The weird of the wanderer Being the papyrus records of some incidents in one of the previous lives of Mr. Nicholas Crabbe
me, binding himself (with a blooming chain) to serve me, I was aware
that service is as far above liberty as lofty Olympos is above deep
Tartaros: nineteen times nineteen days, indeed, will a brazen anvil
pass in dropping sheer from the one to the other. Wherefore, knowing
how godly a thing it is to be a servant, I also bound myself with the
chain of love.
For, it had been in my mind, even in voyaging by sea, to visit
Opoyntian Lokri, for the sake of Aias the Less, who wore a
linen corslet, and (though a mite of a man) was by far the best
spear-thruster of all the Argives when we besieged windy Ilion. Also, I
would have visited the steep fortress of Dios, north of the Gulph, and
Antron by the seashore, and Pteleon couched in grass in its rock-bound
bay, and rugged Olizon with the sea on both sides of it. But, for the
sake of my timid maid, whom I bade to be comforted, I said that we
would not risk any more insults among the Romans.
For which cause, sped by Love’s wings, we sailed northward, passing
leafy Pelion on the left: but, anon, having come to the small port of
Myrai at the foot of mighty Ossa, there we cast anchor in a secluded
roadstead in the middle of the night. And, uncovering my silver-shining
chariot, we untwisted the knots which bound it to the ship, and
prepared it for a journey on land.
But I left my well-benched galley in charge to Neandros and Thalos,
bidding them to hold it ready for me anywhen, but perhaps after a
long absence. And when we had mounted to our places, the divine one
of goddesses pulled the silver chain; and Love, our charioteer, lived
in his silver image, and flew with wide-swept wings, hooting for joy
because we were beginning the last stage of our journey to lofty
Olympos.
Aurora, mother of morning, rose from her couch in the sea when we
traversed the lovely vale of Tempe, fresh with glittering dew, where
the night-mists rose from Peneys’ diminished flood. Helios Hyperion
lord of light, looked from the zenith at noon when we began to mount
the long slopes which lead to the peak of Olympos. Hesperos, star of
evening, gleamed in the violet sky when we came to the little shrine by
the Holy Well, beyond which no mortal foot has trod.
The priest came out, marvelling that travellers should arrive at that
hour: for most men fear the mountain after nightfall, believing it to
be improper for them to go very near the paths which the gods tread
in their nocturnal journeys. But he marvelled still more, when he saw
what manner of travellers we were, and the silver-shining chariot
pulsating like a creature having sweet life during the first few
moments after long-robed Helen had released our charioteer pulling the
silver chain. But I and the priest led the daughter of Zeys the Swan
to the guest-chamber of the shrine, there to pass the night: for we
were unwilling to approach the abode of the blessed gods, dishevelled
and weary and stained with travel. But, after we had dismissed hunger,
having supped, I indeed went out to pass the night in the open, keeping
a vigil by my silver-shining armour with adornments of rock-crystals
and blue moonstones, and communing with my lordly mind.
And, when the night was waning, and near was the dawn, and the stars
had gone upward, and the night had advanced more than two watches,
but the third watch was still left, then, indeed, I cleansed the
dust from my monstrous chariot, burnishing the silver of it and the
crabs and moons inlaid in lustrous mother-of-pearl, till it shone
like a white flame. But the silver image of Love, larger than life,
blindfolded, naked, most alluringly proportioned, poised on the front
of the rail with his well-winged arms spread abroad in the very act
of taking flight, this, indeed, I treated as a man would treat his
own large ruddy son in a bath if he were a god. For I washed it all
over with a sponge, going firmly into every crevice where dirt might
obscenely lodge; and I dried it delicately with soft linen, polishing
the smooth-gleaming skin and rubbing in soft oil with my hands. And,
opening the secret recesses of the chariot, I poured in fresh water
and oil, so that the well-carved wheels might freely revolve in
courses. But I did also in like manner with my armour, giving it a
radiance as of the serene and vivid moon in springtime. And, having
stripped myself to bathe in the ice-cold limpid water gushing from the
Holy Well (for with pure body and pure mind the wise man approaches
the blessed gods), then, indeed, I put on my glorious armour: first,
the well-shaped greaves for my legs, covered with rock-crystals and
blue moonstones and fitted with clasps: then, the white leathern
kirtle with taslets of silver lapping about my reins, clothing my body
above with my coat of silver mail, and the corslet on my breast and
back and shoulders also of hammered silver plates with adornments of
rock-crystals and blue moonstones. But I suspended from my shoulders
the sword in its silver sheath and the silver quiver of arrows gleaming
with moony gems. But, on my head, I placed the glittering helmet with a
towering crest of the prides of nine white peacocks; and dreadfully the
plume nodded from above. And I shod my feet with the well-made sandals
of white leather, taking the great black singing bow well-fitted to my
hand, and the great and sturdy shield bright as the moon. But I covered
myself with the vast trailing mantle of silver tissue lined with white
fur, clasped with the scintillating signs of the Moon and the Crab. And
the sheen of my splendour reached heaven, when I stood stamping and
gnashing my teeth: nor was I fearful of meeting my peer anywhere, even
in the precincts of the immortals.
But, when golden-throned Dawn arose from her ocean-bed, I led the
divine one of goddesses, fresh and pure as a pearl in a setting of red
gold, to her place in the chariot; and I mounted beside her. But she
pulled the silver chain; and young Love dived headlong out of heaven
into his image; and the silver image lived, sweeping his wide wings,
swimming in the higher air, with triumphant trumpetings and merry
whirring of wheels, toward the wall of cloud which shrouds the city of
the gods, the habitation of Great Zeys.
Thus, brilliantly blazing and swift as a flash of white thunder I
entered lofty Olympos.
THE TWENTY-FIFTH PAPYRUS
The Hora Eirene, warden of the gate, challenged us: whom Golden Helen
answered, giving the password, demanding free passage as a daughter
of Great Zeys. But Hermes, my grandsire, and the Great Twins, and
boldly-steadfast Herakles, stood within the gate ready to greet us.
Moreover, the golden streets were thronged with the beautiful children
of gods and heroes, scattering amaranthine diadems. Thus, we went to
the palace and the areiopagos of the immortals.
But King Zeys, the father of gods and men, sat on his clouded throne,
with Queen Hera of the white arms (the most righteous of goddesses) who
had hundred-eyed peacocks about her. But, on the right and left, were
other thrones inhabited by all the gods and goddesses, whose courtiers
were immortal youths innumerable having limbs of flaming whiteness and
rayed hair. There, was Pan the lord of woodlands, and loose-haired
Iakhos Dionysos the son of fire washed by water-nymphs, and Phoibos
Apollon lord of the silver bow, and Artemis beautiful queen of arrows,
and tameless Pallas Athene of the dark Aigis, and blameless Aphrodite
of the violet crown, and silver-footed Thetis unhappy mother of the
noblest son, and even King Poseidon of loud-roaring white horses: but
shady King Hades (the most righteous of gods) was absent for reasons of
health, and his black throne gaped void. But my heart was leaping for
joy in my dear breast: for I was aware that the fifth prediction, which
innocent Thalos made when he looked into the palm-mirror, was in fact
being realized. For indeed the silver god and the golden goddess were
standing before many gods and goddesses.
But astute Hermes, the yellow-wanded luck-bringer and soul-guide,
signed me with silence. He rose in his place among the glorious
immortals; and began to expound my cause. Thus, then, he spoke: “O
Father and King of gods and men, before this conclave of divine ones
stands the steadfast goodly Odysseys, the much-enduring contriver of
innumerable wiles, who claims as a sweet guest-gift the hand of Golden
Helen, the exiled daughter of Thee the Swan, in honourable nuptials.”
To whom Great Zeys responded, saying: “Odysseys, we know; and Helen,
we know. But never before has one of the sons of men aspired to lead
in open marriage a goddess, daughter of the race of the Kronides.
Hitherto, indeed, passing (but none the less vehement) passions, or
transient (but none the less perfervid) affections, have been the
utmost relations between immortals and mortals. For we gods are severe,
envious above others; and we grudge that immortals shall mate with
mortals, when anyone shall take a dear wife or a husband: as when
rosy-fingered Eos took Orion (that stalwart hunter), so long the gods
who lived easily envied her, until chaste Artemis of the golden throne
slew him, attacking him with her mild weapons. Moreover, the thing also
is new: for, whereas, heretofore, gods and goddesses have loved mortal
women and men in secret, now, this Odysseys, boundless in audacity,
openly demands a goddess-bride before all the court of heaven.
Wherefore, lest we be captured in some snare of this notoriously-wily
one, we require that eloquent Hermes (his sponsor) shall give good and
sufficient reason for such artless candour, such ingenuous presumption.”
Hermes came down from his own throne among the divine immortals,
passing the throne of radiant Phoibos Apollon, the bright one, the pure
one, crowned with the sun in his splendour; and he took thence the
lyre which he himself had made for the master of the music, fashioned
out of the hollow shell of a crab like polished translucent amber
and obsidian, from which sprang the silvery horns of unicorns to the
olive-wood cross-bar, pegged, and fitted with nineteen strings.
He came down, to the clear blue ætherial floor studded with golden
stars, in the sight of all, like a princely youth in youth’s full bloom
whose youth is very graceful, the largest and lithest and loveliest and
wisest and most innocent ever seen, smooth and lissome and gleaming as
living ivory, and his bare head crowned with clusters of honey-hued
curls and a nimbus of sunbeams.
He came down; and cast (to the floor, by his feet) his purple
mantle,--by his agile feet, shod with golden-winged sandals,--and laid
his golden wand upon it, he lightly standing poised on one fair foot;
and he rested the other on a stool, bending his sprightly knee.
He held the heavenly lyre on his thigh with his hollowed arm, leaning
toward till it could not help kissing his beautiful youthful breast;
and with a quill, he tried it note by note: but it sounded, deeply
thrumming beneath his hands. And the young god sang under the notes
of the lyre, a doubly-thrilling intonation, making an extemporaneous
attempt, as full-grown boys at feasts sing with different voices,
rivalling one another in turn.
He sang; and, at his song, my spirit reeled, so strong and passing
sweet the strain. One universal smile it seemed, of joy beyond compare,
unutterable gladness, imperishable life of peace and love, exhaustless
wealth, illimitable power, the cup of health brimful, and bliss
immeasurable. Such was his tone.
He sang; and, at his voice, my spirit lived again, that youthful
heavenly sunny voice, which welled from his open well-sunned throat,
not shrill like a boy’s nor clogged like a man’s, but full and vibrant,
true as a bell, loud as gigantic trumpets, deep and clear as a limpid