentor, did
you envy my good fortune ? Why have I not
already embraced my father ? Wliy am I not now
with him, in the port of Ithaca ? why not lighting
at his side, and exulting in the destruction of his
enemies ?"
" Let me now, my dear Telemachus," said Men-
tor, with a smile, "show thee to thyself; and thus
acquaint thee with the weakness of mankmd. To-
day you was inconsolable, because you have seen
your father without knowing him ; but what would
you have given, yesterday, to know that he was
not dead 1 To-day your own eyes assure you that
he lives; and this assurance, which should trans-
port you with joy, overwhelms you with distress.
Thus do mankind, by the perverse depravity of
their nature, esteem that which they have most
desired as of no value the moment it is possessed ;
and torment themselves, with fruitless wishes, for
that which is beyond their reach. It is to exercise
your patience that the gods thus hold you in sus-
pense. You consider this time as lost ; but be
assured that it is, more than any other, improved.
The distress whicli you now suHer w ill exercise you
in the practice of that virtue which is of more im-
portance than all others, to those who are born to
command. Without patience, you can be master
neither of others nor yourself. Impatience which
appears to be the force and vigour of the soul,
is, indeed, a weakness; the want of fortitude to
Bufter pain. He that knows not how to wait for
good, and to endure evil, is subject to tlic same
imbecility, as he that cannot keep a secret : they
both want power to restrain the first impulse of the
mind ; and resemble a charioteer, whose hand has
not strength to restrain his impatient coursers, in
their headlong speed : they disdain the bridl«, and
432 TELEMACHUS.
rush forward with ungoverned fury, the chariot is
overturned, and the feeble driver is crushed under
the wheels. An impatient man is thus precipitated
to ruin, by the violence of impetuous and imgo-
verned desire. The more elevated his station, the
more fatal his impatience : he waits for nothing, he
despises deliberation, and takes all things, as it were,
by storm: every enjoyment is a violence and an
injury; he breaks down the branches to gather the
fruit before it is ripe : he forces the door rather
than wait tiU it is opened; and resolves to I'eap
when the prudent husbandman would sow : all his
actions are precipitate, and out of season ; all that
he does, therefore, is done amiss, and must be futile
and transient as his own desires. Such are the
extravagant projects of a man, who vainly imagines
that he can do all things ; and abandons himself to
every impatient wish, that prompts him to abuse
his power. Your patience is thus tried, ray dear
Teleraachus, that you may learn to be patient; and,
for this cause, the gods have given you up to the
caprice of Fortune, and suffered you to be still a
wanderer, to whom all things are uncertain. Every
object of your hope has just appeared and vanished,
like the fleeting images of a dream when the slum-
bers of the night are past, to apprise you, that the
blessings which we imagine to be within our grasp,
elude us, and disappear in a moment. The best
precepts of the wise Ulysses would instruct you
less than his absence, and the sufferings which,
while you sought him, you have endured."
Mentor then determined to bring the patience of
Teleraachus to another trial, yet more severe than
any that were past. At the moment, therefore,
when the young hero was urging the mariners to
set sail without delay, Mentor suddenly stopped
him, and proposed that they should offer a solemn
sacrifice to Minerva upon the beach. Teleraachus
consented, without remonstrance or complaint;
BOOK XXIV. 433
two altars of turf were immediately prepared, the
incense smoked, and the blood of the victims was
shed ; the youth looked up to heaven, with a sigh
of tenderness and devotion, and acknowledged the
powerful protection of the goddess.
As soon as the sacrifice was ended, he followed
Mentor into the darkest recess of a neighbouring
wood; and here he suddenly perceived the counte-
nance of his friend assume a new form : the wrinkles
disappeared, as the shadows of the night vanish
when the rosy fingers of Aurora throw back the
portals of the east, and kindle the horizon with the
beams of day : his eyes, which were keen and hollow,
changed to a celestial blue, and sparkled with divine
radiance ; his beard, grisled and neglected, totally
vanished; and the sight of Telemachus was dazzled
by new features, which were, at once, mild and awful,
lovely and majestic. He beheld the countenance of
a woman, soft and delicate as the leaves of a flower
just opening to the sun, and blooming with the tints
both of the lily and the rose : it was distinguished
by the ineffable beauty of eternal youth, and the
easy dignity of familiar greatness : her flowing hair
impregnated the gale with ambrosial odours; and her
robes shone with a various and vivid splendour, like
the clouds of heaven, which the sun diversifies and
irradiates with his earliest light. The divinity was
no longer supported by the earth, but reclined upon
the air, in which she floated like a bird in its flight:
in her hand was the shininii' lance, at which nations
tremble, and Mars himself becomes sensible to fear:
her voice was sweet and pla( id, but penetrating and
strong ; her words pierced the heart of Telemachus,
like shafts of fires, and thrilled him with a kind of
delicious pain ; upon her helmet appeared the soli-
tary bird of Athens; and her dreadful regis glitter-
ing upon her breast. By these characteristics, Te-
lemachus knew that he beheld Minerva.
•* And is it thou thvself," said he, " O goddess;
434 TELEMACHUS.
who, for the love that thou bearest to TTfysses, ^ns
vouchsafed guidance and protection to his son !*'
He would have said more, but his voice failed him :
and the thoughts that rushed, with impetuous tu-
mult, from his heart, his tongue laboured to express
in vain : he was overwhelmed by the presence of the
divinity, like a man who is oppressed, to the loss o.
breath, in a dream, and who, although agonized with
an effort to speak, can articulate nothing.
At length the goddess addressed him in these
words : " Hear me, O son of Ulysses, for the last
time ! T have hitherto favoured no mortal with
Buch instructions as I have vouchsafed to thee. In
countries unknown, in shipwreck, in battle, in every
situation of danger and distress, by which the heart
of man can be tried, I have been thy protection. For
thee I have illustrated, by experiment, all maxims of
government, both false and true ; and I have im-
proved, not thy misfortunes only, but even thy faults,
into wisdom. Who can govern, that has never suf-
fered ? Who can avoid error, bnt by experience of its
evil ? Thou hast filled earth and ocean with disas-
trous adventures, like thy father; and art now wor-
thy to follow him to Ithaca, where he is this moment
arrived, and whither thy passage is short and easy.
In battle, let thy station be at his side : obey him
with implicit reverence ; and let the meanest sub-
ject learn his duty from thy example. He will give
Antiope to thy wishes ; in this alliance thy object
was rather merit than beauty, and it shall be happy.
When thou shalt be invested with sovereign power,
let it be thy only ambition to restore the golden age:
Jet thy ear be open to all, but thy confidence re-
strained to few ; trast not implicitly to thy own
virtue, or thy own wisdom : fear to deceive thyself,
but fear not that others should know thou hast been
deceived. Love thy people ; and neglect nothing
that may inspire thern with love of thee : those whom
love cannot influence must be ruled by fear ; but
BOOK XXIV. 435
this expedienti, like a violent and dangerous remedy,
should always be used with reluctance. Undertake
nothing of which thou hast not considered the most
remote consequences : look steadily at the future,
whatever evils it may present ; for true courage con-
sists in the anticipation and contempt of necessary
danger : he who will not voluntarily look danger
in the face, will shrink from the sight when it is ob-
truded upon him ; he only is wise and brave, who
willingly looks on all that can be seen, who shuns
all that can be shunned, and meets that which is
inevitable with equanimity. Avoid luxury, pro-
fusion, and pomp, and place thy glory in simplicity:
let thy virtues be the ornaments of thy person, and
thy palace ; let these be the guard that surrounds
thee ; and let thy example teach the world in what
honour consists. Let it be constantly present to
thy mind, that kings reign not for their own glory,
but for the good of their people : the virtues and
the vices of kings entail happiness or misery upon
mankind, to the remotest generations : and a bad
reign sometimes produces calamity for an age.
Above all, guard against thy humour ; that pecu-
liarity of disposition which, independent both of
the passions and reason, distinguishes mankind from
each other ; that capricious principle, which chooses
and rejects, loves and hates, approves and condemns,
not in consequence of qualities in the object, but
propensities in the mind. This humour is a bosom
enemy, which every man is condemned to carry
with him to the grave : it will enter into all thy
councils; and, if indulged, will certainly pervert
them : it will prevent tliee from improving oppor-
tunities of advantage ; it will prefer shadows to the
substance, and determine important affairs by petty
considerations : it obscures talents, depresses cour-
age, and renders a man feeble, inconstant, odious,
and contemptible : against this enemy, be continu-
ally upon the guard. Let the fear of the gods, O
436 TELEMACHUS.
Telemaclius, be the ruling passion of tliy heart:
keep it sacred in thy bosom, as thy dearest treasure ;
for with this thou shalt possess wisdom and justice,
tranquillity and joy, unpolluted pleasure, genuiue
freedom, peaceful affluence, and spotless glory.
"I now leave thee, O son of Ulysses ! but so long
as thou shalt feel the want of my wisdom, my wis-
dom shall remain with thee. It is now time that
thou shouldst walk by the I'ght of thy own mind :
I withdrew from thee in Egypt and at Salentum, that
I might reconcile thee to the want of that assistance
and comfort which I afforded, by degrees, as a
mother weans an infant from the breast, when it
is no longer necessary to indulge him with milk,
and he is able to subsist upon coarser food !"
Such was the last counsel of Minerva to Telema-
chus ; and, while her voice yet vibrated on his ear,
he perceived her rise slowly from the earth; and a
cloud of intermingled azure and gold suTTOunding
her, she disappeared. Telemachus stood a moment
astonished and entranced ; then sighing, prostrated
himself upon the ground, and stretched out his
hands towai-ds heaven. After this homage was paid,
he arose, awakened his companions, hastened their
departure, amved in Ithaca, and found his fathei
under the friendly roof of his faithful Eumenes.
THE END
r. JOHJTiOir, FRIXTEB, ITTSSBT ST., MAirCHEiTBB-
This book is DUE on the last
date stamped below.
000 000 468
«
PQ
1795
T5E5
1847
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